The Barbershop Seven (178 page)

'It's a wooden mug,' said Barney, not taking his eyes off it.

'What?' said Jacobs, clearly annoyed.

'The mug, it's wooden.'

'It's a stupid mug, for crying out loud!' barked Jacobs.

'Look!' said Barney, and for the first time engaged Jacobs' eyes, instantly quelling the man's rampant ill-humour.

'What?' Jacobs repeated, but this time more inquisitively.

'Look at it,' said Barney. 'It's been painted to look like a regular mug, it's got this Wallace & Gromit sticker on it, wherever the guy got that from, but who makes wooden mugs in this day and age?'

Jacobs slowly took the cup out of Barney's hands. He studied it for a second and then looked at Barney. They held each others' gaze and then Jacobs quickly swivelled, removed the sticker, turned on a tap and held the cup under running water. A couple of seconds and then slowly the paint began to come off, revealing the bare, two thousand year old wood beneath.

Jacobs had no immediate feeling of awe at holding the cup of Christ, such was his enormous relief. He looked round at Barney, checked the clock as he went. Quarter to midnight. Ephesian was going to be in bits.

'Take this and finish washing it down,' he said, 'I'm going to call Ephesian.'

Barney saluted and said, 'Yes, boss.'

Jacobs no longer minded the flippancy. They were almost there. He dried his hands and pulled the phone out of his pocket.

***

B
ack at the ranch the collective had gathered. As time had worn on, the font of stories that was the rotund and Yoda-like Ping Phat had dried up, as he had grown ever more concerned that nothing seemed to be happening. He had no idea where Jacobs had gone having not seen him now for almost five hours. And after his initiation into the Brotherhood by Ephesian, and the slow climb back up the steep stairs, he had seen nothing of him either.

Ping Phat was once again standing at the window, although unlike Ephesian directly above him, he was unable to look out into the dark as the lights were on behind him.

And, as with the conversation of their unexpected host, the chatter from the collective had slowly dried up.

So now, as midnight approached, the room was silent. Ping Phat, plus eight members of the Brotherhood, as well as Phat's happy little band of four followers, each sitting in peace, with whatever thoughts they allowed themselves in this company.

Silence, bar the small clock ticking on the mantleshelf and the vague murmur of the central heating.

Heads turned at a new sound, the rush of footsteps down the stairs.

'Ah!' said Ping Phat, with the exhibitionist's need to attract attention to himself. 'At last the news!'

To the bottom of the stairs, the footfalls padded quickly along the hall and then the door was opened with a flourish. Ephesian, for all his complicated peculiarity of character, was not averse to a little showmanship. Not that he engaged anyone in the eye. Instead he presented himself to the Moroccan carpet.

'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen. I believe everything is now in place to begin. If you would like to follow me downstairs.'

Amid great shuffling, the rustling of packages and the gentle hum of relief, the collective began to rise. Ping Phat jumped quickly to his feet, nodding at his entourage to stay where they were. He clapped his hands and approached Ephesian.

'Time it is, my friend, history to create!'

'Indeed,' said Ephesian, flinching a little at the hand which was placed on his shoulder, but with the call that he had just taken from Jacobs, the knots and twists and pains in his stomach had been instantly removed, to be replaced by exhilaration that they had finally arrived at this great day.

He twitched. He almost smiled. He turned and walked quickly from the room, across the hall towards the library, his band of happy thieves behind him.

***

J
acobs and Barney walked swiftly up the road, out of the town towards Hill Farm and the turning up to the big house. Jacobs was clutching the Grail. Barney was carrying the small bag which Jacobs had had with him since he'd left Roosevelt's house.

'You need to be initiated into the Brotherhood before you can sit in on the ceremony,' said Jacobs, very business-like. 'Usually it's a ceremony in itself, but these are exceptional circumstances.'

'Cool.'

'I'm going to tell you some facts. You must accept them, no matter how much they might challenge your current beliefs. If you need a time for reflection, you can do it tomorrow.'

'I'll pencil it in,' said Barney.

'This is all about Jesus and his heirs. He may have died on the cross, but he left a wife and children.'

'I know.'

Jacobs slung him a sharp look.

'What d'you mean?'

'Garrett told me.'

Jacobs grunted. Well, it wasn't as if it wasn't his fault that she'd found out in the first place.

'She won't, at least, know about Azarael Corinthian?'

Barney shook his head. Jacobs strode on, voice rapid-fire.

'The history of the descendents of Christ is long and rich and will be told soon enough. The work of the
Prieure de Millport
, the society of which you are just about to become part, has involved documenting and protecting the lineage from the time of Christ himself until the present day. It has involved many great dynasties and many public names down the centuries.'

'I'm believing every word so far,' said Barney, a cheap remark which Jacobs pretended he hadn't heard.

'The impetus for much modern political movement, such as the European Union, has come from the Society or its partners. It was all leading to the day, New Year's Eve 2000, the dawn of the new millennium, when the descendants of Christ would be revealed, and the heir to the throne of Israel would step forward and take his place as king, not only over that country, but over the realm of Europe and over Christians and Jews everywhere.'

Barney gave him the old eyebrow.

'Sounds like rank imperialism to me, but go on.'

'The problem was that by the mid-nineteen seventies, there was only one remaining survivor of the line.'

'Azarael Corinthian,' said Barney.

'I shan't dwell on detail, but certain aspects of his lifestyle were questionable. He died of a heart attack at the age of thirty-six.'

'Bummer.'

'Quite.'

Jacobs turned up the road through the farm, the smell of the farmyard embracing them, together with the sound of the shuffling of cows in the night.

'So why d'you keep going?' asked Barney. 'The guy have a love child?'

Jacobs snorted at that remark, although extensive investigations had been carried out at the time to establish whether or not that might be the case.

'The Society has long had this cup in its possession. We believe it to possess magical powers, including the greatest power of all, the power over life and of death. To drink from the cup is to restore and to be reborn.'

Barney walked on at his side, thinking that if it wasn't for all the other baloney and out and out nonsense he'd heard in his life, this would be the most ridiculous mince he'd ever been told. It was, however, in the top twenty.

'I'm intrigued,' he said instead.

'The Society has worked in the past thirty years or so to preserve the legacy and the life of Azarael Corinthian.'

'I thought you said he'd died?'

'We have preserved his body.'

Barney said nothing.

'In order that no one member of the Brotherhood be burdened with the responsibility, Azarael's body was carved into twelve pieces. Each one of us was tasked with retaining one single part, keeping it safe and keeping it, well, frozen, until such times as we were in a position to resurrect the last descendant of Christ.'

Barney looked down at the bag he'd been carrying for the past ten minutes. The look did not change on his face. He didn't drop it or anything. It wasn't as if he hadn't handled frozen body parts in the past, but he was curious as to what exactly it was. There are parts of another man's body, after all, that you just don't want to have too close to your hands.

'The left foot,' said Jacobs, reading Barney's mind.

'Ah,' said Barney, relaxing. 'I can handle that.'

'Tonight,' said Jacobs, and now his voice took on greater weight and solemnity, as if he was announcing some major event on the ten o'clock news, 'Azarael Corinthian will be reborn!'

Barney looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

'By drinking Garrett's blood from the Holy Grail?'

'Indeed. And tomorrow the Society, using its extensive contacts around the world, will announce the return of the heirs of Christ, and change the political map of the world forever.'

Barney had begun to wonder if he'd inadvertently walked onto the set of a movie.

'Why didn't you just use the Grail when he died in the first place? More dignified than keeping him in a freezer.'

'Alas, Azarael took the secret of the Grail's location to the grave.'

'Or to the fridge.'

'We have searched desperately. We knew it was in the cathedral, and we had many long arguments about whether we should demolish the building in our search. However, certain members of the Society held sway and we searched in vain for many years. The millennium came and went. Two weeks ago, however, one of our number made the breakthrough.'

They walked on in silence for a short while, as Jacobs thought of the glory to come and Barney thought of how the monstrously absurd was becoming more and more monstrously absurd as they went along.

'So,' he said, 'tonight you're going to do what, exactly? Arrange the frozen body parts as a kind of jigsaw, pour some of Garrett's blood into the mouth, and the body of Azarael Corinthian will magically reassemble, the fella will get up and tomorrow he's going to be king of the world?'

Jacobs smiled in a determined manner.

'Exactly,' he said.

'Were you drinking at all before you came out tonight?'

'And now, Mr Thomson,' said Jacobs and he took a small knife from his pocket. Here we go, thought Barney, takes all his time to explain his deranged plot to take over the world and then he stabs me. Typical. 'Give me your left hand.'

Ah, thought Barney. Blood brother baloney. Perfect!

He offered up his left hand. Jacobs took hold of it and quickly ran the sharp knife across the palm. Barney winced slightly but the cut was not a deep one. Then Jacobs cut into his own hand and offered it up for Barney to shake. He hesitated a moment at this part of the equation, but then held out his hand and took the hand of Simon Jacobs, so that Barney Thomson joined forever the society of the
Prieure de Millport
.

The brothers were once again twelve; the Grail had been found. Everything was in place for the resurrection of Azarael Corinthian.

––––––––

T
he table was occupied. The ten brothers of the
Prieure de Millport
were sitting in place, waiting to see the two empty chairs filled and ultimately the large chair of office at the head of the table taken by the reborn Azarael Corinthian.

Corinthian himself, or at least his collected body parts, was lying out on the table. Only the left foot, currently being carried by Barney Thomson, and the head, the responsibility of Jacobs, were missing. The brothers now all knew why they were there.

The room was illuminated by twenty-three large white candles, and for the first time in a hundred and fifty years, the fireplace had been lit and the long flue leading up to the surface was finally being made use of.

To the left of the empty seat at the head of the table sat Ephesian, the Bible open in front of him. He was reading over the words, although there was not one of them which was not engraved on his heart. Opposite him sat Ping Phat, who had cheekily taken the place which had for years been reserved for Jacobs. Phat was more than happy to have a childish bunfight over status, even at this late stage.

They heard the movement at the top of the stairs and each of the collective turned and looked up at the approaching footfalls. Most of those in attendance were completely unaware of the drama surrounding Father Roosevelt and were expecting him to be accompanying Jacobs.

The footsteps grew louder and closer, until Simon Jacobs and Barney Thomson stepped out of the dark into the yellow light of the small room. Barney winced at the sight of the roughly put together body on the table top, reminding him as it did of his own questionable past.

There were a few surprised faces around the table, as there had been at the attendance of Romeo McGhee and Ping Phat.

Ephesian nodded at Jacobs, who accepted the instruction.

'Gentlemen,' he began, 'we have one final new initiate this evening, as Father Roosevelt has decided that he no longer belongs with us. This is Barney Thomson, a local businessman.'

The group as one looked in his direction and intoned, in a prescribed chant, 'You are our brother.' All except one of them, who tried to say those words but all that came out was
Arf
!

Barney looked at Igor in surprise. Igor gave Barney a
glad to have you aboard
nod.

Around the table, starting from Bartholomew Ephesian, sat Philip Luciens the paramedic; Simon 'Ginger' Rogers, old buffer; Romeo McGhee, young buffer; Igor, deaf mute hunchback; Thomas Petersen, slightly concerned old man; Rusty Brown, old buffer; the Reverend Judas Dreyfus, Judas by name, Judas by nature; Thaddeus Gainsborough, police constable; and Ping Phat, overweight, over-ambitious Chinese golfer.

Such was his general excitement and state of ferment, a minute or so had passed without Jacobs noticing that Phat had taken his seat beside the soon-to–be-reborn king. However, as he looked around the table, having joined with the brothers in welcoming Barney to their midst, he realised the two empty chairs were at the bottom, between Igor and Petersen.

He breathed deeply. He gritted his teeth. The crowning moment of all their lives was just about upon them. This was no time for petty boardroom politics. Yet in ten minutes' time, the new ruler of half the known world would be sitting at the head of the table and Jacobs would be a mile away at the far end, having been usurped.