Jack of Ravens(149)

‘No,’ Church replied. ‘And it never will be again.’



11



Days passed dismally in the Court of the Soaring Spirit. Church mourned, and wrestled desperately with his memory, but it would not give up its ghosts. In the end, he was left with a terrible heartache, but no remembrance of good times to light up his grief.

Then, one evening, Tom came to him with Niamh. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said. ‘Without you, it’s all a waste of time. I just want to make the most of what few days I’ve got left. I’m going home.’

Church considered this, and said, I’ll come with you.’ He glanced at Niamh. ‘If you’ll let me.’

‘Of course.’ A deep sadness shadowed her eyes. ‘I will come, too.’

‘But what about your responsibilities here in the court?’ Church said.

Niamh bowed her head. ‘I have given up my throne. The first queen to turn her back on her court in the long history of the Golden Ones.’

‘Why?’

She smiled sadly. ‘Because it is the right thing to do.’

‘I was hoping for a bit of free time,’ Tom said sourly, ‘but it looks as if I’m going to be wiping your snotty noses for a while longer.’

As he turned away, the others didn’t see his smile.





Chapter Eleven





FEEL LIKE I’M FIXIN’ TO DIE





1



Neshoba County, Mississippi, December 1963

The radio played bluegrass while men in short sleeves with fists like hamhocks and bellies like barrels drank from the bottle and played cards for nickels. Church, Tom and Niamh huddled around a table in one corner, their clothes sweaty and the dust of the road coating their boots.

Niamh looked transcendentally beautiful in a floaty cotton dress. Tom had decided to grow a beard and had adopted a down-at-heel beatnik chic. Church barely noticed any of the changes that had come over his travelling companions, or any of the towns they had passed through during the last week. Ruth’s death haunted him day and night, and he was starting to feel as if he would never get over the empty-headed, hollow-hearted feeling.

‘Those men keep staring at me,’ Niamh said, puzzled. ‘Are my clothes not correct for this time and place?’

‘They’re perfect,’ Tom said. ‘You’d better start getting used to it.’

‘Church?’ When he didn’t respond, her hand sought out his and gave it a warm squeeze.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Where do you want to go next?’

‘Does it matter?’

Tom pulled a collection of flyers from his haversack. ‘I like the look of this San Francisco.’ He studied the information, as he had done many times over the past week.

‘One place is as good as the next,’ Church said.

The door swung open and an intense young man of around eighteen stepped in hesitantly. He had a sensitive face emphasised by large brown eyes that took in detail quickly.

The barman bristled. ‘I told you—’

‘I’m just looking for someone,’ the teenager interjected.

‘I know who you’re looking for, and you won’t find her in here. Or any of her kind.’

The teen opened his mouth to protest, then resigned himself to an exasperated silence.

One of the men chuckled as he checked his cards. ‘You had J. Edgar Hoover round yet about those Little Green Men?’

The teenager’s cheeks flushed. ‘It wasn’t Little Green Men.’

‘Aliens killed Kennedy!’ Another of the card-players brayed with laughter.

The teenager stalked over to their table. ‘You can laugh all you want. There was a conspiracy.’

The men continued to mock loudly. Niamh leaned into Church and whispered, ‘Who is Kennedy?’

‘Used to be the president. Assassinated last month in Dallas. A lot of people who didn’t have a voice loved him. A lot of people with conservative views hated him.’

‘It was the same in the Court of Alexander of Scotland,’ Tom said. ‘Politics and conspiracy go hand in hand.’

‘They arrested one man for killing Kennedy,’ Church explained. ‘Lee Harvey Oswald. But lots of other people thought Oswald was set up, that other people had a hand in the murder.’

‘Who?’ Niamh struggled to grasp what Church was saying.

‘Criminals like the Mafia. The government’s own agencies. Political protestors. Businessmen. Renegade politicians and military types. In my time, it’s become a kind of … myth.’ Church shrugged.

‘Why would anyone want to kill their king? Unless it was for sacrificial purposes—’

The teenager was growing more passionate. ‘There is evidence! My dad worked at the Kodak labs when they brought in the Zapruder film of the assassination. It definitely showed a guy with a spider on the back of his neck making a signal …’ The table fell silent. The teen looked from face to face until the card-players all burst out laughing as one.