Heroes - ch8
News Bulletin - looking for a quick way to earn some cash? A film crew from the Citadel’s Guild of Film Makers will be shooting in the Slums for a couple of days next week, and they’re looking for extras. Report to Marble Square and sign up. You’ll be given meals for as long as you’re working, and paid a flat rate of twenty credits a day. The film makers expect that your normal clothes will be all the costuming that you’ll need, but some of you may be given wigs and make up effects. So, if you’re at a loose end next week, why not…
Shale rubbed at her tired eyes with fingers that were cramped from typing. She had spent the last few days clearing up the paperwork of about five years worth of cases. At least, that was what it felt like. For some reason, she just had not been able to motivate herself to investigate any other cases, or even leave the police station.
Angel, who had acted as a kind of surrogate grandmother to her when she first joined Gems Clan, would have told her that the ghost of Gramard Henton was hovering over her. She would have laughed Angel to scorn, and told her that she did not believe in such superstitious nonsense. And Angel would have nodded sagely, and told her that whether she believed in something or not did not make it true or untrue. She never got angry, or even ruffled, by the disregard the younger Clan members paid to anything she said. She knew they loved her, that she was always the first person they would turn to if they wanted advice.
Smiling, Shale remembered the times she had gone to Angel, begging for some direction, for a way forward out of some scrape or other she had got in to. Angel would patiently outline her options, taking her through them one by one. And Shalee would thank her, and tell her that she had saved her life. Then she would go and do something completely different to any of the suggestions the old woman had made.
It suddenly struck her that perhaps that had been Angel’s intention all along. That would be like the old girl, she reflected, having the last laugh on them all. When Angel died, something about Gems Clan went with her. Not that it was not still a good Clan to belong to, but something was lost and they all knew it. Lux did his best to provide stories, wisdom, empathy, and an unquestioning shoulder to cry on in equal measure, but he was not Angel.
Nobody ever could be.
Surprised by the direction her thoughts had taken, Shale dropped her hands to her desk and stared at the words she had just written on her desk-com. They made absolutely no sense to her, and she glanced again at the notes on the note-com lying on the desk next to the fifth cup of coffee that she had allowed to go cold that day. The notes blurred in front of her eyes and she blinked, trying to bring everything back into focus. When she opened them, nothing had changed, and she sighed in frustration.
‘Er… Sergeant…?’ came Napper’s voice, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up at him, wearily.
‘Don’t you have some crime fighting to do, Constable?’ asked the Sergeant, wishing that he would simply leave her in peace. To be fair, he had mostly left her alone, she reflected, apart from appearing at her elbow at regular intervals with a fresh cup of coffee. She looked quickly at his hands and found them unfortunately empty. If he had not brought even brought coffee, then she definitely did not want to see him.
‘I er… that is… there has been a development,’ the Constable said, nodding in what he obviously considered to be a meaningful way.
‘What sort of development, Napper? Has the Slum police force finally found a source of decent coffee for its hard working officers?’
The vaguely puzzled frown that was Napper’s habitual expression settled itself comfortably over his features. She really was going to have to work on finding herself a god, Shale thought, as she waited impatiently for the Constable to catch up with the conversation.
‘Er… no, Sergeant,’ he said finally, and with evident regret that he could not give her some good news with regard to the coffee supplied by their employer. ‘It’s a development in the case.’
This statement was followed by more significant bobs of his head, and even a meaningful wink. Shale waited to see if any further information was likely to be forthcoming in the immediate future, but gave up after about ten seconds of silence. ‘OK, Napper, I still have half a century of paperwork to finish, I’m not getting any younger, and I really am not in the mood for guessing games. Which case has had a development, and why should I care? I’m not working on any new cases at the moment.’
Napper looked completely non-plussed, as if the answer was perfectly obvious. ‘It’s the case, Sergeant. The Henton Case.’
‘That case is closed, Constable,’ she told him, coldly. ‘Now if you have nothing intelligent to say, or fresh coffee to bring me…’
‘But Sergeant!’ interrupted Napper, desperation clear in his voice. She looked at him with interest. If he had dared to interrupt her, then perhaps he really did have something important to tell her, though what she was supposed to do with it now, with the official report written and published she had no idea.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Sergeant,’ he continued, nervously licking his lips, ‘but it may be officially closed, but… It’s my birth brother, Spex. He came to see me this morning. He said he’s got a message for your ears only. All that he would tell me was that it was to do with Henton.’
The Constable shuffled his feet, and would not meet her eye. ‘He’s a good bloke, Spex is,’ he said. ‘He’s got brains, and he knows how to use them. If he says he’s got information, then he’s really got something to tell you.’
Shale stared in to space for a few moments, weighing up whether to take any notice of what was in all likelihood a wild goose chase. After all, if this boy was a birth brother of Napper’s, she did not have very high hopes of him. On the other hand, he had been sensible enough not to entrust his full message with the Constable. Even if it was a waste of time, however, at least it would get her away from her desk for a little while. ‘Where is this brother of yours?’ she asked, bringing her attention back to Napper.
‘He said to meet him in the café across the street,’ beamed her young companion.
‘Excellent! They serve decent coffee in there. Your brother has taste, Napper. Come on - I’ll treat you,’ she said, feeling a sudden rush of something like camaraderie for the Constable.
His smile was so wide it seemed likely to split his face in half. He seemed too overcome to actually speak, but followed at her heels like an ecstatic puppy. What she had ever done to earn the loyalty and devotion Napper displayed on a daily basis she was at a complete loss to understand. Even now, when he had the opportunity to work with any other officer while she was buried in paperwork, he still chose to check up on her via his offers of coffee. The faithful puppy analogy was one that it was almost impossible not to apply to him.
The main Slum police station was situated on a narrow street some way from Marble Square. It was the sort of place that could only be found if you actually knew where it was. Attempting to reach it by following directions was like trying to get in to Looking Glass House. The Slum police officers, in general, appeared to like it that way, although Shale sometimes wondered if this was really the way a police force should operate. In her current position, however, it was probably not wise to ask that question too loudly.
A young man who bore a vague resemblance to Napper sat at the table in the window of the café across the street. If his mission was so hush hush, she wondered why he had chosen to sit in the café window. Then she looked up and down the empty street, and realised that it was probably the most discrete café in the whole of Alexandria Slums, and that there was as much chance of them being seen in its window as there was in the cellar of the police station.
She and Napper stepped across the street, and entered the café. The Constable sat down next to his birth brother, while she went to the counter and ordered three coffees. As she carried the tray carefully back across the room, she took the opportunity to observe the two young men together. Spex had apparently just asked the other boy a question, and the other was replying eagerly. The puzzled look she was so used to seeing was absent from his features, she realised. Obviously, the stranger had a knack of asking him questions that did not leave him struggling for an answer.
She placed the tray carefully on the table, interrupting her Constable in full flow. There were a few moments spent in adding milk and sugar to suit the liking of each, and then Shale looked up and met Spex’ eye. The young man pushed his glasses up his nose, and peered back at her.
‘So, what do you have for me?’ she asked, coming directly to the point.
He hesitated for a moment, apparently considering his next move. ‘Look, I know I’ve come to you, but it could still be dangerous for me. And for a friend of mine. We want to help you get in touch with Dryfe Henton, but we need to know that you want that help.’
Stirring her coffee, simply for something else to look at other than his strangely direct stare, she answered, ‘And why would you want to help me get in touch with the brother of a known thief?’
‘At the moment, all the risks are on our side,’ replied Spex. ‘Do you want our help, or not? Will you promise not to report this conversation, or anything else we share with you? We need some reassurance, Sergeant.’
Looking up, she met his eyes once more. There was honesty there, she felt, and intensity. He reminded her of his brother in both ways. It was the spark of genuine, individual intelligence that was the real way of telling them apart. ‘I do want your help,’ she admitted, at last. ‘The Henton case has been… haunting me, for want of a better word. That report was not worth the time it took to type it. If there is a way that the boy’s brother and I can discover the truth of what happened, I want to take it.’
She paused, her breathing slightly laboured, and glanced nervously around her. They were the only people in the café, apart from the waitress, and the street outside was still deserted. Even so, she felt watched. Her admission was a dangerous one, if it was reported to the wrong people. And yet, it was such a relief to let it all off her chest. It had been bottling up, threatening to burst her open.
Giving him a grateful smile, she continued, ‘So, Spex, do I pass muster? Will you help me?’
He gave her a sudden grin, his whole face transformed by the expression. ‘Of course we will, Sergeant Shale. My Clan sister is working in the Citadel as a security tech for the Citadel Guard. She witnessed your conversation with Dryfe Henton at the gate that his brother used to escape. She also witnessed Gramard leaving the Citadel with the android by that gate. Exactly how doesn’t matter at the moment, does it? There may be a day when you can all get together and swap war stories, but time is short, at the moment.’
‘It is,’ she agreed, after a short struggle with herself about demanding to know just how this girl had spied on her. ‘So, what do you and your sister suggest?’
‘You’ll appreciate that I don’t want to say too much, even now, Sergeant,’ he said with a smile. ‘I can give you a place and a time to be there. If you go, you will find something useful, and I will happily help you to make use of it. Will that do?’
‘I don’t suppose I really have much choice, do I? I understand your desire for secrecy, though. So, what time and place?’
The boy hesitated, again. In his own way he could be every bit as frustrating as his brother, she thought, forcing herself to sip her coffee in an effort not to lean across the table and shake the information out of him.
Having apparently reached a decision, he said, ‘Be at the gate Henton escaped through at midnight, tonight. That’s the only way you’ll get more answers. If you go, I’ll contact you again tomorrow, through Napper. Now, I have to go. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Before he could stand, she blurted out, ‘There’s just one thing… please?’
He settled back into his seat. ‘OK, but I really can’t stay much longer.’
‘Do you think he stole the android?’ she asked, her desperation to know his opinion loud even in her own ears.
‘I don’t…’
Shale explained, ‘Henton told me that he thought it was a person, someone with rights and feelings. That “she” really loved his brother, and that running away from the Citadel was as much for her as for him. He is adamant that his brother was not a thief, and that this “Lizzeth” was murdered as much as he was.’
Spex pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘All I know is what Jewel told me,’ he said, finally. ‘She said that if the report of the theft hadn’t come through, she would have thought it was just a normal couple leaving the Citadel. I’ve seen bits and pieces of Uncle’s work, but nothing that really works any more. Jewel has seen working examples - they have androids dressed up in shop windows in the Citadel, apparently - but nothing like this one. It certainly looked like a normal woman, and it talked back to Henton as if it understood what a conversation was.
‘Whether it was anything more than a clever shop dummy, though… I have no idea.’
‘It would take the whole investigation in a different direction, though, wouldn’t it? We would have two deaths, two possible murders,’ she mused.
Spex caught on to something in her last sentence, and leaned forward. ‘Do you mean to say that Henton thinks his brother was killed deliberately?’
She nodded. ‘He’s absolutely convinced that the android could not have exploded spontaneously.’
‘Well, as you say, Sergeant, all of that makes the investigation something else entirely. Go to the gate tonight - you’ll find your answers there, if they’re anywhere.’
With a final nod to his brother, Spex left the café, and Shale and Napper returned to the police station.
News Bulletin - get your hands on the very latest flotsam and jetsam to find its way down to the Slums! New Uncle artefacts now in stock! The rarest items in Alexandria Slums are only to be found in Brother Jem’s Scrap Dealership. Just come along to Brother Jem’s in Granite Square, and browse the aisles. Short on cash? That’s no problem! Brother Jem is always open to alternative methods of payment, from helping out in the shop to swapping one item for another. Don’t forget, Brother Jem has sources that the other scrap shops just can’t access. For the very best…
Napper nudged Shale in the ribs for perhaps the fifth time. She was too old for midnight jaunts, she thought as she struggled to keep her eyes from closing again. The only way to keep herself awake was to get moving, she decided, and stood up from the little café table they were sharing.
‘It’s a bit early yet, Sergeant,’ ventured Napper looking up at her anxiously.
She stretched and yawned hugely. ‘I know, Napper, but if I stay here much longer I’ll fall asleep completely. Better half an hour early than half a minute late, anyway.’
‘If you say so, Sergeant,’ the Constable shrugged.
‘It was something my birth mother used to say,’ explained Shale. ‘I’ve never quite recovered from it. Come on, then, let’s get moving.’
Together, they left the café in Marble Square, making their way through the late night crowds on pleasure bent. It struck Shale that they were probably following, in reverse, the route taken by Henton. And Lizzeth, murmured a quiet voice at the back of her head. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to think of Gramard Henton escaping with a stole object, a mere doll or mannequin, however sophisticated. In her mind’s eye, she saw two people, unable to live together where they were, escaping for a better life elsewhere. Or, if not a better life, a different one - one where they could live as they chose, and not according to someone else’s rules.
She was becoming quite the revolutionary, she thought, amused at the concept.
Well, why not? asked the quiet voice. She had never been one to quite keep to the party line, after all. That was the main reason that she was still a Sergeant, after all. Clawz was younger than her, and had found no difficulty at all in rising to the level of Captain. Her superiors most certainly saw her as a rebel. How great a leap was it from rebel to revolutionary?
At this moment, however, the thought foremost in her mind was of her bed. Perhaps she was not made of the right stuff to lead an insurgence, after all.
They reached the service lift, which had been completely repaired within a day of Henton’s escape. She had heard that the doors had been completely ripped apart as if they were made of tissue paper. Only the android could have done that, was the comment usually made at this point, the speaker’s voice lowered to a hush, sometimes in awe at its strength, sometimes in wonder that any human would choose to travel with such a companion.
Presumably Lizzeth could control her strength, though, Shale reflected. After all, she had been created by Uncle as a concubine, an over the top kind of sex toy, perhaps, but surely he had the right to make what he chose for his own amusement? And surely, he would not create something for such a purpose that could accidentally harm him? Or worse…
The lift doors whispered open, and they got inside. Still lost in her own thoughts, Shale left Napper to press the button that would instruct the lift to carry them up to the Highway.
So, Uncle had deliberately created something that could tear steel as easily as paper to use in his bed. Was that partly the point, to demonstrate his absolute control over such power? That was not a comfortable thought, especially when coupled with the idea that his creation had, ultimately, rebelled against him. If Lizzeth, a person created by him from metal, plastic, and electronic circuits had deliberately left him, then his control was not so absolute, after all. On the other hand, if Gramard Henton, a person made of flesh and blood, had stolen an android, Uncle’s control had still slipped, in some way. Whether the boy had penetrated his home, or had managed to somehow reprogramme the android, his security was not as air tight as it was generally considered to be.
They reached the upper level, and exited the lift, turning in the direction of the Citadel, which crouched ahead of them, glowing with thousands of points of light. It would only take a few minutes to reach it. She was aware of Napper, walking patiently beside her, but was so locked into her own train of thought that she could spare no words for him.
How would Uncle have felt about any or all of those circumstances, she wondered. How delicate was his ego? How important was it for him to be in control of everyone and everything within his sphere of influence? How big was his sphere of influence?
Before she could continue that train of thought any further, she found that they had arrived at the car park outside the gate that Gramard and Lizzeth had used to escape from the Citadel. Looking through the arch, she could see Dryfe Henton, and his not-girlfriend, Gloria. They spotted the two Slum police officers, and waved in greeting. Shale and Napper walked up to the arch, and the four of them stood there awkwardly. How did you make small talk in a situation like this, she asked herself.
Suddenly, a new voice broke the silence. ‘Good, you’re all early! The quicker we get this over with, the better.’ Turning in the direction of the voice, she saw a girl of about Spex’ age, wearing a Citadel style outfit of blue and silver, but with a tat of a bright red blood droplet on her neck. ‘I’m Jewel, in case you hadn’t guessed,’ she said, apparently as an after thought.
‘OK, I’m going to explain this really quickly, so please listen carefully. You can ask questions, but not now. I promise you that we will all be able to communicate, and everything will be clear.’
She held up two small, silver objects. ‘These are old-style mobile-coms that are equipped with text messaging. It’s so old fashioned that it’s extremely unlikely that anyone will ever scan for it. Just in case, I’ve modified the units so that they won’t trigger any alarms anywhere. And we’re going to use a code.
‘Dryfe, I’ll explain to you how it works. Shale, Spex will contact you tomorrow to explain it to you. OK?’
Shale and Henton glanced at each other, and shrugged at exactly the same moment. ‘I don’t think we have much choice,’ Henton replied with a rueful chuckle, reflecting her own feelings exactly.
‘Good! Now, here are the units,’ Jewel said, throwing one to him, and the other through the arch to Shale. ‘Now, I’m off, and I suggest that you all do the same. I’ll contact you tomorrow,’ she threw at Henton, before turning on her heel and disappearing down one of the side streets.
Henton looked at Shale. ‘I’m glad you came,’ he told her.
Gloria, clearly nervous, pulled at his arm. ‘Come on, baby,’ she urged. ‘You heard that girl! We should go. You can send the Sergeant a love letter on your new toy!’
Amused at the thought of receiving anything resembling a love letter from a man young enough to be her son, Shale replied, ‘She’s right, Mr Henton. When we know how to use these things properly, we can share all the information we want to.’
He nodded, grabbed Gloria’s hand, and also disappeared from view.
Shale turned to Napper. ‘Well, Constable, shall we follow our friends’ example?’
‘I think we should just go home, Sergeant. You look dead on your feet!’ came the concerned reply.
She smiled despite herself. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea, Napper. But we’ll get you home first. I don’t want to get into trouble with your Clan mother. She’s a scary woman!’
‘Bluebird? She’s not scary,’ he said, the familiar note of puzzlement in his voice.
‘Well, not to you, of course. I don’t think she’d be very impressed with me if I kept you out all night, though,’ said Shale with a smile, as she began to walk back towards the Highway.
He shook his head. ‘Oh, she’d have a thing or two to say, of course. But she’d say it to me. I’m old enough to act responsibly, Sergeant, and to take the consequences if I don’t.’
‘You stayed in your birth Clan, didn’t you, Napper?’ she asked, thinking of the crossed daggers tat that he wore on his left forearm.
Subconsciously, he rubbed his right hand over his other arm. ‘Blades Clan, yeah. Spex didn’t want to stay, though. He wanted to be a Blood, almost as soon as he knew what a Clan was.’
‘You’re very alike, you and your brother,’ she said, remembering the conversation she had had with Spex earlier that day.
Napper laughed. ‘No, Sergeant. He’s got brains, Spex has, but I’ve never had much going on in my head that someone else didn’t give me first.’
‘Don’t run yourself down like that, Constable,’ Shale said automatically. And then she realised that she meant it.
News Bulletin - looking for meaning in your life? Wondering what your purpose is? Seeking answers, but not sure what the questions are? You might find what you seek at the Temple of the Well. Whatever your faith, or even if you believe you have none, visit the Temple, today. Dip your toes, or drink deep! You too can find refreshment for your soul. Someone from the Temple Community is always on duty if you would like to talk to someone privately. We also have daily services, featuring reflective liturgy, uplifting music, and scriptural exploration. Why not pop along, and discover…
Quite what had led her to visit the Temple of the Well, Shale was never able to say. She had awoken late on the morning after the meeting with Henton and Jewel, and had called work to say she was sick. Clawz had not asked for any further information, and she had not given him any. It was a measure of their level of understanding, she thought. If neither of them asked the other anything specific, then the other would not have to lie. She was a little anxious about how Spex was going to contact her, but decided that he seemed a resourceful young man; if he wanted to find her, he would.
Her story of sickness was not entirely fabricated. Her head was threatening to split in two, and she felt a day at home would be of more benefit than popping a couple of pain killers and going in to work. An hour of wandering around the Clan House, however, convinced her that the best thing to do was go for a walk. There were always people hanging around the Clan House, doing whatever they did to occupy their time. Mama was out, and there was really nobody else that she felt like talking to. Her usual way of passing the time was cross stitching her own designs, but that required concentration and her brain protested loudly at the very suggestion.
And so, she found herself wandering the Slums, finding something strangely soothing in the ebb and flow of the crowd. She simply allowed herself to be carried along, with no definite direction in mind. The police officer in her could never be completely switched off even with more than half of her mind occupied with the pain behind her eyes, and she found herself observing the people and things around her automatically. There was some kind of drug deal being struck down that alley, one ragged youth passing a slip of paper to another equally squalid individual who passed an object over as payment. A small pack of Citadwellers wandered past, commenting and laughing at everything they saw, their bright clothes and mocking voices equally loud to her delicate brain.
These were things that she expected, however. There were any number of ways to escape the reality of life in the Slums, but many chose drugs; she acknowledged this fact with a certain fatalism, though she still refused to accept it. And something about the Slums was endlessly fascinating to the pampered offspring of the Citadwellers. Some of them visited only once, some repeatedly; some came alone or in pairs, others in groups. Again, it was something that just was, though not something she felt obliged to like.
She stopped at a café and ordered a coffee. Sipping the bitter fluid, really tasting it for a change with nothing else to distract her, she could feel it revive her. Someone at another table was playing a portable holo-player, and she heard the advert for the Temple of the Well without consciously taking it in. The holo-player was switched off before she could hear the Temple’s location, however, and she gave it no more thought.
It was a surprise, therefore, to find herself standing under the portico of the Temple of the Well half an hour or so later, and peering in to its dim, cool interior. The Slums boasted their fair share of religions, those with formal places of worship and those without, those with scriptures that predated the settling of Alexandria, and those that were written last week. The Temple of the Well was different.
The Well had been discovered by the earliest settlers on the planet, the only created artefact ever found in that entire solar system. It was perfectly circular, despite being several meters wide, and being dressed with stone that had obviously been dressed with primitive tools. The rim was laid with blocks of pink stone, and three rings of steps, each made from stone of a different colour, led down to a ledge wide enough for an adult to lie at full length with no danger of falling off. None of the stone used was native to the planet. Water, just warmer than blood heat, filled the Well to the brim. Its bottom had never been reached, despite several diving expeditions. Its walls were dressed in stone, some of which bore strange carvings.
Its discovery had, at first, excited the archaeologists, who expected to find further traces of an ancient civilisation. When it became evident that there was none to be uncovered, the religions had moved in. The problem was that the Well fitted no existing dogma precisely. There were some who found the water significant, but struggled to find a place for the carvings on the stones. Others saw something in the carvings, but had no use for circles. It also defied the creation of a new religion that could harmonise all of the elements present.
Eventually, the existing organised religions gave up wrangling over it, and concentrated instead on creating their own places of worship. At that point, a group of men and women who found themselves drawn to it, although many of them had professed no formal faith previously, moved to the site, and built the Temple, to protect the Well equally from the elements and further interference.
Feeling slightly foolish, Shale stepped inside. Angel would have told her that the holo-player advert was a sign, that her subconscious had responded to it by leading her to the Temple. She would also have reminded her about her wish for a god to believe in, for someone to pray to for strength. The fact that the Temple of the Well was not dedicated to a particular deity would not have made any difference. The Well was a place for those who were seeking. Sometimes, it found them.
Just for a moment, Shale felt certain that she had heard Angel’s whispery laughter, amused but not mocking, ringing in her ears.
She allowed her eyes to adjust to the lower light level inside, and then looked around at her surroundings. The main entrance led directly to the chamber that had been built over the Well. It was huge, shaped like a hemisphere, and built of stone quarried from the planet that housed it. Its creators had decided that, since the materials of the Well itself had been brought from elsewhere, it was only fitting that the Temple be sourced locally. Stone benches were placed around the Well, to a pattern that she could not immediately recognise, but there was no altar, and no pulpit. Various doors and arches led off from the main space, and she wondered if the services the advert had referred to took place in some sort of side chapel.
There were people sitting on the benches, some in pairs or groups of three or four talking in low voices, some alone in silent contemplation or, perhaps, prayer. It was not obvious which of them, if any, might be members of the Temple Community.
‘May I help you, Sister,’ asked a voice, so unexpectedly that she jumped.
She turned to face the speaker, and found herself looking at a man somewhat younger than herself. He was dressed in a loose tunic and trousers, dyed blue, and she now realised that a number of the people she had observed earlier were dressed in a similar fashion. There was no other sign, either obvious or obscure, to mark him out, but she guessed that the very fact that he was speaking to her meant that he was a member of the Temple Community.
‘I… I’m not really sure,’ she admitted. ‘I just sort of found myself here.’
‘Sometimes, the Well finds you,’ commented the stranger, with a quiet smile.
Shale gaped at him. ‘I was just thinking,’ she said, ‘that an older member of my Clan would have said something like that to me.’
‘I wouldn’t read too much into that,’ he said, with a wink, and she let out a little burst of laughter in response, quickly smothering it as she remembered where she was.
‘It’s OK to laugh,’ said the man. ‘The Well will not be offended.’
‘Of course not,’ she murmured, now completely lost. She wondered for a moment if this was how Napper felt, most of the time.
He held out a hand and said, ‘My name is Pebble. You may call me Brother Pebble, but it is not necessary.’
‘I think we might be related,’ she answered with a grin, as she shook his hand. ‘My name is Shale.’
He grinned in response. ‘If we were the sort of people who read meaning in to every coincidence, I am sure we could find much to discuss on that subject,’ he said. ‘But I sense that, even if we were to wish to discuss it, we would leave it for another day. You are troubled, Sister. I need not special insight to perceive that. I have an excellent pair of ears, if you wish to talk. Although I can give no guarantee of giving you any sound advice in return, sometimes just talking a problem through with a stranger can lead people to their own answers.’
‘I don’t know,’ replied the Sergeant, hesitantly. ‘What troubles me is something that is dangerous to me, and, possibly to others. I have secrets that I may not be at liberty to discuss, since they are not my secrets alone.’
Pebble pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I understand your hesitation,’ he said at length. ‘I can assure you that anything you tell me will be treated with utmost confidence. Whilst we have nothing like the confessional system used in other religions, we do know how to keep our mouths shut.’
‘I appreciate that, but that isn’t the only thing that worries me,’ Shale answered. ‘I don’t want to drag someone else in to this… situation. Especially someone who otherwise would not be involved.
‘I have questions, too, of course. Questions of faith, and the probability of particular coincidences all happening completely by chance, and whether Angel was right, after all. But none of that is important at this moment in time.’
‘Well, Sister, for what its worth, my advice is this. Go and sit on one of the benches that are closest to the water, and simply let whatever concerns you most wash over your mind. Don’t try to hold any particular idea too tightly, but just let them flow. In my experience, something usually floats to the surface, and it is often the thing being sought, even if the person was unaware of it.
‘And if, in the future, you feel the need to discuss anything in more detail, then the Temple, and I, will be here.’
‘Thank you. I really don’t know what to say.’
‘I find that the wisest course of action in such situations is to say nothing,’ said Brother Pebble with a final wink, before walking quietly away.
Shale watched him for a moment, and then decided to follow his advice. She wound her way amongst the stone benches, each of which was slightly different she suddenly realised, until she found one that was unoccupied. Settling as comfortably as she could on its unresisting surface, she attempted to clear her mind of conscious thought, and gazed into the still surface of the Well.