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Authors: Sam Christer
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back door for his passenger.
Myrddin struggles to extricate himself from the plush seating. His long spine is bent and stiff from the arduous journey, his mind already on the return trip he must make soon after daybreak.
The cottage smells of damp and is as sparsely furnished as his chambers in Wales. There are no curtains or carpets. In the middle of a rough wooden table stands a wicker basket of cold meats and cheeses, along with a vintage bottle of single malt whisky and two glasses.
Outside he hears noises. Feet on gravel. Attentive voices of the gate guards.
The door creaks open and Owain Gwyn enters. ‘It is so good to see you!’
They embrace warmly.
‘How are you, my dear, dear boy?’ asks Myrddin as they break.
‘I am well. Though I feel terrible about you driving all this way. You should have used the helicopter.’
‘
Fuh
.’ He flaps a hand dismissively. ‘Horrible things. You know I am too old to fly.’
Owain laughs and then points around at the bare room. ‘I always feel bad when you stay out here in the cold like a hermit. We could make you so much more comfortable in the main house.’
‘I
like
to live like this. Besides, I have the whisky to keep me warm.’ He uncaps the bottle and pours two glasses.
Owain sits at the table with him. ‘When we get to Wales, let me bring people in and refurbish your chambers and the solar. Central heating, damp proofing, electricity. Bring you some of the comforts of the twenty-first century.’
He shakes his head. ‘Shelter alone is a luxury. Anything more builds a barrier between me and the spirits I wish to converse with.’
Owain raises his malt. ‘
This
is the only spirit I want any contact with.’
They touch glasses and drink.
Myrddin puts his whisky down and cuts to the purpose of his visit. ‘I have told you of some of the recent things that have broken my sleep. Have any of the visions yet made sense to you?’
‘Sadly, yes.’
‘Specifically?’
Owain is pained to explain, ‘Angelo Marchetti, a member of the Inner Circle has been stealing artefacts and money. It’s a long story, but as a result, men he recruited were responsible for a murder in America – the owner of an antique store —’
‘Ah, this is the Keeper of Time.’
‘It would seem to fit your prophecy.’ He freshens their glasses.
‘But only one dead?’
‘No, there were more.’
‘I foresaw the brown and silent beast that bore Death and his disciples.’
Owain nods. ‘One of the men we pursued was in a brown hybrid SUV – that’s a vehicle that runs silently on electricity as well as petrol or diesel.’
‘As old as I am, I know what hybrid means.’ He turns his sad eyes up at Owain. ‘There is something I have not yet told you.’
‘Then, I suppose now is the time to tell it.’
Myrddin is almost afraid to speak the words. ‘I have seen
the child
.’
Owain looks shaken.
‘He is coming.’
‘You are certain?’
‘I am. He is coming and with him, there will be a river of blood that will flow from country to country, continent to continent.’
28
DULLES AIRPORT, WASHINGTON DC
The redeye from San Francisco leaves late. When it lands almost three thousand miles away, there’s no gate available. One of those nights is turning into one of those days.
Redirected into a freed-up bay, there’s no ground crew to operate the air-bridge. By the time the passengers sleepwalk off the Airbus, it’s almost half past eight in the morning and Mitzi is already two hours behind schedule.
‘Thank you, have a nice day,’ says a smiling stewardess.
Mitzi glares as she glides past. She’d been made to fly cattle-class by the FBI and hasn’t slept a wink. Her only good fortune is that she’s travelling with only a trolley bag, which means she breezes through security.
In the arrivals hall, she finds a scruffy, middle-aged taxi driver holding a piece of cardboard with her name on it. He looks about as pissed off as she
Myrddin struggles to extricate himself from the plush seating. His long spine is bent and stiff from the arduous journey, his mind already on the return trip he must make soon after daybreak.
The cottage smells of damp and is as sparsely furnished as his chambers in Wales. There are no curtains or carpets. In the middle of a rough wooden table stands a wicker basket of cold meats and cheeses, along with a vintage bottle of single malt whisky and two glasses.
Outside he hears noises. Feet on gravel. Attentive voices of the gate guards.
The door creaks open and Owain Gwyn enters. ‘It is so good to see you!’
They embrace warmly.
‘How are you, my dear, dear boy?’ asks Myrddin as they break.
‘I am well. Though I feel terrible about you driving all this way. You should have used the helicopter.’
‘
Fuh
.’ He flaps a hand dismissively. ‘Horrible things. You know I am too old to fly.’
Owain laughs and then points around at the bare room. ‘I always feel bad when you stay out here in the cold like a hermit. We could make you so much more comfortable in the main house.’
‘I
like
to live like this. Besides, I have the whisky to keep me warm.’ He uncaps the bottle and pours two glasses.
Owain sits at the table with him. ‘When we get to Wales, let me bring people in and refurbish your chambers and the solar. Central heating, damp proofing, electricity. Bring you some of the comforts of the twenty-first century.’
He shakes his head. ‘Shelter alone is a luxury. Anything more builds a barrier between me and the spirits I wish to converse with.’
Owain raises his malt. ‘
This
is the only spirit I want any contact with.’
They touch glasses and drink.
Myrddin puts his whisky down and cuts to the purpose of his visit. ‘I have told you of some of the recent things that have broken my sleep. Have any of the visions yet made sense to you?’
‘Sadly, yes.’
‘Specifically?’
Owain is pained to explain, ‘Angelo Marchetti, a member of the Inner Circle has been stealing artefacts and money. It’s a long story, but as a result, men he recruited were responsible for a murder in America – the owner of an antique store —’
‘Ah, this is the Keeper of Time.’
‘It would seem to fit your prophecy.’ He freshens their glasses.
‘But only one dead?’
‘No, there were more.’
‘I foresaw the brown and silent beast that bore Death and his disciples.’
Owain nods. ‘One of the men we pursued was in a brown hybrid SUV – that’s a vehicle that runs silently on electricity as well as petrol or diesel.’
‘As old as I am, I know what hybrid means.’ He turns his sad eyes up at Owain. ‘There is something I have not yet told you.’
‘Then, I suppose now is the time to tell it.’
Myrddin is almost afraid to speak the words. ‘I have seen
the child
.’
Owain looks shaken.
‘He is coming.’
‘You are certain?’
‘I am. He is coming and with him, there will be a river of blood that will flow from country to country, continent to continent.’
28
DULLES AIRPORT, WASHINGTON DC
The redeye from San Francisco leaves late. When it lands almost three thousand miles away, there’s no gate available. One of those nights is turning into one of those days.
Redirected into a freed-up bay, there’s no ground crew to operate the air-bridge. By the time the passengers sleepwalk off the Airbus, it’s almost half past eight in the morning and Mitzi is already two hours behind schedule.
‘Thank you, have a nice day,’ says a smiling stewardess.
Mitzi glares as she glides past. She’d been made to fly cattle-class by the FBI and hasn’t slept a wink. Her only good fortune is that she’s travelling with only a trolley bag, which means she breezes through security.
In the arrivals hall, she finds a scruffy, middle-aged taxi driver holding a piece of cardboard with her name on it. He looks about as pissed off as she
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