Phil Rickman - The Fabric of Sin

‘I meant at Garway. The service at Garway’s tomorrow.’

‘Is it?’

‘Been … quite a problem for us, Merrily. For me. The C of E is obviously in two minds about the Templars. We have their churches, but we weren’t the ones who persecuted them.’

‘We probably would’ve done, though, if we’d existed at the time.’

‘You know the Vatican’s being asked to apologize?’

‘For the suppression? No, I didn’t.’

‘Some of the modern Knights Templar societies are calling for it. Doesn’t affect us, one way or another, but holding memorial services is a bit iffy, politically. Churches, as you know, have two different roles. Places of worship and historic buildings open for tourism.’

‘So we show the tourists the Templar coffin lids and the remains of the circular nave … but as for including the Templars – Baphomet and all – in a religious service …’

‘Dicey. Very dicey. And, officially, I should have said no.’

‘Teddy Murray doesn’t seem too enthusiastic either.’

The Bishop smiled through the dull sheen of sweat.

‘You really don’t know the half of it, do you?’

Mrs Morningwood was feeling her throat through the silk scarf. Her throat where the marks were.

Jane said, ‘You look like Mum looked … when she came out of that house.’

Roscoe looked up at Mrs Morningwood, whimpering. She clasped his head to her lower thigh.

‘I’m going to make some tea,’ Jane said. ‘Or can I get you a brandy?’

‘What house?’

‘Well, the Master House.’ Jane filled the kettle. ‘You remember … No, you don’t, you’d gone, you’d left us to it. You said Roscoe wouldn’t go in. You said you always trusted the dog.’

‘I do.’

Mrs Morningwood looked down at Roscoe; he was panting. It was like they were tuned to the same wavelength, the woman and the dog, picking up messages that nobody else could hear.

‘Jane, will you tell me about this?’

‘I’m sorry, I thought Mum must’ve told you. Maybe I should keep quiet.’

‘Up to you, Jane.’

Jane walked to the window, looking out at the orchard, at the last red apples near the tops of the highest trees.

‘She looked like death. Like she’d just seen … I dunno, Lol in a porno video or something.’ Jane turned to face Mrs Morningwood. ‘She always insists she’s not psychic, maybe because she doesn’t like to believe anyone else is.’

‘Did she tell you what happened?’

‘Oh yeah. It was when she found the green man. Which is actually Baphomet. But it’s the same thing – Baphomet, Pan, the green man … the male thing in nature.’

‘This is in the church?’

‘No, no …. in the house.’

‘That’s what I thought you meant.’

‘It’s in the fireplace. Behind the inglenook. Someone’s put a green man, or Baphomet, on the wall inside the inglenook where nobody would normally see it. You didn’t know about it?’

‘Is it old?’

‘Probably not. Could be something to do with whatever stuff was going on there back in the 1970s. But then it might be old – might be original Templar. Might’ve been brought from somewhere else at some stage. Dunno, really.’

‘And your mother found it disturbing.’

‘You ask her now, she’ll probably deny it. Are you all right, Mrs Morningwood?’

‘No.’ Mrs Morningwood sat down. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’

‘You want me to call the doc or something?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She looked up. ‘Do you think Merrily would mind if I borrowed her car? I’d bring it back tonight.’

‘I’d have to ask. You might not be insured.’

‘In that case … you can drive, can’t you Jane?’

‘Sure.’

‘You see, I came in your mother’s car. Mine’s at home. Your mother’s gone with …’

‘Lol. In his truck.’

‘Would it be possible to take me home? Just for a few minutes, so I can collect some medication.’

‘Herbs?’

‘Won’t take me long, darling, I know what I’m looking for. I suppose I could phone for a taxi …’

Herbs? No way.

‘No,’ Jane said. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll get the keys.’

‘Good. I can pick up my Jeep.’

‘Oh.’

This would mean she’d have to drive back on her own, on her provisional licence.

‘OK,’ Jane said.

She’d need to get the L-plates off before Mrs Morningwood spotted them.

Because, whatever this was about, it was not about herbs.

‘TEN COVER IT?’ Jimmy Hayter said.

Lol stared at him. It had started to rain again. Big spots on Hayter’s buttermilk Armani.

‘I could go to twelve, Robinson. Cash, by tonight. Leave it in an envelope for you, at the desk in there.’

‘Twelve what?’

‘Twelve K.’

‘Perhaps you could explain what you’re talking about, Jimmy.’

‘I heard you had a guitar irreparably damaged.’

‘Wow,’ Lol said. ‘It’s amazing how quickly word gets out.’

‘I’ve always liked to help underprivileged musicians.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’

‘Twelve, and you and your priest leave me alone. And you don’t lean on my fucking Jag.’

Lol didn’t move.

‘Jimmy, you are … I think what our friends over the ocean would call a piece of work .’

‘All right,’ Hayter said. ‘You tell me what you want.’

‘I’ll be reasonable about it. Four grand in an envelope and a bit of honesty.’

‘I could …’ Hayter’s face might have darkened, or it could have been the sky. ‘I don’t think I need to spell out what damage I could do to your … what you laughably call a career.’

‘Well …’ Lol shook his head, sighing. ‘I mean that’s just the point, isn’t it? I don’t call it a career, and you already have spelled it out. Or your … employee, with whatever destructive implement he carries around with him. And the thing is—’

‘Whoever did that … might have gone further than instructed,’ Hayter said.

‘—Thing is, I’m really not anywhere near significant enough to be damaged by somebody with your level of connections. I mean, what are you going to do … like, sabotage the renewal of my six-album contract with the Sony Corporation?’

‘Maybe he concentrated on the wrong guitar.’

Hayter turned away, shoulders hunched against the rain which had drained the colour out of the city below them, making the Cathedral spectral. Then he turned back.

‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Who?’

‘Me and …’ Hayter jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards The Centurion ‘… him.’

‘Mr Gwilym. Who you haven’t seen in thirty years.’

‘Actually, I hadn’t,’ Hayter said. ‘Not until today.’

‘So what … I mean, why the reunion? Can’t be the anniversary of the ritual abuse of Mary Roberts, surely?’

Lol, the wet soaking through to his chest, suddenly felt this kind of transcendent exhilaration. Somehow, he had the bastard.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Hayter said.

‘So tell me what it was like.’

‘You want to come inside?’

‘Jimmy, do I look stupid?’

‘I’m getting wet.’

‘Rain’s healthy. Start with Mat Phobe. Move the letters around and it becomes Baphomet. That’s this head thing the Templars are supposed to have worshipped. And also what Crowley called himself, when he was doing sex magic with the OTO.’

‘Yeah, we did our share of that. Mat had this obscure book, with the rituals of the OTO. You needed women. Or men would do, in some cases, but we never went there, like I said. Unlike some of the Templars, apparently.’