Isabella's Heiress (12 page)

“You will keep us informed, won't you, Eamon?”

“You will get my usual reports.” Father Eamon wanted nothing more than to get out of this mans presence as soon as possible.

“I'm afraid you're usual reports may not be…”

A look from Father Eamon silenced the other priest. He walked out into the passage and away from the room, heading back out towards the guards.

“You look troubled.”

Odysseia was waiting for him at the end of the passage.

“'Tis nothing. Things have a nasty habit of taking unforeseen turns. I must get back.”

“Do you mind if I walk with you?”

Father Eamon smiled, “Of course not. What is on your mind?”

“These are strange days. For all you say about taking no heed of rumours, people talk.”

“And what do they say?”

“They say that one has come who maybe Isabella reborn. That she has returned to lead us.”

“And you believe this?”

“It is not the first time it has been said and I have been around long enough to have seen it disproved before but this time something is different. It would seem that we are not the only people interested in this girl.”

Father Eamon nodded at Odysseia's words. “There is interest in her from both sides, this much is true, but at the moment, we cannot say for sure whether she is the one or not.”

They exited the corridor through two large, oak-panelled doors and came onto a platform overlooking a walled city shrouded in mist and clouds. Looking down, Father Eamon could see towers breaking through the soft white cover, their sides glistening as they were met by a combination of dazzling sunshine and clear air.

“And if she is?”

Odysseia fixed Father Eamon with her deep brown eyes, searching for his response.

“Then things will start to become very interesting for all of us.”

Odysseia smiled. “Yes, interesting indeed. I must go but I look forward to seeing you soon, Father Eamon. Hopefully you will have good news for us.”

Odysseia stepped to the side of the platform and walked off, dropping down the vertiginous side. Father Eamon watched as she fell through the clouds only to appear moments later soaring gracefully up into the sky, a set of large white wings having grown out of her shoulder blades.

He turned and walked down the steps that would take him first into the city and then back to Emma, his mind racing through the task ahead.

Emma sat next to Father Eamon, all her earlier elation having evaporated on seeing the look on his face. She had arrived back half an hour earlier with an apologetic Taryn in tow who had promptly headed upstairs and left them alone.

Father Eamon waited for Emma to settle herself before he spoke. “Emma, your task has been set.”

Emma sat there stunned. She always knew that this moment would come but she thought that there would be some warning, that she would have time to prepare somehow.

Father Eamon continued. “Do you remember writing a letter to your father? One, which you never gave him?”

Emma felt the pit of her stomach drop. She knew the letter only too well. She had written it to her father to try to explain the events of that night when it had all gone so terribly wrong. The events had left a rift between them that had never been healed. They hadn't spoken for years, with only her mother to act as an intermediary on the occasions when Emma had returned from university to make one of her many unsuccessful attempts at reconciliation. Her guilt had forced her to try time and time again
even though there had been a building resentment to him over the fact that he had constantly rebuffed her.

Finally Emma had written a letter that she had intended to pass on to her mother to give to him. At the last minute her courage had failed her so one afternoon when her parents were away on holiday, she had gone to the house and had let herself in. Hiding the letter in the top left drawer of her old dressing table, Emma had hoped that a time would come when she would be able to pass it on to her father but the schism between them just seemed to widen as time went on.

Father Eamon looked around, ensuring no one was within listening distance but even so Emma's heightened sense of paranoia had her imagining invisible initiates and guides leaning in to their conversation.

“Your task is to get that letter to your father.”

Emma thought for a second. This wasn't so bad. She had thought that she would have to do something more demanding. Judging from what she had found out and learnt since she had been here, it shouldn't be too difficult at all. All she had to do was carry on with her training until she was at a point where she could master the skills she would need to complete it. Her mood lightened as she felt her prospects brightening by the second.

“There is, I'm afraid, a complicating matter. You're father is very ill. He has terminal bowel cancer. Emma I'm so very, very sorry that you have to find out this way, I truly am.”

It was as if a giant fist had knocked all the wind out of her and Emma felt herself spinning. Once again elation was replaced with despair. This couldn't be happening to her. Not now. Not when she thought that she might be getting to grips with this world.

Father Eamon placed a hand on her arm and lent in closer.

“Emma, I need you to look at me. Look at me!”

His words were urgent and Emma looked up, tears welling in her eyes. All she could think was that her father was about to die and that she would never be able to say sorry or good bye. It was the worst of all outcomes.

“How…how…long has he got?”

“That is the problem. He has only six months left on his plane. That means that your time to complete the task is limited to the time he has left. Six months, Emma. Six months.”

Emma sloped forward on the bench. All she could think was that the man who had showered her with love from the moment she was born and whom she had let down so badly was about to die without ever knowing how much she loved him.

“I need some time alone.” She stood up and headed outside, sitting on the bench.

People walked by consumed in their own private worlds but some stopped briefly to look curiously at the woman they had all heard about, sitting forlornly, staring at the walls of the tower. After a while Father Eamon came and sat by her.

“Emma, can you hear me?”

Emma nodded.

“I understand what I have told you is a shock but you have to understand, your future is at stake here. This letter must be read by your father prior to his death. This is as much for him as it is for you.”

“Says who? Who says that this is for anybody's benefit? This is somebody's idea of a sick joke.”

“I won't lie to you; we do not always know the reason
behind these decisions. Nor would it help if we did.”

“And besides there's not a lot I can do about it even if I wanted to. I'm damned if do, damned if I don't.”

Father Eamon smiled, “Well it is down to you whether you're damned or not but I would suggest that this is something that with effort on your part can be passed, do you not agree? Would you not want your father to read this letter before he dies?”

“Of course I would.”

“Well this is the only time that he will get a chance to see it, unless your mother looks in the bottom of the drawer and seeing as she hasn't done that in over four years, do you really want to take the chance the she'll look in the next six months?”

Emma didn't know what to say. She felt violated. She hadn't told anyone about it.

“I don't have any choice in this do I?”

“No, I'm afraid not. The decision has been made and there can be no going back.”

“Bastards.”

“Come Emma, we should get out whilst there is still time, you need to work on your crossing over.”

In Bishopsgate they passed a well, its bucket sitting on the brick wall surrounding the drop. The rope attaching it to the wooden beam hung in a lazy U and in front of them, Emma could see the gate in the city wall. Father Eamon guided her away from the ever present stares and into a narrow alley which opened into the raised mound of a small churchyard surrounded by tenements on three sides and a church on the far end.

“How do you feel about crossing over without using me?”

Emma knew this question had been coming. “Not great.”

“I understand but you will have to do it sooner or later and it is one of the most important things you will learn. Try it.”

Emma closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She tried to picture herself travelling between the two realms but nothing happened. She tried again, all the time aware that Father Eamon was by her side watching. Again nothing, although this time she did manage to give herself a slight headache.

Emma opened her eyes to find the scene in front of her hadn't changed. She let out a sigh of disappointment and turned away.

“This will take time, Emma, no one gets it first time, so don't be too down hearted. The thing is to keep trying and it will come. Take my hand and we will go through together.”

“No. Let me try again in a little while. I want to do this myself.”

Father Eamon nodded and they headed back onto the road. Emma closed her eyes and thought again of the Bishopsgate she had known. Father Eamon started to say something when the ground gave way beneath her and her stomach rushed into her mouth. For a second there was nothing except the rushing of the wind, and then there was noise, lots and lots of noise, and daylight.

Emma opened her eyes and saw a black cab bearing down on her, its windscreen wipers obliterating watery reflections from its front window only for them to stubbornly return after every sweep. She jumped out the way just in time to see its driver pass by, oblivious to her presence. Emma was in the middle of Bishopsgate at rush hour. In jumping away from the taxi, she placed herself in the path of a large articulated lorry.

It ploughed through her and Emma let out a low moan.
It was as if she had been run though with icicles as first the cab then the body of the lorry entered her and passed out the other side. Her vision went and it was all she could do to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her. Once the lorry had passed through, she fell to the ground as nausea overtook her.

She looked up to see the grille of another taxi increasing in size. Her shoulders sunk as she realised she was going to go through the same experience again but just as the bumper was within feet of her, she was lifted up and carried to a disused doorway away from the flow of people and traffic.

“Take a deep breath. It will pass.”

Father Eamon was kneeling in front of her and looking intently into her face.

Emma struggled to clear her vision. “What happened?”

“I tried to warn you not to try to cross over whilst in the middle of a road but as I did, you disappeared.”

Emma just sat there, despondently looking out over the traffic, drained of all her energy and hope. The feeling was returning to her legs and she stood up, looking shakily at Father Eamon for support.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think about that.”

Father Eamon placed his arm on Emma's shoulders. “This is how you learn. You are none the worse for it apart from having your confidence shaken. It is not a pleasant feeling but it is harmless none the less.”

Emma looked out to the spot in the road where the lorry had run her through. “How do you know where to cross over? How do you stop yourself from doing that?”

“You learn over time where the safe places are, although as a general rule, it is never a good idea to do it in a main road.” There was a smile on Father Eamon's face as he
said this. Emma tried to respond but the best she could manage was a faint grimace.

“The place I took you to is still a square here. You would have ended up there.”

The feeling of shock was replaced by one of stupidity. Emma looked across the road to where the church now stood between two glass and steel buildings housing large investment banks. The traffic was heavier now as people started to make their way home. The pavements were filling up with office workers trying to get to wherever it was that they were going as quickly as possible as the rain got heavier. It was getting dark now and the rush to the stations was starting with people raising umbrellas and pulling their coats in tighter as they hurried along the wet and slippery pavement.

“Well, I guess I can cross over.” It was a weak attempt at a joke but it raised her spirits a little. Emma still felt drained but her strength was slowly returning and she felt strong enough to move on.

“Where to now?”

“We'll walk a little, let your strength come back”

They stepped back into Bishopsgate and headed towards Liverpool Street Station. The street was crowded; an intentional coincidence on Father Eamon's part, Emma had no doubt, to get her to practice walking amongst the living. That thought brought on a feeling of sudden loneliness and she had to force herself to concentrate on avoiding the people around her. She was getting better but every now and again, an arm or a briefcase would catch her and she would experience a sickening numbness where she had been caught. It would pass in a second but whilst it was there, it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. She watched as streams of commuters turned left and
headed for the main entrance of the station.

“It feels strange being back here.”

“It always does but you will get used to it. How are you feeling?”

“Better I think. I'm not as tired as I was but I feel…” Emma struggled to find words for what she was feeling. Something wasn't right. It had come on once she started walking but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

“Disorientated?”

“Yes, disorientated.”

“It is your body trying to adjust to the new plane.”

“Oh, you mean like jet lag.”

Father Eamon looked at her quizzically.

“It's when you fly between different time zones around the world. Your mind knows what time it is but your body has to adjust.”

“Ah.” Father Eamon grinned, “I understand. Ah, yes this will do. We'll turn down here.”

They crossed the road and turned into Steward Street. There, Father Eamon stopped and looked around. Emma tried to work out what he was looking for but all she could see was him inspecting the upper floors of the buildings that ran down the right hand side of the street. She looked across the road at a square that opened out onto rows of glass-fronted shops. It was different from the last time she had been down here but that had been a while ago and she reminded herself that things change. That thought brought a wry smile to her face.
Things change. Yeah, don't they just.

Emma looked at the back of her hand, before turning it over and stretching out her palm. It felt strange to see rain drops stop at the point they made contact with her body yet feel nothing as around her, people ran for cover as the
storm took hold. To the west a roll of thunder shook the sky, whilst the rain started to fall in waves, causing mini explosions on the ground. She and Father Eamon kept to the road, avoiding the sodden workers hurrying for their trains' home. Vehicles were few and far between at this time of night, with the exception of the odd taxi but they wouldn't be coming down a dead end street, so there was only the occasional car to worry about and even they were mostly gone, their owners choosing to leave early rather than brave the commuter traffic in an encroaching storm.

They headed into Brushfield Street using the canopies that extended out from the Old Spitalfields Market as cover. Emma's stomach was still queasy from crossing over and her legs and arms ached from where they had suddenly been drained of all their energy. She tried not to look in the windows of the shops as they passed them, knowing that there would be no one to look back.

The rain was getting harder now and even though it couldn't touch Emma, she pulled her coat tighter around her anyway.

“Emma, you see that streetlight on the corner over there?”

Father Eamon was pointing to a light, which sat just short of the entrance to Crispin Street. It was giving out a dull orange flicker as opposed to the solid yellow glow of the others. Its bulb was dying and producing a last defiant surge of energy before the filament finally gave out.