The Relic Keeper (20 page)

Mathew woke with a start, unsure where he was at first, as the events of the last few days slowly flooded back to him. He looked about the room. It was dark, and cluttered. Boxes were piled in corners, and a mattress was upended to make more room on the floor. There was a small kitchen to one end, although it looked as if most of the appliances had never been used. There was a picture of Christ in a frame propped up in one corner, but otherwise it was undecorated. He was glad that he wouldn’t be staying here longer than a day.

“Mathew?” he looked over at Deon, who was fiddling with some beakers which were stuck together as he spoke.

“What?” Mathew answered, still not sure how to take this strange man.

“Before you came back, what was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Does anyone want tea?” Deon picked off one of the stuck beakers and held it out.

“No,” was the unanimous answer.

“What was what like?” repeated Mathew.

“Where you were?”

“I wasn’t anywhere, Deon, it wasn’t like anything.”

“But you must have been in heaven.”

“Well, if I was I don't remember it.”

“Did you meet God?”

“Deon, he doesn’t remember, he just said that,” interjected Philip.

“No, I don't remember anything. There was just nothing.”

“But that doesn’t really make any sense does it,” said Deon, still pulling apart the cups and then placing them on the floor and looking up before continuing. “I think that maybe God doesn’t let you remember, but you must have been in paradise, and I know that God has a mission for everyone. And you can’t have been nowhere, because you were somewhere before, and you're here now, so it doesn’t work that you weren't anywhere in between.”

Rei looked up at the others. “There is some logic to that, you know.”

Philip made a noise that demonstrated he didn’t agree, but didn’t have a valid argument.

“Well, I don’t really know then Deon,” said Mathew.

“You see,” Deon continued, “I have gotten messages from God…”

“Yeah, I thought you might, pal.”

Deon ignored Philip. “He sends me signs.” He started to dig in one of the boxes, and pulled out an assortment of junk. “Look at this. This is my reliquary. A host of holy relics. Here!” He held out a clump of hair, tied together by a small piece of string. “This is the hair from the head of St Catherine of Siena. She had her head cut off. And this…” he fumbled in the box, before pulling out a small bottle, which Mathew thought looked like one of the miniatures from a hotel bedroom, “this contains the blood of St Januarius, not all of it mind, most was spilled and the rest is in Naples.” No one spoke as Deon rummaged for more relics in his box. “Here it is.” He pulled out a piece of wood, about 10cm long, partially painted green and splintered at one end. This is part of the one of the spokes from the wheel used to test the faith of St Catherine of Alexandria. She’s not the same Catherine as the hair, they just have the same name.”

“It’s painted green,” said Philip, examining the spoke.

“You get green wheels!” explained Deon.

“Obviously. Any more?”

“Well, yes, this is the special one.” Deon moved the mattress in the corner, and stuck his arm through a small hole in the wall, eventually coming out with a small box. “This is the special one!” he repeated in hushed and reverent tones. He held out the box.

“What is it?” asked Philip, moving to take the box, before Deon snatched it back to his chest.

“It’s a secret and holy relic, and I am its keeper. The Archangel Michael has entrusted it to me. Its contents are the reason I am here. I keep it safe, and will leave it for the future.”

“Ok,” said Philip, sceptically. “So, err, what’s actually in it?”

Deon shook the box and something solid inside rattled slightly. “A holy relic.”

“Any particular one?”

“That’s the divine mystery of the reliquary,” replied Deon, never taking his eyes from the box. “The Archangel Michael has told me that.”

“I really think that we should be starting to get ready to leave,” Philip said brusquely.

“It’s ok,” Rei interjected, “we have enough time, if there’s something that Deon feels important to tell us.” Philip glared at her, but she ignored him. “Where did you get the box?”

“Reliquary!”

“Where did you get the reliquary?”

“I found it, about four years ago, down by the river, it was half buried in the mud, but the sun shone on the wood, and made it glow, so I ran down and pulled it from the river bank.”

“It’s a piece of crap you found floating in the Thames, pal.” Rei lifted a hand to silence Philip, but Deon carried on undeterred anyway.

“I brought it back here. I knew it was special because of the way it shone in the light, and I could hear that it contained something. I cleaned it up and tried to open it, but here’s the strange part - it doesn’t open. No hinges, no locks, no latches. Yet it can contain a relic. I knew there was something special about it.”

“It looks sort of familiar,” said Mathew, peering in the half-light at the box.

“I kept it hidden, and for months I tried to open it. Then one day I was awoken by a great light.”

“I thought something like that might have happened.”

“Philip! He’s telling us something important to him.”

“Ok, just saying. So, bright light….”

“A GREAT light. It filled the room.”

“I wish it would now,” Philip muttered through the darkness. Rei kicked him on the shin.

“And through the light I saw a staircase, and down the staircase came the Archangel Michael. He was swathed in light and the glory of God.” Mathew raised an eyebrow at Philip, who shrugged. “And he walked into my room, this room, and said ‘You have a relic from Christ Almighty. Passed through generations, and you are the now the Relic Keeper. The box may only be opened by a special messenger, chosen for the task, and the Holy Relic, will reveal its secret only when needed. It is the answer to the question you do not know,’ and he placed a hand on my forehead, and I knew my destiny was to wait for the question that the relic would answer. Then he spread his golden wings and ascended to heaven.”

“And all this happened in Streatham?”

“Yes, Philip. So you see I have proof of my mission.”

Philip rolled his eyes. “Unless you imagined it.”

“Do I look like the sort of person who imagines angels?”

Philip, Rei and Mathew all looked about the chaos of the apartment, and assortment of other ‘relics’, but none replied. Philip returned his gaze to the box.

“Well, it’s a bit small for the Holy Grail, so what’s in it? Crown of Thorns? Blood of Christ? A nail from the Cross? I can get it open with a saw if you want me to.”

“No,” cried Deon, snatching the box away. “It can only be opened by the special one, and only used to answer a Divine Question.”

“Ok, I won’t try to open it. Can I have a look?” Reluctantly Deon passed the box over, never taking his eyes from it. Philip examined the box. It was about 25cm long, and half as wide and deep. There were slats along the sides, and it appeared as if it should have an opening, but, just as Deon had described, there was no lock or hinge. Nothing on it appeared to move, but an object inside it rattled. It was lacquered, and still slightly muddy. The dark finish had started to wear off in a few places. It looked old, but somehow Philip thought it didn’t look like a medieval piece, certainly not an object from over 2000 years ago.

“May I?” said Mathew. Philip passed the box over.

Mathew looked over it, turning it over in his hands. He examined the edges and trim along the base. “I’ve seen this before.”

“What? This is yours?” asked Rei.

“No, no, not this exact one. But ones like it.”

“When you were in Heaven?”

“No Deon, I wasn’t in Heaven. Actually I was in Marmaris.” Everyone looked at him blankly. “It’s in Turkey. They sold these boxes in the markets.”

“In the Holy Lands,” whispered Deon in awe.

“Not really the Holy Lands, pal. So, can you open it?”

“If I remember rightly,” Mathew said as he pushed the base of the box. It stuck, then slide across, revealing a series of internal slats. He pulled one of the revealed slats, which eased upwards, in turn revealing a small chamber. Mathew shook the box and with a clunk, a small metal key fell out.

“But there’s no key hole!”

“Just hang on Deon, we’re not done yet.”

Mathew pushed the back, moving the entire box forward on the base. He then put a finger on the wood in the middle of the box, and slide it down, free from the base, and revealed a small key hole. He placed the key into the hole and started to turn it.

“Wait!” shouted Deon. “What’s the Question?”

“I don’t know mate, I’m just opening the box.”

“Reliquary.”

“I’m just opening the reliquary.”

“Don’t.” Deon placed his hand on Mathew’s. “You’ve shown me the way to the message, but the time isn’t right yet. I can’t use the relic at the moment. I can only use it when it’s…”

“Critical?” suggested Philip.

“When it’s the right time to ask the question that the Relic will answer. And that isn’t now. But you see, you have fulfilled the first part of the prophecy of the Archangel Michael. But I’m still the Relic Keeper.” He took the box from Mathew and carefully reset the system.

“You know,” said Philip quietly to Rei. “I thought he going to say Mathew was the relic.”

Deon placed the box back in its hiding place.

“Right,” barked Philip. “Now that’s all sorted, shall we get ready? I want to leave at eight.”

Mathew was beginning to realise that the plan to move them south was a house of cards that could collapse around their heads for any manner of reasons at any time. He tried not to think too much about the latest developments, nor of the riots that could be poised to break out around him. Nor did he want to dwell on the fact that they were reliant on a man who at best appeared to be slightly deranged, and at worst…he didn’t want to imagine the worst case scenario that Deon could create. His legs still ached and he’d lost his stick, although Deon had found him an antique wooden one, which he could use to ease walking. On top of this his head throbbed, he remained constantly cold, and he was aware of a constant pain in his chest that fluctuated in intensity, although he decided not to add to anyone’s worries by mentioning it for the moment. If it continued, he decided, he’d talk to Rei about it. But for now their main concern was to leave the city, and then his health and his family would be matters he could cope with more easily.

The day dragged on and the wait was slow. The temperature had risen and the weather was clear for a change, although this helped to make the room that they were using stuffy and uncomfortable. By eight Mathew was relieved to be out of the apartment and heading anywhere. Although just where and how he was travelling were still worries that plagued his thoughts.

The camp hadn’t been what Mathew had expected at all. Somehow he’d imagined it as similar to those of his youth, full of Gypsy fairgrounds, with coloured caravans and the smell of candy-floss, burgers, hotdogs and frying onions. There was certainly more noise and lights than he’d seen elsewhere in London since he’d awoken, but the sounds, smells and images were still alien to him. Crowds of people stared at him and his colleagues as they crossed the main square of the camp. They were evidently in one of the old recreational parks that had been created to give the Victorian suburbs an element of greenery, although now the grass had given way to mud and the paths were broken and overgrown. To the outskirts of the area were the remnants of the old buildings that were a ubiquitous part of the parks of Mathew’s youth and adolescence. Against tin and brick one-storey buildings like these he’d kicked balls and played penny-up-the-wall with a makeshift posse of friends when he was a kid. Later, and with a different group of people and alternative agendas, he’d hidden in the limited cover of park buildings while he tried his first swig of cider, his first cigarette, his first joint, and with Judith Cousins, on a warm night in the long summer 1976, he’d had his first sexual encounter. Parks had played an important part in his early life. He wondered what happened to Judith. He was 38 and she’d been a year older than him, so now she’d be…? Suddenly he remembered. Now she’d be dead, and she probably had been for 30 years. As were all those kids who’d kicked yellow tennis balls against the walls, or dared each other to jump the fences of the gardens that backed onto the parks. How was it that he still felt the same as he always had, yet nothing of the reality that he knew existed? He shivered, despite the relatively warm evening air. When he knew he was ill he’d arranged his own suspension because he couldn’t bear the thought of dying and losing everything and everyone. But now he realised that had happened anyway. Loneliness wasn’t about being the only person in a place. It was the realisation that you knew no one. None of these people, he thought, actually knew him. They were helping him for the situation he was in, or their interpretation of it. But there was no one here that he could truly communicate with. No one actually cared about him. He felt utterly lonely in the crowd of travellers, and it was not because he was on his own, but because he was amongst people, and yet knew none of them.

“Mathew?”

“Sorry, what did you say? I was miles away.”

“I asked if you were ok,” repeated Rei. “You suddenly looked terribly sad. We’re at the camp now, you know. We don’t need to walk any more, and you can get some rest here.”

“Yeah, I just, I don’t know, I was just thinking. Sometimes at the moment when a thought comes into my head it completely takes me over. Like I get transported back somewhere, and I lose myself.”

“I don’t expect you’ve ever seen anything like this place. I know when Deon brought me here I was amazed that places like this still existed. It’s just so full of people, but they all seem to know each other.”

Mathew viewed the camp. There were probably a few hundred people here at the most. It couldn’t be hard for them to all know one another, he speculated.

“The building where I lived in Japan had about one thousand families in it, and I did not know the names of anyone outside of my own family. But then I expect these people are prone to various diseases, and they must transmit these vary rapidly when someone is ill,” she continued.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Mathew, although he was not really listening. Above him, through the smoke some stars were visible, although the haze from the engines limited his vision. He could smell engine oil and exhaust fumes from some of the older trucks, although he’d gathered from Philip that the petrol engine was a dinosaur in this world. Perhaps these people still used them, he thought, remembering how some gypsies had still used horses when he was a kid. As he looked about he could tell that many of the families were packing goods into their trucks and caravans. This was a camp about to move on, and he was going with them. He felt as if he were about to step off the edge of the world into a void of the unknown. Whatever this future held, this was where it started for him.

He hurried alongside Rei and Philip to a large truck near the entrance to the camp. A group of men were bustling around a truck cleaning pieces of machinery with old cloths and talking in a dialect that sounded softer and older than those of Mathew’s companions. Philip placed a hand on Mathew’s shoulder.

“Keep an eye on anything valuable,” he whispered. “These bastards will steal your shoes when you sleep if you let them.”

A large tattooed man named Karl greeted them and took them to a cabin, which was larger and better furnished than Mathew had expected, although he, Rei and Philip were expected to share the two fold-down beds. Karl shook their hands vigorously.

“Now, yous two I know, so who are you?” he asked Mathew.

“David, David Hopkins,” he replied, having been rehearsing his alias and the associated story since they left the apartment.

“Right then David, we’ll be leaving at 6,” he shouted above the din of the camp. “No need to hang about ’ere, eh? We’ll head west first and then start south, the roads are better that way, and you’ll be expected to keep outta the way. Is that ok?” The three nodded uncertainly. “If we meet any filth you’ll have to keep low in the truck. We don’t want no trouble from anything, just let us have your money and we’ll get yous where you want to be, then everyone’s happy, yes.” He clapped a large hand Philip’s back, knocking him forward slightly. Mathew guessed that Philip was not keen on over-friendly gestures and found himself amused at his companion’s awkwardness at the situation. Even shaking the Roamer’s hand seemed to have put Phil on edge, and Mathew assumed that the two groups of people had very different customs, although he didn’t recognise either side as being particularly similar to those he knew.

They ate the food that Philip had brought in the cabin. Rei had tried to make conversation several times but Mathew was not in the mood and stretched out on the bed at about 11pm, mulling through the events of the last few days in his head. Rei and Philip talked outside by the fire, but Mathew couldn’t make out what they were saying, except that they appeared to agree on few things, which made him nervous. All he could concentrate on was the possibility that sometime in the next week he may be able to locate Paula and Jessica, the last vestiges of his old life. Whether or not that happened would have a profound effect on what he would decide to do after. With Jessica on his mind he drifted into a rough but dreamless sleep.

*

“I think he’s sleeping,” Rei whispered to Philip, although they were outside of the cabin and Mathew was unlikely to have heard her.

“Well, he’ll need the rest. God knows where we’re going to be tomorrow. I’m still not certain that this was the best way to get him out of London.”

“I don’t know, Philip. It seemed the only choice, though.”

“Yeah, but now we’re completely reliant on these
people
.” He whispered the final word as if it were an arcane insult. “I don’t want to lose control of the situation. And I’m not happy that I can’t keep an eye on Bible Bill.”

“Deon? He will not cause any trouble.”

“I hope not. I don’t think he’d intentionally do anything to jeopardise our chance of getting Lyal away. But he’s easily led. Back at the hospital he nearly cocked it up. When I asked him what happened latter he went on about voices talking to him and this bloody divine mission that he thinks he’s part of. He could turn out more dangerous than you realise. You’re too trusting.”

“I’m only here because I trusted you and your ideas about the Walden Centre. In one sense Deon is right; we have to use our instincts here and trust that we will be ok.”

“I have no trouble with
my
instincts; it’s his I worry about. And the fact that he’s placed an inordinate amount of trust in a book written in the Bronze Age.”

“He is hardly spouting biblical parables at every turn, Philip. Deon is useful to us, and although he may have lied about his past somewhat, I feel I trust him.”

“I trust his intentions, just not his abilities. Fortunately the police have been too incompetent to have found him so far, but if his picture’s being broadcast someone’s going to spot him. That’s all it took for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spotted him on a broadcast about Lyal. He was lurking in the background, but that’s how I traced him, through seeing his picture.”

“I thought you were working on the piece about the Walden Centre.”

“Well, yeah, but I was trying to write about the Burlington massacre first, so I already knew of Deon.”

“So which story are you working on?”

“Lyal’s.”

“But if you can get something on Deon you can finish that too, yes.”

“No. They’re not connected. Not directly anyway.”

“So are you involved in this because you want to help someone who’s done nothing wrong, or because you think you might get a sensational scoop?”

“I’m not that sort of journalist. I want to expose whatever the hell’s going on at the Walden Centre, and if helping Lyal is the best way to do that then fine.”

“That’s what I thought. You’re not trying to help him, just yourself.”

“At the moment I’m trying to help you.”

Rei stood indignantly. “You know,
I’m
not the one who needs help. I thought Mathew was, but actually I was wrong. You’re so self-obsessed that maybe you should try to look closer to home. You need help Philip Brading. You are just too bloody arrogant to ask.”

“Don’t come over all holier-than-thou at me. You know nothing about this guy ’cept what you’ve learned over a couple of weeks using him as a case study. You want to use him as your big piece of redemption, don’t you? Save one guy in poor cold bloody Britain then go home and tell all your varsity friends how good you are. How you were the saviour of this relic of a person from the last century. How you worked in the West for a pittance of pay but eased your soul ’cos you’ve done some good so now you’ve no reason to feel guilty about living the highlife in Tokyo.”

“You are probably the biggest bastard and hypocrite that I have ever met. You stand and lecture me about my motives, when you’ve just admitted that you’re only in this for the money. And as it happens I don’t live in Tokyo.”

“When did I say I was only in this for money?”

“You as much as said it. You should look to Deon for some inspiration. He might have some problems, but at least he rests easily in his conscience. His motives are well-intended, and he can still sense what is right.” She stared at Philip, her face red with anger. “And he doesn’t start drinking every time he has a problem.”

“Oh right, yeah, Deon’s fucking great. The man’s a fucking lunatic, girl, or can’t you see that. And maybe he doesn’t drink, but what do you think he has in that autopipe he carries? He talks to angels! He’s a liability and I still say that this whole escapade is more likely to come undone ’cos of him than anything else. But you like him, so that’s fine. Course you didn’t think much of him before, but now he’s fine.”

“You don’t even know him; he was just another person you could use to get your bloody story.”

“I know Deon; the Bible-pushing, easily led, extremist. You have to admit, he’s a cliché.”

“Says the cynical, drunken journalist.”

“He’s the one you need to be watching, not me, love.”

“I’m fine with my knowledge of Deon and what he’s likely to do.”

“Oh and you know him really well. I’m the one who told you his real name, if you remember. You’re trouble is you’re too trusting.”

“And yours is that you don’t trust anyone. You know what happens to people like you? They end up on their own with no family and no friends. Oh, congratulations, you’re at that stage already. Love.” And she stormed into the cabin before he could answer. Although there seemed little he could say.