LITMIR.BIZ

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turned from the glass wall to look back towards D’Scover, a broad grin on her round face.

      “Sister, I did not Hotline you here just to see the view from my office,” D’Scover remonstrated.

      “No, but it is impressive all the same. This new office of yours is a little modern for me, but you have good taste when it comes to artwork.” She walked around, looking at the many works of art that decorated the room. “Of course you have had plenty of time to assemble such an impressive collection, have you not?”

      The large square room was indeed like a small and very exclusive private art gallery. A dozen paintings filled two walls, and represented most of the history of art of the western world. From the Renaissance period there was a large icon of the Virgin Mary that was a perfect example of the then new art of Perspective. She gazed tragically out of her frame, resting one of her pale hands on an exquisite necklace, a rosary of beads carrying a single piece of curved metal, a crescent moon. A landscape of hills, a Calvary of crucifixes reeled back behind her demonstrating perfect depth. Around Mary, on the other walls of the office, hung paintings from every century since, each one a perfect example of the very best work of its time.

      The display on the walls ended with a canvas of only two colours – slate grey below vibrant orange. The top colour bled into the bottom, creating a canvas that gave D’Scover a lot of pleasure. His long red couch stood opposite this painting and he spent a great deal of time sitting on it, deep in thought. Dotted around the office there stood a number of small but impressively ornate tables and these carried pieces of exquisite porcelain and glass. All of them were bowls and the collection stretched from the sixteenth century to the modern day; each piece was a one-off – no others existed like them anywhere in the world. D’Scover had seen to it that the moulds and designs were destroyed so no other bowl could be made; each was unique. Every piece of art in this private collection was worth a small fortune – not that money meant anything to D’Scover.

      “I am pleased by things of beauty,” he offered as an explanation, running a vaporous finger round the rim of a cobalt-blue glass bowl.

      “You were fortunate that the powers that be decided to build so close to your former home. How did you claim these offices for the Brotherhood?” the sister asked.

      “We still have considerable influence in high places,” he said. “The Brotherhood carried out a number of clearance cases for a certain royal personage and these two upper floors were gifted to us by the Crown. Below us is a television company and film studios; the technology they utilise has been most useful to us.” He frowned at her. “You are not addressing the issue. What is your opinion of this boy?”

      Sister Goodman turned and walked back towards the desk and lowered her sturdy frame into his blood-red leather desk chair.

      “I think he could possibly be what you have waited for, but it is still too early to tell,” she said. “You know as well as I do that a Trial is the only thing that can prove his will and strength.”

      “But what Trial? It has been centuries since anyone was strong enough to even consider one and he is just a boy. Admittedly he has life experience beyond his years, but he is still just a child,” D’Scover said, pacing around the office.

      “They all were,” she reminded him. “Granted, they had more time to settle in, but the Vision dictated that they were all children.”

      “In any case, the old Trials are not even possible now, not in these days of dense population. How could we consider a full Demon Trial with the possible loss of life that might entail? The last one of those was over two hundred years ago and, if my memory serves me, on the Russian Steppes. With modern satellite imaging, that kind of heat would be lit up like a flare. The military would be on it before we could do anything,” D’Scover said in an anguished tone as he paced the floor. “I am at a loss. It is the boy’s right to have a Trial, but how can we use such antiquated methods today?”

      “Calm yourself, Toby,” Sister Goodman told him as she swivelled the chair to face him. “Your affection for the living has always baffled me. For heaven’s sake, we could manipulate them however we desired. There has been no need for a Trial for two centuries, that much is true, but why should it be antiquated? There must be one that is appropriate for today. Have you consulted the Texts?”

      “No, it has been a long time since there has been need to.” He stared down at the city below through the rain-streaked windows.

      She rose and walked to his side. The wind whipped around the balcony, carrying the few remaining leaves up from the trees far below and whirling them around the damp concrete surface. She placed her hand on his arm and forced him to turn and face her.

      “This is not a weakness, Toby. The Texts are there for a reason, and it is time you consulted them,” she said in a firm but gentle voice. “This is not about you, it is about the boy. Have you considered looking for an aide?”

      “No!” D’Scover snapped and shook his arm from her grip. “I will consult the Texts, but it is not time to call for an aide, not yet. I am not ready to give him over and, from your time on the Council, you know that will happen if I have to summon assistance. They will step in and assert an authority that I will not be allowed to resist.”

      “As you wish,” she replied coldly, “but promise me that you will consider every option should the answer not arise from the Texts.”

      “I will,” he assured her, “but I will not consider raising an aide yet or reaching out to the past. The portents are not yet right.”

      “I understand that there has been quite an increase in spirit activity already, even the reactivation of dormant spirits,” Sister Goodman said carefully. “Maybe even a fire starter?”

      “How did you know that?” D’Scover rounded angrily on her. “Did one of my agents tell you? That is a breach of . . .”

      “Calm yourself,” she interrupted, “You forget that I am still an Attendant to the Senior Council.”

      “Of course.” D’Scover relaxed. “I apologise for snapping at you, but I insist on total confidentiality from my agents. I will not deny that there is an increase in unauthorised activity, but it does not worry me yet.”

      “So where is the boy now?”

      “I have placed him in Dispersal back at the hospice; he is safe there for a while.”

      “Promise me that you will consider every option?” She repeated her earlier question. “Do you keep the Texts close to you – are they close at hand?”

      “Yes, I will consider every option, and you can be assured that the Texts are safely guarded,” he replied. “They have been safe with me for centuries, and you know that I cannot discuss their whereabouts, even with you.”

      “Of course.” She patted his arm reassuringly. “What was I thinking?” She wrinkled her nose as she looked around.

      “You know, Toby, this room may look impressive, but it does not smell very good,” she said, deftly changing the subject. “You should get some air in here. I suppose that you are too important for anyone to point out the obvious.”

      “I have very few visitors.”

      “The presence of the boy may be a good reason to get a bit of fresh air in here once in a while, just in case the place gets too stuffy,” she said maternally. “Leave the window open whilst you Disperse, there’s a good fellow.”

      He leaned forward and hugged her awkwardly, and she looked totally shocked.

      “Well!” she said, stepping back. “What was that for?”

      “Just for never changing,” he replied. “Thank you, I always know I can trust you.”

      “Well, if you cannot trust me, who can you trust?” she said. “Toby, I had better get back. It has been wonderful visiting you, but if you want to expend such a lot of energy and Hotline me, could it be somewhere hot and sunny and with significantly less

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