Dark Tidings: Ancient Magic Meets the Internet Book 1 (15 page)

“No one knows, sir, no one knows,” replied the porter as he turned away and walked to the next room. “I’m just checking with all the guests to see if anyone needs some help.”

Tung closed the door. He smiled and winked at Madrick.

“That is yet another win for the good guys. It’s clear no one knows what happened… except us.”

“And we’re not going to be telling anyone,” said Madrick settling deeper into his chair.

In one of the grandest old buildings in the business quarter, four men discussed the rumours about some ancient coins which had started to appear in various locations around the city. The rumours told of a strange old man who seemed happy to part with the coins at way below market value. They were trying to decide whether they should try and gather some of the coins so they could determine their origin.

They were musing this over when the most enormous KABOOM shook the building. Even though they were nearly half a mile from the Ritz, the sound was still loud enough to make everyone freeze on the spot. They gave each other puzzled and enquiring looks as they tried to work out what had just happened.

As soon as they recovered their composure, and it took them a good few moments, they all went to the windows expecting to see evidence of a massive explosion. They expected to see flames, smoke or collapsed buildings. There was nothing to be seen.

“What just happened? Can anybody see anything?”

“I can see nothing. I fear this may be another mystery for us to add to the questions about the coins.”

They started to discuss this latest strangeness. Was this yet another extraordinary occurrence which might demand their urgent attention? These were powerful men and it was an unfortunate day for anyone who became the subject of their urgent attention.

Michael was the happiest man alive. His relationship with Faith had flourished over the last few weeks and was bringing him a joy which he hadn’t experienced for years. He spent every waking moment thinking about her… and he dreamt about her as well. She was constantly in his head. Of late, they’d seen an awful lot of each other and Michael was beginning to think he was falling in love for the very first time. She was everything he wanted in a girl; beautiful, clever and really interested in him. She continually asked questions about his life, his likes and dislikes, his feelings and his aspirations. He’d opened his heart to her, with one exception, he hadn’t shared his real plans for IIBE, but he would even let her into that secret quite soon. He was falling in love with her so she deserved to know the truth.

Today was the day that Michael had decided to push the boat out and treat Faith to a fabulous lunch somewhere. This wasn’t going to be just one of their usual haunts; today they were going to go somewhere really special. He was mentally going through the various posh places he’d heard about when, out of the blue, it came to him. They would lunch at the Ritz.

They arrived shortly after one o’clock and were shown to a table near the large windows which ran along one side of the dining area. Michael hadn’t made a reservation so they were lucky to be given such a nice table. In the current economic climate, even the Ritz found it hard to fill the room, but they were still incredibly busy given the prices and circumstances. They settled in with a glass of wine and held hands across the table while they perused the menu.

Michael looked around the plush restaurant and congratulated himself on his choice. The dining room was magnificently ornate; gold and silver decorated the walls, the ceilings and the diners. The place was alive with affluent looking couples, ladies doing lunch and businessmen oiling the wheels of multimillion pound deals. Everyone looked as though they were rich enough to dine in the Ritz every day; everyone that is, apart from the odd looking pair at the next table.

Michael wondered what their story was. They looked distinctly out of place. What was this old, bearded man doing here with the black haired youngster? They didn’t look comfortable in these surroundings; they didn’t look like a pair who could afford this sort of thing at all. Little did he know they had access to more money and power than everyone else in the restaurant put together.

The fact of the matter was that Madrick and Tung were totally at ease because they’d dined here every day; breakfast, lunch and dinner, for nearly a week. They absolutely loved the food and the service; this century certainly had much more to offer the stomach than the one they’d left far behind.

Michael drifted off into a little world of his own and did what he often did when he was out and about. He tried to construct little stories in his head about the people he saw. He had just started to think about Fagin from Oliver Twist when Madrick caught him looking at him. He was used to quizzical looks so he just smiled his best smile and got on with his food. Michael looked away guiltily and returned his attention to Faith. The imagined story of the strange pair would have to wait.

Michael gave himself an imaginary slap, concentrate on what you’re here for, he told himself. He was determined to make this a very special day for his relationship with Faith so he should be giving her all his attention. He ordered champagne and asked if he could pop the cork himself. It was an unusual request, but always wanting to please his customers, the sommelier agreed. When the bottle arrived in its ice bucket, the waiter left it discretely on the table and backed away smiling. Michael lifted out the bottle and made a show of removing the gold foil and the wire cage.

Twist the bottle not the cork, he reminded himself. POPANG! The cork slipped out of his grasp and exploded out of the bottle. It travelled at lightning speed across the short distance to Tung’s head. Fortunately, Tung was looking away at the time so his eyes were out of danger. Unfortunately the cork hit him hard on the tender, bruised part of his skull which was just beginning to get over all the previous impacts. Tung crashed off his chair and onto the floor. Everybody froze for a split second which, strangely, seemed to last forever. Then Michael and Faith broke their trance and rushed to see what they could do to help; Michael through fear of a law suit and Faith through compassion for a fellow human being. The sommelier watched from a distance and made a mental note not to agree to any self-opening requests in the future.

Michael and Faith rounded the table towards the stricken body.

“Are you OK?” asked Michael as he bent to help Tung to his feet. “I am so sorry, it just slipped out of my hand.”

Faith took his elbow and helped guide him back onto his seat.

“I’m all right. That was relatively painless compared to what my head has gone through over the last few weeks.”

“I can’t apologise enough,” Michael persisted. “The thing just went off in my hand.”

“Don’t worry. I’m all right… really. To tell you the truth I’m well used to this sort of thing. I actually haven’t been struck on the head for a few days now so I was sort of beginning to miss the sensation.”

“At least let me treat you to some of our champagne,” offered Michael, still keen to make sure this didn’t end badly in some sort of unpleasant legal dispute. “It’s the very least we can do.”

Neither Tung nor Madrick had sampled that particular liquid delicacy so this seemed like the ideal opportunity to try something new. Michael signalled to the waiter with the traditional shaky ‘C’ hands and, as soon as the extra glasses arrived, he filled them with sparkling wine.

“No hard feelings,” proposed Michael.

“At least nothing harder than that cork, please,” added Tung.

“And to meeting new people,” said Faith to complete the toast.

The four clinked glasses and they all took a long sip.

“This is the fizziest, most wonderful drink I’ve ever tasted,” bubbled Tung as the froth tickled the inside of his nose. “I thought beer was unbeatable, but I just love this. We must have some more because a bottle doesn’t seem to go very far.

“Unlike the cork,” he added with a chuckle.

He immediately called over the waiter and ordered a bottle of their best champagne. He had found that ordering ‘the best’ always got them terrific service and, after all, money was no object to the pair who had a seemingly endless supply of valuable gold coins.

“Careful,” warned Michael. “That’ll probably cost you over three hundred quid. This stuff isn’t cheap, particularly in this place.”

“We’ve loads of money,” said Tung slightly smugly and he ordered yet another bottle just to reinforce the point.

Madrick was slightly put out by this show of bravado. He hoped it wasn’t going to lead to another unfortunate incident like the one in The Black Bear tavern all those years ago. But the champagne did taste good so another bottle or two would definitely go down well.

Long before the three bottles had been consumed, the group had pulled their tables together and, the way tipsy folk typically do, they were loudly making unrelated statements in opposition to having a conversation.

“Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends,” toasted Michael.

“Too much of anything is bad for you, but too much champagne is just right,” chirped in Faith.

“A party without champagne is like a day without sunshine,” said Michael using one of his favourite similes. He loved comparing anything bad to a day without sunshine.

“Here’s to the champagne and caviar lifestyle. You just can’t get enough of it, but I bet we’ll feel we had too much of it in the morning,” shouted Faith wondering if they should order some caviar.

Before she had time to finish her thought about what they were missing from the champagne and caviar lifestyle, Tung had ordered four portions of the ‘best caviar in the house’. This was definitely going to be a day of excess.

Tung added to the banality by repeating Michael’s clever toast… as best as he could remember it.

“Shampoo for my real friends, real poo for my enemies.”

They continued to drink until the waiters politely declined to bring more bottles. Tung was in no mood to let the party end so he invited his new friends up to his suite and ordered a case of champers, as he’d now learned to call it, to be delivered there as soon as possible. Michael and Faith gleefully accepted the offer and the four made their way to the lift.

“When we first arrived, we thought this was our room,” giggled Tung as he hit the button for the seventh floor.

“Doors closing,” said the lift in a posh lady’s bored tone.

“Listen to what she says,” said Faith. “If you ignore what the lady says then she’ll huff and we’ll be going nowhere.” She nudged Michael in the ribs with her elbow.

They arrived at the room a few minutes before the champagne so there was time to settle into the comfortable leather chairs which littered the suite. They’d barely snuggled into their seats when a porter wheeled in twelve bottles each housed in its own ice bucket. The hotel had assumed the bottles were for a proper party, rather than just a party of four. There was trouble looming, but no one was sober enough to notice. Not even Madrick, who’d vowed after Tung’s best trick in the world debacle that he’d never let Tung get drunk again; not even he could stop the booze inspired insanity which was about to ensue. He couldn’t stop it because he was a willing participant in the fizzy madness.

They drank champagne until the early hours of the morning and, with each bottle, they talked more and more. The conversations were fun and helped them become ever more comfortable in each other’s company.

“It’s an unusual name you have, Tung, where does it come from?” asked Faith.

“It was my father’s idea of a joke.” Tung said. “Not only was he a cruel, totally selfish and unloving drunkard… he gave me this appalling name. Some joke. Thanks, pater.”

“I don’t understand. How’s it a joke? If it’s just a silly name then it’s just a silly name. I don’t get it,” chipped in Michael.

“Our family name is Tide. That makes me Tung Tide - tongue tied - ha ha.”

“Oh right, that’s quite funny actually. But I suppose it is a little bit mean. Why did he do it?”

“He had no choice, at least that’s what he always told me. His name was Hans… Hans Tide. Stupid family tradition, stupid family, stupid names.”

“I get it. No choice, hands tied,” giggled Madrick.

“It could have been worse, you could have been called Low,” smirked Michael.

“That’s my middle name,” said Tung as he downed the rest of his glass.

“I’ve spent my life listening to people making fun of my name. If I had a lepton for every time I’d heard ‘Oh look the Tide’s come in’ then I’d have… a big pile of leptons.”

His story had petered out a bit, but he’d made his point. He hated his name. He hated all his stupid names.

That was typical of the level of conversation, but as the evening wore on, and the champagne ran down, they began to share more intimate details… and some secrets.

“I want to be super rich,” said Michael, “and in the process I’m going to make the world a better place.”

He didn’t say how he was going to do it. Something stopped him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t share his plans for the bank. Was it because Faith was there? Was she giving him a strange look or was that just his imagination? She saw him looking at her and took it as a hint for her to talk.

“I want to fall deeply and completely in love, and have at least five children,” she said as she gazed into Michael’s eyes. “I’m not interested in money. All I want is my fair share of happiness.”

A pang of guilt nipped at her conscience, maybe reverting to small talk would deflect attention away from her lie.

“I heard a great quote once,” she said. “Burgundy makes you think of silly things, Bordeaux makes you talk about them, and Champagne makes you do them.”

They all laughed a little even though Tung and Madrick had no idea what Burgundy or Bordeaux were. There were many things in this modern world which they still couldn’t rationalise, in particular, the size of the world and the wide variety of countries and cultures. They were learning gradually because of the television, but the various regions in France which produced different wines would have been a wobbly step too far for now.

“Tung does silly things without the need for Champagne,” said Madrick.

“I can hold my drink,” said Tung. “BUUURP BUUURP.”

“Maybe so,” said Faith, “but you certainly can’t hold your bubbles.”

“Ha ha,” said Tung. “BUUURP… ooops, sorry.”

“I suppose I’ve done some daft things myself,” said Madrick, ignoring the belches, “but from now on I just want to enjoy everything life has to offer.”

He nearly talked about how this century had so much more than the one he’d come from, but he held himself back. Like Michael, he wasn’t sure what had stopped him telling his tale. He needn’t have bothered holding back because Tung was about to open an incredibly wiggly can of worms and spill the beans.

Without any preamble, Tung launched into his story of Mifal’s horrendous dungeon and the sorry life which had led him there. He described meeting Madrick and learning about the Scroll. He got really excited as he illustrated their adventures with florid descriptions of invisibility, the chase, flying, thunderballs and time travel.