the Dark shall do what Light cannot

by Sanem Ozdural

  “We’ll let it pass us…” Orion replied. “And if it won’t, or if it continues on the same route, we’ll have to sink it,” he added calmly.

  “Good God!” Father Griffith exclaimed, aghast.

  “Good point,” Patron said, inclining her head. “I mean Orion, not you, Roland,” she explained. “There would be no other option, I’m afraid.”

  Bruce regarded Patron and Orion steadily. He cleared his throat. “Have you thought this through? There might be obstacles you may not have considered off the top of your heads. Radio, for instance. The boat will most certainly send a distress signal, and if we are trying to avoid the position of the Veil being found out, such an aggressive act would certainly not help.”

  “How would we sink it?” Cat interjected. “If we had to,” she added, without, it seemed to Father Griffith, sufficient reluctance.

  “How?” Patron regarded her with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean, how? In the normal way, of course!”

  Cat let out a sigh of frustration. Pirates, her eyes said. They can’t even answer a simple question.

  “No!” Father Griffith cried. “This is not acceptable.” He was addressing Patron. “Madam, I have the highest respect and admiration for you, and I am sure your ship is more than capable of sinking a defenseless sailboat, but consider, Patron, what you are suggesting. Would you take a life – for that’s what it would mean if you decided to attack a sailboat in the middle of the ocean, it would be murder – to save another life? Is the life of the unknown child more important than the lives on that–” he pointed towards the white object gaining on them, “boat? This is not so,” Father Griffith insisted and shook his head vehemently. “Murder cannot be an option.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you,” Patron said, opening her large green eyes even wider. “I have to confirm that our course means we’re taking the quickest route to Pera. I think we should adjust to take greater advantage of the wind. Coming, Orion?”

  Patron strode away, followed by Orion.

  “Personally, I don’t see what business it is of theirs to go round following ships, anyway,” Cat declared. “For all they know, we might be pirates!” She chuckled at her joke. “Serves them right!”

  “Roland, I understand your concern,” Bruce said. “However, I sincerely doubt that it will come to pass. Probably Orion was exaggerating–”

  Father Griffith gave him a meaningful look. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Yes, he would,” Cat nodded vigorously. “And I don’t think he’d feel the slightest bit of guilt.”

  Bruce inclined his head, conceding their point. “Fair enough. And Patron has also indicated she would go along with his plan if the need arises. But, Roland, it is a highly unlikely contingency–”

  “However unlikely it may be,” Father Griffith interrupted, “the fact that it is a possibility in their minds is deeply, deeply troubling.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cat said sweetly. “I disagree with you, darling, which is nothing unusual,” she gave a tinkling laugh. “I wholly support Orion and Patron in this. There is an innocent child on one hand who is about to be drowned or whatever. In any event, she will die if we don’t reach her in time. She has no say in the matter. She has no choice. She did nothing to deserve it. On the other hand, there is an officious, nosey sailboat on our tail, which has absolutely no business, no right to be doing what it’s doing. The people on that boat have a choice: to follow us or not. For all they know, we might be pirates – and we are! Why should we humor them? Personally, I think Orion and Patron are already being too generous. I would shoot them out of the water – or whatever they do on these pirate ships – as soon as they get close enough!” She grinned happily.

  “Now, that is a good point,” Bruce gave her a searching look, “and very much in line with LiGa, wouldn’t you say, Roland?”

  “Curiosity killed the cat…” Father Griffith murmured.

  19

  Evan Nightshade glanced impatiently at his wristwatch, but he was careful to show no outward sign of his irritation at his guest’s lack of punctuality. He smiled benignly at the bored young waitress who sauntered up to ask if she could get him anything, and ordered a cup of coffee. “I’m waiting for my friend,” he explained.

  The waitress looked at him without actually seeing him, which was exactly what Evan Nightshade wanted. These scientist types, he thought inwardly, with well-disguised contempt… Why couldn’t they ever be anywhere on time? This one, for instance, was either late or early! For once, just once… how hard could it be to arrive on time, just once? Even the law of probability decreed that it should be so – surely? After all, he had made every effort to enable his guest to make it on time to this appointment: the restaurant was in Princeton, not five blocks from his lab.

  Evan Nightshade’s uncharitable thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a tall man, muffled to the ears.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Nimrod “Roddy” Maidenlore, PhD, acclaimed in the area of biogenetic research, beamed from the folds of a red and white striped, thick scarf. His hair was the color and texture of straw and appeared to have fought a losing battle with a comb.

  Evan Nightshade rose amiably from his seat and shook the other’s hand vigorously.

  “Oh don’t mention it, Professor. I know how extremely busy you are. Please– please, sit.”

  “I must have lost track of time,” Roddy Maidenlore said shamefacedly. “I don’t know how it happens.” He flung off various articles of outer clothing in a seemingly haphazard manner, and it was with surprise that Nightshade saw that they had all settled tidily upon the back of his seat within seconds. Roddy rubbed his large sensitive hands, still red with cold. “Thanks for coming down all the way from the City–” he began, but was interrupted by the appearance of the laconic waitress, insisting on their lunch order. They spent the next few minutes negotiating the menu.

  Nightshade gave every indication of patience. It would not be he who started the topic they had come to discuss. He did not have to wait long, however, for Roddy Maidenlore’s approach to his work, and life in general, was simple and direct.

  He ran his hand through his hair, causing one large tuft near his temple to stick up with rebellious intent. Nightshade maintained the gentle smile that he had attained through much practice, such that although inwardly fighting the urge to reach out and smooth his companion’s unruly locks, the smile never disintegrated into an unsightly grimace. Nightshade kept his eyes focused on the saltcellar as he listened to Roddy describing in completely incomprehensible language his progress to date… The only thing that got through was the tone. Roddy was clearly not happy with the state of his work.

  Nightshade nodded soothingly. He spread his hands. “What do you suggest?” It was a good question, and one that did not require any input from the inquisitor.

  Roddy paused thoughtfully, looking unseeingly into the middle distance. Finally he shook his head disconsolately. “It all comes down to funding, doesn’t it, Evan?” He sounded quite depressed.

  Nightshade shook his head consolingly. “Is that all?”

  Roddy gave him a suspicious look. “All?”

  “But there’s promise, isn’t there?” Nightshade leaned forward enthusiastically.

  Roddy sat back and pursed his lips. “Hmm… Well, the thing is–” he began and launched into further speech peppered with words Nightshade did not even wish to understand. He waved them away placidly. “Tell me in your own words,” he suggested.

  Roddy looked at him, perplexed. “I am using my own words.”

  “I meant, would you mind putting it in more layman terms so a simple man like me can understand?”

  Roddy sighed. “What you’ve asked me to research is very interesting… fascinating in fact… but it is virtually impossible to… virtually impossible–” he repeated for emphasis. “That’s the problem,” he continued, talking more to himself than to the man sitting across the table.
“If I could see… If I knew what I was looking for…” He looked troubled, and imploring at the same time.

  “You can’t,” Nightshade said with hitherto undisclosed firmness. “For the simple reason that I am not even sure it exists. As I told you, I haven’t seen it either.”

  “Of course you haven’t! You won’t ever see it. But… but… to know that it exists. That would be something…” Roddy turned his head to look out of the window next to the table. There was still a smattering of snow on the ground. Roddy did not see the snow, or the people, or the buildings. Nothing existed for him, except…

  “… the possibility of true invisibility…” he murmured in a faraway voice. “A veil that truly hides… not only from view but the thing itself…an invisibility veil…”

  Nightshade coughed lightly. “The Light Veil,” he said. “We’re calling it the Light Veil. Are you close?”

  “No…I don’t know. There’s promise…” He turned back to face Nightshade. “Such a discovery will be groundbreaking!”

  Nightshade sighed inwardly. He also thought about rolling his eyes as he listened to the same things he had heard a thousand times at least, since the idea had first been introduced! It had been better when the man had spoken gibberish. At least one could hope it was intelligent gibberish…

  “Of course,” he smiled encouragement. “It will be a major achievement.”

  Roddy was lost in the world of his imagination, however, and paid no attention.

  “So you need more money, then?” Nightshade asked briskly.

  Roddy rocked back as if stung. “Er– yes. Without more funding, it will be impossible to continue the research,” he muttered quickly.

  “You shall have it!” Nightshade smiled broadly. He even reached out to pat Roddy encouragingly on the forearm. It was an uneasy gesture and Roddy looked puzzled. The arrival of the foodstuffs, at this moment, momentarily shelved further discussion.

  20

  The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon by the time the fifty-foot sailboat, proudly proclaiming herself to be none other than ‘Her’, came within shouting distance of the Flying Fish. She made her approach on the port side as her occupants, an intrepid couple of middling age, made vociferous and enthusiastic attempts to engage the Flying Fish in conversation.

  I pray they don’t need assistance, Father Griffith thought fervently, casting a sideways glance at Orion who was leaning over the railings to communicate with the couple in the sailboat. How curious, it is, thought the priest, that I can feel such apprehension when I see him thus, while the objects of his attention likely take him for a most charming and knowledgeable sailor… They fear nothing. I fear everything on their behalf. He approached the railing where Orion and Patron stood side by side.

  “Is there anything wrong?” he ventured nervously, addressing the question to Patron.

  “Eh?” She turned to face him. “Speak up, Father. My starboard side’s a bit blocked these days,” she almost bellowed. “And there’s this wind, too. That doesn’t help.”

  “I wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong,” he tried again, more loudly this time, gazing intently at the sailboat.

  “Fair sailing!” bellowed Patron, waving to the two beaming faces on the Her.

  “Hello there, Father! We’ve been admiring your ship,” the female part of the couple called out in a deep contralto.

  “Ah, yes,” Father Griffith managed. “Thank you. So you’re off then?” he shouted back.

  The couple looked at each other. “Sorry?” the man shot back.

  “Sailing away, are you?” Father Griffith screamed, hinting desperately.

  “Sailing, yes, yes,” the woman nodded vigorously, grinning.

  Father Griffith groaned inwardly. Yes, of course you’re sailing, woman! “I mean sailing away–” he explained, making wide gestures with his hands. “Now!” he added with emphasis.

  The woman looked at him with a wounded expression.

  Just go away! He thought. Please, please just go away before the Hunter decides you’ve overstayed your welcome. So far Orion seemed relaxed; unlikely to take aggressive action, but one never knew…

  “I think they’re sailing away,” he said happily.

  “Yes, you scared them off, Father!” Patron laughed. It was a warm sound, almost affectionate. He sighed with relief.

  “I had no idea you could be that rude,” Orion said, smiling at him.

  But Father Griffith was in no mood to humor the Hunter. “I did what I had to,” he replied curtly. “In order to avoid unnecessary … injury. I still can’t believe what you were contemplating doing to that poor couple!”

  “You’d better believe it, Father,” Orion said serenely, gazing after the sailboat. “And we may still have to,” he warned, “if they don’t sail fast enough or in the wrong direction.

  “Or if they decide to follow us again…”

  Father Griffith made the sign of the cross.

  Where am I going, Lord? What is this journey? On this ship… A pirate ship. I haven’t seen any actual evidence of piracy, of aggression… yet. Were I to do so… what would I do in such a situation, Lord? What should I do?

  And Orion? His duty is to Pera…No matter what the cost? No matter.

  Lord, I fear for him. Yes, he thought with surprise, I fear for the Hunter. How is that possible? He is entirely self-contained, completely capable. He knows what is in my mind… in all our minds. He knows what we feel. He knows what we hide and quite possibly what we don’t even know we are hiding. And yet… Lord, he is alone, thought the priest, glancing at the man standing watch by the side of the ship. And he is dangerous, too. A fearsome presence…

  And he believes he is completely alone in his duty.

  I fear… Truly, I fear it may take a great deal to fulfill such duty. I have never set eyes on this place. I had never even heard of it until a few weeks ago, but I know with absolute certainty that Orion will do anything to protect Pera.

  I do not know Shadow. Frankly, Lord, I am dubious as to its existence. But I do know Xavier. Not entirely, but well enough to be convinced after this afternoon, that he did not urge this trip upon us as a frivolous exercise, a mere ‘holiday.’ Was that underhanded of him? Perhaps… but I suspect, as Orion said, that we are free to treat this excursion as a simple holiday. After all, freedom of choice is the LiGa philosophy, and I am sure Xavier would accept our – my – decision, whatever it may be.

  But, Lord, what will we find there? More to the point, what will I find? Will I feel it necessary to act? To intervene?

  Lord, these are strange realities, if such they be…

  I cannot even imagine the choices I may face. How then, can I discern how I must act if and when I am faced with them?

  What should I do?

  Lord, I will need Your Guidance. Now, perhaps, more than ever…

  “You will know when the time comes,” Orion said, walking to the priest’s side. “Don’t worry, Father. You will have all the assistance you need.”

  “God be with you,” said the priest.

  * * *

  Short bursts of cold air blew in through the window he had left partially open. He did not mind, though, for it kept him awake. A hot thermos of sweet black coffee stood to attention next to the table lamp. He took a meditative sip from the mug. The coffee in it was already tepid, but he did not notice. Before him lay the documents he had retrieved from Carl’s office. They had been sorted into neat piles marked with notes. Shady was mostly concerned with the piles he had denoted: ‘personal’, ‘scientific’ and ‘miscellaneous’. He had perused them twice since midnight. Of particular interest was a document that was currently spread out before him. It was a piece of notepaper upon which had been written, in Carl’s familiar, meticulous hand, the following:

  Dragan

  Philippa

  On the next line Carl had scrawled a series of figures and the word ‘Cypress’. The figures, Shady recalled, were the same as the ones that had been
found on Carl on the evening of the death. Coordinates. What did it mean?

  Shady looked at the clock on the table: 5:45. It would be dawn soon. He yawned loudly and rose to stretch his legs. Mr. Leo, who had been lying on his special black and gold cushion on the armchair, raised his head and watched him with steady unblinking amber eyes, ready to spring into action if Shady moved towards the door. Although possessed of an independent mindset, Mr. Leo was a cat that liked to be near his human whenever possible. He was perfectly content to spend the day alone at home or prowling merrily along the busy, cobbled streets of their neighborhood where everyone knew him, but when Shady came home, there was nowhere he would rather be than within eyeshot of his favorite human.

  “What was Carl trying to tell us, Mr. Leo? Hmm?” Shady spoke absently. “Is it time for your breakfast? Well, I’m hungry. Come on, let’s get something to eat–”

  Mr. Leo rose and stretched luxuriantly. He had snaked out of the door as soon as Shady opened it. They padded down the stairs to the front door, to retrieve the morning delivery: a fresh bottle of milk and loaf of bread. As Shady picked up the bottle of milk and paper bag containing the loaf, he noted that the bag was heavier than usual. Having fed an insistent Mr. Leo, Shady turned his attention to the paper bag that now rested innocuously on the kitchen counter. Next to the loaf of bread was a small glass jar.

  Fig preserves. A nice treat, thought Shady. Its appearance was not entirely unusual, for he was used to the occasional edible offering – in gratitude, perhaps, or simply an acknowledgment. All blinders were. And Shady was fond of figs. He had a bit of a sweet tooth, which was why most of the offerings he received tended to come from the confectionary family.

  He reached for the jar, readying to open it, but a niggling suspicion stayed his hand. Indeed, it was probably nothing more than a perfectly innocent gesture of goodwill, but Carl had also not been suspicious when he mixed his cocktail… And the lightberry, all sparkles when mixed with water, was easily disguised, for its flavor – or so he had been told – was light and buttery, and its natural illumination readily dimmed when in contact with the hardier flesh of most fruits.