Aphelion (11 page)

“What is it?” he demanded, as he flung the door open. Honoré, the head servant of Celeste’s house, stood there, his face a mask of fear. “Well, speak!”

“
Pardon, monsieur, un courrier a introduit le present document pour vous,
” Honoré said, and handed Frederick a rolled-up parchment, sealed with a red ribbon. Frederick’s French was shaky at best, even though he’d been with a French woman for over fifty years, but he understood a few words. Someone had brought this document to the house for him. To take him from his studies it had better be of importance.

“
Merci
,” Frederick said, and turned from Honoré, unrolling the parchment. He stopped in his tracks and read the words written in the finely crafted script twice. He swallowed, span on his feet, and turned back to Honoré, who was already walking away from Frederick’s room. “Honoré, has Celeste returned?”

Honoré stopped and looked back, with a frown of concentration. “
Pardon, monsieur, je ne comprends pas.
”

Frederick growled. “That is the problem, neither of us understand the…” He paused. “Wait, I did understand that. Celeste,
a retourné
?” he asked, suddenly able to speak and understand fluent French. Celeste always said that eventually he would be able to understand every language he heard, a peculiar trait that their people developed when near the Second Death. Which meant soon it would be time to… Frederick shook his head. No, he did not wish to contemplate what that meant. He knew, that was enough.

“She has, sir. I believe she is dining at this moment,” Honoré said.

“Thank you.”

Forgetting to close the door, Frederick swept past Honoré and made his way through the house to the dining room. There he found her sitting at the head of the table, resplendent in the finest silks, her dark red hair contrasting with the lighter shades of her dress. She looked up from her food, raised an eyebrow at Frederick’s haste, and offered him an empty wine glass.

“
Mes toujours
, a pleasure as ever. What brings you here in such a hurry?”

Frederick sat himself at the table and took the glass, allowing Celeste to pour the red liquid out of the crystal decanter. He returned her smile, and sipped before beginning. “I have received a missive, an invitation from the Ancient himself.” Still hardly able to believe his eyes, Frederick handed the parchment over.

Celeste quietly read the script. Once finished she carefully placed it on the table and raised her pale eyes to look at Frederick. “Moldavia. A long journey, Frederick, and a treacherous one. But such a summons cannot be ignored.” She smiled and reached a hand out to him, which he took and held in his. “Perhaps you shall now have answers to these questions?”

“It would seem most probable. And, of course I shall go, how can I not? There have been reports of the Ancient for many years, but none have been substantiated in decades. Just rumour. And now Wamukota wishes to see…
me
? Why me? Why now?”

“You question too much,
mes toujours
, I have always said so. You always want to know things with certainty, to be sure and have no doubt. Such yearnings lead to a closed mind.”

Frederick shook his head. “No, questions should be asked. Always.”

“Perhaps, but some answers are best left unknown.”

“Like the Second Death?” Frederick said softly, disturbed by the quake in his voice. “It is coming soon, Celeste, I know it. I understood Honoré with perfect clarity.”

Celeste took this news with grace. She knew Honoré spoke only French, and she knew how difficult Frederick found learning their native tongue. She smiled sadly, and placed a hand on his face. “I will miss seeing these eyes, but you know what must be done.”

For a moment neither spoke another word.

Frederick swallowed. “We shall see,” he said, and bent down to kiss Celeste. She returned the kiss with passion. “I shall return as soon as I am able. With answers,” he added.

Celeste raised her glass. “To answers, may they be all you wish. And when you return, may you be as young and vibrant as when we met.”

Frederick bowed, then turned to leave. It was, as Celeste said, a long and treacherous journey ahead, through countries at war. Always, it seemed, humans were fighting over something. He shook his head. It did not matter. He would make it to Moldavia and meet with the Ancient, the oldest of their kind. And he would find a way to escape the Second Death…somehow.

* * *

Part Two: 21st Century

Newington Green, England, 2002.

“I don’t know, Jake,” Willem said into his phone, as he stepped out of the cafe. He found a free table and sat down, placing the carrier bag on his lap and cracking open the can of Pepsi. It was a hot day and he was parched. Downing a can of drink while resting his legs sounded like a good plan. “You say that but there’s something about Cruise, you know?”

“Like what? He’s an okay actor, I guess,” returned Jake, the slight Californian lilt of his accent still there, despite twenty years of living in London, “but he picks such crap movies, guy.”

“You said you rated
Minority Report,
” Willem pointed out, lifting the box out of the carrier bag. An old man, on a course for the cafe, stumbled over a loose paving-stone and almost knocked the box out of Willem’s arm.

“So sorry,” the old man said, as Willem fought to steady him with his free hand.

“It’s okay, man,” Willem returned. The man gathered himself together, and for a moment he remained standing there, looking at Willem through his dark shades. Willem stared back, feeling his blood go oddly cold. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes,” the old man mumbled, “sorry, yes, I’m fine now. Just for a moment there you reminded me of…someone else.” He shook his head. “Excuse me.”

Willem watched the old man continue his way into the cafe, and blinked. He turned his attention back to the phone call, and could hear Jake on the other end trying to speak to him. “Sorry, dude, some old guy almost collapsed into me. Anyway, rating
Minority Report
.”

“Right, well I do, but what’s that got to do with Cruise? It was a good movie, but Cruise… Sorry, Will, but can’t be agreeing with you on that score. His wife on the other hand, she’s a babe!”

“What? Nicole Kidman?” Jake’s whistle on the other end of the phone made Willem laugh. Even now he could see his mate subconsciously repositioning his bits. “You do know they split last year, right?”

“Oh.” Silence, and then, “really? Proves my point, then. How can you rate Cruise when he divorced Kidman? He’s a fruitcake, obviously.”

“Good logic, man,” Willem said with a laugh.

Having just spent some time away from work to visit his father in Hackney, Willem was glad for the light relief Jake brought him. It wasn’t often that he visited his father, but now and then Willem felt obligated to visit, just to check in on the old goat. He was still a little concerned that his father was continuing his decline; first he’d turned to drink, which lasted a few years, and more recently he’d found religion. Willem still didn’t buy it, and it made his visits more sporadic than ever. He just couldn’t take seeing his dad turning into a pious old hermit, who spent most of his time quoting the Bible instead of asking how Willem’s life was going. Feeling a little down afterwards, Willem stopped en route home to treat himself to a new phone.

It was the latest in phone design, a Nokia 7650; slide-open, and the first Nokia phone to feature a camera. Willem didn’t quite understand why you’d need a camera in your phone and he certainly didn’t see it catching on, but that didn’t matter, he had seen it last month in the film
Minority Report
and had wanted one. Ringing Jake to tell him about the new purchase was what had initiated the critique on Tom Cruise. And now, with his old Ericsson T66 resting between ear and shoulder, he sat outside the cafe playing around with his new phone.

“So, when you back, guy?” Jake asked.

Willem chewed his lip, wondering if they would mind him borrowing a socket inside the cafe so he could charge the phone, and said, “couple of hours, probably. Have to meet with Ste, then pop over to the old folks home.”

Jake chuckled. “Don’t tell me, more drama with the teenager?”

Willem rolled his eyes at that, placing the phone back in its box. “Wouldn’t mind so much if my sister was a teenager already, at least then she’d have a reason for being such a stroppy bitch. Ah well, you know how it is, man, wouldn’t be my sister and mother if they weren’t having some kind of drama. Of course, they’re probably giving Eon a headache, so swings and round-a-bouts.”

“Yeah, always a plus. Anyway, guy, I’ll let you go.”

“Right, okay, cool. See you on the flip side, yeah?” He put the phone in his jacket pocket and glanced back at the cafe. He
could
ask them to borrow a plug socket, but… Willem checked his watch. Getting to Fulham would take a while, and since he didn’t drive… He stood up and turned to leave, thinking that maybe it was time he sorted out some driving lessons. Couldn’t become a business executive and not drive, that would be just—

He stopped and looked back at the shop. Just for a moment he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him, very closely. But no one seemed to be paying him any undue attention, not even that old bloke, who was now immersed in his newspaper, mug of tea on the table before him. Willem shrugged. He had things to do.

*

The old man looked up from his paper once again, and slowly lifted his sunglasses. With eyes so transparent they showed the blood behind, he observed the young man with carrier bag walking away from the outside table, leaving the Pepsi behind.

“At last,” Frederick said, “just as the Ancient promised.”

*

His work for the Three done, Frederick made his way slowly up Hawthorn Road. He didn’t mind Ashington too much, a largely urban town in the North East of England. He’d been sent to worse places in the centuries he’d served as the Three’s special envoy, and Ashington was…nice. He’d rather be in London, keeping an eye on Willem Townsend, but he had duties that did not allow him the luxury of such excesses. He had spent far too much time in London in the last few months, anyway, ever since he’d first spotted Willem outside that cafe, and Lady Isobel was beginning to get a little curious. If he continued it would only be a matter of time before Celeste found out, and he wasn’t ready to share yet.

He needed to be absolutely sure first. If what the Book said was true, then a few more years had to pass before he could make his move, enough time for him to be certain of the ka he’d sensed when he stumbled into Willem. It was
him
, Frederick was so sure, but not absolutely. A few other things needed clarity first.

That was why he now walked up Hawthorn Road, following the teen before him. A century had passed by so quickly, and now, once again, it was time.

He’d been following Robin Turner for a few days now, delving into the human’s mind. Such a fragile thing, even the weakest mind trawler would have had no difficulty reading the surface thoughts of Robin. Frederick had learned what he needed, and knew that after work Robin always popped by his mother’s before going on to his girlfriend’s flat. And he knew that the path he took was always the same.

On cue, Robin turned into Hirst Park, and Frederick quickened his pace. Robin reminded him of so many others he’d known over the years. Dead on six feet tall, thin but not slim, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Just like with all the others, Robin had the kind of eyes that sucked a person right in.

How could Frederick resist?
Especially
now.

He turned into Hirst Park himself, and was surprised to see Robin standing there, his body tense, fists clenched. As Frederick had suspected, Robin knew he was being followed. Which is what Frederick liked; he never picked the weak ones. There was no fun in that at all.

“What the fuck, man! What are you, some kind of nonce?”

Frederick grinned, and shook his head. “No, children have no interest for me. Younger than nineteen and…”

“You’re sick!” Robin stepped forward. “You’ve picked the wrong fucking man to stalk.”

“No, you’re perfect.” Without warning, and faster than Robin could take another step, Frederick was right in Robin’s face, one hand clamped around his throat. “To be nineteen again,” Frederick whispered, and forced his mouth over Robin’s.

*

Central London, England, 2003.

“Bro, that was just…wow!” Ste looked up at the glass-faced tower, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Only seconds ago both he and his mate were at the top of the Canary Wharf Tower and now they were both standing in the square below, surrounded by a cheering crowd who stood behind barriers some distance away.

“Express elevator to hell, right?”

“God yeah.” Ste laughed, and took a deep breath. “Shit. BASE jumping is just… Shit yeah! Can’t get much more crazy than that!”

“That a challenge?”

“Fuck yeah!” Ste said and held his hand out, which his mate grasped with equal fervour, their thumbs linking. That’s what Ste loved about Robin, always throwing out the next challenge, which he knew Ste would have to accept. Some called him an adrenalin junkie, and maybe they were right. Fact was Ste didn’t want to waste his life; he had to live on the edge. He’d almost died in a car accident when he was a kid, and since then it seemed foolish to waste his second chance.