Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

Courtney stroked the corners of his grin. 'Like I have said before, Mr Reynolds…you possess a keen intellect. All good questions, and to answer; what I desire is not hidden in that crypt, Mr Reynolds.'

'It's not?'

'Not any longer, at any rate.'

'I don't understand…'

'It is in my possession, Mr Reynolds-but it was only half of what I need.'

'You're speaking in riddles, Bishop.'

'You asked why the Church was so interested in a dingy dockland borough like Crawditch, Mr Reynolds, and why I am so interested in its cemetery. Well, I shall tell you all, if you really wish to know.'

'Oh, I do wish, your Grace…I really, really do,' pleaded Reynolds sarcastically, like an eager child begging for a toffee.

The Bishop played along, clearing his throat dramatically. 'Many, many years ago Crawditch cemetery was selected as a location to store a very special prize, devised by the Church to secure its future and cement itself as the one, true religion to which all must heed. Part of this treasure was buried in the crypt; the other in the cemetery grounds itself.'

'So, the crypt did have some treasure worth finding then, after all?' asked Reynolds, his beady eyes aflame with interest.

'As I said before, treasure is not always gold or jewels, Mr Reynolds. In this case, the treasure in the crypt happened to be a glass vial containing…an antidote, of a sort.'

'An antidote? That's treasure to you, is it? A bleedin' antidote?'

The Bishop swatted Reynolds's caustic remark away with a wave. 'The antidote itself is not the treasure…it is what it is an antidote to, that certainly is. The true prizes that I sought were both purposefully hidden in separate locations. One location contains the primary chemical, and the other a neutralising agent.'

'"Neutralising agent"? This is all getting a bit above me, Bishop…I'm a mercenary, not a chemist. If this "solution" is such a treasure-why'd you need an antidote?'

'In case someone using the treasure should have second thoughts, Mr Reynolds,' answered the Bishop, 'for it reverses the effects of that vial's solution-although why one would wish to do such a thing is beyond me. I suppose the word "antidote" is a bit misleading, for what the primary vial actually contains is a very special and unique elixir!'

'An elixir? What does it do, cure the pox, or something? Turn lead into gold?'

'Nothing as churlish as that, Mr Reynolds.'

'But this…this elixir thing is hidden in the cemetery?'

'Within the cemetery grounds, yes,' confirmed the Bishop. 'In an unmarked grave.'

'An unmarked grave? So, how come you don't just pay the body-snatchers to dig it up then? Why go to this great plan of yours for something so simple?'

'Simple, Mr Reynolds? I can assure you, if it were simple don't you think I would have the elixir in my hands by now? There are over five hundred unmarked burial sites in that cemetery-and what I seek could be hidden in any one of them.'

Reynolds smiled as the penny dropped. 'And I'd guess the locals would have something to say about you digging up their loved ones, eh?' he asked, purposefully showing the Bishop a furtive smile.

'Which is precisely why I am trying to clear the district,' snapped Courtney. 'It has taken me the best part of twenty-three years to finally track down the location of what I seek, but it's impossible to go any further with the district fully populated…I'd be locked up within five minutes.'

'And then along comes Queen Victoria…with all her talk about reclaiming London as her Empire's capital, and that just falls like a gift-wrapped present in your lap, eh?' said Reynolds. 'Pretty convenient.'

'Have you not heard that the Lord works in mysterious ways, Mr Reynolds?' Bishop Courtney said. 'Victoria gave me the perfect excuse for me to continue with my plans, and now…now we are close to its fruition, Mr Reynolds, so very close.'

'And all that stands in your way are a thousand locals, eh?'

'Thanks to Mr Hawkspear, that number is decreasing by the day, but it's not enough…I need the place empty of all witnesses.'

'Now I get it,' grinned Reynolds, 'Why didn't you just say so at the beginning? We could have surely come up with something that wasn't quite so…messy, something a bit more direct. All this subterfuge for something that's buried in a bloody grave? How do you know some grave robber-or someone from your lot-hasn't already beaten you to it?'

'I would know…the Church would know, the whole World would know! The Church has closed its mind to the fact that it even exists. They feel it is just a myth, something lost to the legends of the past. They would not seek something of which they know nothing.'

'I don't want to go digging around for some chemical that could burn my skin off! What on earth is this elixir for?'

'On earth?' said the Bishop with a throaty chuckle. 'On earth it is nothing less than the touch of God's hand.' The Bishop leaned closer to Reynolds, close enough that the gaunt man could feel the warmth of Courtney's breath against his cheek. 'Mr Reynolds, that grave holds a prize that has been elusive since the beginning of time…a dream that many have endlessly searched for, only to watch it slip through their fingers…a prize that man has ever sought.' Courtney rose to his feet, and cleared his throat, like an actor about to deliver the finest performance of his career. 'Answer me this, Mr Reynolds; what are your feelings on the secret of eternal life?'

'Beyond it being complete horseshit, you mean?'

'But you are at least aware of the notion?' said Courtney, clapping his clammy hands together. 'It is far from fancy, Mr Reynolds-it is irrefutable fact. Throughout history, every religion across the world has spoken of such a thing…eternity! Not just of the living soul, but of the physical body itself. Perpetual, interminable life! A chance for mortal man to become…immortal! It's a tantalising thought for anyone, is it not?'

'I've met a lot of people over the years seeking eternal life, Bishop, and not a single one of them ever found it. Misguided fools, the lot of them-and they wasted what lives they had left searching for it.'

'Mystical amulets, Holy Grails and alchemists' stones, Mr Reynolds? Indeed, they are all works of desperate fiction, and the belief of overactive imaginations. This quest we are currently embarked upon at this moment is one based upon reality.'

'And I suppose you can prove that?' asked Reynolds.

'Proof? You ask a man of the Church for proof of his word?' the Bishop said with a sarcastic smile. 'My, you are a breath of fresh air, Mr Reynolds. As a bishop I'm used to spouting all kinds of rubbish for the avid consumption of unquestioning minds, Mr. Reynolds. But if proof you seek, then how about this; if one were to produce one of these twinned vials, would that surely not prove the existence of the other?'

As Reynolds watched in awed silence, from under the folds of his deep dark purple robes, the Bishop pulled a six-inch-long, jewel-encrusted silver crucifix attached to a broad leather strap. Holding the cross aloft, he twisted it in half, unscrewing it to reveal a hidden compartment in its base. He tipped the cross upside down, and a small, filigree-decorated, cork-topped glass vial fell into his open hand. Bishop Courtney plucked at it with his thumb and forefinger and tilted it towards the staggered moonlight through the window.

Reynolds stepped closer, carefully inching himself towards the Bishop, his jaw gaping open. 'You're serious, aren't you? Is…is that it? The elixir of life?'

'Unfortunately, no. This is but the reversal solution, Mr Reynolds, practical only if consumed within one hour of the primary solution, but like I said; why on earth would someone wish to reverse immortality?'

Reynolds sighed noisily. 'If your alchemists went to the trouble of making an antidote, perhaps they realised that eternal life could be just as much a curse as a blessing.'