Alice Robbins, the warden of Shoreditch Church gazed despondently at the pile of bills staring back at her from the kitchen table. ‘God, we’re in a mess,’ she said to Pascal Pirlot, who was washing dishes in the sink.
He offered her a tired smile, but it fell short of the mark.
‘There’s now a final demand for the electricity,’ she said. ‘Without power, the council won’t allow us to serve food.’ She dropped her head in her hands.
‘Am I interrupting something?’ enquired a plump Afro-Caribbean lady as she slid her head around the kitchen door.
Robbins looked up.
‘Apparently, someone just left this for you in the office.’
Regaining her composure, the churchwarden looked at the cardboard box that was being passed to her. It was about the size of a shoebox and it had been sealed with a long strip of brown tape.
‘The man said it had to be delivered to you, in person.’
‘Anyone we know?’ said the warden, rubbing her eyes.
‘Beats me,’ said the lady, setting down the box on the table. ‘Can’t stop; busy, busy.’ She turned for the door and then stopped. ‘And I hope we’ll be seeing you at tonight’s choir practice,’ she said, throwing a stern smile in the direction of Pirlot. She didn’t wait for a response and closed the door behind her.
Robbins raised the shoebox to her ear and gave it an exploratory shake. Several objects shifted inside, causing her expression to turn quizzical. ‘Scissors, scissors,’ she said to herself, rounding the kitchen table and jerking open a heavy cutlery drawer. Searching through its contents for a second, the churchwarden picked out a pair. Carefully, she ran the blade along the brown strip of parcel tape stuck to the front of the box. ‘What have we got here?’ she said peeling away the cardboard flaps. The makeshift lining of the box was made from what looked like a beach towel, cut roughly into a square. Sitting on the towel, like a clutch of eggs in a nest, were a dozen balls of tightly wrapped tissue paper.
‘What’s that?’ questioned Pirlot, his attention moving away from the sink of suds.
‘Give me a moment and I’ll tell you.’ Robbins picked up one of the small parcels of tissue paper and untwisted it. Something heavy and angular fell into her hand. Her breath caught in her throat, as the glint of a blue gemstone shone in her eyes. The sapphire winked at her from her palm. She gaped at it for a moment and then closed her fingers around the stone. Her mind was racing. Quickly she twisted open another of the small tissue packages. Her heart began to thump in her chest as she saw another large stone nestling within the folds of the paper. It looked like an amethyst.
Struggling to keep herself calm, she continued unwrapping the bundles of paper. Twelve twisted parcels of paper, twelve precious stones. She laid the stones out on the kitchen table, lining them up like a squad of soldiers on parade. Each of them glittered in the sunlight flooding in from the kitchen window. ‘Get over here!’ exclaimed the warden, a fanfare of reflected colours lighting up her face.
Pirlot straightened himself up from the sink and patted down his soapy hands with a dishcloth. His tired eyes widened into an expression of amazement as he moved closer to the table. He picked up the blue stone in his large rough hands and brought it up to his eyes. As he turned it in the light, his eyelid started to twitch. After several seconds of quiet appraisal, a nervous smile came to his lips. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then swapped the blue stone for the crystal-clear jewel next to it on the table. Saying nothing, Pirlot scrutinised the stone carefully. The crease in his brow suddenly smoothed, as the smile broadened across his face. He eyed Robbins with a mixture of excitement and bewilderment.
‘I know a thing about gemstones, and these look kosher to me.’ Pirlot’s previous life as a career jewel thief had afforded him a certain knowledge and appreciation of precious stones. ‘They’re several carats a piece,’ he chuckled. Returning the stone to the table, his attention then shifted to the box. There was a handwritten note tucked inside. He picked it out and with a considered voice read it aloud.
Feed as many people as you can. The Guardians
Blake skipped down the steps of Shoreditch Church. With the busy London traffic droning by, he pulled down the peak of his new baseball cap and with a smile waved down a taxi.