Watching Merrick’s face being warped had served another purpose. If Mike had harboured any remaining doubts about the reality of the occult powers impinging on his situation, they were quickly dispelled. Merrick could only imagine the rippling contortions of his visage as Albany moved his fingertips over its surface.
Merrick bore the pain with stoicism, but the combined effect of the process and recent events left him drained. He was asleep almost as soon as his head crashed onto Albany’s bed.
The Outcast had to shake him several times to bring him round.
“Fuck it Albany, that was never an hour.”
“No, it was two.”
“Christ.”
“Are you ready to go? I’ve tracked my friend down. He said we should meet up at the martial arts centre in Hackney.”
“Yeah, just give me two seconds while I splash some water on my face.”
Albany had another bike in his garage. They wheeled the one Merrick had stolen into a space at the back.
“No point risking the filth spotting it,” Albany said. “Although, it’s a nicer machine than mine. You’re pillion by the way.”
“I’m not a good passenger. I’ll criticise your technique every minute.”
“Just make sure you lean into the turns,” he said and threw Merrick a helmet.
Mike told them he’d stay at the house. He had a stack of phone calls to make and some online transactions to complete on Merrick’s behalf. Merrick knew he had ways of transferring the contents of his account to an offshore bank without leaving an obvious trail.
“The bonds and shares will take a bit longer, but I can set the wheels in motion.”
“Make sure you subtract your fees. I’ll pay you six months up front.”
“Don’t you worry, I will. When you get back, we need to make plans.”
So they had left him, with the warning to keep all doors locked and to phone immediately if he had any unwelcome company.
Hackney wasn’t too far away. A quick hop onto the A10, shoot off the second slip road and the Centre for Martial Arts was the corner building at the start of a long thoroughfare. Pound shops, ethnic food outlets and multiple mini-marts alternated in haphazard frequency. Albany steered the bike into an underground park and leaned it up in the only vacant spot, placing the pay and display ticket on the windshield.
He grinned at Merrick. “Model citizen—that’s me.”
“So what do you know about this guy?” Merrick’s voice echoed in the underground chamber. He looked around and lowered the volume a notch. “And how can he help us?”
“His name’s Arun Sinahouk. First, he’s got a hard-on for dealing death to the Ukurum—in as painful a manner as possible.”
“So—you thought I hadn’t had my fill of sadists yet?”
“That’s one of his good points. He keeps it in check with copious amounts of Vietnamese snake wine.”
“A sadist and an alcoholic, you’re not exactly winning me over yet.”
“Cut him some slack, you need to see him in action. That’s the second thing he’s got going for him—he’s the world master at Vovinam.”
“What?”
“Vietnamese martial art, involving hand to hand techniques and weapons.”
“Sounds like he could be useful.”
They passed through a fire door, up a flight of stairs and down a short corridor. Merrick fell into step behind Albany.
“Just let me do the talking,” Albany said.
“You got it.”
“And no probing. He’ll spot you a mile off. Remember you’re dealing with a master of the arts. If he thinks you’re messing with his mind he’ll react.”
Albany pushed the gym door open and entered, holding his finger up to his lips. Merrick took the cue and went in after him.
The man in the centre of the room was dressed in black martial arts garb, the jacket tied at the waist. His face, like a bad night, was framed by hair held back in a genie bun. Five dummies surrounded him, mocked up to look like ninjas. With slow, controlled movements, the willow of a man first rotated on the ball of his foot, then gradually raised his leg until it was perpendicular to his torso. His arms formed a sequence of shapes, the spidery fingers separate and articulating as they moved.
“What’s he doing?” Merrick whispered.
“I believe he’s building up to the grand finale. Watch.”
The man held his position like a ballet dancer for several seconds. Merrick wondered how he could maintain the posture without shaking.
What happened next, even in light of Merrick’s increased acceptance of the bizarre, was amazing to behold. Arun spun round like a tornado, his feet connecting with the heads of two dummies as he transferred his weight from one leg to the other. They slammed to the floor and were followed in rapid succession by the remaining three. Merrick couldn’t follow the motion as Arun blurred before his eyes, appearing one moment behind a dummy, and the next facing the front of another. He ended the display by giving a ceremonial bow to the defeated mannequins. One of the torsos had ripped open, spilling sawdust onto the wooden floor.
“Fuck me with a corkscrew,” said Merrick.
With magesterial grace, Arun turned to the two men. “I believe it is they who are fucked.” He nodded at the toppled ring of bodies.
“Show-off,” Albany said
Arun stepped towards them. “Ah, Albany. My recently deceased friend. Death has improved you.”
“You have such a way with words. It’s a shame that age has blunted your prowess to the extent you can only defeat dummies these days.”
“I wish they were the real thing.” Merrick detected the vestige of an oriental accent and noted that Arun’s left eye twitched as he spoke. Without needing to use his third eye, Merrick knew this man was as confident in his abilities as he was eloquent in speech.
“Still as bloodthirsty as ever,” Albany said.
“There’s nothing like the sound of cracking bones and the squealing of a vanquished opponent to bring a smile to this Vietnamese face.” Arun looked over at Merrick. “I see you have acquired a new friend. Is he—”
“An Outcast? I think we could say yes to that one, couldn’t we Merrick?”
“As of about six hours ago, yes. Glad to meet you Mr Sinahouk.”
Arun bowed respectfully. Merrick bowed back, awkwardly as the Vietnamese gave a kind smile at his effort.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” asked Albany.
“Here is as good as anywhere.”
They sat down on some gym mats, Arun crossing his legs while Merrick and Albany leaned against a jumping horse.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” the Vietnamese said.
Albany was grave. “The Ukurum are on the rise.”
A look of distaste crossed Arun’s face. “It was only a matter of time. Has Shamon completed the Great Work yet?”
“He’s moved one step closer. Last night he stole the Archmaenid scroll. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it on the news.”
“Ah, the British Museum heist. There weren’t many details.”
“Yeah, I imagine the authorities are trying to keep as much out of the public domain as possible,” said Merrick.
“Tell me more,” Arun said.
Albany and Merrick told him the events of the last week, leaving no stone unturned. Throughout the discourse, Arun nodded sagely, interrupting only to ask the occasional question of clarification. His eye twitched throughout.
“The conjuncture has happened quicker than the leopard seizing its prey,” he said, once they had finished. “Do you know if your brother and Merrick’s girlfriend still live?”
“We don’t, not for sure. But my guess is he’ll want to hold on to Lotus as some sort of collateral. My brother? I fear he may have outlived his usefulness now Shamon thinks I’m dead.”
“When you are a prisoner of the Ukurum, sometimes death is a welcome release.”
Arun turned and narrowed his eyes.
“You did not tell me that your friend was a Psychonaut.”
“I brought him here for you to assess. I hope you can lend him some of your wisdom.”
“I don’t think that’s the only favour you’re going to ask.”
Albany smiled. “There’s no hiding anything from you is there?”
“You want me to aid you in rescuing your loved ones. That will be a perilous road. As to your third request, that may be beyond my power.”
“I didn’t have another request.”
“Yet it is an inevitable consequence of the second. You cannot simply take something of Shamon’s and expect him to accept it. If we save them, we have to defeat Shamon, or at least deal him a mortal blow.”
Albany sawed the palms of his hands together, pensive. “That’d be too big a favour to ask.”
“What you are asking of me is not a favour, but my bounden duty.”
“So, you’re in?” piped up Merrick.
“I have been as a cedar tree living hidden in the forest. The tornado of events has uprooted me, and in its grip I must become a mighty weapon.”
“I see you’ve been working on your poetry, Arun,” said Albany.
“No, it’s just a bullshit line I picked up from a Bruce Lee film.”
They all laughed.
Arun turned to Merrick. “On a serious note, my friend, you must learn to placate your chi. You cannot hope to suppress it indefinitely by sheer effort. It will destroy you and any in close proximity.”
Merrick looked back at him with hope. “There’s a way?”
“I can teach you the art of Anutpada—becoming without self-substance. It will take many months to perfect, but you will know enough to hold your power in check within a week.”
“You don’t know what a relief that is to hear. I feel like Krakatoa’s about to erupt all the time.”
“We may not have too much time for lessons,” said Albany. “First we have to find where Shamon is holding Lotus and Destain. We’re also going to need a pretty original plan to get them back.”
“We’re also going to need more help,” Arun said.
“I don’t think we can expect much from the Outcasts can we? I mean there are only a handful of us.”
“Within this country, yes.” Arun had a gleam in his eye. “But Shamon has hemorrhaged dissidents the world over. Many more than you would realise, some of which would welcome the chance to skewer him through the ass.”
Albany stood up. “Then let’s kebab the bastard.”
~~~
Chapter 20
A light in the black
Mike looked at the woman sitting opposite him again. She tended to draw the eye, not just because of her clothes. She had something of the Greta Garbo about her, and that French accent was damn sexy. Better watch my thoughts. Merrick said they can read those. He cursed himself for ignoring the creak he’d heard earlier from upstairs. Life behind a desk had robbed him of his battle-trained reflexes and dulled his sensitivities. He felt about as sharp as a rubber dagger. They’d caught him napping, yet, to his puzzlement, refrained from any assault.
For the thousandth time he questioned his involvement in Merrick’s little catastrophe. If the authorities ever got wind that he was aiding and abetting a known felon then the least he could expect was a ruined career. They might even put him behind bars. One thing he hadn’t lost from his years in the army was a sense of loyalty. The team is more important than the individual, he recalled his commanding officer saying. Not quite as corny as all for one etcetera, but in a war zone such epithets took on a verisimilitude.
The woman’s companion was less of an attraction. In fact he’d seen gargoyles more winsome. God, and he’d thought Merrick looked bad after his transformation. The woman had introduced him as Rovach. The guy wore his long, lank hair as a veil, partially obscuring a malformed face. His visible eye stared off at an acute angle and Mike had to stifle the urge to look over his own shoulder at the invisible attraction.
“So, I guess this is what they call an awkward silence,” he said.
“Better to hold one’s tongue and let the world think you a fool, than open your mouth and have the matter proved beyond a doubt.” Celestia delivered her proverb without a trace of a smile.
“That’s me told,” he replied. “Just trying to pass the time. Are you sure you can’t give me any detail about what you want to tell Merrick?”
“Pardonne-nous,” Celestia said, “but we have learned in the last few hours not to trust anyone. What we have to say is for his ears. All I can tell you is that we no longer hold allegiance to the Hierophants.”
Mike gave her a skeptical look and poured himself another slug of whisky. “Well, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. You say you can detect hostile presences?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
“Then keep your antennae bristling.”
With that, he left them and resumed his on-line chicanery. He used Merrick’s phone to access the usernames and passwords. He’d switched off the data roaming and GPS functions, which closed down Merrick’s digital signature.
He’ll still have to lose the phone though.
Mike may have had his combat skills eroded but he hadn’t lost his touch in the world of the web. He was using a program developed to mask the IP address on his laptop and scramble the data sent out to Merrick’s secure accounts. To his relief, the police hadn’t seized his assets yet. It was short work to set up separate accounts on the Bahamas and Cayman Islands and transfer Merrick’s assets accordingly.
After completing the transactions he thought about the uninvited guests again. The woman matched Merrick’s description of the one called Celestia but could he be certain? He consoled himself with the certainty that if they were allied to either of the Syncretic Orders, then he would’ve been brown bread by now.
~~~
On his return to the house, Merrick was about as mad at Mike’s vigilance lapse as he thought he would be.
“Call yourself a security expert? You’re as much use as a chocolate teapot.” Merrick walked forward, stopping in front of him. “Now the Hierophants know where we are they’ll be hauling us back in.”
“Now hold your horses mate I—“
“If I could interrupt mes amis,” Celestia said. “Mike couldn’t have stopped us even if he’d installed Fort Knox security. If anyone here is a security lapse, it’s you.”
“How do you figure that?” Merrick asked, his voice like a scythe.
“Lazlo sent us to find you. Believe me, with your pineal radiating energy like it is, it didn’t take long. The cloak I’ve placed over this house is the only reason he’ll be unable to locate you. It’s immaterial anyway. Rovach and I are no longer allied with the Hierophants.”
“What, you’ve defected?”
Celestia ran her fingers through her hair. “We had what you call a fair and frank exchange of views. Lazlo has changed during the years I’ve been away from these shores. Malheureusement, it is not for the better.”
Albany sensed her conflict. “Why don’t we all sit down? We all need to cool it a bit, I think.”
After some brief introductions, Albany sorted drinks. Most took coffee. Mike continued with the whisky.
Feeling calmer, Merrick continued questioning Celestia. “You say Lazlo has changed. Maybe you ought to tell us what his angle is.”
Celestia sighed. “He has run Hierophant affairs for some time now. He gained accession as Grand Master after a campaign of intensive diplomacy, together with the support of others who recognised his extraordinary leadership skills. You see, he is a master of persuasion. He wins people over with ease, and you can’t tell whether it’s the force of his arguments or the subtlety of his magick.”
“I’ve experienc
ed that first hand,” Merrick said.
“Actually, he found you frustrating. You’re the only one ever to raise a formidable resistance to his will.”
“Yet, as you can see, I came round to his way of thinking in the end.”
“Oui, but the Ukurum’s actions have caused him to act in a reckless manner, stepping over lines he would not have crossed in the past.”
“And I have experienced that first hand,” Albany said.
“I did not approve of the way he treated you,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “But there was also the subterfuge over his use of the Simiatan. He made out it was Merrick’s mistake, opening the gateway, yet it was his plan all along.”
“It looks like he’s used me at every step,” Merrick said.
“The Lazlo I used to know would not have acted so. We always worked together. That was the Syncretics’ strength. But that is not all. When he revealed his intentions for you once you were retrieved, I balked.”
Merrick slid his chair closer. “What exactly did he plan?”
Celestia sighed. “He was intent on tapping your energy so he could open the gateways himself. If you didn’t do it willingly, he was prepared to use products from his laboratory.”
“Like the mad honey?”
“That is not the only potion in his pharmacy. He has developed drugs that enslave the mind as well as liberate it. Once he told me his plans I knew he was embarking on a course I could not follow.”
“I can’t believe he let you just walk away.”
As if in answer, Celestia relaxed her mental guard. Merrick saw the gesture for what it was— an offering of trust. He was tempted to enter the inner sanctum of her mind, but he refrained. The offer was all he needed. She was telling the truth.
“It’s enough,” he said finally, after the unspoken exchange.
“Merci. I told Lazlo I needed to think, but after our meeting I approached Rovach here. He’s an illusionist, and secreted us out of Paraganet House .”
“You know there’s no turning back, now you are an Outcast?” Arun had listened to the discussion unfold, but spoke up now.
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