H2G2 Storytime III: From Prussia with Love. Part LII
Created | Updated Aug 19, 2006
The monorail juddered to a stop beside a platform where armed guards loitered. Beyond the platform a great chasm split the rock as far up as the eye could see into the darkness. The chasm was plugged by a temple facade like the one in Egypt but obviously far older, with huge rough-hewn stones engraved with hieroglyphs and stranger runes. The massive pillars of the temple stretched up from the pool of light at the entrance to an unknowable distance overhead.
"The Home Temple," announced Scorpio. "Impressive, ain't it? None of us are quite sure how old it is."
Vandeveer swallowed the lump in his throat. "Very pretty. And this is where I may speak with your superiors?"
"Absolutely. Just step this way." Scorpio waved his clipboard at the brooding edifice as the advanced into the shadow of the pillars, smoothly adopting the manner of a tour guide. "Interestingly, this place is the oldest place of worship in constant use, we believe, anywhere on earth."
Sreka sniffed as he manhandled the stretcher with Mary from the monorail, and muttered "I do not find this interesting."
Scorpio didn't seem to notice the interjection, and continued:
"A fitting testament to the majesty of the Pilchard, wouldn't you say? The figure you can see with the rays coming out of his head on the fresco is the First Father - there, being spurned by the unbelievers, there discovering the knowledge of the Ancients, there establishing the Home Temple and setting down the Prophecy...watch your step here..."
Just below the steps of the temple there was a thin chasm bridged by a metal footbridge. Vandeveer craned his neck as they crossed, and saw no bottom to the gulf below him. The entire Temple seemed to be separated from rock from which it had been cut. Robed technicians busied themselves with welding torches about the entrance, and mysterious flashes from the darkness above and below suggested that some great renovation was underway.
Sreka asked the question.
"What are they doing?"
The Pastor-Intendant laughed. "Of course, you guys are doomed heathens. No offence. Let's just say, haha, that the Temple will shortly cease to be the oldest religious structure on earth. Hmmhmmhmm..."
Vandeveer and Sreka exchanged baffled looks, but Scorpio had already carried on cheerfully chatting.
"...sorry it's so awkward with the stretcher, we have had some lobbyists asking for wheelchair access to the Temple but it was felt that a ramp would lack the gravitas we feel is a large part of the Temple's charm...and here we are."
They had arrived in the echoing, shadowy antechamber of the Temple. The atmosphere of cool stone and incense made speaking in a hushed voice seem obligatory. Scorpio ushered them towards a dread portal.
"Right through there," he whispered. "The Elders are expecting you."
The inner sanctum was dimly lit by nine, weighty, six-foot candles placed around the curved walls. Before each candle was placed a baroque wooden throne, and on each throne a hooded figure brooded in their personal pool of darkness. The central throne of the nine, placed on a small dais, was marginally less tasteful than the other eight - gargoyles, arabesques and fish all carved in dark wood featured heavily in its design. The space in front of the thrones was illuminated by a single guttering candle. If H.R. Giger overdosed on trashy Gothic novels and cheese then fell asleep, this is the scene he would probably dream up.
Vanderveer blinked irritably in the darkness, turning on his heel in the pool of light. Sreka stood placidly beside him, one hand on the stretcher.
"Which one of you do I talk to?"
An elderly voice spoke from the shadows.
"All may speak as one, Reto Vanderveer. You may speak to all."
"Right. Right. Well, I want you to know that I know what you're up to. I know about the laser, and the flood. I'm not stupid."
"A remarkable claim."
The Elder seated behind him had spoken and he spun around, flustered.
"That's right. Yes. Now, watch this."
Producing a syringe from his sleeve, he jabbed it into Mary's neck. A moment later her head snapped up.
"What the hell?" she said muzzily. "Where...?"
"The paralysis," declaimed Vanderveer, beginning to regain his confidence, "is only temporary. This woman is known to you, I believe?"
A voice spoke from the darkness.
"Sister Mary."
Mary twisted around towards the voice.
"Yes." she croaked. "Who wants to know?"
A different, male voice spoke from another direction.
"You address The Grand Master, Sister Mary.
Mary stared into the darkness surrounding the dais and perceived nothing.
A thrid voice from a throne on the left spoke. "We are all disappointed in you. You have been careless."
Mary spat. "Who could have known this worm had the balls? Excellency?"
"Enough!" Vanderveer fired at the ceiling.
The shot echoed and re-echoed in the great empty space. Silent moments passed, and then there was a chink by his feet. Sreka snapped out a hand and grabbed the bullet as it bounced - piping hot, and not warped by impact with any ceiling. He squinted at the dark void above him, and looked thoughtful.
Vanderveer was pointing the gun at Mary's head.
"You will end the world as we know it - kill unimaginable numbers of people..."
There was silence.
"That's fine. I can respect that."
"We are so pleased." A voice said gratiously
Vanderveer licked his lips nervously and glanced back and forth.
"But...I have a daughter."
Sreka raised an eyebrow.
"You...you have her under surveillance. That son of a...Von Trapp knew about her...about her riding lessons."
He jammed the barrel of the gun into Mary's head, and she snarled.
"Send for her. Immediately."
"You are swimming with sharks now, little villain."
That remark had come from The Grand Master's chair on the raised dais.
The shadow in the Grand Master's chair was stirring, and now advanced into the pool of light. The candlelight crept up from a pair of feet, revealing first an incongruous pair of Manolo Blahniks, then a superbly-tailored robe which seemed to incorporate elements of the corporate power-suit in its design, and finally a familiar, blandly-smiling face.
"Sister Annabel!" croaked Mary.
"Smittington!" Vandeveer mouthed silently for a moment, shocked.
"But...you were my handler. They said you were busy...they sent Von Trapp."
Mary interrupted: "You are The Grand Master?"
Annabel Smittington smirked. Vandeveer glanced about, not sure what was about to happen.
"In your absence, there was a change in the executive."
"How? When?"
"All in good time." Annabel silenced her with a wave of her hand. "We have other, more pressing matters at hand," - and she glanced at Vandeveer, who rudely pointed the gun at her, shaking ever-so slightly at the ebbing power games surrounding him.
"But make no mistake, Sister Mary, someone will be made to account for all the guards I had sent to the citadel. I'm presuming they are all dead, is this not the case?"
"But we...I thought."
"Alas, I fear, thinking was something you did not do."
Mary was silenced.
"Unlike you, I plan ahead. The Cult's aim to support the Ascension of Rasputin to rule, temporarily on the above-ground had gone sour as I had long suspected it would. I escaped and returned to Alpha Complex. I went to see him - The Grand Master."
"What happened?" Mary gasped.
Anna reminisced....
The Grand Master was clearing his throat. Being an exceedingly elderly man, he took quite a long time about this, and produced some interesting noises. Annabel tapped a heel, and bided her time. She stood in the pool of light before the Elders. Finally, the Grand Master felt he had banished as much phlegm as he was likely to, and he spoke.
"Toooo suuuummaaarise, theeeen," he said, "youuuur missssiion was an unqualified failure. Not oooonly did youu faaaail to aaassist the Beast in detonaaating theee Engine at Stoneheeeenge, you actually played a paaart in his downfaaaall."
There was the sound of a file being rifled through.
"A blackjack isss mentiooooned heeere. And Mace. Would youu caare to explaaaain youuurself?"
Annabel smiled.
"Sure thing, Excellency. At a certain point during my holy mission, I surmised that the whole Rasputin business could only be a subterfuge - a distraction for the Agency fools to expend their energy upon while we prepared our endgame. I took steps to prevent the world being destroyed by the Beast in order that the future might belong to the Cult, and the Pilchard."
She clasped a hand over her heart at this last part, and bowed her head. She sneaked a look up to see if her piety was well-received.
The Master clapped slowly.
"Veeery aaastute, Sisteeer Annaaabeel. You read the desiiiigns of theee Eldeeers preeeecisely."
She beamed with pride.
"Theeese weeeere not, howeveeeer, the terms of youur missssiiiion. The penaaalty for faaailuuuuure isss deeaath."
"My mission was intended to fail!"
A dry chuckle from the shadows.
"Yes."
Annabel bit her tongue, and counted to ten. When she spoke, it was through a brittle smile.
"This is a glass ceiling thing, isn't it? The old guard is afraid of dynamic young female Cultists like Sister Mary and myself. I already do approximately 90% of the work around here and receive no credit..."
There was a round of laughter from the darkness, and Annabel felt the blood rushing to her fists.
The Grand Master had lapsed into another bout of phlegm clearance but another of the Elder's spoke on his behalf.
"The...suffragettist period of world history is an aberration. The Cult is above minor historical movements. The natural order will be restored. Woman will be kept in her place."
Annabel nodded slowly, eyes burning.
"I understand and obey. I presume that I may appeal the sentence? Trial by ordeal?"
The Master sniffed. "Naturaaally. If you think youuuu're up too the taaaask..."
"I do."
The Chamber of Ordeal was, in essence, a pit, with a balcony around the edge where the Elders arranged themselves. Although they preserved their air of dignity, several bags of popcorn were circulating.
Annabel was doing stretches in the pit, touching her toes and eyeing her opponent warily. He was a junior Cultist from the Shipping division, a massive young man called Brother Otis with muscles the size of her head. He glowered dumbly at her, and she smiled sweetly. This foxed him.
"Begin!"
Two flashes of light from the balcony, and two ceremonial daggers were sticking in the earth in the centre of the pit. Both fighters dashed forward and snatched a dagger. Annabel skipped lightly backwards out of range of Otis' first clumsy lunge. The trick would be to get his head down...
She dug the dagger into her robe and ripped away a large swathe of useless skirt covering her legs. Up on the balcony, an elderly Elder had a minor heart attack.
"Tora! Tora!" she crowed, as Otis lumbered towards her. She adopted the pose of a matador, and shook the skirt provocatively. This prompted a deep-seated instinctive reaction in Otis - his head went down, his nostrils flared and he charged.
Timing her jump exactly, Annabel flipped up out of his dagger's range, gained the smallest of footholds on his broad back and thrust herself up high into the air...
She was level with the balcony only for a moment, but that moment was all she needed. Her hand shot out, releasing the dagger...
A cry went out...
"Stop! Stop the Ordeal!"
The balcony was a confusion of wailing faces and waving arms.
"He is dead! Our great Master is dead!"
On his throne, the Grand Master was slumped sideways. The dagger's hilt protruded from his throat.
"Oops!" screamed Annabel, shoulders heaving with exertion. "Did I do that? Who amongst us present at this Ordeal has the skills and experience to lead our mighty Cult now?"
There was a huddle, then the Elders reached an agreement.
"All hail Sister Annabel! Sister Annabel no more - let her be Grand Master! All hail!"
Annabel smiled again, and flicked a strand of hair from her forehead.
"That's better."
She patted Otis on one huge shoulder.
"You're fired."
Vanderveer waved his pistol frantically.
"Enough idle exposition! Have my daughter brought here immediately, or..." He dug the barrel into Mary's temple, and she snarled. "...she dies!"
"Vanderveer," croaked Mary, her eyes still half-bloody from the drug and flashing pure murder at the Dutchman. "You are so far out of your depth your ears should be popping. When this is over, there is no end to the ways I will kill you..."
"Kill her," said Annabel airily. "She means nothing to me."
"What?" Mary and Vanderveer said as one.
"Annabel, dear," howled Mary resentfully. "Think about this. While you were doing The Master's bidding with the Monk, I was in charge of the counter-offensve, the one that shall secure the Cult from it's enemies for ever."
"So you in fact possess the Turqoise Moon?"
"No!" Vandeveer cried out. "That aging fool Daltmooreby never found it."
"Not so Reto, my dear - Daltmooreby found the diamond alright - we just saw no point in telling you." Mary said spitefully.
"Fine!" Vanderveer quavered, "Then perhaps I'll kill her!" taking the gun from pointing at Mary, prostrate on the floor, and instead pointing it directly at Annabel.
He laughed wretchedly.
The Grand Master tutted, "you would be dead before you..."
She was interrupted by the appearance of Sreka over Vanderveer's shoulder.
With stoic professionalism, the Russian grasped Vandeveer's head in one hand and his shoulder in the other, and applied a sudden, steady pressure.
There was a wince-inducing series of cracks and pops, that made Everyone grimace and Vanderveer flopped to the floor even more useless than he had been moments before.
There was a long silence.
Sreka caught Mary's eye, and shrugged.
"Sorry."
Annabel became aware that she was goggling, and smoothed down her robe.
"Well...well done that man. We thought you were...his ally."
Sreka yawned.
"I was in his debt - now no longer. I was curious to see what his plan was. It was most disappointing."
He nudged Vanderveer's rapidly-cooling cadaver. "A daughter? Tish. The man called himself a professional."
The Russian lit a skinny black cigarette, and waved it around the silent circle of watchers.
"You will employ me."
There seemed to be only one thing for Annabel to say, so she said it:
"You're hired."
Sreka took a long draw on the ciggarette, forcing the tip to glow orange, pinched it between his forefinger and thumb, held it to one side and with studied patience exhaled the fume, extending his jaw and blowing between his imperfect teeth.
He casually dopped the still ignited cigarrte and with deliberation crushed it under his heel.
"Da." he said in deep set Russian to convey the sincerety of the bargain just struck.
"and the diamond?" Annabel asked, seizing control of the agenda.
Sreka turned to leave the Inner Sanctum, cast a look back across his shoulder to the Master's raised chair.
"Daltmooreby had it last. You'll find him down the tunnel we arrived from."
"Why so delayed?" Annabell asked sweetly.
"Reto threw him off the back of the train."
and he left enigmatically envelopped by shadow.
Mary lay on the floor, propped up on one arm and rubbing the back of her neck. She wore a stunned expression and twisted around to look up at her the newly proclaimed head of The Order.
Annabell seated herself regally in the Master's central throne and smiled inscruitably.
