"Let's say ten o'clock, in the gazebo," Graham said. "I believe you already know the way through the maze."
As Adam rang off, he reflected that it was perhaps just as well that Ximena was working the evening shift at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, for that meant she was unlikely to be getting home much before half-past eleven. He would have to forego dinner - fasting was a desirable preparation for any form of serious occult endeavor - but Philippa certainly understood that; and Ximena's absence simplified the situation for everyone concerned.
Returning home shortly after six, Adam retired to his room for a shower and change of clothes, then a brief rest until it was time to work. His mind had been restless and unfocused all the way home, turning this way and that in troubled speculation about the nature of the information Graham had promised to impart. He put on his Adept ring before lying down in shirtsleeves and his dressing gown, also pulling a light blanket over himself. Only after putting himself through a short breathing exercise was he able to drift off into a light sleep.
He roused some hours later to the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the downstairs hall. A glance at his bedside clock told him that the appointed hour was fast approaching. Casting aside his blanket, he thrust his stockinged feet into the crested slippers waiting on the floor by the bedside and headed down to the library.
Humphrey had already seen to it that a fire was burning on the hearth and the drapes were tightly drawn. Closing the door behind him, Adam turned the key in the lock, then went over to the house phone on his desk.
"Hello, Humphrey. I'll be unavailable for the next hour or so. Divert all calls until further notice. Philippa will deal with anything that needs urgent attention."
"Very good, sir."
Knowing that his valet could be trusted to uphold those instructions, Adam doused the room's electric lights and made his way back to the hearth by firelight alone, pausing to toss an incense stick into the flames before settling into his favorite fireside chair. The mingled fragrance of cinnamon and myrrh teased at his nostrils as he put his feet up on a footstool, and he inhaled deeply of their perfume while he briefly closed his eyes, testing the security of the wards around the house. Then, after taking a long moment to center himself, he fixed his gaze on the heart of the flames.
The shimmer of light and shadow was like a dance, drawing him slowly downward in a spiral toward his soul's center point, as his eyelids drifted closed. Sinking past the threshold between waking and trance, Adam became aware of a complementary resonance permeating the air around him, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Gradually the resonance grew more articulate, assuming a formal pattern of repetition. Hearkening to the summons, Adam was reminded of the beating of a great drum.
The drumbeat became a wall of sound. The wall became an onrushing tidal wave, sweeping him off his feet to carry him away. As he rode the crest of the wave, content to ride it out, a distant shore loomed ahead, its dark tree line surmounted by a firmament of stars.
The shoreline converged with breathtaking speed. A sudden, shadowy plunge left him lying slightly breathless on a smooth stretch of turf before the maze gateway at Oakwood, shining silvery in the moonlight.
In the waking world it was winter and the moon was waning. Here, by contrast, the night was balmy and the full moon shone with a radiance almost as bright as day.
Rising to his feet, Adam approached the gateway, now robed in the formal soutane of sapphire-blue symbolic of his office and calling. The gate itself was standing ajar, in token of John Graham's invitation, glimmering like silver filigree in the light of the moon as Adam slipped fearlessly through the gap, mindful of Graham's parting words. Beyond lay the shadowy convolutions of a boxwood maze. Looking down, Adam found himself standing at the head of a white-pebbled path.
As he paused, more in preparation than from any apprehension, the drumbeat took up its rhythm once more, soft but compelling, again precisely on the rhythm of his heartbeat. Obedient to its summons, Adam set out for the heart of the maze, paying no mind to the alternative pathways that branched occasionally to left or right, bathed in the radiance of the moonlight as he followed the intended path and suddenly found himself at the center point, before the fairy-tale arches and cupola of a Victorian gazebo.
The moonlight silvered the roses threading the gazebo's trel-lised walls, which filtered patterned moonlight onto the wooden floor. A tall, dark-robed figure stood waiting in the arched doorway at the top of the wooden steps, a cowl obscuring his features, a shining sword cocked over one shoulder. As Adam advanced, the blade came down to bar his way, fire rippling along its length, but he did not hesitate to mount the four steps, halting at the threshold with the blade at his throat as a deep voice proclaimed the ritual challenge.
"Who comes?"
The question was part of a tirne-honored formula, Adam's response unhesitating.
"Adam, Master of the Hunt and servant of the Light, duly sworn."
His challenger's head inclined and the sword was lowered, its fire dying to a mere glow.
"Enter and be welcome, Adam, Master of the Hunt and servant of the Light," the challenger said, sweeping back his cowl as he stepped aside in invitation.
As time was reckoned in the material, the man Adam had come here to meet was nearly twice his own age. Here, however, Adam needed no second glance to recognize John Graham in the individual who stood before him now, strong and vigorous as Adam himself, with flashing hazel eyes and dark hair untouched by time. Nor was this appearance of vitality any mere trick of the eye - rather, a vision of Graham in his immortal semblance, revealed by the timeless moonlight of this consecrated place as a very senior Adept of the Inner Planes.
When Adam had joined him within the confines of the gazebo, Graham briskly drew the tip of the sword three times across the threshold. Adam could feel the protective barriers strengthen with each stroke. As final warding, Graham laid the blade itself across the opening before gesturing toward a round table set at the center of the floor, where three lighted candles - black, white, and red - made a flickering triangle on the white-draped surface. The table was flanked by two waiting chairs.
With a smile, Graham invited Adam to be seated. Sinking into the chair opposite, he said, "I see you had no trouble finding the way. Thank you for coming."
"It is I who should be thanking you," Adam answered. "It was very generous of you to bear a hand in this inquiry."
A more sober look clouded Graham's lean face. "As it happens, this inquiry concerns me as much as it does you - though the evidence linking our interests dates back to a time before you were born. Your instincts in coming to me were entirely correct. I doubt if anyone else now alive could have made the connections necessary to link this man who now calls himself Evans with his own buried past."
This cryptic statement gave Adam a prickling sensation at the base of his skull, for John Graham was not prone to exaggeration.
"What, exactly, have you learned?" he asked.
"Enough to give me cause for grave concern," Graham replied. "To begin with, it isn't Taliere that's the pseudonym - it's Evans. The name Jasper Taliere occupies a curious place in the classified annals of military intelligence. And for the past fifty years, he's been on file as missing, presumed dead."
At the mention of military intelligence, Adam raised an eyebrow. Mentally performing a quick mathematical calculation, he said, "That would make him active during the Second World War. Am I to understand that he was some kind of spy?"
"Not a spy," Graham corrected. "A terrorist - though the term had not yet been coined in those days."