“Did he accept?”
“He did not want to answer straight away.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted time to think, and so I have placed him in Dispersal again to give him some. He is a challenging youth. He is intelligent and forthright, if a little prone to unnecessary bouts of humour. I am hoping that he will make the right decision, but did not wish to rush him.”
D’Scover walked the darkened corridors of the hospice with Sister Goodman, pausing occasionally to peer in through the glass panes into rooms where their occupants slept, watched over by slowly wilting flowers.
“Is he here?” she asked.
D’Scover shook his head. “I have reallocated him; he is linked to my office now.”
Sister Goodman looked worried. “Is that wise?” she asked. “He hasn’t yet agreed and it may not be possible to reallocate again. He could be tied to your office indefinitely. If he does not agree, then there is a chance . . .”
“Please do not presume to tell me what it could mean. I am well aware of the possible long-term problems,” D’Scover interrupted. “He will join, that much I know for sure.”
“Toby D’Scover!” the sister snapped, visibly crackling with violet sparks. “If you continue to treat me as though I am some fresh spirit still warm from her deathbed, I shall consider our friendship to be over,” she scolded. “I am not sure that you are thinking objectively here. Are you honestly able to say that you are treating this boy just as you would treat any new spirit?”
D’Scover sighed and looked down into the stern face of the short stocky woman.
“No,” he answered, “I cannot honestly say that I have dealt with him as I have treated others. But with the rise of spirit activity and disturbances, I fear that our time may be short.”
“I can understand that, but to leap to an assumption that he is the child of the Vision could be disastrous,” she warned. “If you are wrong again, the consequences could be dire, for both you and the Brotherhood.”
“I am aware of this, but I cannot let this boy slip through our fingers,” he replied. “If the time is right, so be it, but if not, then I alone shall bear the consequences.”
“Indeed,” Sister Goodman said. “I strongly advise you to take it to the Senior Council; after all, they should not discover this from a third party.”
D’Scover rounded on her. “You will inform them?”
“I am still an Attendant,” she reminded him. “I may not have a choice.”
He turned away and began to walk away up the corridor. “You have made your intentions clear,” he muttered. “I am returning to my office.”
“Do not dare walk away from me, D’Scover!” she snapped. “Do not make me pull rank on you, Toby.” Her voice dropped to a softer tone that hung heavy with a faintly veiled threat.
He stopped and turned back towards her. “I am sorry,” he said. “On occasion I forget your senior status.”
“Easily done, and no offence is taken.” She smiled at him as he walked back towards her. She slipped her arm through his and guided him back along the corridor.
“Now,” she said cheerfully, “you have not told me if you consulted the Texts. I trust you did as I asked?” He nodded.
“And?”
“As I suspected, there is no precedent for a non-aggressive Trial. The last Demon Trial was in 1812 on the battlefields of Russia during the war with France – easy to hide a body amongst so many and those were more superstitious times anyway. Nothing was thought of sightings of the unusual; angels and demons were commonplace on the battlefield,” he answered.
“Who undertook the Trial?”
“A girl, Elizabeth Rossingdale. She took on Barbatos,” he said, looking away from her and sadly shaking his head. “I put her forward; it was a mistake.”
“Ah, the Duke, he does love a battlefield, if I recall. Did he seize a legion or bring one of his own?”
“He took one. A major fell in battle and he seized command of the men, driving them on against hopeless odds. It was a French legion and they were outnumbered ten to one, but still he forced them on. The carnage was terrible and this alerted the Brotherhood and Rossingdale was sent.”
“I remember the event, it was a tragedy,” Sister Goodman said, patting his arm in empathy.
“She was destroyed,” D’Scover said sadly, “and the Brotherhood had to step in; all of the soldiers were lost too. All that could be done was to contain the threat and wait until Barbatos lost interest and retreated. There were nearly two hundred lives lost because of that Trial. I will initiate the boy into the Brotherhood, but I will not rush to put him through. I am not prepared to take that chance again. I need more time,” D’Scover said firmly.
“What of the Vision; does it describe him clearly?” she asked.
“I appreciate your concern, but I cannot tell you any more than you already know about the Vision,” he replied. “And you know that.”
“Very well.” She frowned. “I only wanted to help. Have any other parts of it been fulfilled?”
“Not specifically,” D’Scover said, “but there are other signs attached that have taken place, the rise in spirit activity being the most obvious one. There is also another child.”
“Which other child?” Sister Goodman asked. “Are you dismissing this boy now?”
“No. This other child seems to be connected with the Brotherhood, although she may be aware of this. I have seen her in the Texts, and had never noticed her before, but it has been over a decade since I consulted them. It is too great a coincidence, and she appeared in Adam’s Hypnagogia.”
“It is an unlikely coincidence, but it could still be one,” Sister Goodman said, “or your influence placed her in what he saw. In any case she must be long dead and, if so, it would be virtually impossible to find her spirit.”
“It could be that her fate is to be linked to the Brotherhood,” D’Scover explained. “The information in the Texts and the Hypnagogia represented distinctly different periods of time. It is possible that her spirit is not affected by death.”
“I do not understand,” she frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Her spirit may still be carried by a living person.”
“That is hardly likely,” the sister said. “And even if it was true, it could take for ever to find her.”
“Not if it is my purpose to find her,” D’Scover said.
“Oh, Toby.” Sister Goodman sighed. “Such an old-fashioned idea! Nobody still believes that surely?”
“It does not require your belief to ensure that it is true,” he said. “If it is meant to happen, it will happen. In the mean time, I will continue to train the boy in case a Trial is deemed necessary.”
“And we shall all pray that it does not turn out like Rossingdale’s, or indeed like a certain Trial of 1666.”
“Thank you for reminding me of my previous errors,” D’Scover said with some disdain. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes.” She smiled again and flicked a hand towards the large windows, which slid open a crack. “Fresh air, that is better. I shall leave you to your work. I cannot force you to inform the Senior Council, but it will have to be soon.”
“We shall see,” he replied.
“In the long run that decision may not be yours to make, Toby,” she said ominously.
“How was your Dispersal?”
“Relaxing, and you were right, I had time to think,” Adam replied. “It’s a strange feeling this Dispersal thing. Bit like being awake and still asleep at the same time – kind of alert but drifting around; it’s hard to explain.”
“That is because you have never known anything like it and so you have nothing to compare it to,” D’Scover replied. “I am sure that you have had time to think of some questions that you would like to ask. Shall we sit?”
Adam nodded and walked past D’Scover to take a seat on the couch once more.
“As long as you don’t do that zombie-hypno thing again,” he said. “Still can’t shake the image of all that death after the last time; it was like being in the most intense game.”
“Straight questions, straight answers, I assure you.” D’Scover replied, taking his seat too.
“OK – right.” Adam leaned forward and stared at D’Scover. “Why me?”
“Sorry?” D’Scover was taken aback. He had not expected this question; most who were offered a place in the Brotherhood just assumed that it was a natural progression for spirits in this situation, but it had been a long time since there had been a new recruit.
“Why are you asking me to join the Brotherhood?” Adam pursued the answer. “I mean, thousands of people, millions even, die all the time. So why me?”
D’Scover took a deep breath before continuing, not that it helped as it had been a very long time since he had actually needed air, but old habits die hard.
“Few spirits are suitable for recruitment. Most pass straight on, others have no skills that would be useful for the Brotherhood and still more are in a permanent state of confusion. You showed signs of sensitivity before you passed over and you have maintained a clear consciousness throughout; these are classic traits of an agent of the Brotherhood.”
“Sensitivity? What do you mean by that?”
“Have you ever seen a ghost?” D’Scover asked.
“You mean apart from you?”
“Please try not to be sarcastic,” he chided.
Adam thought for a while before shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “I’m sure I haven’t seen anything weird before all this started.”
“On the contrary,” D’Scover explained, “I am convinced you have seen dozens of spirits. Your sensitivity is so strong that you see them and you are not even aware of it. Do you remember an older female nurse at the hospital?”
Adam wrinkled his forehead as he cast his mind back. “I think I remember her,” he said. “Don’t tell me she was one of your agents?”
“In a manner of speaking.” D’Scover said blandly.
“OK, so I suppose I could’ve seen more and not realised they were ghosts and you might want me because I can see them like you. Right – next question. How many agents are there?”
D’Scover swivelled his chair round to face the screen and called up the world map and then brought up the agents’ locations over it. A mass of glittering yellow instantly covered the world in a startling rash of colour.
“Over two thousand,” he said. “The number remains fairly static as some choose to take the Final Dispersal whilst others are recruited. We try not to accumulate too many, and so most agents serve for a set period of time. We do not recruit lightly; for example, we have not recruited anyone in London for nearly thirty years.”
“Final Dispersal!” Adam shuddered. “Is that as bad as it sounds?”
“Its meaning is clear,” D’Scover said. “Agents Disperse for the final time and do not re-form.”
“Yeah, bad as it sounds then.” Adam was fascinated by the seething yellow dots on the screen. “How long do agents serve?”
“That depends on the circumstances, but most serve for around a hundred years.” D’Scover said.
“So some stay longer?”
“Some, yes.”
“How long have you been in the Brotherhood?” Adam asked.
D’Scover flicked the screen back off and stood up, striding towards a cabinet in the corner.
“It is not considered polite to ask an agent how long they have served,” he said, opening the cabinet and removing one of the small black boxes.
Turning back to Adam, he tossed the CC across the room and Adam deftly caught it.
“What’s this?”
“It is a device that we call a CC – a Communication Cube. You can use it to contact the Brotherhood.”
“I haven’t decided to join yet.” He slipped the cube into his pocket.
“Yes, you have,” D’Scover said softly.
“Smart alec.” Adam grinned. “I have kind of decided. I mean, what’s the alternative?”
“Is that a genuine question?” D’Scover asked.
“Yeah, I suppose it is actually. What would happen if I chose not to join? What comes after this?” He gestured around the room.
D’Scover turned back to the screen before answering.
“It is not our place to question what comes after; we are simply here to assist those who have difficulty in achieving the Passing.” His reply was eerily enigmatic.
“That’s a really bad answer, and way too creepy; you should work on that,” Adam said. “What happens after this? Where do we go when we pass over?”
D’Scover stood up and pushed his chair neatly back into place behind the desk. He walked slowly to the windows and looked out over the dark city, avoiding eye contact with the boy.
“That depends on what you believe in.”
Adam shifted on the couch so that he could see D’Scover’s back; his suit made a blank canvas of deep blue in front of the windows.
“Hold on,” he said, “so you’re saying that you go wherever you believed you’d go?”
“That is the assumption of the Brotherhood,” D’Scover said. “I have little time for the fashions of organised religions, the complexity of faiths. They shift and change over the centuries to suit worshippers. Mankind has created many gods to suit itself. I am interested only in the strength and power of belief, regardless of the empty doctrines in which it hides.”
“What if you don’t believe in anything?” Adam asked.
“Everyone believes in something, even if they do not consciously acknowledge it. Most people simply cease to be. They die and that is it – over.”
“That’s harsh,” Adam mused. “Hold on, what if you were so evil that you knew for sure that you were going to hell, or whatever your religion believes is hell? Wouldn’t some people want to resist going at all and just fight the whole thing?”
“This is another reason for the existence of the Brotherhood,” D’Scover replied softly. “To deal with those who may be . . . unwilling to let go.”
Adam shivered at the idea, and characteristically shrugged it off, looking around the room.
“Do you work here alone?” he asked. “Is this where everything is done?”
D’Scover visibly relaxed at the change of subject. “No. There are a number of offices like this around the world and ultimately I report to the Senior Council. But this is the most established office – it was the first. It has moved only a short distance since it was first created. I have been on the banks of the river for longer than I care to recount. This is Section One.”
D’Scover waved his hand and the lighting level rose in the room. “The Brotherhood has clear and established rules for how we should operate; these form our Articles and you will have to learn them. All agents are under the control of the Senior Council. The Council rests in stasis, a kind of semi-permanent Dispersal, but are aware of everything that happens that would concern the Brotherhood. On rare occasions they are summoned but, as far as I am aware, it has not happened for over twenty years. Usually they summon whomsoever they wish to speak to. The Council is kept well informed by its Attendants.”
“Are you an Attendant?”
“No,” D’Scover answered curtly and he looked uncomfortable. “Attendants are all former Council members. There are not a great number of them; in fact there are only two in the whole of London. All Attendants are attached to cities where there were once pre-Dissolution monastic houses or physical links to them. The great cathedral cities around the country all have Attendants bound to them.”
“They get kicked out of the Council? That means the Council changes members too?”
“They are not kicked out as you put it; they retire. The Council has undergone necessary changes since it was first established as some members have resigned to take their places as agents once more, and others have been asked to leave for various reasons, but the current assembly has been in place for almost two centuries. I have been assured that it is not an easy job being on the Council.”
“Don’t you want to do it? Isn’t it like a promotion?” Adam queried.
“I have never been asked . . . I . . .” D’Scover faltered and turned away. “There are complicated reasons for me not being called to service.”
Adam looked down at his hands and wiggled his fingers, feeling awkward at the change in mood that had swept through the room; a change of subject was needed.
“Why do I look so solid if I’m a ghost?”
“You do not,” D’Scover replied briskly, the atmosphere lifting. “You only look solid at this moment because this room is bolstered by my presence. Until you have perfected your own Ritual of Sustainment you need a full agent to assist you. I am boosting your substance so that you can remain this cohesive. If I removed my influence, you would see how little substance you actually have.”
“Really, can I see?”
D’Scover turned towards Adam and, holding his hands outstretched with the palms upwards, he made a beckoning movement and the light in the room momentarily dipped. Adam gasped and reeled back in his seat, grabbing at the cushions, as the room seemed to fade from view.
“I can’t see properly any more,” Adam gasped. “Everything has faded . . . hey, I’ve faded too!”
“I have allowed us to slip into the World Between,” D’Scover said. “This is the realm between life and death. This is where you would remain without the Brotherhood, and this is what happens to those who cannot pass over successfully. This is not a safe place.”
Adam stood up and staggered as a great weakness overtook him. Abject terror gripped him as he looked down at his hands, curling his fingers into his palms as each one crumbled to a fine grey powder peppered with blood-red fragments. He lifted them in front of his face and the dust trailed in the air. Around him the office walls had become colourless and they shifted shape as he watched; they appeared to bend and flex, enveloped in a bleached vapour. All that remained of the room that he remembered were the paintings and porcelain bowls that still seemed to hold their vibrant colours in this veiled new world.
Adam spun round in the bloodied mist to face D’Scover and he could see the terror in the boy’s eyes. He had seen this look many times in new recruits. He knew that he could offer no comfort, only explanation.
“This office has been constructed to remain outside the linear passage of time and so I can just as easily see the tenth century as the twenty-first. This site was the first official office of the Brotherhood, but it goes back much further than that. There has been a growth in this place for over a thousand years. The Romans first built here, close to the river, and every group of inhabitants since has carried on adding to the city.
“Due to the great age of this place, and the number of people who have entered the Passing here, buildings have trouble holding shape in this realm. It is why the walls do not seem firm any more. They are brick and glass just as any other building, but the spirits here have a greater influence than any modern building materials. I have maintained the floor for you, as it can be too disconcerting to suddenly be twenty floors up in the air. Here, with practice, we can slip between the leaves of time and look at the city as it once was and, so the ancient Texts say, even as it will be.”
Adam walked to the faint illusion of the window and looked down on the city. Pale memories of towering office blocks drifted in and out of focus over a tumbling mass of buildings from all of the ages of the city. Wooden structures spanned the slithering river for fractions of seconds and, as he watched, he saw a ripple of fire lick the heart of the city and vanish.
“I would advise you not to look for too long,” D’Scover said. “It takes a lot more practice to handle the city in this state. Any city that has a long and bloodstained history heaves in and out of this state of flux. London is in constant struggle to stay out of this realm. Occasionally a sensitive person can see the rift in ancient places like this and they see a pocket of, say, the sixteenth century in somewhere like Versailles or Rome. Roman cities often hold troubled times, memories of conquest and siege, which is why soldiers are often seen there.”
“Who controls this world?”
“An excellent question,” D’Scover replied. “Here no one is master, and the Senior Council would have us believe that this realm is beyond control as the past has already been played out. It is rather like a filmed image: you cannot change what has already happened. However, there is a theory that the right spirit could influence the past and change the future and so this realm is occasionally patrolled by agents to check that nothing is changing. Another reason for our existence – this place is riddled with malevolence and danger.”
“I can’t see any danger . . . Are you . . .” Adam trailed off, dreading asking the question.
“I am holding it back.” D’Scover’s voice was chilling. “You are not ready to see the chaos of this place. You may never be.”
“Whoa,” Adam shivered. “That’s way too scary.”
“You wanted straight answers.”
“So it’s really full of crazy ghosts and stuff?” Adam could not take his eyes from the misty world around him. “And no one has full control? Kind of like the Wild West, lawless, out of control?”
“A fair comparison,” D’Scover said. “We should leave. Too much time here can be potentially damaging to a new Shade.”
Adam turned back towards the room and shook his head in confusion at his frail surroundings. He looked around at the drifting illusion of faint walls and to stabilise himself he focused only on the bright colours of the paintings and the solid forms of the bowls.
“What about the . . .” Adam began, but his voice sounded distant and faint and this surprised him enough to trail off before he could finish the sentence.
“My collection?” D’Scover anticipated the question. He walked to the nearest bowl and picked it up. The vibrant blues of the delicate yet complex geometric decoration on its flawless surface rested uneasily in the faint hand that held it.
“There is such passion in these works,” D’Scover said, still looking at the bowl and running his fingers round the rim. “All of these have been fervently believed in, and that in turn leaves a trace on their substance. They survive here in their solid form because their creators knew they were different and would last throughout time. Not all art lasts like this, only rare pieces.”
Adam looked with fresh eyes at the extraordinary colours that bled out from these works of art into the now bland room.
“You mean people died making this stuff?”
“I mean that people died for it, either creating it or protecting it. Items that have evoked such emotion leave a trace that time cannot diminish. It is why I collect them. I feel that the love left here is worthy of protection.” D’Scover spoke with genuine emotion.
“I’m cold,” Adam said, still getting to grips with a voice that sounded as though it was speaking from another room. “At least I suppose I’m cold, but I’m probably remembering what cold is like and imagining I’m cold. Is that right?”
“You are beginning to understand,” D’Scover replied. “Would you like me to return substance to the room?”
“I think I can do it,” Adam answered. “Now I know it’s not really here, I think I can . . .”
He closed his eyes and screwed up his face and fists, and the room flickered in and out of focus with sharp red sparks. Adam began to shake and the red sparks crept from his feet and crackled out across the floor like fiery drops of blood. After a few moments he gasped and slumped down into the shadow of what was once the couch.
“I can’t do it,” he sighed. “It looked so easy when you did it.”
D’Scover placed his hands, palms outwards, once more and moved them to his sides as though pushing through a curtain and the colour whisked through the room, returning it to the land of the living.
“Adam, all of this takes time.” He sat next to the boy. “You have a natural gift; it is why you have been chosen. I have already seen you do things which should not be possible. You changed the Memoria. I have never seen anyone do that; I was not able to do it when I first died. You could be great, but it will take time.”
“Time? I’ve got loads of that. It’s all I’ve got now, isn’t it?” He slumped forward and dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t think I can do this. Maybe I should just take that Passing deal and be done with it.”
“The choice is yours, but I have great hopes for you within the Brotherhood,” D’Scover reassured him. “I have confidence in you.”
“I can’t get to grips with the whole dead thing,” Adam muttered. “I can’t do this.”
“I understand.”
“NO, no, you don’t,” Adam snapped, standing quickly and striding forcefully around the room to where the bowl stood that D’Scover had previously held. “You see, I died without anyone loving me; there’s nothing to keep me in your world.”
He grabbed the bowl with one hand and held it up. “You see this bowl?” he asked. “Even this lousy bit of china has been loved more than me. It will stay perfect and whole forever because someone loved it, but I’ll always be a damned shadow of a person. How can you know what that’s like? You’re an old man; you must’ve been at least forty when you died. You probably had a family and a nice warm life and love. How can you understand what it was like to be me?”
Adam held the bowl out and, as he lost concentration on his substance, it slipped through his blurred fingers. They both watched as the bowl fell to the floor and shattered into hundreds of thin blue and white slivers that cascaded round Adam’s feet like jagged confetti. The boy slumped back to sit down on the couch and began to sob, a deep, shaking grief, and buried his face deep in his hands. D’Scover stood and walked to the couch to sit next to Adam; he rested his ice-white hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.” Adam lifted his red-eyed face. “I didn’t mean to; my fingers just weren’t there. I’m sorry I shouted, but how could you know what it’s like to be me?”
“I do understand, Adam,” D’Scover said. “Far better than you could ever imagine.”
He walked away from the boy and passed his hands over the shattered fragments of the bowl causing them to gather into a neat pile at his feet.
“The reason I understand,” he continued, “is because I too was fourteen years old when I died.”