Filled with excitement, Hal waited for nearly three hours before he could finally see Reid. The chief spy had been in conference from long before breakfast with a succession of ministers, military advisors and nondescript people Hal had never seen before.
When he was finally ushered into Reid’s darkened office, Hal could see the toll the current crisis was taking on the man. His face was drawn and tired, and it looked as if he hadn’t received any good news in a long time.
But he seemed to brighten a little when he saw Hal and offered him a cup of real tea. Hal took it gratefully before pouring out all he had learned about the Poussin painting and the mysterious monument at Shugborough Hall.
‘All I need is your blessing to go to Shugborough,’ Hal concluded, ‘and the resources to do so. I know it’s dangerous-’
‘It is dangerous,’ Reid stressed. ‘The enemy is advancing very rapidly. They’re already crossing Yorkshire and Lancashire. It won’t be long before they reach Staffordshire.’
The news was a harsh blow to Hal. He’d always believed that the Government would come up with something to stop the enemy in its tracks and had never given the possibility of failure a second thought. ‘We haven’t got a response?’
‘No effective one. We’ve tried…’ Reid dismissed the thought with an irritable wave of his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hal said contritely. ‘I know you can’t talk about it.’
‘It’s not that. I think the time has come for radical action. Others don’t agree. But that was always anticipated.’ He took a long sip of his tea, lost to his thoughts for a moment, and then added, ‘I trust your judgment, Mister Campbell. If you feel this is important for the war effort, then do it. Just make sure you’re in and out as quickly as possible. I can provide you with a helicopter — there’s no point taking any road vehicles out in this weather.’
‘I’d like to take an assistant. To help with any local research.’
Reid shrugged, uninterested. The phone rang and Reid snatched it up, his mood brightening as he listened. When he replaced the receiver, he said, ‘Good news. The PM has agreed to see you for ten minutes.’
‘What? When?’
‘Now.’
Hal grew anxious. ‘I haven’t prepared-’
‘Doesn’t matter. Just speak from your heart. With everything that’s going down at the moment, you probably won’t get another opportunity. And I believe this to be very important. The PM needs to hear it.’
‘OK,’ Hal said hesitantly. ‘Now? Really?’
‘Now.’ Reid stood up and waited for Hal to rise before hurrying him to Balliol where the PM’s private offices were situated; normally, no one with Hal’s low-level clearance ever got anywhere near them.
Once they were outside the prime minister’s door, Reid clapped Hal on the back and whispered, ‘You’ll be fine.’ He swung the door open, but Hal knew he wouldn’t be able to speak for a few seconds, for his heart was wedged firmly in his throat.
Mallory woke on a rough wooden pallet, his head thick and his limbs heavy. The aroma of wood smoke filled the air. When he finally accepted that he had survived his ordeal, he managed to lever himself up on his elbows to look around. He was in a roundhouse like ones he had seen as a child in history books about the Celtic era. A small fire crackled in the centre of the room, the smoke winding its way up through the hole in the centre of the turf roof. His bed was positioned so that he could see straight out through the open door across the lush Somerset countryside. The sun was rising, framed perfectly between the door jambs, golden and large and misty.
‘You’re bloody lucky.’
Mallory strained around to see who had spoken. A man leaned on a gnarled wooden staff, watching Mallory with a suspicious expression. Mallory guessed he was well into his sixties, but he was so fit and lithe that it was difficult to tell his true age. He could just as easily have been a hundred. His skin was browned from days in the sun, but his long grey hair was matted with dirt and grease and hung lank around his shoulders. He wore a dirty cheesecloth shirt, open at the front, shapeless, filthy trousers and a pair of well-worn sandals. He looked like someone who had spent his life at the music festival they used to hold annually just outside the town.
‘If someone hadn’t seen you getting wrapped in the defences you’d have been gone for good,’ the old man continued.
‘Who are you?’ Mallory said. He was already surreptitiously searching for his weapon. His scabbard was empty.
The old man realised what he was doing and gave a brief, hard smile. ‘Where did you get the sword?’
‘None of your business.’ Mallory swung his legs on to the floor, his head spinning.
The old man brandished his staff. ‘See this? I’ve split more heads open with it than you’ve had hot dinners. You couldn’t beat me even if you were fit, and look at you now. Better answer my questions before you’re out cold again.’
‘I’m not answering any questions,’ Mallory said defiantly.
The old man moved his bony, angular body like a ballet dancer, swinging the staff in a blur. The tip thudded against Mallory’s windpipe before he had even seen it coming.
‘All right,’ Mallory choked.
‘The sword. That’s one of the three great swords. Too powerful a thing for a weedy little weak-arsed runt like you. Who did you steal if off?’
‘I didn’t steal it. It was given to me.’
The old man eased the pressure of the staff a little and eyed Mallory curiously. ‘Who gave it to you?’
‘A woman called Rhiannon.’ Mallory saw the flicker of recognition in the old man’s face and added, ‘In the Court of Peaceful Days.’
‘You’ve been to T’ir n’a n’Og?’
Mallory nodded and the old man lowered the staff and paced away. ‘They’ll let any bugger in these days,’ he muttered, opening a box in one corner. The familiar blue light of the sword illuminated his face. ‘You’d better take it, then. But don’t think it’ll give you an advantage.’
Mallory’s legs still felt weak, but when he plucked the sword from the box the familiar energy surged into his limbs.
‘You’re a Brother of Dragons?’ the old man asked.
‘Yes. The name’s Mallory.’
The old man snorted. ‘Sounds like a girl’s name to me.’ He leaned on his staff once more and surveyed Mallory’s face. ‘I’m the Bone Inspector. I run this here college.’
‘I’ve travelled a long way to get here,’ Mallory said. ‘I’m looking for someone who used to be a Brother of Dragons… someone who fought in the Fall.’
‘Then you’ve found him.’
Mallory turned to see a tall, slim young man with Asian features standing in the doorway. Long black hair framed a handsome face with perfect bone structure, and his natural beauty was accentuated by the black clothes he wore. ‘My name is Shavi,’ he said.
Chapter Eleven
‘ My country is the world and my religion is to do good.’
Thomas Paine
Mallory emerged from the roundhouse into the beauty of a Glastonbury dawn. The air was fresh and sharp, a pearly mist drifting ethereally in the hollows, shimmering in the golden sunlight. The only sound was the birdsong rising up from the green landscape spreading out on all sides far below.
The roundhouse was set on the side of the Tor, just beneath the level of the terraces that formed a processional pathway to the top. Mallory observed that the college covered a vast area, from the roundhouse down the hillside, across the streets of formerly residential houses and into the grounds of the abbey. It encompassed the Chalice Well, nestling on the slopes at the foot of the Tor. The new college buildings were plain, built in a Celtic roundhouse style, and were dotted throughout the area. Nature was being allowed to reclaim parts of the old town, with new trees sprouting here and there, ivy and climbing plants swarming over brick and concrete. It was a place that looked at peace with itself.