Seven

"Down!" she shouted, pulling the release as she did so. A bolt whirred by as we managed to duck in the nick of time. There came a strangled gurgle from worryingly close behind us and the crash of - what we presumed correctly to be - a body into the fringe bushes.

"Stay down," she warned as she moved cat-like past the pair of us crouched beside the muddy stream. As she went, she folded the hand-held crossbow, slid it into a holster - well practiced manoeuvres I noted - at her hip and withdrew a long knife - a poniard, even - from inside one of her knee-length boots. I couldn't help but notice how well the fairly utilitarian outfit she wore fit her, how shall we say, well-apportioned form. Ahem. She quickly examined the body and surveyed the edge of the woods around where we had emerged, before returning to us bearing a dagger in her other gloved hand.

"Nasty piece of work." She shook her head in stern disapproval, her close-cut auburn tresses swaying as she did so. She indicated the dagger she bore, point outwards. "The blade is coated with cyanide," she explained.

"Say no more, m'lady. We thank you most profusely for saving our humble lives. But whom do we have the honour of addressing, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Oh brother!" Kieran rolled his eyes at my rather outmoded - not to mention affected - manner of speech. She laughed, a twinkling sound in the cool air.

"Cute. But thank my employer. She was the one who thought that the Professor would send his thugs after you and got me to keep a look out for you two. Fairly close thing though; I almost missed you in there." She paused, noting our vacant expressions. "You do know what's going on, don't you? Why that fellow over there," she indicated back towards the bushes, "why he was trying to kill you?"

Kill us? Kill us?

Of course I knew that on one, more objective level, but to actually have the words spoken brought the hideous intrusion of - for want of a better word, we might call - 'reality'. Although an arrow in one or other or both of our bodies might have also got the point across.

"I can safely say that we have no idea what on earth is going on."

"Damn." For some reason, this notion troubled her. And thus, troubled me as well. I - more than some people, I think - dislike being kept in the dark or not having all the details of something to hand. And if someone wanted me dead, I think it's not entirely unwarranted to want to know why.

"Can you tell us what's happening?" Kieran interjected. His inflection made me wonder, though, if we hadn't - despite the rather decorous surroundings and, to be fair, rather miraculous save - jumped out of the frying pan only to slowly grilled. Which then started a new - not to mention somewhat paranoid - train of thought along the lines of deception and jumpy co-conspirators lurking all around this rather perplexing land. I thought it best to push these aside for the time being and concentrate on the conversation at hand.

"...not really, I'm afraid. You should have been put in the picture already. Rhianna is going to be most vexed." There was something familiar about her voice that I couldn't quite place...

"Who?" queried Kieran.

"Rhianna. My employer. Someone you guys will meet soon enough." Suddenly it clicked - it was the accent!

"You're American, aren't you?" I exclaimed, in a voice slightly tinged with horror, I must admit. Ingrained I'm afraid - too many movies of the overbearing American goody-goody patriot types with their interesting view of other nations - just take Independence Day for example - and the (self-deluded) notion that fantasy is - or should be - the demesne of high-flown English. Unfortunately, and much to my chagrin, it isn't.

She blinked, as if in surprise - although I can't blame her for being taken aback. "Yes," she said slowly. "Why, have you got something against us?" Well, yes, but only in a being-annoyed-at-a-nation-and-not-any-individual sort of irritation. I wonder if any of that showed through my stutterings?

"I didn't quite... um, how shall I put it... expect..."

"I think I know what you're getting at. This place isn't exactly a fantasy land, though. Which is kinda what you thought, isn't it?"

I nodded lamely. Kieran followed suit a moment later, but in a manner more consistent with his 'I couldn't really care one way or the other' attitude that he used in the company of others.

A soft laugh. "Don't beat yourself up about it. It was my first thought too but Rhianna explained it to me. It's a sort of pocket dimension, existing like at a tangent to places on the Earth we know. It's something to do with quantum harmonics, or such like. I forget the exact details. Rhianna'll explain it better. She's the physicist. I'm just a plain and simple biologist."

"And professional assassin of sorts," Kieran noted wryly.

"Granted." She chuckled.

I glared at Kieran. He yawned and turned away. I returned my attention to our rescuer. "So where can we find this employer of yours?"

"At the moment, she's in Cambridge."

"So, we can visit here as soon as we get back."

"That's Cambridge, Massachusetts, not Cambridge, England. She's a lecturer there, at Harvard."

Kieran whistled. "Not bad," said he. Before following it up archly with, "For 'The Other Place'."

"That's Oxford. Harvard is 'A Pale Imitation'."

The lady seemed a mite nonplussed by this brief exchange. "I suppose. Anyway, I've got a message for you from her," our saviour said, turning to face me squarely. "She said 'Tell Lord Aethylin' which I'm guessing is you, since you match the description, 'that he should keep those crystals safe until I can get over to look at them'. There, that's it."

"Crystals? What crystals?"

"The ones in the bag you found. You did find it, didn't you?"

"Yes," I said, slightly hesitant, "but how did you know they were there?"

"Arhenna said that was what you were here for and that they were known to be in this region but that only you or your friend here could actually find them."

"That's a bit cryptic, isn't it? Given that I haven't the foggiest clue about what's happening. Did she happen to say when she was arriving? And how does she know about them?" My response.

"Who?" Kieran's response.

She shrugged, answering me as she did so. "Nope, sorry I don't know and you'd better ask her when she does arrive. Now I suggest you get going." Was it me or was that a slight hint of terseness? "There's a doorway for back home just around that hill over there." She gestured as to the direction. "I've got to go and make sure you guys aren't followed further. Be seeing you." She turned and jogged off into the forest. When she reached the outermost of the trees, she turned and waved. "Good luck guys!" she called, before disappearing amongst the greenery.

I turned to Kieran. "Well, that was bizarre."

"I'll say. What did she mean, calling you 'Lord Aethylin'?"

"Don't ask me. I have no idea. We seemed to have gotten ourselves mixed up in some very crazy goings on. Perhaps we would should take her advice and just get out of here first. Ask questions later. I dunno about you but I could do with a shower." Something - call it instinct mayhaps - cautioned against revealing prior knowledge of the name.

Kieran looked at me askance, as if somewhat dubious but - thankfully - didn't call me on it. "You're right. We should leave before someone else tries anything else on us."

We set off for the hill previously indicated with the unsettling feeling of a rather one-sided conversation weighing heavily on my mind.

A brisk walk later and we rounded a small knoll, traipsing along a narrow path. I was beginning to tire of seeing these dusty trails. I know that sounds irrational but I was. It was irksome. But at least they got me somewhere. Even if I didn't know where that was.

Anyway, just ahead of us and off to the side of the path, lay a small pond, its waters gently rippling as the spring breeze gently scudded across its surface. Reeds dipped their slender necks to drink daintily from the water's edge. And a weeping willow offered sanctuary as its sprawling branches overhung both the pond and the path.

And within that natural archway, hanging from a stately but sinewy bough, was a shimmering curtain of pearly light.

Amazed, we weren't. Unsurprisingly. Or perhaps it was quite strange that the exit portal took the same form as the entrance. I don't know, not having first-hand experience of interdimensional portals. Well, that was something else I could now cross off that list.

"Are you ready to go?" Kieran asked. I turned to my companion.

"Affirmative," I readily responded. It was the one thing - the only thing! - sorry - I could be confident on at this time.

"All right then, let's go home." He took a few steps towards the wan light of the strands, hesitated and returned to my side. "But what if that nutty professor or that gunman are waiting there, on the other side?"

A look of alarm darkened my face. "Sugar! I hadn't thought of that. Well then, since the only weapons we have are our wits, we'd better keep them readied."

"Agreed." He paused for a moment of consideration. "You gonna check what's so important in the bag?"

"Andy, let's just get home first. We can examine them in the comfort of my room back in college." I don't know why but I thought I detected a hint of eagerness in Kieran's question - perhaps over-eagerness. Maybe I was just tired - even though I didn't really feel weary - and letting my mind wander too much - no doubt it would be an Olympic champion at that - into the realms of suspicion. He accepted my reply without quibbling, so I assumed he felt the same way.

And we strode forward and through the doorway that would - hopefully - take us home. I was a little apprehensive - and more than a fair bit curious - at what this dimensional experience might be like, having been a little more occupied the last time this happened. As it happens, I needn't have had the barest of fears about it. All that occurred was a feeling of airy nothingness as I stepped past fibres of woven moonlight that were almost ethereal with their weightlessness...

...and emerged into the bright light of a warm summer's afternoon. I didn't even have to blink to accommodate for changes in light levels, it was that seamless a transition. But I did. Blink, that is, as I tried to get our bearings and was marginally surprised that we had fetched up where we did.

The two of us were standing in a bus shelter.

That's right, a vacant bus shelter on Hills Road. Just outside Homerton College.

On the other side of the 'city' from where we had departed.

"Oh man, more walking," Kieran moaned when he realised where we were.

I didn't say anything. I was more perplexed by the fact that there was no-one around on the streets, no-one to be surprised by our rather sudden appearance. True, there was the odd car speeding along but they'd be travelling too fast to notice something like that. There were absolutely no pedestrians in our vicinity. It just struck me as remarkably fortuitous coincidence or happenstance - I'm not quite sure which - that it should be this way. Oh well, it was a trivial thing in the face of everything else, I suppose.

Just one more oddity in this cavalcade of bizarre happenstance - which, I suspect, must to most of you, I'm afraid, seem like preposterousness, or induced hallucinations of some sort.

Then it struck me to check my watch, see if I could verify my suspended time theory.

13:32.

About half a minute on from when it had apparently stopped. So, in effect, no time at all had passed whilst we were within that pocket dimension or whatever. Yet my limbs all ached and I was definitely feeling tired from whatever exertions, imagined or otherwise, I remembered going through. Perhaps a slowed metabolic function was to blame as a side effect of that place.

"I'm starving," interrupted Kieran. "How about you Rav?"

"Famished Andy." And I was. "But I'm knackered as well."

"How about you go wash up and I'll bring something from the kebab shop in about an hour's time?"

"You're too kind Andy."

"I know," he declared nonchalantly.

I shook my head in mock reproach and smiled. We set off back towards the city centre and our respective rooms.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was back in my college room. Housed in one of the newer blocks towards the rear of the property, it was spacious and comfortable - more than suitable for my needs. Comprising a large living area, adjoining bedroom and a small balcony with an unrivalled view of the concrete rear of our neighbouring college, the place was a great area for entertaining - or would be if anyone (other than Kieran) could really entertain the notion of spending time in my company.

Actually, that's really quite hurtful to those who do and might be considered my closest acquaintances. I don't mean to pour scorn on their - somewhat self-deluded, admittedly - ideas of friendship with me. After all, what have I really done to deserve such a bond? Which brings up that old serpent - why exactly did Kieran return? Could it really be for those professed feelings for the wrong he had done me? As much as I would like to believe him, something just kept gnawing away at the trust I wanted to place in his words. But, I would just have to sublimate those anxieties and accept what he said at face value - there was no point in me tying myself up in knots over verbal red herrings and conversational double or triple bluffs.

And just where had that golden orb disappeared to?

My mind was swimming with half-information and unanswered questions. I was still none the wiser, as to what was going on, for our otherworldly sojourn. But for all of this I just couldn't stop thinking - what was in this for him? And then, what was in this for me? That, at least, could be answered, however partially - since I didn't have all the information needed to make a firm judgement at my disposal - by the seeming potential for danger, mystery and adventure and, above all, disruption to the staid sensibility of whatever it was that masqueraded as my life. To put it simply, I was bored with my life. Actually, more than bored... fed up is more like it.

A knock at the door interrupted these somewhat melancholy musings. I glanced to my wrist.

14:23.

That would be Kieran then. "Come on in, it's open," I called out, rising to collect cutlery, crockery and condiments from the cabinet. For a brief moment I had the terrible thought that the mysterious gunman from the woods had found out where I lived and was going to finish what he had started.

Thankfully, it was just Kieran carrying a blue plastic bag from where wafted the heady odour of takeaway food. "Delivery boy!" he announced cheerfully, setting the bag down on the coffee table and sitting himself down in the cosy chair.

"As opposed to some other kind of boy?" I bantered, setting my collected wares before him. "Drink?"

"Cordial, please. And what I get up to on my own time is my own business," he countered with that affable twinkle in his eye.

"That would go some way to explaining why you've got so much disposable income."

"Hey! Not my fault I'm gorgeous."

"Of course not."

As we settled down to assuage our hunger, I placed the small blue bag we had acquired in that other place down before us. It chinked softly amongst the velveteen folds.

"So," I started, partaking of my usual repast of fish and chips, "what do you think we'll find when we open the bag."

"You haven't already looked?" he asked, a surprised look crossing his face as he bit into his burger.

I shook my head. "Nope, I was waiting for your arrival. I thought it only fair we opened it together."

"Thanks."

"Besides, we appear to have been through a fair bit today and, I don't know about you, but I definitely needed time to unwind and try and get my head around this all."

"Too true."

"So what d'you think is going on?"

He shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on his meal. "This is quite strange."

I gave him a look of mild disbelief. "And that's your considered opinion?"

He nodded sagely. I smiled - there was little else I could do. "So," I ventured around a mouthful of battered cod, "what do we do now?"

"It's rude to speak with your mouth full," he grinned. "And I suggest we open the bag for a start. There's no point in just staring at it all afternoon."

Swallowing, I nodded my consent for him to go ahead and do so, he having finished eating. He wiped his hands and reached over, pulling the pouch towards him by its golden drawstring. It skidded teasingly across the smooth wooden surface.

I carefully laid my fork aside and watched in expectation. Waited on tenterhooks for whatever was inside; surprised at myself that I had been able to contain my curiosity for such a while; quietly unnerved that our troubles were only just beginning yet thrilling for that to be the case. I felt that peculiar meld of ambivalent emotions which pulled for eddies of excitement in one direction and for the calmer seas of safety in the other. Kieran's face was expressionless - I couldn't begin to translate his pictured state of equanimity into what he might be feeling.

Quiet metallic murmurings were softly muffled as he hefted the pouch and began to carefully undo the knot that cinched it tight. Slowly the tasselled threads fell away and the material unfolded - with a little help from Kieran - into a perfect square of ultramarine.

Wherein the precious contents were revealed for all to see.

I say 'precious' because that's exactly what they appeared to be - precious gemstones set onto rings that hung off metal chains. Two of them, one red and one clear, both of near identical design, cut and manufacture. No, not 'manufacture' - that's too cold and clinical for what these were. A uniqueness of craft and care was more than obvious even at first glance. Kieran lifted them up carefully, almost reverentially, by their long corded chains, both a bright, metallic white - not silver - in colour. The same metal as the rings, it appeared.

As the long rays of light sloped in and hit the mounted crystals, it was as if a veritable fireworks factory had exploded in my room. We were dazzled by the display that these - seemingly ordinary - not to mention small - stones were generating. Sparkling motes bedizened every surface, dancing and dipping, flashing and falling from and through every facet in coruscating reels that fairly threatened to sear our eyes - it was that spectacular. These were sculpted brilliance.

As I feared for the integrity of our retinas, Kieran wisely and swiftly lowered the chains, returning them to rest on their lapis patch and out of direct illumination. "Wow!" was all he had to say on the matter, leaning back in his seat upon the exclamation. He didn't resist as I reached over to remove them and the erstwhile bag from his lap for a closer examination, being careful to shield them from the afternoon sun whilst permitting sufficient to inspect them.

They were exquisite. Whoever had fashioned these articles was a master craftsperson. To this day I still marvel on the beauty of those specimens that I held. The chains were thick and heavy, crafted to resemble the sinuous coils of a snake, and it was clear that it wasn't silver that I held between my fingers. To my mind, the sheen that it displayed was reminiscent of alloyed platinum, which caused me to gasp at the sheer expense, quite beyond the value of the stones themselves. Which brought me back to the stunning jewels that lay before me. One was a ruby, of a red so deep as to conjure up rather disturbing images of conquest - the old 'rivers of blood' analogy. The other a diamond with a lustre of crystal brilliance and a hidden fire burning within the vaulted depths of its perfectly cut facets. Now, gemmology is another hobby I had started making inroads into many years ago and never, in all the books I had read on the subject - plus those on jewellery craft - had I seen such stones, such pulchritudinous perfection, as these. Perfectly smooth to the touch, as if fashioned from a molten tear than had simply hardened. And then were set in highly polished - platinum again it seemed - bands, borne proud from the actual circle by means of a non-intrusive crown setting. Without - much - exaggeration I felt that these were nothing short of divine - to be taken as you see fit. Which beggared the question: what on earth - or off it, as the case may be - were we doing with them?

"And your considered opinion is?" intruded an inquiry from without.

I inclined my head towards my companion - hitherto forgotten in my rapt appreciation of the stones - and favoured him with one my rare wicked grins. "Well, they are magnificent examples of ruby and diamond. And judging by the high chromium content of the ruby, I'd say they come from the hydrothermal deposits of the high Tibetan plateau," I opined, adopting an erudite tone.

"Really?" he breathed, mildly astonished (for once). And then, "Plagiarist!" he denounced, as realisation dawned. But he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

I burst out laughing. "How could I resist?" I offered as an apology.

"So what do you really think?"

"I'm no geologist and my knowledge of gemmology is cursory at best but these are absolutely stunning pieces. Actually, from the quality of the ruby I wouldn't be surprised if it actually was from the Tibetan or Burmese mines and the diamond is probably Russian or from Kimberley. I mean, it's almost as if they're too perfect, almost unnatural. And the value would be exorbitant if I am right in thinking that the chains and rings are platinum as well." There was no way we deserved to possess artefacts like these. Kieran's response was an impressed whistle.

"Hang on..." As I rotated them, an additional item of lapidary caught my eye. On the ruby, I could see there was a design etched into the gem - quite faint but clean-cut and distinct. I rubbed my finger over the stone - though that's such a crude description - and found that I couldn't feel the etching at all - as if it was housed beneath the surface. But that didn't seem possible unless another layer had been placed over it. And it seemed perfectly seamless. This was a most perplexing discovery but since I knew - and still know - very little about gem fashioning it could be put down to just another thing about which I was ignorant.

But the design itself was intriguing as well. It looked very much like the left-hand half of an inverted triangle from which, in the lower portion, extruded an arrowhead. It was as if it were a stylisation of half a pierced heart - to my mind at least.

Passing that one over to Kieran, I turned my attention to the diamond to see if it carried a similar internalised insignia. And - surprise, surprise - it did. This one depicted a circle from which, at the eight major compass points, emanated a short arrow. I didn't quite realise why at the time - and I'm not going to explain now - it will make more sense later, trust me - besides, it'll be a lot more satisfactory if you can work it out for yourselves - it's not that difficult really - but I shivered upon seeing the sigil as if there was something lost and unpleasant associated with it. This wasn't an ordinary gemstone but was it 'Fate' that it had come into my possession? I don't think I was in any particular mood at that moment to wrestle with such a question.

Tearing my preoccupation away from the cynosural stone, I was in time to catch the last vestiges of an expression fade from Kieran's face as he too looked up from the jewel he held. It's difficult to explain - yet another, I'm afraid, and not the last - quite how it looked. The closest I can come is that the smile was coldly calculating and the usual sparkle of his eyes seemed mirrored across the facing facets, becoming hardened as if tempered by something... like mystery or... like avarice - that covetous mix of greed and desire. I can't say that it chilled me, sitting there, for I have a funny feeling that my own reflection would have shown me the same. But sitting here now, I am wondering why I wasn't more perturbed than I actually was. Perhaps ignorance really is bliss - what you don't know can't hurt you. And what you can't see coming, can't see you either.

If only. But that is by the by.

I lay both cloth and pendant carefully down on the floor, I think partially to get away from the strange feelings it was eliciting from me. As I did so, I swear that it began twinkling almost forlornly against the blue-grey of the carpet, as if upset that it had been removed from my proximity. But that's nonsense, I reassured myself, just a trick of the light. Kieran still held the ruby one in the palm of his hand.

"What are we gonna do with them then, Andy?"

His forehead creased in thought. With deliberate slowness, he closed his fingers around the ring, letting the chain slither across his forearm. "Well, I'll keep hold of this one until this Rhianna character shows up."

Holy cacophony Batman! Did my ears deceive me? Or did Kieran not realise quite what he had said? I find that quite difficult to believe but it did seem that way. If I wasn't mistaken, the young lady who rescued us from metabolic cessation said that I, in this bizarre 'Lord Aethylin' persona, should keep the crystals safe. Crystals, plural. I bit my metaphorical lip pondering whether or not to draw this to Kieran's attention.

Against what was possibly - scratch that, make it 'probably' - better judgement, I opted to let him keep hold of it. After all, I reasoned, he wasn't leaving Cambridge for another few days and we were unlikely to be out of each other's sight for too long during that time.

Yes, I know what you're thinking - what about the nights?

I'd like to say that I trusted Kieran enough to believe that he wasn't going to abscond into the darkness. And the truth is that my train of thought missed that station as I nodded my assent to his 'suggestion'. And by the time it did cross my mind - i.e. when he'd left that evening - it was too late to do anything about it. I just had to hope that the professor showed up soon.

Kieran, for his part, had barely waited for agreement before getting up to ensconce the sparkling prize in his coat pocket. I wrapped the diamond and chain up in the velvet, tying firmly the golden cord it had been supplied with and moved into the bedroom to lock it safely away in the valuables cabinet I kept beneath my bed.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in idle conversation about this and that, both of us judiciously avoiding the most obvious topics. Although, I did notice, out of the corner of my eye, that several times he cast a furtive look back at his coat lying, as it was, on the sofa. Suspicions as to a hidden agenda, dormant for the while, began to stir again. Promptly berated of course. Kieran is my friend.

Thus, the report of knuckles on wood came as a pleasant surprise.

18:21.

I wasn't expecting anyone but most likely it would just be a convivial visit from Achmed, a Syrian computer scientist friend, who resided a few staircases away. He tended to drop by of an evening to chat about the newest gizmo or just the funniest website he'd come across.

However, it didn't quite sound like his knock.

Heading over, I cautiously opened the door, not exactly fearing the worst but just the unexpected.

Which is exactly what I got. The unexpected - nothing.

The corridor was devoid of persons. But unlike the cupboard of rhyme, it wasn't bare. Sitting outside my door was a fairly large cardboard cuboid. So, leading from the rear, as it were, I dragged the box backwards into the room to meet Kieran's inquiring gaze.

"Oddest thing, y'know," I said, straightening up.

"What, no-one there sort of thing?"

"Yup." I lifted the box onto the table, intrigued to find that it was deceptively light. Something inside went clunk.

"Sounds interesting," ventured Kieran coming over to join me in a closer inspection of the package. Plain brown, about four feet long and secured on one side by what looked like a simple gummed down seal. I picked up the serrated edge that was my trusty breadknife and slid it beneath the flap noting that it passed along without any resistance like, well, a knife through butter, I suppose. And carefully pushed back the stiff lid to lay its contents bare. To a gasp of surprise from those there-present.

This was the closest I had been to a piece of precision military hardware since my last visit to the British Museum many years ago.

A sleek, gleaming and, above all, very sharp - a fact that could be attested to by having performed the hair splitting test - once I had overcome my awe, that is - sword glared back at us from within its corded bonds. At about three feet long, with the blade of svelte steel comprising about thirty inches of that, it looked like the style of sword favoured by the stereotypical fantasy elf - if such a thing can be said to really exist - but without hefting it - to check the balance - I couldn't be certain. Suffice to say that at a later date I got to test that supposition. A short crosspiece guarded the grip, bound in serviceable leather, which was topped off by a gleaming pommel of uncovered, unsurmounted and polished metal. A fine slashing instrument, if I wasn't very much mistaken.

Kieran gave another of his characteristic whistles. "Very nice," he commented. And wasn't that just an understatement.

I paid him little heed, however, for there was something written in the fillers - those grooves that run the length of the blade to make it lighter and more flexible - that caught my eye. Etched into the steel was a word.

"Con-