he open air of the courtyard felt cool on my face, and smelled of Autumn leaves and magic. I felt tingly, alive, expectant, as though something terribly important and exciting was about to happen. We had found a page of the Book, and for a change, we were the hunters!

I stopped, breathing deeply as the night air invigorated me. "I’d like to stop and get a picture of Tower Bridge in the moonlight, okay, Arthur?"

"A lovely thought. Come with me." He began walking. "There’s a splendid view from just up there, see on top of the wall near the torture chamber?" He was pointing to a dark stone stairway.

"But there’s no light!" The bracing air had just turned chilly and I shivered. A dark winged shape swooped low overhead and an eerie screech ruptured the night. I jumped back, momentarily overcome with a perverse fear of that gloomy, winding stair. "That’s alright, Tary it’s just one of the ravens. Come on, the view of the bridge is well worth the climb. You have your torch, haven’t you?" He didn’t wait for me to answer. "Good. Oh, just wait until you see it, moonlight glinting off the spires, stars twinkling reflected in the still surface of the Thames. It will be a fantastic picture, I promise you!"

I’d never heard him wax so poetic before and I got caught up in his enthusiasm, much against my better judgement not to mention instinct. Pulling the torch from my bag, I caught him up just at the foot of the stair. The thin beam seemed to be swallowed completely by the profound blackness. He reached out and took the light from my hands, moving forward and disappearing into the darkness.

"Well, come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of, there are warders all over the walls."

His voice sounded hollow, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing around the cold stairwell.

"Alright," I called, placing my foot on the first step. "Just coming, Art."

The flashlight caught me in it’s thin beam as he turned. "That could be grounds for divorce you know."

I picked my way carefully, feeling along the wall and leaning on my walking stick for balance. "What could?"

"My name.." he said drawing himself up on his dignity, "..is Arthur. Not Art, not Artie, Arthur." He turned away, seeming to be distracted by a small sound above him, but his deep voice continued. "Doctor ...Arthur...Neville.... Pendargroooff..." There was a thump and the light from the torch went out in a clatter of broken glass as the flashlight lens fractured on the stone. I could hear him scrambling about, probably on hands and knees, to pick up the pieces. Giggling, I hurried up the stairs to see what crack in the masonry had managed to trip him up this time.

"Well, Doctor Pendargroof..." I began, bending over to retrieve the flashlight from where he’d dropped it. "You owe me one electric torch." I held it up and turned, expecting to see him standing, smiling at me ruefully.

"Lady Tarish, how nice of you to accept my invitation." The voice was boyish, high and thin, with a trace of a working class accent, although the sentence was structured beautifully.

"Peter!" I whirled, sensing more than seeing the darker shape in the shadows. "What have you done with Arthur?" My eyes were fully adjusted to the blackness and I searched frantically, but my husband was nowhere I could see.

"Done with him? Why I haven’t done anything with him, my dear." He stepped from the shadows. "Nothing at all. I was waiting for you."

"Where is he?" I was moving backwards, away from the chubby young man as he advanced.

"I believe you will find him downstairs, Lady Tarish, being made rather uncomfortable, I fear."

I’d backed myself away from the stairwell, and had no reason to think I could make a dash for it that way, so I just kept moving slowly, trying to remember where this particular walk went and trying to figure the best way of attracting the attention of one of the warders. Screaming would probably do it, but where was Arthur? I was afraid to try anything until I knew exactly where my husband was.

"You are quite right, dear Lady Tarish. Unless you are very cooperative and come with me silently, your beloved husband will be made significantly more than merely uncomfortable." It was as if he’d read my mind. I let him approach and go by me. "If you will follow me please, I’ll show you."

I went with him."How is it you have the run of this place after hours? Aren’t you afraid of the guards?"

I asked, partly curious, and partly to keep from thinking too much.

He didn’t turn, but I could see his shoulders lift in a slight shrug. "That is really no concern of yours, my Lady, but I understand your inquisitive nature. The warders in this sector have been dealt with, and are happily asleep at their posts for another hour at least, I should think. As for how I am able to move about so freely... your Doctor is not the only one with contacts."

We were moving down an inside stairway now, our way lit by the dim night lights. The husky figure in front of me was tall and muscular, but I felt the presence of Malcolm Dennings in his every graceful movement and was terrified.

We reached the bottom and as I followed him along the narrow stone corridor I had to remind myself that this was not the fifteenth century, but 2003. Somewhere out there, a modern city was just warming up for the evening. Down here, it didn’t make much difference.

He stopped before a heavy wooden door and used a key to open it. Inside the large room were glass cases along the walls, each displaying various instruments of the gentle persuasion used in the Tower at different times in it’s bloody history. I recognized it of course. It was the ‘torture chamber’. In the centre of the round room stood a large wooden rack, roped off. Normally, a mannequin graced the bed of pain, as it has been called, but tonight there was a special guest in residence.

Two young hoodlums, one sporting an eye already swelling shut and a lip that oozed a thin trickle of blood, were just finishing up. Arthur hadn’t gone down easily.

"Did you find it?" snapped Peter.

"Nah, ‘e didn’t ‘ave it on ‘im", answered one of the two. "Must be the girl."

Arthur turned his head and spoke in a normal, quite conversational tone.

"You must know by now that this sort of thing won’t do you any good, Peter. It has been done before." He grinned. "Besides, there’s bound to be someone come to investigate the racket if you start on me in here."

Peter nodded and the one with the blackening eye pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He tore off a long piece and placed it firmly over Arthur’s mouth. Before he straightened, he backhanded him brutally. Arthur’s head snapped back and he groaned. The young man stood, delivering a savage kick in the ribs.

"That’s for the lip and the eye, Doctor!" he spat.

As though in a dream I walked to my husband and kneeled at his head, wiping the blood from under his nose gently with my scarf. His eyes were clear, bright with pain... and desperate. Then, I stood to face Peter.

"He’s right, you know. All this has been done before, and you know where that got you. Give it up now. Before long someone’s bound to turn up. This is a public place, a national monument. You can’t think to get away with..."

One of the hoods grabbed me and the other yanked the purse off my shoulder, spilling it’s contents across the floor. "It’s ‘ere!" he said.

Peter smiled. "Of course it is." He moved toward me and I stared into brown eyes fever-bright with madness. "You read it, didn’t you, Tary?"

He smiled again. "You are the only one who can. What does it say?"

I shook my head. "I don’t remember."

A nod of his head and the wheel of the rack was tightened several notches, stretching my husband’s limbs and causing him to grunt in surprise.

I struggled, "I don’t remember, Peter. I really don’t remember, I’m not lying. I didn’t understand it, at first, then just when I thought it was beginning to make sense, it slipped away, faded from my mind."

I heard the dull click as the mechanism was turned again, and the sharp intake of breath as Arthur steeled himself. Then, Peter held up his hand.

"That is quite enough for now, Jake. I believe she’s telling the truth."

Jake, the one Arthur had managed to damage, gave the wheel another deliberate turn. My husband whimpered softly in pain. I tore free and turned.

"I said that’s enough for the moment, Jake!" Peter spoke sharply, and the young man let go of the lever and stepped back shrugging, a cruel smile on his thin face."

"Alright Guv. Just makin’ sure ‘e’s all tucked up, nice an’ snug like."

Arthur’s eyes were closed tightly, the network of tiny wrinkles showing the strain he was under as they stretched back into his hairline. His jaw tensed as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. I thought, irrationally, that his hair, clipped so short now, seemed oddly unmussed.

"You’re insane, Peter!" I was thinking furiously. "This isn’t you, not the real Peter, the Peter who came into the Order for love. Think of Rosie. Remember the child she bore you? Haven’t you given enough? You don’t need to do this anymore. Malcolm Dennings is dead, Peter, he’s dead and Dr. Mayfair is in custody! It’s over."

I moved closer, keeping my voice low and gentle as I’d seen the Doctor do. "You’re not possessed by the soul of Malcolm Dennings, Peter. You’re you, that’s all, no one else, just a young lad who’s been betrayed and ill used. Give it up now and I’ll speak for you. The Doctor will too. We’ll see you get help. It’s time for the hurting to stop."

For a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. I pressed on as he seemed to waver.

"Please, release Arthur. There’s still time for you, it’s not too late. You know where the Book is, don’t you Peter?"

"‘oy, ya gonna let this bird talk ya inta somethin’?" Jake grabbed me roughly, shaking me. "You, shut up! ‘e knows what ‘e’s about, don’t ya?" He looked to Peter as a spaniel looks to it’s master. "Power you said. Power an’ money."

His eyes hardened and turned cold, the moment was gone, and I’d lost.

"More power than you can dream of my friend." Peter smiled and it was Dennings’ smile.

"As I believe I’ve mentioned, Tary, it really is all nothing without you. Good destroyed is only reborn again ever more pure than before. You see, it is not destruction that we seek, it is defection. I want your loyalty, your devotion. Failing that, your cooperation will suffice. Eventually, your soul will belong to my Master, and it will be to the Dark that you shall swear fealty."

Unlooked for, almost unbelievably, I had to smile. "I think you’ve got the wrong girl, Peter, or Malcolm, or whoever you really are. I’m not the icon of goodness and purity you have obviously mistaken me for. I’m only human. Believe me, in this lifetime and before, I have done my share of wicked deeds. Not going out of my way to serve evil, of course, not like you, but just by being human. I try to do what’s right, but ...it’s sometimes not so easy to tell. I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of in my life; plenty of things I would go back and do over, if I could. If you’re looking for some saint, some symbol of virtue that you can desecrate and hand over to some imaginary god of evil, then why don’t you try somewhere else, like a convent, or mission, the Peace Corps maybe. I’m simply not so selfless as all that. I just don’t fit the bill."

He touched my cheek and I fought not to flinch from his contact. The fingers were hard and callused, Peter’s rough hands, but the lightness of the caress, the velvet smoothness of motion was pure Dennings.

He smiled with something resembling com-passion. "Oh, but you do and very nicely. It is by and for your humanness that you were chosen. Not because of any inherent goodness, but because of your per-sistence in trying to achieve it, to maintain the fragile balance within yourself. You bear the mark of the spiritual warrior, Tarish, humanity reaching for the divinity within. You were not chosen by my god, my dear, but by your own gods. If you feel betrayed, look to yourself for the betrayer." Peter gestured and turned his back.

Jake pushed me into the other man’s grip and took his place at the rack. His mouth tightened as he turned the wheel again. Arthur’s eyes flew opened and a muffled groan filtered from behind the tape as his tendons bulged under the strain.

"Stop it!" My voice was a croak. "Leave him alone. I’ll go with you."

"Of that there is no doubt, Lady Tarish since you have no choice in the matter." His grin widened. "Actually, the Doctor is of little consequence any more. I have what I want and soon the means to control you will be at hand. The Doctor’s part in this little drama is over."

The ancient mechanism creaked again, sounding loud in my ears as Arthur’s body was pulled and stretched viciously. Jake laughed and placed a heavy booted foot on my husband’s chest.

"Gotta ‘and it to the old duck, ‘e’s pretty fit for a bloke ‘is age." He shifted all his weight to his leg and I could see Arthur’s breathing was in difficulty. "Not too many’d land a punch on me like ‘e done!"

"Jake, leave him and come talk to Lady Tarish, please. Tell her about this new rock band we’ve discovered in the US. What are they called?" Peter gestured and Jake swaggered over.

"Oh, right. ‘Born of Chaos’. Really ‘ot sound, from America. Ever ‘ear o’them, Lady?"

I felt hot. They were talking about Jason’s band. Recently, they’d had a chance to record in a real studio, bankrolled, they said, by Greg, the guitarist’s uncle.

"No!" I whispered, shock and horror deadening my senses.

Peter chuckled. "As I said, the means are at hand, my Lady... or will be shortly."

Not Jason, not my son! The thought burned wildly through my brain, searing into my heart. They would not suborn my son into the darkness, not while I lived!

©2000 by Trish Reynolds