Jack of Ravens(133)

‘May I ask who invited you?’ Church said.

‘Another mystery.’ The queen stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘The invitation was unsigned.’ She urged one of the Tuatha Dé Danann beside her to leave his seat. ‘Sit a while,’ she said to Church. ‘Fragile Creatures have always intrigued us, but the reputation achieved by the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons is most interesting. I had the pleasure of spending time with one of your kind who fought against the Northmen who invaded this island in their dragon ships. He had many great tales to tell of his adventures. And of you.’

‘Me?’ Church took his seat. On stage, an escapologist was now being locked into his chains by a pretty assistant.

‘Why, your exploits are quite legendary amongst your own kind. They speak of you and the Blue Fire in one breath, as one thing, interchangeable, immutable. The king who must be awakened from his deep sleep. The power in the land that will return in the darkest hour. As we know, there are two faces to everything.’

Her beautiful features were inscrutable, but Church had the impression she was not simply speaking metaphorically. Was she alluding to Janus?

‘I have heard tell in the same stories,’ she continued, ‘of a love that spans the vast sea of time, of two hearts torn asunder, striving to return to each other across the years, whatever suffering and hardship may be thrown in their path. Is this true? Can Fragile Creatures really feel so deeply, so strongly?’

‘Yes, they can.’

‘Remarkable. This woman – she is special?’

‘She is to me.’ Church watched the escapologist disappear into a sack that was tied at the neck. ‘I’ve lost a lot of my memories of us together, but I haven’t forgotten a thing about the kind of person she is, and how much we mean to each other.’

‘It must be difficult to maintain those feelings without the structure of the memories to contain them.’

Church didn’t respond.

‘Would you like one of those memories back?’

‘You can do that?’

‘One. For now. Too many would unbalance you.’ She smiled warmly at Church’s hopeful expression. ‘Here.’

She rested her cool fingers on Church’s forehead and he felt a rush of colour and light that gradually coalesced into images. The early hours of the morning along the banks of the Thames in South London. Thick fog, shortly before dawn. A creeping feeling of despair over the death of his old girlfriend, Marianne. A sound from beneath the shadows of Albert Bridge: a shape-shifting creature from the Far Lands. It was the incident that had propelled him into his new life as a Brother of Dragons. And Ruth was there, too. She’d arrived from another direction, drawn by the same sound.

But it was more than just a memory, for it explained everything about his love for Ruth. In the moment when their eyes locked for the first time, he saw a person filled with passion, someone with whom he had a deep, instant connection. She gave him hope, there and then, in one glance.

Church withdrew from the memory with a strong swell of emotion threatening to wash him away. ‘Thank you,’ he said. The queen nodded and smiled sweetly.

The escapologist slipped from the sack and his chains in a flash of light and a puff of smoke. He left the stage to thunderous applause.

With his new memory warming his heart and changing his perspective completely, Church felt he had much to consider and so made his excuses and left the Seelie Court.

By the time he was back in his seat, the compère had finished his patter and the next act was coming onstage to loud cheers – clearly a popular choice.

‘And now Max Masque!’ the compère announced. ‘The Dandy of the Dance, with a bag full of songs and smiles!’

A man in a lime-green suit shuffled on, did a pirouette followed by a back-flip. The audience cheered and clapped even louder.

‘Now then, now then, stop yer trouble,’ he said. ‘A copper grabbed me on the Mile End Road, and I said, “’Ang on, mate. I’ll tickle yer ribs for a guinea.” What did I say?’

He put one hand to his ear and the audience responded as one: ‘I’ll tickle yer ribs for a guinea!’

The comedian wore a mask that was split down the middle: one side showed the face of tragedy, the other the face of comedy. It was Jerzy.



2



The Mocker soon had the audience reeling with laughter, with a constant stream of jokes that even had Church chuckling. Slapstick and satire, song and dance, his polished repertoire covered everything the crowd expected and more. Jerzy left the stage to tumultuous applause, with his catchphrase ringing to the roof.

Church made his way to the door at the side of the stage and bribed the attendant to let him in. A grizzled old stagehand was mopping the floor outside the dressing-room door.