The Seventh Seal (The Chronicles of Daniel Stone Book 1)

by A. J. Dobbs

  ‘Mum… what’s going on? What have you done?’ he gasped.

  She hugged him and he could feel her warm tears running down his neck.

  ‘It’s all for you, darling, you’re going to walk again; don’t worry, these men are here to help you.’

  The insanity of his mother’s words hit him like an avalanche, enveloping him in a cocoon of desperation. He had hoped this was all a straightforward mistake, a simple misunderstanding at work, but hope and its eternal optimism had set him up for a long fall and the avalanche he succumbed to had now buried him deep. He started crying.

  ‘Oh, do shut up, boy,’ shouted Smee as he returned to meet his new guest.

  Shocked, Calum stopped crying and wiped his eyes using his shirt sleeves. ‘Who are you?’ he managed.

  ‘Me? I am the man who is going to help you, if you’ll stop your whimpering.’

  *

  The internal arrangements of the garage hideout had been modified by Simean into a series of rooms; beaten and now close to dying in one of those was Peter Lord. He had held on for as long as he could, but life was slipping from him. If he had had any tears left he would have cried, not for himself but for those who he felt he had let down. He had made a terrible error of judgement, he knew that, an error as big and as stupid as anyone could make, but Earth history would not record it. He was a nobody and no one would ever know.

  Peter was not done yet, however, and he was determined that we would know, that we would know that he had not turned on us. Hidden in the base of his shoe he carried a vial of spindrift and with his remaining strength he removed it from its secret spot under the inner sole of his shoe and left…

  *

  ‘Paris, come here quickly.’

  Peter was lying on the floor of the EP building barely able to talk as Paris knelt down and lifted his head to make him more comfortable and Lucius knelt down to speak to him.

  ‘I’m… so-rry, Lucius… I—’

  ‘Shhh… don’t speak, Peter, you need to rest.’

  ‘Too… late… dying… Smee… has…’

  ‘We know, Peter; he has the Arcanum.’

  Lucius looked at Paris and she nodded. They knew there was nothing they could do for him and they both knew they had to push him to get as much from him as possible, to push him until the end. Peter smiled softly; he knew too.

  ‘He’s stealing… lots… money. Albertus. Smee wants… fight.’ He cried out in pain.

  ‘Easy, Peter… take it easy,’ said Paris as she gently held his head.

  Peter continued. ‘He wants… him here, Earth… he will… keep killing, steal-ing… stop him… so sorry… my fault.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Peter, you have done nothing more than put trust in someone, someone who let you down,’ said Lucius.

  They both could see Peter did not have long.

  ‘Peter, was there anything else?’ said Paris.

  ‘Keepers, Albertus… the Old Lady… of Thread-needle… Street… tha—’

  Peter closed his eyes and faded away gracefully; one moment here, then in a moment gone, just one tick on my watch.

  Paris laid Peter’s head gently on the floor and looked at Lucius.

  ‘What did he mean the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure the Professor and Albertus will. Let’s get back to Thera.’

  ‘What about Peter?’ said Paris.

  Lucius looked affectionately at Peter and then turned to Paris. ‘Let’s take him back to Tolemak for a burial he deserves and some peace.’

  *

  Cranford sat nervously outside Commander Abberline’s office waiting. He was not usually nervous, but the report he had submitted was not going to go down well with Abberline, a straightforward policeman with a passion for the truth. He hated embellishment of any kind and any speculation beyond the facts at hand.

  Cranford’s palms were sweaty and his heart rate was as high, as if he’d been jogging for twenty minutes, when the call came from Abberline to come into his office. He had been battling with himself for the last twenty-four hours. His report, whilst farfetched and unbelievable was niggling him; there was a part of him starting to think there was some truth in it.

  Cranford had expected to see just the commander, but sitting alongside him was a man he did not recognise.

  Odd suit, thought Cranford as he entered. ‘Good morning, Commander, and errr…’

  ‘Take a seat, Cranford,’ said the commander, ignoring his obvious attempt to get introduced to the stranger prematurely.

  ‘Cranford, this is Mr Willow; he is from the government.’

  Abberline is nervous, thought Cranford. Why?

  Abberline continued. ‘Mr Willow here is interested in your investigation. This gang of yours is apparently attempting to ruin the UK’s financial markets and they have been following them for some time.’

  ‘I see, sir,’ said Cranford, giving an automatic response to Abberline as he tried to figure out what was going on.

  Cranford now turned to Willow. ‘Good morning, Mr Willow, and which department of the government do you work for?’

  ‘The Terrorism Response and Earth Emergency Service unit, Mr Cranford. We like to refer to ourselves as the TREES, it’s a little catchier don’t you think?’ He smiled.

  ‘Never heard of you or your Trees,’ said Cranford, dismissively, his nervousness being temporarily shut away by his unwarranted and instant dislike of Willow. He was in a quandary. For the first time in his life he was struggling with indecision; what should he do next? It was his instincts that made his mind up; he would probe and tease, hoping to glean some information about the mystery man.

  ‘I suppose from that title you’re not responsible for the welfare of Arthe, Mr Willow?’ Willow and Abberline were momentarily uncomfortable and Cranford noted this. He got what he wanted but not what he had hoped for!

  ‘Mr Cranford, I see you have a sense of humour, but today is not a day for sarcasm. You will soon realise that you don’t want to know me,’ said Willow, with a sinister tone.

  ‘Okay, enough of the horseplay. Let’s leave the children’s fights at home, shall we? Cranford, we’ve read your report, can you take us through the detail?’ said Abberline.

  ‘Umm… well, sir, it’s… it’s…’ Cranford was struggling to process again. The reactions of Willow and Abberline to his ‘tongue-in-cheek’ question were shaking the foundations of everything he knew.

  ‘Get on with it, man, what’s wrong with you, cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I just don’t know where to start. Ms Shurman’s story is a little unconventional, to say the least. I think she may be quite mad.’

  ‘Well let us be the judges of that, Mr Cranford,’ said Willow.

  By the time Cranford had finished he still had hope’s flame flickering inside; that this was all the figment of a deranged mind and that there was a logical, plausible and Earthly explanation to the strange events unfolding. He paused, waiting for a reaction —anger, denial, ridicule— he wanted anything but not the one that he got. What he got was belief. Abberline and the mystery man Willow appeared to believe his report.

  ‘So, Mr Cranford, do you have any leads on the whereabouts of Frank Buckley?’

  Cranford ignored Willow’s question and turned to his commander looking for reassurance that his whole belief system was safe and secure. ‘Sorry, sir, but surely you don’t believe the story in her journals, do you?’

  ‘Tom…’

  He called him Tom. Now that made things even worse; Abberline was never familiar in work, especially when in company. Cranford was now in a mental spin; it was like a tornado swirling in his brain, churning up settled facts. He had to calm this mental storm and quickly.

  ‘I think you should take some time off, Tom. Mr Willow here will take over the case. You’ve been working hard on this recently. We all appreciate your efforts. Take a couple of weeks off while we tie up the loose ends on this… it will do you go
od, you’ve not had a holiday in two years.’ Abberline flicked through his work records.

  He has my records… he came prepared…, thought Cranford. Okay, calm down, Tom, think… they could be part of this… who the hell can I trust?

  ‘Yes, sir, you may be right. This case has me baffled; a break would do me good.’

  ‘Good, well that’s settled then. Hand over your files to Mr Willow and we’ll take it from here. You go and have yourself a holiday and forget about the strange Ms Shurman.’ Abberline smiled with a little condescension.

  Cranford left the meeting more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the case and had no intention of taking any sort of holiday, but until he could work out who he could trust he had to play along.

  Willow looked at Abberline quizzically. ‘He’s stubborn, Abberline, he won’t give up.’

  Abberline nodded. ‘Cranford is a gifted and experienced officer… of course he won’t give up, but it will buy us some time. He won’t know what or who to believe; it will slow him down and that’s the best we can get at the moment. What is the news from Tolemak?’

  ‘The new Keeper is still in training. They are not ready,’ said Willow.

  ‘Well how long do we have to wait before they come and clean up their mess?’ said Abberline, now letting his frustrations out.

  ‘You will do well to curb your anger, Abberline. The Keepers have maintained balance for all time and they will come when they need to come. Your job is to keep a lid on this, keep your officers busy and send them down blind alleys. We will deal with this and put you back in charge of your city,’ said Willow authoritatively.

  *

  Cranford returned to his office, picked up all his file notes and took photographs of the white board. He then picked up the phone and dialled.

  ‘Jones?’

  ‘Sir, we’ve a problem,’ said Jones, recognising Cranford’s voice.

  ‘Damn right we have, where are you?’

  ‘At the foster parents’, they’ve—’

  ‘Never mind what’s going on there; get over to my house now, we’ve got lots to discuss.’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘Now, Jones,’ screamed Cranford uncharacteristically, and slammed the phone down.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jones, pulling the phone away from his ear and looking at it with disdain as the tell-tale beeping informed him that Cranford had not got his last response.

  ‘That stubborn, bloody-minded man, it will be my fault when I tell him what’s happened,’ he said, still talking to himself as he left for Cranford’s house.

  *

  Cranford had been expecting the knock on the door and whisked Jones in with a furtive check outside, left and right, with not an unnoticeable amount of paranoia, thought Jones, as he looked on at an anxious Cranford.

  ‘Sir, I’ve got to tell—’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you have,’ interrupted Cranford.

  ‘What I’ve got to tell you will make your toes curl,’ said Cranford frenetically.

  ‘Sir!’ Jones now screamed at his commanding officer and he got the opening to speak that he wanted.

  ‘Sir, they’ve taken the Shurman boy, he’s gone, kidnapped,’ said Jones, now waiting for Cranford to shout at him for not telling him sooner.

  Cranford paused momentarily and recovered his composure. ‘Jones, there is something big going on here, something that is beyond our normal understanding,’ he said, now much calmer to the relief of Jones.

  Cranford went on to describe his meeting with Abberline and the strange Mr Willow.

  Jones listened intently. ‘Sir, what’s our next step?’

  ‘Containment; we need to keep this between you and me. What happened to the foster parents and our officers, are they dead?’

  ‘Thankfully, no. But they know nothing. Another blitz attack and no idea who took him,’ said Jones.

  ‘When are we going to get a break in this case?’ said Cranford, now frustrated.

  *

  In Smee’s hideout, Simean returned with the message he’d been waiting for.

  ‘He’s gone, Odling, Peter’s gone.’

  ‘Excellent, our plan is coming together, Simean.’

  Calum, now a little calmer, turned his chair towards Smee and asked his question again. ‘Who are you people?’

  Smee was now in a lighter mood. ‘Young man, we are the saviours of this rotten to the core world of yours.’

  ‘What are you, aliens?’ said Calum.

  Simean and his men laughed.

  ‘Shut up,’ shouted Smee before calmly continuing.

  ‘In a way, you could say that. I am, it is true, not from this place and I have a much higher intellectual capacity than anyone on this planet, but I am human. I have come to bring tyrannical control to your weak minds, to give you the freedom that you need to survive.’

  Smee was marching around the room, lost in his own world; like an actor, he was commanding the stage and even Simean and his men were a little shocked at his outburst.

  ‘You can’t take control of the whole planet,’ said Calum with teenage confidence and arrogance.

  ‘Can’t I, boy? No one tells me what I can or cannot do, do you understand me? I am the great Odling Victor Smee, last of the great Therans.’

  ‘Calum… show some respect, son,’ said Elizabeth meekly.

  ‘Yes, boy, listen to your mother and shut up.’ Calum recoiled and returned to his mother’s side as Smee, Simean and his men left them to debate the impending battle.

  ‘Mum… what have you gotten us into?’ said Calum.

  Not for the first time in this tale, one of our characters was left floundering by the magnitude of the story told and left open mouthed in disbelief as Elizabeth Shurman told her son all about reality…

  ‘Has he… killed people, Mum?’

  Calum was nervous at asking the question and equally as worried by the response. Elizabeth physically recoiled at the question and he knew he would not like the answer.

  ‘Calum… people are killed all the time, look at what happened to your father. The people I worked for watched millions die; who’s to say what they stand for and do is right? Smee is the same; he wants power, but whether I work for him or work for the Keepers, what’s the difference? Sometimes you just have to look out for yourself, for your family. That’s all I’ve done. When this is over we will carry on living our normal lives, except this new normal will include you walking again. So what if there’s a change at the top, a change in the people who say we must do this, must do that? This isn’t about them, Calum, this is about us…’

  Elizabeth laid out her case to her son compassionately and he was moved. For the first time since all this started he saw his mother again, not deranged but normal. Calum now saw things a little differently. Perhaps she was right, perhaps life is all about looking after yourself; in a moment, he grew and changed.

  Elizabeth smiled at him and they hugged; together again.

  ‘Calum, I know Smee is no good, but we must use him to get what we want… do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, but how, Mum? How is he going to make me walk again?’ said Calum, wanting to believe that this dream could be true.

  ‘They have access to great power. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I’ve seen what it can do; believe me, anything is possible, you must trust them.’

  ‘Trust them! How can we trust them? They are killers and robbers and who knows what else?’

  ‘Shhhhh, quiet, they’ll hear you… it’s all relative, Calum. They get what they want, we get what we want; it’s a constructive relationship. Smee is a hard man, a brutal man, and I have come to respect his brutality. He doesn’t hide and pretend to you, like all the sycophants in government who say they are our friends. Believe me, Calum, the sooner you harden up to life the better you will be.’ Elizabeth was starting to lose control now and realised she was taking this too far. She was in danger of frightening her son again and she calmed herself down.

  �
��You want to walk again, don’t you? For us to have a life together where we can experience all the wonders of the world?’

  ‘Of course I do, Mum,’ he said, now a little teary.

  ‘Well then, trust me, Calum…’

  *

  Whilst Elizabeth and Calum were reconnecting and planning their future, Smee and Simean were locked into their own plans and the noise of their captives’ voices was lost on them.

  ‘Simean, the men are ready I take it?’

  ‘Yes, Odling, they are… what now?’

  ‘I have one last surprise for Albertus and his Keepers.’ Smee smiled; an evil, cold and callous smile.

  ‘Which is?’ asked Simean.

  ‘All in good time, Simean, all in good time. One shouldn’t spoil the surprise. I must go to Arthe to sort out my present.’

  Simean scratched his head in frustration at Smee’s games. ‘Whatever you say, Odling,’ he said as he watched him use the First Seal and disappear to Arthe.

  21st September 2012, Thera

  A full complement of Keepers was once again gathered at Tolemak. The grave news from Earth now required an escalation, an escalation that Albertus was torn by. He didn’t like that Smee was in control and that he had cleverly manoeuvred a position of strength, compelling him to act.

  ‘Albertus, Peter’s last words were garbled, what did he mean, the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street?’ said Paris.

  ‘Smee is playing his games again with us, my friends. You know that the whole of Earth and Arthe societies are run on money, the accumulation of wealth; cause a big enough upset in that system and you could cause that society to collapse. The “Old Lady” is the affectionate name for the Bank of England situated on Threadneedle Street in London. Smee wants to bring us down in front of the bank, in front of one of the pillars of the world’s economic system,’ he said chillingly.

  A steady rumble of noise was soon filling the room as questions were thrown randomly out by all of us, not sure who to expect an answer from, but it felt better nonetheless to get the questions out.

  Albertus called for hush and continued. ‘If we do what Smee wants, a battle in front of the world, in front of the Old Lady, we will be exposed and Earth’s society will collapse. He has posed us the biggest balance conundrum in our whole history. Do we watch and let him bring misery to Earth and then Arthe or do we intervene and risk our own lives and existence?’