by Paul Heron
Chapter Eight
THE THUNDEROUS DOWNPOUR made it hard for them to see. Sofia flung open the umbrella and stretched out her arm to hold it above Michael’s head, too. The raindrops created a soothing rhythm, almost feeling like they were in their own world under the black canopy.
‘So, you’ve had this connection with Elisabetta all your life?’ Sofia said. She laughed. ‘I can’t believe we’re just talking about her as if it’s normal.’
‘It’s really strange,’ Michael agreed, straightening the umbrella to keep it under his head, too. ‘I’ve been hearing her voice all my life, a whisper that warns me when I’m approaching danger. Until today, I’d never heard of Elisabetta Sirani. That in itself proves there’s a lot about Irish mythology that even the Irish people don’t know. I’ve studied the topic for as long as I can remember.’
The wind snapped the umbrella inside out, breaking it’s flimsy metal spokes. A crack of thunder caused the ground to shake. A blue flash lit up the sky. They took shelter under an Oak.
‘Let’s wait here until this eases off. I’m soaked through,’ Sofia said.
‘This bloody weather.’
She used a tissue to wipe rain drops from her face.
‘Can I?’ Michael gestured towards the tissues, shaking drops of rain from his hair.
She handed him the packet, focusing on drying her eyes, making sure mascara hadn’t trickled down her cheeks.
Michael took his jacket off and placed it on the ground. They sat on it, against the Oak’s trunk, legs out in front of them glaring at the sky. Another roar of thunder cut through the air. Michael noticed a dark shadow in the clouds, shaped like a ramping horse. He tilted his and continued to stare at it. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing at it. The image appeared and disappeared with every flash of lightening.
‘If a face appears up there, I’m out of here.’ Sofia half joked. Another crack came. ‘The rain’s still coming through, we can’t wait here for long.’ She looked directly up, her eyes tiny slits.
‘So, you knew there was something different about you all along?’
‘I’ve always known I could read fast. I could always soak up information and be able to memorise it all. I knew it wasn’t normal, but I kept it to myself.’ She laughed. ‘And of course, I used it to my advantage. But it wasn’t until a year or two ago when I was at the airport I realised I could understand foreign languages without even studying them. That really scared the life out of me!’
‘I remember practicing my shots on the school football pitch one time. I kicked the ball so far I’d lost sight of it after a while, it just stayed in the air until it left the stadium and landed, god knows where. Or should I say gods and goddesses knows!’
‘What’s with the scar?’ Sofia gestured to a line on the back of his head.
Michael caressed it, and stumbled over his words for a second. ‘A group of bullies who used to follow me home from school. They beat me up one time and I woke up in hospital.’ He caressed the scar again. ‘I remember Elisabetta telling me to run.’
‘And did you run?’
He shook his head and grinned.
‘Did you not just lift one of them and throw them into space?’ She teased.
‘I would have loved to, but my gifts only ever worked when I was on my own.’
‘Do you think you could rip this tree out of the ground?’ Sofia began to sound eager to see what he could do.
‘I think so,’ Michael said, trying to remain cool.
‘Go for it!’ Sofia shouted, her eyes wide.
‘Why wreck the poor tree?’ Michael said. ‘Lets wait until we meet one of these Fomorians and then I’ll try.’
‘But wouldn’t you rather be sure?’ She said. ‘Wait, look,’ she stood up, ‘look at that rock over there, try throwing that.’
Michael felt the peer pressure of youth come back to him again.
‘Go on,’ she said.
He stood up and looked at the rock. It must have been close to the size of a washing machine. As he approached it, from the ground it came all the way up to his waist.
‘Go on.’ Sofia shouted.
He turned and looked at her. She was watching him, encouragingly.
He turned to face it. Rubbing his hands together, he bent down. With his arms spread as far wide as possible, he gripped the sides of the rock. Half afraid he was going to break his back, he held his breath.
‘Hurry up, the shop will be closing soon.’
He pressed his hands into the rock and squatted up, taking the rock with him. It felt like a paperweight. He lifted it above his head, feeling triumphant. Sofia cheered and whistled as if being his one and only fan club. She shouted for him to throw it. He threw it fifty yards, not realising the damage he was going to do to the grass. The ground shook from the impact, and the rock buried the bottom half of itself in the grass.
‘Very good, Hercules!’ Sofia teased. ‘Or who’s the Irish version of Hercules?’
‘Eduardo!’
They both erupted into a fit of laughter.
‘There’s the coffee shop. See, past that church,’ Michael said.
‘I know it. I’ve been there many times before.’
They proceeded towards Old Tiles, a cosy little family-owned coffee shop just past the Bank of England and facing the chapel.
The village felt like it was closed off from the rest of the world. It was small and quiet. It’s high street had a bank, a church and a few shops, including the book shop, which was closed. Tree lined mountain edges circled the village, running high into the sky. It was almost as if they were inside a huge volcano.
Inside, Michael didn’t feel any different: a seventeen year old who was coming eighteen in a couple of weeks. But the rest of the world would think he was an adult, thanks to the charm Elisabetta had placed on them all. They were all wearing the best disguises ever.
Entering Old Tiles, they had their first interaction with the world.
They both approached the counter.
‘Hi, you guys here on work?’ a lady asked, recognising the elegant dress code.
Michael looked at Sofia.
She looked back at him, shaking her head, not sure what to say.
Michael replied for both. ‘Yeah. We...we work in art. We’re here to visit La Sirani. We’re meeting with the Sirani family for dinner. We’re a bit early so just came in for a coffee.’
‘Oh, yeah, that gallery is beautiful, isn’t it? Just the gardens alone are amazing. But I gotta be honest with you...’ she leaned towards them and, as if catching herself, pulled herself back again.
‘What?’ Michael said.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied, waving her hand across her face.
‘No, go on?’ If Sofia’s tone didn’t push the lady to say something, her defensive body language would have.
‘It’s just, there’s been a lot happening around that place. The locals talk about strange things going on. Stuff out of the ordinary.’ The lady looked over her shoulder towards the kitchen. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it when you meet with the family. I’m Martina. Welcome to Little Camberly. Grab a seat and I’ll be over in a second.’
‘Thanks,’ Michael smiled.
‘Bloody gossips. People need to get a life.’ Sofia said. She looked at Michael. ‘Here to meet the Sirani family? Bravo!’
‘What would you like? I’m paying. Hold on.’ Michael reached into his jacket pocket and found a bundle of twenty pound notes. ‘Yes, I’m definitely paying. Thank you, Elisabetta! Guess having the god’s on our side means we won’t need to get real jobs.’
Sofia laughed.
While they scanned the menu, Martina came over to take their order. She seemed to have developed a weird stutter.
‘An espresso and a glass of water, please,’ Sofia said sharply.
‘Sorry, love. You won’t believe me, but we’ve actually ran out of coffee. We have tea?’
She tutted. ‘Tea’s okay. Thanks.’
‘I’ll h
ave the same,’ Michael said. ‘And two scones, please. With strawberry jam.’
‘And clotted cream, Love?’ Martina asked. Her eyes began to flicker, as if she was trying to get dirt out of them both.
‘Why not.’
She grabbed the menus and walked away from them with this weird twitch.
They both watched as she walked away.
‘That’s weird.’ Michael said.
‘If she’s a Fomorian, I’m having that one.’ Sofia kept her eyes on Martina. Following her all the way back to the counter.
Michael’s phone rang.
‘It’s Carolina.’ He looked at Sofia who was glaring around the shop, perhaps for the local gossips. ‘Carolina?’
‘Michael, we went to the restaurant beside the supermarket. A lot of people were talking about weird stuff happening at the gallery. We also heard a story about some Irish politician’s being rushed to hospital. Marcel and I have thought about, you know, god why’s it so hard to say,’ Carolina cleared her throat. ‘Guess it’s true, the people running the world have gotten themselves into a bit of a mess.’
‘I think I’m out of surprises for today.’ Michael said, still watching Sofia who was diligently eyeballing the rest of the shop.
‘We’ll see you back at the halls in an hour or so.’
Chapter Nine
MICHAEL HUNG UP, AND checked the BBC News. Carolina was right. The two most senior leaders in Northern Ireland had been rushed to a local hospital in Belfast. Projectile vomiting had caused onlookers to be turned off their lunches at Stormont. Michael didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
‘What is it?’ Sofia asked. She was looking at Michael, fully immersed in his phone.
When he didn’t respond, she took out her phone and played with it too.
He finally responded. ‘Well, according to this, the Deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland, Oisin McLaughlin has joined First Minister Alan McWatters on an ambulance ride to the hospital. Apparently they’re very sick. I’d bet this fancy pendant I’m wearing that this Mancini group has poisoned them.’ He looked at the waitress, Martina. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
As the shop’s staff began to close down for the day, a different waitress from Martina started cleaning. She gawked at Sofia, then at Michael. As she ran the mop across the floor, she moved closer to them, despite them being seated at the busy end of the shop. Common sense told them that she should start cleaning the empty section of the shop first, then wait for the rest of the customers to clear out. That raised their suspicions. Was she eavesdropping? And why was he able to notice inaccuracies like this? He wondered. Why was he so observant? Noticing little details like the amount of people were in the shop, the location of the nearest emergency exit. Why was he able to think up an excuse for them being there so quickly on the spot? Perhaps his mind had been reconditioned to be razor sharp when potential threats were around. If Elisabetta was correct, and this Mancini group was so powerful, then it would be extremely difficult for the seven to do what they’d been assigned to do. They’d need to be something out of the ordinary. Perhaps they’d be remembered as seven new gods of mythology. Why couldn’t the old gods of the Tuatha da Danann just come back?
Everyone’s attention was drawn to the sixty-inch plasma behind the counter. The evening news was on.
Michael wanted to take a closer look. His phone rang. ‘Hello?’
‘Michael, it’s Ajit.’ Ajit’s voice was trembling. ‘We need to talk. Now.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Have you seen the news? Is that why you’re calling?’ Michael asked.
‘The news?’
‘Are you not watching it, or have you not heard it? Politicians being violently sick,’ Michael laughed. ‘I’m watching it now, first problems in Ireland which is not out of the ordinary. But now, a journalist for BBC News is rambling on about twenty-three of the world leaders who attended a UN meeting have been taken to hospitals in their countries. They think it’s been poison, and now the blame game is about to begin.’ Michael spoke as if doing a mock commentary for what he was seeing on the TV.
‘Eduardo. No...’ Ajit shouted. The line went dead.
Michael looked at his phone, no signal. He thought the network must have been down. Then he noticed the TV had lost it's signal. The background speakers that played the radio went silent too, leaving nothing but the mumbles of the customers and the clatter of dishes being washed in the kitchen.
This is weird.
Just as he turned to look at Sofia, the shop’s radio and TV came back on.
Ajit called back.
‘What happened?’
‘Michael, we’ve found something very important. More important than the news.’
With the TV blaring again, and chatter coming from all around him, Michael struggled to hear Ajit. ‘Speak up, I can’t hear you.’
‘Get your asses here, now!’ Ajit screamed.
Michael looked up at Sofia, still planted down at their table, looking like she was in another place; he noticed the waitress studying her. Sofia seemed oblivious.
‘We’re on our way.’ Michael made his way back to the table.
Sofia was gazing at her phone, her expression serious, as if deep in concentration.
‘Are you okay?’
She leaned across the desk closer to him. ‘I don’t like the look of that lady mopping the floor, she keeps looking over. I haven’t allowed her to realise I know, but I know. I’m thinking they’re definately part of Mancini Corporation.’
Michael looked around. ‘Yeah, I noticed her, too.’
‘Who was that on the phone?’
‘Ajit. They’ve something we should see. They want us to go back now, like, immediately.’
Michael looked out the window. Raindrops the size of marbles were pelting off the window.
‘I hate this stupid weather. Can any of us control the weather, or anything practical?’ Sofia said, staring over at the waitress.
‘I’ll call Ringo.’
Michael made the call. With the phone glued to his ear, he scanned the shop. In his paranoid state, anyone or everyone could be on to them. What did he really know about the Mancini Corporation? Only that they were everywhere.
‘Ringo!’
‘Michael!’ Ringo bellowed, the roar of the car’s engine in the background. ‘You’re going to have to shout, pal!’
‘Can Sofia and I have a lift? We need to get back to the University. We’re at Old Tiles.’
‘See you in a few minutes!’
Michael hung up and looked at Sofia. ‘Lets go.’ He got up and led the way out of the shop. Martina made a point to wish them a lovely afternoon.
Sofia smiled at her falsely. ‘Bloody gossip!’
A smoking hut just off the road offered them shelter.
One minute later, Ringo pulled up outside the shop, attracting more attention than necessary in his supercar. ‘Let’s go!’ he shouted, folding down the passenger seat so Sofia could climb into the back seat. The Maserati sped off.
Zipping along the Little Camberly Road, a tree lined country lane outside the village, both Michael and Sofia received text messages from Ajit. He and Eduardo were frantic, telling them to get back to the halls, as a first priority.
Michael’s stomach churned. Perhaps contacting his dad had caused something to happen. After the day he’d had, nothing was beyond the realms of possibility.
Another message came.
This time it wasn’t Ajit, but an unknown number.
Michael. My name is Ahmad, the message read, please don’t be alarmed by this text. I know about Elisabetta and everything else. I’d like to help. We need to meet up. Where are you now?
Michael’s stomach started doing cartwheels. His dad’s message...
Chapter Ten
THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO knew about them were George, Scarlett and Ringo. So as fast as he could, Michael called the man who’d brought them to Elisabetta. He answered after the first ring. ‘George?’
‘I’ve just received a text message from someone called Ahmad. He said he knows about what happened today. But didn’t say how he knew. I’ve never met anyone called Ahmad.’ He looked at Sofia, his eyes darting from one thing to the next, unable to focus on anything.
‘Ahmad's just walked into the gallery. Hamish is giving him the usual full search as we speak.’ George sounded amused, certainly not as concerned as Michael. ‘He’ll be paying you a visit at the student halls soon.’ George hung up.
Michael felt his tense muscles loosen up, but not fully.
They rolled into the student halls’ empty carpark. Even the security guard’s hut was in darkness. The place was empty, lifeless, which done nothing but add to the constant feeling that they were walking into a trap.
Stepping out of the car, they could hear Eduardo shout. His voice was carried from the only lit room in the building. They entered the dark foyer. The automatic lights came on and they took the lift up. The lift’s door opened on the first floor, the sound of Eduardo and Ajit arguing was all they could hear.
‘We need to call the police!’ Ajit shouted.
‘Don’t be stupid. They control the police! Don’t forget what that creepy lady with the weird horse said,’ Eduardo shouted. ‘We need to wait for Michael, he’s the one she left in charge of this, thank god I’m not the one in charge!’
‘Creepy lady? Weird horse?’ Sofia said as they entered Ajit’s bedroom. Incense was burning on the window ledge and on the desk beside a lavalamp, but the therapeautic atmosphere usually resulting from such practices was non existent.’
‘Sofia, Michael!’ Ajit’s tone lowered to a hissed whisper, trying to prevent their argument being picked up by stray ears. ‘Close the door.’