Jack of Ravens

3

2,300 girders. 3,300 columns. 300,000 panes of glass. The Crystal Palace was a cathedral dedicated to Victorian ingenuity and excellence. It sprawled across the southern edge of Hyde Park for nineteen acres and soared up 108 feet to tower above the London skyline, encompassing several of the park’s elm trees within its massive bulk.

Church stood in the shimmering celestial interior and marvelled; nothing that he’d read about the Great Exhibition had prepared him for the spectacle. A rich spectrum of hues burst from the displays on every side. In the centre a gigantic fountain rose up, illuminated by shafts of sunlight. To the north was a bank of forest trees and verdant tropical plants. Everywhere sculptures had been placed in the most harmonious settings, some of them colossal and of unrivalled beauty.

Niamh stood close, so entranced she appeared unaware her shoulder was brushing his. ‘Why, this is a thing of wonder. It would not look out of place in one of the great courts.’

Tom snorted. ‘Open your eyes. It’s a big shop to sell spoons to foreigners.’

You’re just a cynic,’ Church said.

And you are a small child, entranced by shiny things.’

Must you two bicker all the time?’ Niamh sighed regally.

‘I wish Jerzy could see this,’ Church said.

‘Oh, will you stop worrying about the prancing buffoon.’ Tom sniffed. If he’s too empty-headed to accompany us on our jaunt, he deserves all he gets.’ He shuffled towards one of the halls displaying the wares of Persia, Greece, Egypt and Turkey. ‘Besides, the lad’s only just gained his freedom. He should have some time to follow his own feet.’

Church heard the half-buried note of sympathy, but Tom refused to meet his gaze.

‘Where do we find this man with whom you wish to speak?’ Niamh asked.

‘He’s here with the Archbishop of Canterbury on an official visit,’ Church said. ‘Queen Victoria opened this place with Prince Albert yesterday, and today all the other dignitaries get their chance at being big shots. So just look for a bunch of stuffed shirts pretending they’re something important.’

They moved through the crowded courts amongst the exhibits of arts and crafts from all parts of the globe until they came across a crowd of finely dressed men and women being led by a guide. The archbishop in his ceremonial robes was near the front with a small group of ecclesiastical advisors.

Church indicated a stern-faced man with a long, greying beard.

‘How do you know he’s one of your Watchmen? You don’t keep that close an eye on them,’ Tom said.

‘I visited a couple of days ago by our time, during the late seventeenth century in this timeline, when Sir Christopher Wren and Nicholas Hawksmoor were building a new series of churches to replace the ones lost in the Great Fire of London. I met with the Watchmen and we decided that there would always be a representative at Christchurch, Spitalfields, so I’d always have a contact.’

‘So you have got a brain in there. You manage to keep it well hidden.’

Though Niamh wore the voluminous yet restrictive Victorian dress, her beauty and the faint glimmer of gold glowing through her make-up gave her an exotic appearance that drew many stares. Church watched the bearded clergyman’s eyes fall on her, then move to Tom and Church. Realisation slowly dawned on his face, and he slipped away from the group.

‘Is it true?’ he said quietly to Church. ‘You are the one in the information passed down to me by my forebears? I have a drawing, a rough thing, but the likeness is uncanny.’

‘I’m Jack Churchill.’

‘Francis Cole. Sir, I must shake your hand.’ Cole pumped Church’s hand furiously. ‘You have some new information for me? A mission, perhaps?’

Church handed him a crisp, white envelope. ‘In here are directions to a roadside cafe … a tea-room, if you like. It’ll be meaningless to you, because it hasn’t been built yet, but it will be. I want you to pass it down to your successors until the early years of the twenty-first century, when one of them must go to the cafe to write a message on the walls of the toilets.’

‘The lavatories?’ Cole looked uncertain.

‘A message to someone who will be born in around a hundred and thirty years’ time.’

Cole looked into Church’s eyes, intellectual excitement growing on his face. ‘Remarkable! All they said about you is true. A message across the years, to times yet unwritten. Remarkable.’ As Cole slipped the envelope into his pocket, his face darkened. ‘I am afraid I have some distressing news, Mr Churchill. Before I set off this morning I heard word of a brutal murder in my parish. I have not yet had time to establish the truth of the matter, but I fear it is a gentleman who recently made my acquaintance — a bookkeeper by the name of Richard Tanner.’ He leaned in conspiratorially. ‘He announced himself as a Brother of Dragons, and had just made contact with two more of his group.’

‘Veitch,’ Church said.

‘You’re not thinking of confronting him, are you?’ Tom interjected. ‘There’s only one of you this time.’

Church wavered. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Veitch is playing the long game,’ Tom pressed. ‘You should, too.’

‘That’s easily said. How do you walk away when you know something bad’s happening that you might be able to influence?’

‘Best stay away. You don’t want to be forced into facing him before you’re whole.’

‘If it is any help, there was another sighting of Spring-heeled Jack in the vicinity,’ Cole added. ‘If such a fearsome thing exists, it may well have been involved.’

‘Walk away, Jack,’ Tom insisted.

Church was torn, but before he could reach a decision he glimpsed a familiar figure through the crowd. It was fleeting, but Church was sure he had seen correctly. ‘Jerzy’s here,’ he said.