Matt stood in the heavy rain, completely soaked, staring into the darkness and listening to the echo of Veronica’s voice telling him that she loved him over and over again. He wondered if she really meant it or if she was only relieved to know he was not dead. In his waking dream, he remembered the first time he saw Veronica at the Harvest Festival in Northern California and how he wanted so much to date her but the circumstances were complicated and it was impossible to know if Veronica reciprocated any liking for him due to her being fall-down, barfing drunk. Matt’s longing quickly turned to self-disgust as he remembered his cold response to her expression of love and he repeated his words to her, “I love you too? What the hell Matt, way to be convincing—responding to her with a question. I’m such an idiot!” he whispered quietly.
As much as he wanted too, Matt couldn’t fixate on Veronica with so much urgent business at hand. He turned to the group and saw Hank and Gus unwrapping General Clancy’s body as they laid him on the wet grass of the pasture. They all stood and looked at him, everyone confused at what to do next. Jess walked over and placed his hands on the General’s cold body and muttered some kind of prayer as Gus recited to Hank the words he heard the General speak through the locker, “Skanicum mortal renaissance?”
He turned to Hank hoping he would have an explanation but Hank just shrugged his shoulders and stared at the General’s body. There was a long pause as the group all stood around the body, half-way expecting something miraculous to happen. In frustration, Gus walked over and placed the blanket over the General’s body, “As if losing him wasn’t enough—now we have to just leave him here in the rain? I don’t know which is more painful.”
The group quietly agreed with Gus but no one spoke for several minutes and then Hank whispered, “It’s the painful lessons that are the most important.”
Matt was the only one who really understood what Hank meant and he agreed completely. Not only was the manner in which the General died preventable with better group fighting tactics, but the memory of his blundered conversation with Veronica was like poison passing through his body. He vowed the next opportunity he had to speak with her; he would not hold back his feelings. Just then they heard a mournful howl in the distance and they all stood up looking in the direction it came from and then looked at each other.
Hank picked up the oil lamp and began walking toward the shot-out cabin, “Skanicum coming—we should leave the pasture.”
They all filed into the cabin and everyone found a place to lie down, shaking wood splinters and broken glass off what blankets they could find. Sleep came quickly to them all and in what seemed like only minutes, the sun was shining through the broken windows and one by one they all staggered to their feet as Gus was preparing a pot of tea for himself and coffee for everyone else.
Shay stood looking out the kitchen windows that opened out to the north pasture and while holding his coffee with both hands, warming them in the cool autumn air exclaimed, “Where are the dead soldiers?”
Everyone else walked over to see what Shay was talking about and to their surprise, all of the dead soldiers were gone, not a body was found anywhere.
“I know they were there last night because I tripped on several as I walked in here,” said Jess as he opened the door and walked toward the pasture followed by the rest of the group.
Every last body was gone including the General’s and Gus walked around to the east side of the cabin to where the Toprak army had camped for the night and there were several soldiers sitting around a smoldering fire but most were still sleeping. He then turned to Hank, “That howl last night, that was Skanicum? What are they and what do they do?”
Hank relayed all he knew about the mythical Skanicum and as he concluded he paused for a moment and remembered the encounter he had on the river bank with a Skanicum as a child, “They are not all bad—at least I know of one that seemed to have human qualities and my experience up on the ridge seems to suggest that they are capable of distinguishing between humans with good intent or evil intent. I once assumed that the stories of Skanicum harvesting the dead were just stories, but I see it is true. We can only hope that the Skanicum can still determine good from evil among the dead.”
Jess was still trying to place the Skanicum into his religious perspective of the world and trying to understand their role as a creature created by the hand of God and then asked Hank for clarification, “What exactly do you mean by harvest?”
“The same reason man harvests the corn,” said Hank without any emotion as he walked back into the cabin. The expression on Jess’s face was one of horror as he at length realized what Hank was saying.
Matt sat down on the back stairs and Gus came over to join him, enjoying the warm morning sun and after a few minutes Gus spoke slowly and very deliberately, “I had a long conversation with Horsa last night and…”
“I know,” interrupted Matt.
Gus didn’t speak for several minutes wondering how Matt felt about Toprak after hearing Horsa’s sincere desires to help them regain control of the country. Gus wasn’t completely convinced Toprak’s motives were pure, but for the first time he didn’t see them as the great evil he once thought they were and after several minutes he continued, “I must admit, I am conflicted—and while I don’t believe Toprak’s motives are pure, I am more inclined to trust them than the President, mostly because Toprak isn’t trying to kill us today.”
Matt interrupted again, “But they were a few months ago.”
Gus sighed and after a long pause, which underscored his confusion he breathed a painful, “Yes,” as he remembered that terrible day in his office and holding Veronica in his arms, dead. He shook his head in an effort to physically clear the memory from his mind and change the subject to something more pleasant, “So—it was very good to hear Veronica’s voice. She seemed very well once she realized you were alive.”
Matt turned to Gus unable to contain the pleasing smile coming to his face, “Indeed it was.” The truth was, Matt couldn’t stop thinking about her and ever since last night he had tried to recount every word she had said and the more he rehearsed her words, the more he was intoxicated and bewitched by them, “How was that possible? It was like an experience taken from a page out of some medieval chronicle.”
Gus chuckled slightly shaking his head, “I haven’t a guess. That is something we will have to take up with his Majesty. It is very clear that he has a firmer grasp on things than we do—of course. I guess that is why he is the King—hmm?”
Hearing Gus talk about the King and address him as ‘His Majesty’ took Matt back to the time they spent in England, his knighting and the powerful feelings of duty that distilled upon him then. He suddenly began interpreting their current circumstances with warrior eyes and with the heart of a lion. He jumped to his feet no longer able sit with so much purpose hitting his bloodstream, “My Lord, given our current gentle capture with Toprak, we have little choice than to participate in the charade. At least until the opportunity presents itself to part company. As for the King’s transport, we will just have to hope God aligns our timing and our paths.”
Feeling Matt’s renewed fever, Gus was also awakened to a sense of duty and also stood calling the group inside the cabin, “Sir Matthew is right, we have little choice than to go along with Toprak for now and it appears it is their plan to conquer the United States—and given the fact that we are apparently public enemy number one, maybe we can use them to remove the President. It is a gamble of tremendous proportions I realize.”
Gus paused before he continued as he was about to expose his and Matt’s secret, “My apologies Theodore and Jess for keeping this from you but I believe when you have heard what I am about to say, you will realize why I have waited until now. Horsa was absolutely correct when he accused me of being a Lord of the British Crown, and Matthew being knighted. Veronica has also been grafted into royal privilege and has been bestowed the title of Lady. She is currently residing in Kensington Palace—for safety.”
Jess was more intrigued than irritated with Gus for withholding such information and he started his first round of questions, “Surely this was highly irregular for the British Crown to do such a thing—especially after their embassy was bombed on our watch. Why did they do it?”
Gus determined it was time to show all his cards, “I have always been a British citizen, maintaining dual citizen citizenship. I realized at the time and now that this is treason but all the while and over all these years, it seemed the right thing to do—and it still may prove to be of even more value. It has already preserved our lives or at least our detainment while in England and it has paved the way for an alliance between us,” he said pointing the group in the cabin, “and the King, which perhaps may be the last saving grace for this country—but there is more. I’m not sure how this directly applies to the current crisis but it seemed to have tremendous importance to his majesty. Veronica and I are related of sorts and our bloodline is of pure Anglo-Saxon descent—very rare we have been told. As you may not be aware, the Saxons invaded the ill-defended island nation of England in the first century and have ruled it ever since.”
Ted was quickly putting the pieces together and interrupted, “Making you and Veronica undisputed heirs to the throne?”
“I don’t know about that—surely there are royal lineages that supersede any claim that Lady Veronica and I could have but the English Crown has always been highly interested in preserving and identifying the Saxon bloodline,” said Gus somewhat quickly before Matt interrupted him.
“Gus is being modest, history has shown time and time again that persons with pure Anglo-Saxon blood cannot be defeated or conquered. That is why the King has extended a saving branch to us,” said Matt pointing to the group. “With a private army the size of Toprak’s running unchecked in the world; we are fighting for the liberty of mankind, not flags.”
Matt saw Gus look at him with a look of surprise at his knowledge of English history as he retorted, “What?—I can read.”
Gus shrugged and then continued, “Our first goal is to get ourselves to Glacier Airport, his Majesty is sending a transport for us which should be there in less than 20 hours. Hank thinks we can get there in only a few hours if we can drive but a couple of days overland. The route we take will depend entirely on what the Toprak army’s plan is.”
Ted was ready to do something useful which in his mind meant getting out of Montana, “So when will we know what Toprak’s plan is?”
Just before Ted started to speak, Gus could see Horsa coming across the pasture obviously very surprised that all the dead soldiers were gone and as he started up the back steps Gus responded, “Any second.”
Just then, Horsa opened the cabin screen door, “Good morning gentlemen. I would ask you how you slept but given your tired expressions I can tell you didn’t sleep at all and you spent the night burying the dead!” He laughed in amusement, “Mass grave?”
The group’s response was delayed since no one knew what to say or if they should even say anything at all, then Hank volunteered, “No, Skanicum.”
Horsa was confused, not ever hearing of such an animal named Skanicum, “What’s Skanicum, some kind of American bear?”
Before anyone could speak Matt quickly ended the discussion with, “Something like that.”
Still maintaining his sincere charade, Horsa turned to address Gus, “My Lord, I apologize and I regretfully inform you that I and my captains held a council of war early this morning without you and we have determined that our first order of business should be to secure all the airports in the area and then from there, make our attack on the area military bases. This will provide us with the stronghold we require to then make further advances into the interior of the nation. With your blessing, we shall dispatch immediately.”
Thinking quickly, Gus took a visual vote by looking at the faces in the room and then turned to Horsa, “Your plan is both very sound and wise Horsa, we shall be ready to move within the hour, however I must insist that me and my friends travel with the company that will descend upon Glacier International as we have business their ourselves.”
Gus and the rest of the group held their breath as they waited for Horsa to respond. After several seconds Horsa pretended as if he had no reservations whatsoever, “Very well my Lord, you shall travel with me and my company,” and he saluted with a closed fist to his chest, nodded to the remainder of the group and walked out the screen door. Passing one of his guards he leaned and whispered in his ear, “Move all my effects into the Glacier Company’s van. I will be moving out with that group now it appears.”
Matt sat down in emotional exhaustion as his thoughts once again turned to Veronica.
ddd
Veronica rolled over on her side as she opened her eyes and tried to determine where she was. Her right cheek was throbbing with pain and she could feel the swelling pushing up into her eye. She started to put fragments of memories together and remembered screaming, being pulled away from the King and Professor Moran into the darkness. She then remembered getting the back of a hand to her face and that was all. She concluded that she must have been knocked unconscious. She then sat up on the bed and looked around the elegantly decorated room.
The bedspread was made of pure silk, dyed a deep blood red as she took note of all the teak and gold accents and ornate hardwood flooring and determined that she was on a ship. It was then she realized the ship was moving. She walked over to the port windows and could see city lights on both sides of the ship, We’re on the Thames, she thought as she also concluded that she was headed east to the English Channel and from there, who knows.
She quietly walked over to the cabin door and with little hope of if being unlocked; she pulled down on the handle and to her surprise, it turned and the door opened. She paused for a moment trying to come up with a plan and determined that it was rather hopeless since she didn’t know anything about the ship she was on—other than it appeared to be very large—and she didn’t know anything about the man who abducted her. She then remembered the man saying something about her being his lord’s property. Remembering the details of the incident made her angry and she said to herself, “I am no man’s damn property.” She opened the door and stepped out into a long hallway with teak flooring and brass handrails leading in both directions.
She couldn’t know for sure which way lead to the deck so, she took her best guess and started walking until she came to a companionway with steep stairs leading upwards. She grabbed hold of the railing and slowly climbed up to the open deck. She had guessed right and she was near the stern of the ship and looking forward she could see the bow over 100 feet away confirming her suspicion that this was indeed a very large ship. She couldn’t see anyone else on deck in the darkness and looking around she also noticed that this was no ordinary ship. While it appeared to be very new, it was a tall ship with three masts and in the light breeze coming off the city, they had a full spread of canvas in an attempt to harness every last bit of wind.
She walked over to the port taffrail and looked out at the lights of London pass by. In the distance she could see several large fires burning and she rightly concluded that they were the result of the explosions they heard earlier in the evening. She didn’t know the city well enough to recognize any landmarks until she looked forward and could see Tower Bridge with its bascule leaves opened and prepared for the tall ship to pass under it. Tower Bridge was—as always—beautifully lit and Veronica stood admiring it as they drew closer and then eventually under it. She marveled as she was able to inspect its beautiful architecture up close and for a moment forgot she was a prisoner.
“Well good evening my Lady—lovely evening isn’t it? Perfect for a float down the Thames wouldn’t you say?”
Veronica was startled and she jumped at hearing the voice of the same man who abducted her in the city.
“I beg your pardon my Lady, I didn’t mean to frighten you—and please accept my most sincere apology for what happened
in London,” the man bent down on a single knee and bowed his head, “please forgive me I beg you.”
Veronica looked down at the man in amazement, “You steal me away from my friends, knock me unconscious and you seek my forgiveness?” Veronica turned her back on the man and looked at the city lights in disgust and anger, “Go to hell!”
As she stood at the taffrail she waited for a reprimand or another blow to the head but nothing came. She could hear the man get to his feet and then walk over to her and she could see him her out of the corner of her eye standing at the taffrail to her left.
The man took out a cigarette, lit it and took a long drag as he threw the match overboard, “Beauty, bravery and balls—you’re one hell of a package I’ll give Hengist that. Although, we’ll need to do something about that swollen cheek before we reach Morocco or his lordship will have my head for damaging his property.”
Veronica’s fuse was lit (again) and she turned to the man with her teeth clinched, “I am no one’s PROPERTY! And if I you want to survive this night, you will drop me at the nearest port. I have very powerful friends.”
The man laughed, “I know you do, the King of bloody England for starters. The problem is my Lady; no one knows where you are or who I am—and in case you are wondering, we planned it that way,” the man laughed again at his humor and then apologized. “I beg your pardon my Lady. Lord Hengist would be right displeased with me if he knew I was so casual with you.”
He threw his cigarette over the railing and turned to Veronica, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Warin, the Captain of the guard at Toprak Esir—at your service. We will be sailing for approximately 10 days—depending on the weather—arriving in Tangiers, a very beautiful port town on the Strait of Gibraltar. I dare say you will enjoy it very much. It doesn’t quite have the nostalgia of Casablanca but it has its own charm and old-world comforts.”
Veronica was still fuming and stood with her hands tightly grasping the railing biting down so hard that her teeth began to ache. She finally took a deep sigh and recognized that there was no way she could over-power her captors but there was a good chance she could out think them. The first thing she needed to do was convince them she was somewhat resigned to her fate so that they would hopefully become complacent. Veronica turned to Warin and spoke in a resigned tone, “So—what’s in Morocco that warrants me to be taken there as a prisoner?”
Before Warin responded he whistled to a man at the fore of the ship and yelled, “You there, fetch the doctor.” A voice in the darkness responded, “Yes sir, fetch the doctor.” She could hear the command repeated quietly somewhere below decks several times and Warin then turned his attention to Veronica, “You mustn’t think of it that way my Lady.”
“But it is that way!” shot back Veronica.
For the first time Veronica could detect sincerity in Warin’s voice and he turned to her compassionately, “Perhaps at this moment but with every passing hour you are becoming our distinguished and very royal guest. You need not fear for your life my Lady. You are now on the right side of things although it will take you some time to see it that way.”
Veronica sighed and shook her head just as a man approached her from the stern of the ship, “My Lady, allow me take a look at that swollen cheek and see if we can’t improve things—hmm?”
The doctor led her back down to the great cabin to attend to her wound as the ship approached East Tilbury, the second to the last bend in the Thames before heading out to open sea. Veronica stared out the port window into the darkness and prayed that the King and professor Moran were looking for her.
ddd
“Get up slowly Your Majesty; let your wits settle back into you. There is nothing to rush to your feet for, we have been over powered in this round with Toprak,” explained Moran as he helped the King get to a sitting position.
As the King sat leaning up against a tree on the lawns outside the royal courts he waited for his clouded mind to clear, slowly remembering the events of the last hour, “You’re sure it was Toprak?”
Moran put his arm around the King’s waist as he insisted on standing up, “Your mind is still a little mossy your Majesty. Toprak is the only enemy Lady Veronica has. Besides, the man who carried her off was none other than Warin—the captain of the guard. Hengist only sends him on the most exacting errands. He is cunning and politely cruel. He could hack off your head with his fingernails and profess his love for you until you lost consciousness.”
The King, getting command of both his body and his brain, placed the last missing pieces of memory that allowed him to make sense of the entire situation, “So if you knew that man then...”
“Then, yes, I am exposed,” interrupted Moran, putting an end to the conversation.
They both walked back to the Seven Stars pub neither of them speaking as they tried to digest what had just happened and what their next move should be. It was only a matter of time before Warin met with Hengist but at least he had a few days. Toprak did not use modern communication and since Hengist was still most likely in Morocco, it would be at least a week, maybe more before Warin had an audience with Hengist. Moran knew that Toprak spies and traitors were quickly disposed of and he wondered if the King’s protection would be sufficient to protect him. His thoughts were then interrupted by the King’s voice talking on his phone, “Yes, yes I am quite fine. Please dispatch a car to the Seven Stars, unmarked please. No, only myself and the professor, Lady Veronica will not be joining us.”
As they entered the pub, the King was on another call, this time with the London Port Authority trying to determine if a Toprak vessel was in port. After several minutes the King hung up his phone in disappointment, “No record of any Toprak vessel in port over the past 24 hours. They must be using an alias,” said the King as he sat down on an old wooden chair in the empty and dark pub.
After a few minutes, the King got up and walked over to the bar, He returned to with two pints of ice water and handed one to Moran, who looked at it in somewhat of a surprise, “Ice in water, very American.”
“Yes, America has given the world a great deal but none perhaps more refreshing and mind-clearing than ice in water. I have become very partial to it over the years and frankly the warm tap water in Europe leaves me feeling somewhat ill rather than refreshed,” said the King as he sat down at a table and took a long drink, then sat his pint on the table, “What is Hengist’s interest in Lady Veronica, besides her Saxon blood?”
Moran, like all Toprak employees knew nothing of the grand plan of the company and what knowledge he did possess only allowed him to perform his job and nothing more. He knew all there was to know about her blood work but why it was important to Hengist, he could only guess, “Sadly, I could never discover why Anglo-Saxon heritage was important to Toprak. I can only guess that they want it for the same reasons you do.”
The King sighed, “I fear you are correct my friend. Hengist is a lot of things but foolish isn’t on his list, except when it comes to recreating history. He wouldn’t risk so much to steal her away unless it was vitally important to his master plan. Ironically, Veronica is perhaps the only person capable of understanding it. Her grasp on medieval history is rather astounding and greatly enhanced since I sent her the Alfred copy of the Winchester Chronicle.”
“Did you indeed sir, and how did she receive it?” asked Moran.
Just then a car pull up in front of the pub and they both made their way out to meet it. Before getting in, Moran checked the driver to make sure he was not a harbinger in heralding mode and after a short conversation; Moran was satisfied sufficiently to get in.
As they pulled away from the curb, the King resumed their conversation, “She has not been able to put it down for months and I am told she has read it a half dozen times. The Duke of Devonshire also tells me she has made an impressive stack of notes and every time he visits her she is always in the library.”
Moran’s response was drowned out by another loud explosion 100 yards in front
of the car as the driver slammed on the brakes, causing the car to drift sideways into a parked lowery. After the car had come to a sudden stop, several more explosions could be heard and it seemed obvious to the driver that continuing west was impossible and he turned the car around hoping to connect to the A4 motorway and from there head west to Buckingham Palace.
Explosions could be heard at shorter intervals all around them as the driver struggled in vain to find a clear path to the motorway, any motorway—a building adjacent to the car exploded into the street, blowing out all the windows in the car and rolling it onto its roof as it came to a sudden crash on the opposite side of the street. In the smoke and darkness, Moran reached out to find the King but all he felt was broken glass and then his own blood oozing from hundreds of cuts on his hands as he frantically shuffled through the glass to find the King’s body in a confusion of smoke and twisted metal.
After a few minutes Moran could see slightly better as the smoke and dust began to clear and he saw the King’s body lying partially out the window—not moving. Even amidst the chaos, Moran was careful to conceal the King’s identity as he called out, “William—can you hear me? William?”
The King didn’t respond and as Moran reached him he took his pulse on his neck and determined that he was indeed alive, just unconscious. He rolled him over on his back and saw that the glass from the window hit him in the face and the entire right side of his head was a mass of blood with shards of glass of varying sizes protruding out of it. Moran pulled the largest pieces out with his already bloody hands as the King came too. For the second time that night, Moran advised his King to move slowly as he struggled to sit up, “You appear to be all right your Majesty, but we will need better light and better skilled hands to remove the rest of the glass from your face.”
The King raised his hand to touch his face and felt the glass embedded in his skin like the quills on a hedgehog, “That’s going to take some time to heal,” he said trying to lighten the situation. He then felt his right eye after determining he could not see out of it. There were several large shards embedded and after he touched them he felt a searing pain shoot from his eye to the back of his head and down his back as he groaned.
Moran knew he had to get the King medical help but as he looked around in every direction all he could see was fire and destruction as more and more explosions could be heard in the distance. After a few minutes Moran finally was able to determine where they were—which was somewhere near the A201 off St. Bride Street. As he looked southwards, he could see a small passage where it appeared they might be able to get across the motorway and to safety—he hoped.
“Do you think you can stand Your Majesty?” asked Moran as he looked down at the King. As the dust cleared even more, he could see the Kings face was bleeding heavily and while Moran knew that head wounds always bleed more than any other cut on the body, he knew he had to slow the bleeding especially if they had to walk some distance to safety and to get help. Moran took off his shirt and one by one began to pull the glass from the King’s face, using his shirt to protect his hand from the hundreds of sharp slivers. Once he had removed what glass he could, he wrapped his shirt around his head, leaving an opening so he could see out of his left eye.
As the King got to his feet he enquired about their driver as Moran shook his head, “He was thrown from the car and didn’t land well.”
As they made their way down the street to the small clearing in the debris, Moran noticed that the very concrete was burning, not just the materials one was accustomed to seeing burn. They emerged on the other side of Fleet Street into a narrow alley less than 12 feet wide. Many of the buildings that bordered the alley were not burning except for small patches of concrete here and there and Moran began to see a pattern to what was burning and what was not. Everything modern, newer than 1950 he estimated was an inferno while older buildings and concrete structures appeared untouched.
As they walked down the alley, they came to a large retaining wall and the King insisted that they scale the wall since the very old St. Bride’s Church on the other side might be a good place to rest for the night. Moran gave the King a leg up and they entered the church to find many other city residents with the same idea. There were hundreds of people huddled in every corner of the church and the clergy was doing all they could to attend to the hungry and wounded. As they proceeded into church, they noticed a dark corridor containing a large sheet covering the increasing number of dead bodies.
As they searched for a place to sit, they were approached by the rector who was acting as a triage nurse. He instructed them to have a seat anywhere on the floor as he apologized for the lack of space, “We shall do all in our power to attend to you as soon as possible,” then noticing the make-shift bandage in the poor light that was drenched in blood he asked, “Oh dear, what have we here?”
The rector reached to look under the bandage as Moran stopped his hand and held on to it, “My friend took a window blast to the face and is suffering badly, is there a doctor with you?” said Moran still holding the Rector’s arm.
The rector tried to free himself from Moran’s grasp and replied somewhat irritated, “No—no doctor, your friend will have to wait like the rest.”
The King nodded in agreement and was about to sit down on the cold stone floor when Moran stopped him with his other hand and looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention to their conversation. He then leaned over and whisper in the Rector’s ear, “This is His Majesty the King.”
The Rector looked at the man with a shirt wrapped around his head in disbelief as Moran slowly removed the shirt, “Good Lord Your Maj…”
Moran put his hand on the rector’s mouth to stop him from giving up their secret and after the Rector nodded, Moran removed his hand and the Rector directed them to the back of the church to a narrow stairway that led down to the crypt. As they made their way, Moran noticed that portions of the church had been on fire throughout the night and a large portion of the south roof was missing. Arriving in the crypt they noticed it wasn’t a crypt at all but a small chapel appearing to have been constructed during the Roman period.
They were all alone in the basement chapel, which was the design of the Rector for bringing them there and he lit a dozen candles on a small alter which reflected off the white-washed walls, illuminating the small medieval chapel with a surreal bath of golden light. Moran removed his shirt from the King’s head and the Rector inspected the damage, “The Archdeacon is the most skilled of all of us, which isn’t saying much but you should have the best we have Your Majesty.”
The Rector made his way upstairs and whispered in the Archdeacon’s ear about the urgent issue they had in the basement and within a few minutes the Rector returned with the Archdeacon and water to clean the wound. As the King was being attended to Moran was finally free to analyze the events of the night and began a scientific deductive reasoning session in his mind.
“Under what circumstances does concrete burn? Whatever it is, it only effects concrete newer than 1950—and how did Toprak infiltrate London so completely—and why? Veronica was now safely in their care so obviously they no longer were concerned with what happened to the city—but why destroy it?” After a time, Moran was able to overcome his initial shock and horrors at what had happened to the city and apply critical thinking to the situation, “Of course!” he said out loud.
Despite the Archdeacon’s meticulous work of removing the glass from his face, the King responded, “Of course what Professor?”
Moran walked over to the King and knelt down at his side, “This wasn’t Toprak.”
The King turned his head to look at Moran as the Archdeacon insisted that he hold very still, “How can you be so certain?” replied the King without turning to face Moran.
Moran positioned himself so that the King could see him, “The sheer scale of the operation for starters. How could any enemy infiltrate a modern city of this magnitude—the entire city seems to be burning?”
“The whole country you mean,” interrupted the Rector.
The King sat up in alarm, “What! Bloody hell—what did you say?”
The Rector bowed his head in both regret and respect, “Your Majesty. We have heard reports of destruction and fires from the North Sea to the Channel and even on the continent—all unofficially of course.”
The Rector and the Archdeacon helped the King lay back down as Moran continued explaining his theory, “This proves my hypothesis even more. Did you notice on our way here that the oldest buildings in the city appeared to be unharmed and in fact all the structures along Bride Street were largely untouched? That is because every structure there is at least one 100 years old or older.”
The King and the two clergymen were confused and they looked back at Moran intently waiting for his explanation, “Every chemical explosion requires an oxidizing agent and a substance that is reduced. Ever since we left the car I couldn’t think of a single compound in concrete that would react in such a manner until I thought of the Minimum effects. The Minimum has been causing the ozone in the atmosphere to descend closer to the earth this whole year, which as you already know is responsible for the poor crop yields.”
The King nodded as the clergymen were obviously confused but still nodded, encouraging Moran to continue, “Ozone is an oxidizer but still there has to be something within the cement or concrete to cause a reaction and that’s when I realized that almost all modern concrete today contains fly ash—a by-product of refining. It contains high levels of arsenic, which is combustible when an oxidizer is present. In an ordinary world, this presents no risk but I don’t have to tell you we no longer live in the ordinary world.”
The Archdeacon continued to remove shards of glass from the King’s face as he spoke, “So all concrete structures newer than 1950 will be or already are destroyed in the country?”
Moran nodded then added, “I believe so, but not just the country but indeed the whole world.”
The Roman basement chapel grew very quiet as everyone internalized what the Professor was suggesting and quiet laments could be heard from the two clergymen as the Rector crossed himself and prayed a silent prayer.
“So we are about to plunge head-long into the 19th century?” sighed the King.
Moran shook his head, “No, more like the fifth. Every manufacturing facility is being destroyed every cell tower, every dam, every sidewalk, every convenience we rely upon is being swept from the earth tonight—and what’s worse, most people living today cannot survive in a fifth century world.”
The Rector shook his head in despair as he considered the loss of human life, “Considering of course the millions who will not even see morning.”