Jack of Ravens(134)

‘No point knocking, mate,’ he said. ‘Nobody sees Max Masque without his mask. It’s his trademark.’

‘He’ll see me,’ Church said. He ducked inside before the stagehand could stop him.

There was a shriek as the maskless Jerzy dived behind the changing screen. ‘Get out! Get out!’

‘Jerzy, it’s me. Church.’

‘I don’t know you! Get out before I call the manager!’

‘Jerzy—’

‘I don’t know anyone called Church!’ Jerzy peered round the edge of the screen. Church caught a glimpse of the familiar parchment flesh. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he ventured, ‘Church—?’ Gradually, he emerged from behind the screen, his frightened eyes making his frozen grin uncertain.

‘What’s going on?’ Church asked.

‘I … I do not know. I had forgotten about you for so long.’ He came over to scan Church’s face before throwing his arms around Church. ‘I remember Stonehenge. And then I came here, to London. It seemed the most natural thing …’ He shook his head, dazed. ‘What happened to me?’

‘But you sent me an invitation. And you sent one to the Seelie Court. You said you had some information about the skull and the box.’

Jerzy shook his head slowly. ‘I sent no invitations. I never gave my previous life a second thought.’ He plucked a silk dressing gown from a coat hanger and slipped it on before lighting himself a cigarette in a long holder. ‘Would you like a snout?’ he asked.

Church had to smile at the comical image, but oddly Jerzy appeared more at home, and at ease, than he ever had before.

‘Looks like you’ve been carving out quite the niche for yourself,’ Church said.

Jerzy’s face lit up so it was almost unrecognisable. ‘Church, you would not believe the wonder that has entered my life. Blimey, it’s a real thrill.’ His accent kept shifting between his natural Far Lands lilt and the cockney he had adopted for his act.

‘How did you get into it?’

Jerzy thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘All I remember is being an apprentice. Learning the ropes. Learning how to tell a gag. I have learned a lot of things.’ He grew pensive, and pointed to his mask. ‘I have learned that humour comes out of tragedy. That humour heals tragedy. I had everything good in my life stolen from me, the people I loved most of all. Every night the pain in my heart was so great I could not sleep. And then I found you, Church, and it eased a little, and then I found this.’ He wiped away a tear. ‘I feel at home with the show people. They accept my looks. They understand people may to all intents and purposes be different, yet at the same time be the same.’

‘I’m glad you’re happy, Jerzy.’

‘I am. I truly am. We find humour in the darkest places, and humour is hope. Music is hope. Laughter and mischief are hope. And they come when you least expect it. They form the path to Existence, Church, out of darkness and into the light. And they give the lie to Mr Darwin’s Theory of Evolution – yes, I have been reading! For it is possible to make the argument that we developed love to protect and develop the species, though I do not subscribe to that notion. But there is no argument for humour and song, except to uplift us spiritually. Blessed are the comic and the singer!’ He raised his hands to the air like an evangelical.

‘So you’re not coming back to the Court of the Soaring Spirit?’ Church said wryly.

Jerzy jumped to his feet and paced the room exuberantly. ‘The wonders that exist here and now! Every night the Germans drop their bombs. People die by the thousands. Homes are destroyed. There is not enough food to go around. Children are shipped away from their families. But … once a week everyone gathers around their radio to listen to Tommy Handley … It’s That Man Again! If Mr Hitler chose to invade between eight-thirty and nine on a Thursday evening, he would have an easy job of it because everyone is tuned in to the show. You wouldn’t believe it could be funny when Mrs Mopp the Cleaner says every week – every week! – “Can I do yer now, sir?’’ But it is! Or when Colonel Chinstrap laconically meets every remark with, “I don’t mind if I do.” We all laugh and it brings us together. In the music halls there’s Flanagan and Allen singing “Underneath the Arches” … and Gracie Fields, and George Formby, and Max Miller …’

His eyes took on a plangent cast. ‘No, Church, I am not going back. But if you ever need me, if there is anything I can ever do to help you in this great struggle that is unfolding, call me. I will come in an instant.’