PROLOGUE
The mansion was a little on the outskirts of the capital, not quite in town, nor quite in the suburbs. Plain from a certain angle, but nonetheless refined, it discreetly reflected the noble character of its occupants, and very soon its hosts.
Hideaki Tohsaka could not see it, however, from the carriage that led him to his destination. With one hand, he was playing with a page corner from the book set on his lap. His forehead glued to the window, he watched the floor scroll with an empty eye. The trip from Japan had been long and exhausting.
The jerk of the carriage stopped, waking him from his sleepiness.
The young man sighed, realizing that he had just spoiled one of Tohsaka's most cherished legacies by turning down the corner of the pages. The coachman opened the door, allowing him for the first time to admire the Edelfelt Manor, surrounded by a gigantic translucent dome, shining with a faint blue glow. A cane in his hand, a bag slung over his shoulder, he put away his book while climbing the steps leading to the entrance to the house. He suddenly felt slightly stupid in front of the gigantic doors facing him. He raised a hesitant hand, preparing to ring the bell of the reception, when the doors opened abruptly. The manor staff seemed to come out of nowhere. Two young women dressed in their service uniform greeted their guest, while a third invited him to enter and dispose of his belongings. A servant came to collect the luggage from the coachman and left in a completely different direction.
Tohsaka did not have time to react to this surprising activity before a voice called to him:
- I welcome you Hideaki, your trip must have been terribly trying.
Going down the central staircase, Mary Edelfelt smiled with delight. Although he had not seen her in years, Mary had kept her long, curly blonde hair and wore a laced blue dress as usual.
Hideaki seemed terribly relieved to see her, as if her mere presence proved that he had arrived at his destination.
- Good evening Mary, what a pleasure to see you so radiant, the house Edelfelt can only be proud of the mistress you make. I thank you for the hospitality you share with me.
Half-smiling, Tohsaka accompanied his words with a clumsy bow, trying to keep a good face in front of his host despite his fatigue.
- No need to splurge in long and interminable courtesies. We are here to support you in your business and the Edelfelts will give you all the necessary support in the name of the alliance that unites our two families. But something tells me that all of that will have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe you'd like to dine, unless you just want to have tea or an infusion in the living room. My husband will only return to-
- Thank you Mary, but I have to start the preparations now. The rest can wait, I assure you.
Mary huffed:
- Wait! But you will never have time for dinner! You also plan to postpone that to tomorrow?
Tohsaka did not want to offend his host and realized that his attitude was somewhat rude.
- I don’t mean to upset you, far from it, but-
- No, no!
Mary turned to one of her domestics.
- Anna, you will show Mr. Tohsaka his apartments, and you Hideaki, dinner is at 8:30, and you have every interest to be there!
- 8:30 pm, but - he tried to say, pulling his watch from his pocket.
Mary slammed the door of what appeared to be the living room without him being able to finish his sentence. He sighed in exasperation at the turn of the conversation. He opened the fob watch he had in his hand and raised an eyebrow of perplexity.
He saw the maid, Anna, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
- If Sir wishes to follow me, his apartments are on the second floor.
Without waiting for an answer she began to climb. He followed her, watch in hand, and questioned her:
- Simple question Anna, I don’t think I have changed the time of my watch. You know, I have not taken the time to set it since I crossed the Italian border. How many hours are there between Italy and England? One? Or maybe two? In advance or late?
- It is 6:40 pm, Sir.
The servant answered him without even turning around. But how much had it taken for him to rant about the time lag instead of simply asking about it? He set his watch correctly and closed it after realizing that Anna was waiting for him in the middle of the last corridor on the left wing of the manor.
Anna opened the cherry door on her left.
- Sir, your apartments have the necessary bath effects contiguous to the room which is located behind the door on the right. Your luggage has been placed on your desk in the adjoining room to your left. Madam made it clear that it had to be spacious and airy. The window gives you a view of the courtyard in front of the manor house. The bell located to the right of your bed allows to call the staff when needed. We are entirely at your disposal.
Punctuating her sentence with a curtsy, Anna finally left the entrance free for Tohsaka. He stepped forward, casually imposing his coat and other bulky effects on the couch of the parlor.
Realizing that Anna was still standing in the doorstep, Tohsaka turned to look at her, exhausted and questioning.
- Does Sir still need my services?
- That will be all, thank you.
Tohsaka watched as the door closed to open just afterwards, letting only the sound of the following voice pass:
- And if Sir does not trust the time of his own watch, he can trust the clock attached to the fireplace, I can assure you that it has not suffered any jet lag since late Sir Geralt Edelfelt.
The door slammed shut, and only the muffled noise of a little laugh and hurried steps came to close this strange interview. Even a simple maid made fun of him. He was eager to regain strength. He was especially impatient to finally have his own Servant. And to hell with Mary's injunctions, he would begin the preparations immediately.
Tohsaka smiled. In a few hours he would be Saber's Master.
---
Whitechapel was an already low creep neighborhood, even for the poorest. As soon as the sun declined, the streets quickly became gloomy and the reputation of the neighborhood was not redone. The few kids who were still walking around were either smart enough to survive, or they were the next topic of the Times newspaper.
At the entrance of the nearest church, yet sentenced, a unit of Scotland Yard was urgently dispatched, following the recent investigations of the exorcists sent by the Church in the area. The case was then delegated to Inspector Clarke despite the late hour.
The latter had remained outside the church, questioning the employees of the adjoining cemetery. Then while taking the road to join the police officers inside, two of them went out to report the inventory.
- We've just finished the search of the premises, Inspector Clarke, nothing to report, began Agent Walter. The church is as dilapidated and empty as ever.
- It turns out that at this time of the year, it is even colder inside than outside, added Agent Simpson.
- Even a needy would not dare to force entry to shelter in a building as welcoming as a cold cellar, added the first agent under his too wide helmet.
- Proof of this is that most still prefer the cold pavers at a place like this…
A glare look from their superior silenced them:
- Are you kidding me?
If the Inspector Clarke was known for the rigor of his investigations and his expertise, he was also known for his precise schedules. Suffice to say that the unexpected extra hours put him in a dog mood, and often at the expense of his staff.
The two agents looked at each other, seeking non-existent support in the other's eyes. In the same gesture, they dared a questioning glance at their superior, making Clarke sigh with exasperation.
- All right, let's start all over again. The Scotland Yard police station received today three complaints, respectively for vandalism, Satanism and finally, abnormal activity in a condemned place. The first one was issued this morning and the investigation led to the dooryard in front of the prostitutes' hotel, which was filled with signs of magical nature. It turned out that three streets away, similar signs were found, hence the second complaint. A brigade of exorcists has made its investigation on the scene… I'm wasting my time for you, Simpson, make me at least a favor and pretend to listen!
- I'm sorry, sir!
With these words, Agent Simpson rushed his watch, while his colleague held back his laughter.
- I too dream that this day ends, Agent Simpson… he continued while rubbing the bridge of his nose. As if the child abduction case did not take my mind enough lately… Anyway, one of the employees of the cemetery saw strange unnatural lights filter through stained glass windows of the church, while he was digging a grave nearby. The exorcists forced the entrance of the church and listed what would appear to be unconventional summoning circles. And during the investigation, footsteps were perceived, but you know the legendary courage of our dear colleagues from the Catholic Church…
- Strip of cowards, whispered Walter.
- Exactly, hence our presence here. As usual, it is always up to us to have the privilege of overcoming the incompetence of our good friends.
Pulling a piece of his cloak, the inspector pulled a notebook out of an inside pocket from which some folded documents exceeded. He seized the latter and showed its content to the police officers.
- Here is the exorcists' report.
The two agents seized the sheets and divided them. Both frowned as they read the contents.
- I don't see what that can bring us, grimaced one of them.
- Although containing all hypothetical gibberish about the usefulness of the magic signs found, these documents contain faithful reproductions of the marks we seek, as well as various descriptive indications. Dimensions, places, numbers… And keep in mind that the only conclusion that must be remembered is that we are dealing with acts of necromancy.
Agents Walter and Simpson swallowed. The first one said:
- We understand very well the importance of the affair, sir, however we can assure you that there was no trace of these marks during our inspection.
- But the others may have found something, added the Agent Simpson while pointing at the entrance of the church.
- Send them the information, then.
Clarke passed between his two men and began to enter the church. He opened a door that squeaked painfully. In the huge stone building as high as empty, the resonance made the place terribly gloomy.
The church was dead. Quite normal since it had been abandoned and sentenced for years. The nave was emptied of its seats. Only two wooden benches remained in front of the steps leading to the sacred altar. The aisles were empty and the windows so dusty that the light barely filtered through them. The set gave a grayish decoration like the stones that made up the building, lit only by a few candles.
Besides, a mountain of candles sat next to the stoup of the entrance on the right, in a large box. It was very dark, indeed, but from there to tool up with a whole box of candles…
- Tell me, was it really necessary for the exorcists, all these candles? He asked to the first agent around.
- No sir, I was the first to arrive on the scene, and taking it over from the exorcists, I also found it strange that they needed so much. Apparently this stock did not belong to them and was already on the scene upon their arrival. Anyway, with this penumbra, these candles are still welcome.
Clarke grabbed one of them. They were not dusty. Someone had arranged them there not so long ago. And they seemed to smell something… indescribable. Not disgusting, but uncomfortable enough to tickle his nostrils. He handed the wick of the candle to that of one of his colleagues. Then began to make a tour of the place himself.
At first glance, it was a Gothic church with a conventional architecture: cross-shaped, with private boxes located behind the choir, and a floor for the organ. He spotted the staircase near the entrance and climbed it. Getting high enough could help him think about something he didn't see from below.
Indeed, from the floor, he had a perfect view of the central part of the church.
In height, even the alcoves that adorned the pillars were empty of their usual decorations: statuettes of saints, popes or others.
The smell incrusted itself in his nostrils again, and this time, it did not come from the candle. It was a certainty that himself could not explain, and whatever its origin was, he knew that it was relatively close.
Turning around, he was facing the rosette bluish by the few rays of the night, which had certainly been very beautiful by day, at one time. Besides, the pipes of the organ protruded from a large sheet. He shot it with a sharp gesture and choked on the aerial particles that emerged from it.
- Bloody dust…
Clarke's eyes widened as he saw sheets of paper fly off at the same time as the dust. He grabbed some of them, yelling at the officers below to pick up the ones flying over the guardrail. Then, taking a look at his catch, he realized that he was holding the sketches used to produce the famous necromantic drawings. He wrinkled his nose and brought one of the sheets closer to his face.
The air was now embalmed with the same effluvium that permeated the candles, and oozed from the heap of paper he had just discovered.
He resumed his own notes concerning the report of the exorcists. No mistake. According to the report, the circle was nearly four meters in diameter. By taking the height, and therefore the recoil, the necromancer could make his calculations and check the status of his work.
To describe them vulgarly, the drawings represented a kind of pentacle, barded with one or two circles around, with some other details surely significant for a magus. But for a bare inspector, it didn't matter. The individual they were following was trying to make an invocation, and no matter how, many conditions had to be met, and the choice of the place seemed to be very important.
The necromancer had already done experimentations in three very different places, which had only one thing in common: their geographical location, namely, Whitechapel.
The places were not chosen for their frequentation, since drawing circles of summoning in the street and by day, was not particularly discreet. Doing so in such a bad neighborhood could be smart if the crime rate had not made it as guarded as a penitentiary. And if, finally, no rational reasoning could solve this mystery, it was because we had to reason as a mage.
And that was the whole problem.
Something related to the invocation led the necromancer to choose these places. Apparently without success.
Clarke leaned on the rail: three things became clear to him.
First, the individual was looking for the perfect place progressively. The traces found during the day were close to each other and the man's course seemed quite linear if we looked at a map. He knew what he was doing and where, but he lacked precision.
So, after three failures, he would keep trying in the neighborhood, because something related to magic in the surroundings would make the place necessary for the invocation…
Which meant, in the end, that he isn't far away.
With a map of the neighborhood, Clarke could very easily define the future area of action of the necromancer. Although there was still an unknown to the equation…
How could such a circle have disappeared?
The report stated that it had been drawn in chalk in the center of the nave and was four meters in diameter. In addition, an exorcist remained on the scene until the arrival of Scotland Yard's first agent.
Even made with chalk, such a drawing could never have volatilized as well… and when would that even happen? The place had always been under surveillance.
Unless…
With a big grin, the inspector quickly took a map out of his pocket and spotted the surroundings. He took advantage of the height to count his officers.
- Fuck…
He rushed down the stairs and asked where the officer who informed him about the candles was. The men looked at each other to finally notice his absence.
- What's his name? Hissed Clarke.
Facing the silence, the inspector kept up:
- How many agents were dispatched on this site in addition to Simpson and Walter who arrived with me?
- Eight, Inspector.
- Stop all your activities! The individual we are looking for is maximum 200 meters from where we are, in South-South-East direction. You, take a map and draw a compass with his areas of activity. You will split into 5 groups to delimit the area.
He took a whistle out of his pocket and went on:
- I'll whistle three times when the fugitive is spotted. Understood?
- Yes, Inspector, answered the ten men in unison.
- So, go ahead!
No longer worried about the officers of Scotland Yard, Clarke went to the back of the church and approached one of the doors leading to the priests' lodges. If the first one was locked and barred by studded planks, the second had an open latch. He tried to put some force and finally managed to open it after many shoulder strokes.
The proof was there.
The necromancer had fled by the priests' boxes when he heard the exorcists' arrival.
He pretended to be an agent to the only one of them left behind and had not been able to erase the evidences properly.
Here, the dust was much thicker than in the main part of the church. The footprints were very distinct and not mixed with those of the exorcists or officers. The man had fled through the window, which is hidden from the outside by the wall behind.
He had then obtained by unknown means a Scotland Yard uniform. Maybe he was an agent of Scotland Yard himself.
No way. No officer had recognized him. And the darkness had allowed him to hide himself without the others notice.
Smart and annoying. And to say that he even had the audacity to speak to him, the inspector Clarke.
Clarke grabbed the uniform on the table: it's a real one, not a copy, he surely had good contacts.
He may had come back here after seeing his pages fall over the guardrail. Feeling the wind turning, he escaped again, through the window.
Clarke tried to open it.
- The thug had even taken the time to lock it, says Clarke annoyed.
The inspector turned around and searched the closets and the drawers, until finding a bunch of keys, all in duplicate copies. The priests who lived there suffered a great from lots of theft: such precautions were not surprising.
Only one key was in a single copy. He grabbed it and closed the cupboard.
He could now resume his pursuit, and flee this place that stank like the rest of the church.
He looked one last time at the traces to get an idea of the individual. He was about six feet tall, as he had seen earlier. His shoes were of good facture, not studded: he was not a commoner, which was not surprising for a mage…
A large trace left in the dust on the ground made Clarke suppose that he was carrying a bag. An enameled linen bag, since cords had escaped from it. The smell of the room probably came from that bag.
Clarke froze as he approached the window, staring at the floor.
The trace of a tiny hand, on the ground, near the trail made by the bag.
A child's hand.
Clarke shuddered.
The bag was containing… a kid?!
He opened the window with the key he just found and rushed out. Was there a connection with the kidnappings case, from the beginning?
Following the wall, and cutting through the cemetery, the inspector, moved by a trail, plunged into the first street only to find a dead end.
- Why in the hell did this man take his son there, heard Clarke behind him.
He turned around quickly and saw three women. One was holding a baby in her arms, and they were chatting on the sidewalk.
- Poor boy! He must be horribly ill, to be find in such a state.
- That's not like it isn't commonplace, anyway, said the older woman.
The youngest, sitting by the sidewalk, the one with her child in her arms added:
- From there to keep him in a bag!
- This is not the worst thing we saw there, my girl, answered the older. What disgusts me is that this man must not earn a penny, and allows himself to go to such a place of perdition, to the boy's detriment.
- Even worse, since he brings the boy with him, where he could let him rest at his home, if he have one… finish the last.
He ceased to listen to the gossips, Clarke turned around and looked at the red and gold storefront that closed the dead end. He entered without preamble into the Chinese commerce.
The atmosphere of the opium smokehouse was subdued, conducive to the dreams and abandonment of its customers. Without bothering to announce himself at the entrance, the inspector went straight into the room, paying no attention to the manager who was questioning him.
He opened every doors of the ground floor, then went upstairs and closed the latch behind him, paying no attention to the muffled shouts of the employees knocking the door.
The silence of the corridor hit him like a punch. He was near his goal, he could smell it.
He grabbed his whistle and pulled out his handgun. He slowly opened each door until he reached an unrealistic stage.
The room, unlike the others, was soberly decorated and didn't smell opium. But it smelled of the same aroma as the candles and the paper sheets concealed in the church. Candles were lit and, although the atmosphere of the place was consistent with the rest of the smokehouse, it was terribly lugubrious.
On the ground, he saw from the corner of the door, a piece of the famous circle.
He found him, and he could hear him talking. Or rather, mumbling something in a low voice.
Clarke decided to try entering without opening further, by following the wall, afraid of making the hinges creak.
The sight offered to his eyes… chilled his blood.
In the center of the room, much larger than it appeared, the famous circle was drawn, surrounded by the same candles. The man jabbered, squatting in its center.
In one corner, in the middle of another relatively different circle, a child was lying.
No longer holding it, Clarke shot at the man and rushed to the child, lying on his stomach. The kid was dead, the chest butchered.
As he intended to observe the bag in which the child had been transported, a green gleam caught his attention.
Clarke turned around and saw the circle light up more and more.
He was too late.
The inspector opened the window and hissed three times in his whistle.
Gun in hand, he nervously watched the glow bright stronger.
A man.
Clarke pointed his weapon, right on the individual, and twitched his left eye.
The newcomer had a rifle hung on his back, a helmet on his head, and was dressed in a strange green and beige uniform. Physically, he was terribly banal. Medium-sized, short brown hair and brown eyes.
No physical peculiarity except his accoutrement and this look… terribly tired.
The stranger raised an eyebrow when he saw the corpse at his feet, then winced more frankly at the sight of the child.
- Sad.
Holding his weapon with both hands, the inspector raised the tone:
- Don't move! Slowly throw your weapon to the ground and decline your identity!
In the same gesture, Clarke raised an eyebrow, noting a strange wound on his own right hand.
He slightly turned his wrist to better observe it. It was a gesture that his interlocutor did not fail to notice.
Nevertheless, the man obeyed to the request, gently taking his rifle which he placed on the ground, next to the corpse. In front of the inspector, however, the individual marked a pause after having dropped his weapon, and Clarke heard him sighing loudly. The stranger straightened up and ran a hand over his face.
- Your identity? Clarke chained.
The man clasped his hands, as if he was going to reveal bad news.
- So, I think I've grasped the situation you're in… It will surely be difficult to digest for you, and long and boring to explain for me…
- The long version will be for the interrogatory room, if the Church does not confine you before. Be simple and concise, hissed the inspector, tightening the grip on his weapon, blinking as if something was itching.
- Very good, informal then.
The man smirked, then suddenly stood at attention:
- Soldier of the 32nd Field Artillery Regiment, dead for France. But since all this must certainly not tell you anything, I think that Archer will suffice. As long as we keep common goals and beliefs, I'm sure we'll go far in this war, Master.
…
A long silence settled.
Neither of the two men flinched, one always threatening the other still at attention.
- Excuse me? Answered Clarke while highly raising his eyebrow.
The inspector widened his eyes and lowered his guard. Dazed by what his eyes made him see. At the same time, the door was smashed by three of his men, aiming their weapons and screaming:
- Scotland Yard police, no one moves! …damn Inspector, you were here! What happened?
The police officer tidied his weapon and showed the rest of the room by the chin to the others. The second officer began to walk around the corpses while the last one went down the stairs to warn the latecomers about the situation.
- Inspector, are you alright?
Clarke didn't move, a hand on his face, eyes staring at a non-existent point. He didn't know if he had hallucinated or if something… well, someone had been summoned by this circle, but…
In front of him, the man was no longer there, as if he had never been. Evaporated, or imagined? Opium does not have such a powerful effect! He had only felt some… and the room didn't smell opium at all, it smelled… that same smell…
Where did it come from? If only he knew it, he could perhaps understand what had happened to him.
A drug? Something related to magic?
But this smell was completely unknown to him.
- Sir! You hear me!
Clarke finally came out of his torpor to face one of his agents.
- Ah, Walter, it's you.
He rubbed his eyes mechanically as if to erase a bad dream. Around him, his agents had already been busy caring for the corpses as well as the scene of the crime.
- Yes, sir. We wait for your orders, sir, the men are preparing the evacuation of the corpses, but nothing will be done without your authorization.
- Yes, good job. The man lying in the middle of the circle is our target. I was forced to shoot him. No identity for the moment, it will be necessary to delve meticulously in his stuffs. The child died before my arrival. Ask to reopen the kidnapping case in parallel to this one, the two cases might be related.
He then took out a notebook on which he quickly scribbled something.
- Many things will have to be settled tonight and I can't be everywhere. I'm going to report to Scotland Yard as soon as possible so that the case can keep going. I will call immediately for the succession to be taken. For now on, don't touch anything and wait until a police inspector resumes the investigation.
- Yes, sir.
Clarke took a deep breath and winced.
- There is this smell, too.
- It's true that the opium stinks, replied the officer.
- No Walter, I was not talking about opium. You don't smell anything? There is an indefinable smell in the air… and everywhere our man was. You didn't feel anything particular in the church?
- Besides the musty… I assure you that I do not see what you're talking about.
The agent turned around and questioned his colleagues:
- Say you guys, did you smell a peculiar thing in the church?
- No, I don't think so, answered one.
- The dust made me sneeze!
- I have a cold for three days, so…
Clarke sighed and went down the stairs. All the clients of the smokehouse were standing together in one place for questioning. Clarke went to the manager of the premises surrounded by his employees. He was a Chinese man in his fifties, standing upright with a passive air.
- The phone please, sir.
The manager first stared at the inspector and finally pointed to the counter at the entrance.
He then called for reinforcements to replace his men for the night, then went to Scotland Yard.
In the carriage, the image of the invocation came back to him. Now that he thought about it, he had not spoken to his men about it. Because deep down, he himself did not really believe it. How could someone magically disappear?
He giggled and called himself a fool. By magic obviously. It was a circle of necromancy after all ... What shit did he get into?
His gaze riveted on his hand. Damn, he had completely forgotten that mark. Very stylized, moreover. He rubbed it. It was certainly indelible, and...
The smell emanated from it. Always the same.
Now he was sure of it. Everything was linked to magic. And that smell too. What he did not explain was that he was the only one to feel it.
And the biggest problem was the invocation. What could he say in his report? That the invocation took place and that the invoked had suddenly disappeared?
He could, but something told him that maybe it was not a very good idea. Especially as regards the mark on his hand. If he declared it, he would be included in the investigation as a suspect.
It may have been the best thing to do. But when the investigation was partly supported by the Church and especially when the case was related to necromancy we could expect everything. Like seeing the Common Law flouted, and ending up guilty with one and only proof.
And here the proof was tattooed on his hand. No suspects, only guilty in this kind of business. The Church does not care about the laws of each country. And the necromancer was now dead. No witnesses ... other than himself. At best he would pass for a madman.
If only English justice could apply to all affairs on its territory.
When the carriage arrived at his destination, he entered the building and went up to his office to report.
As agreed, he mentioned the investigation of the Church to the opium smoker, the discovery of the suspect making his invocation, and at the same time reminded his right to fire in case of practice dangerous magic. He concludes by explaining the presence of the deceased child as well as the potential link with the abduction case, thus omitting the outcome of the summoning and what ensued from it. He thought for a moment and decided to point out that his incompetence in the field of magic did not allow him to know if he had been able to eliminate the man in time. He finally filed the file on the desk of his superior adding some recommendations for further investigation.
He went down into the hall and glanced at the clock, which was 9:25 pm.
He sighed with exasperation and walked out of the building.
A desperately long, tiring, annoying day, full of new problems had just ended.
He breathed for a few moments the air on the forecourt, playing with the mist that produced his breathing in contact with the cold air of the night.
First moment of tranquility of the evening.
He smiled and plunged into the darkened street at night with a more playful step.
The only good news of the day had just crossed his mind:
"This time we’re going home for good."---
The Mayflower pub presented itself as a Baroque theater: on a backdrop, giving the tone and the general atmosphere, various plans were conceived, giving life and depth to the whole.
It was a rectangular room, with warm wooded colors, lit by yellowish lamps that were badly distributed, where chairs, tables, drinks, customers, bar and bartender were piled up in no real order.
The tables in the center were always the loudest. The sailors who came back on the ground and were looking for new employers found themselves there where they gambled, whether on cards or at arm wrestling, and exchanged the latest news from the city. The most courageous mingled, and often became the most regular consumers at the pub.
Guests who were less comfortable in such a place, or simply passing through, often preferred to sit near the windows, as if the mere sight of the outside allowed them to temporarily escape the atmosphere filled with tobacco and strong voices of customary customers.
A poorly dressed kid sometimes reported a commission against a few coins.
The bartender and his employees were busy filling the tankards and smiling at the most intimidated.
Through the cloud of tobacco, a masked figure placed some coins on the counter, and then snuck his way to the back of the room. The drunk customers were sometimes placed there by the waiters to be closer to sanitary. The man let a bloody bag slip from his shoulder to his usual table.
The service door opened behind him. The waiter announced in person, his tray full of new drinks, that the stocks were full again.
In a general craze, a crowd of customers, previously quietly settled, rushed to the counter to demand a new consumption.
A voice among others called in the mass for discount to celebrate the event of the evening. Gradually, the idea was resumed until the room screamed at the free-for-all.
At tables now empty, a man stared at the back of the room leaning against his chair. Dressed in his usual cap and sailor's jacket, the old sea-goat, who had surely once been a harpooner, was staring at his tobacco ring for a cigar. With his other hand he suddenly turned his glass on the table and put his ring in his jacket. At the same time he drew from it a lighter and then a purse, which he placed in front of him.
Nervously the sailor played with the lighter without ever lighting his cigar. At the same time the bartender won the showdown against one of his biggest customers, winning the bet: to refuse the free-for-all and demand full price from all those who claimed it.
Under the laughter of the staff and the disappointed exclamations of the customers, the old sailor finally lit cigar as a silhouette entered his field of vision.
Around 10 p.m, a masked individual was leaving the pub Mayflower, purse in hand.
As he was leaving, a kid got in and ran off, frightened by his raven mask.---
Time passed, punctuated at first by the sound of footsteps and the random creaking of the floor, then finally by the disagreeable friction of chalk scratching on wood.
Hideaki Tohsaka had to take all the necessary precautions. Stamping in the office, he reread excerpts from his book. Sheets and pieces of paper of various sizes that were not piled on the desk were scattered in the room. Sometimes he grabbed one and then casually threw it behind him, completely absorbed in his own thinking: the book was not enough and he knew it, so he had prepared his own notes, reflections and improvements to the ceremony. Each change was meant to bring up Saber.
Nevertheless, a vast space in the center remained perfectly empty in these shambles. A complex white line emerged from the floor, surrounded by multiple notes scattered here and there.
Squatting on the ground, the circle of invocation ready, the young man undertook arranging the little candles around the circle without stepping on it, carelessly pushing the awkward sheets with his foot. It was useless to light them immediately; the invocation would not take place until later in the evening.
Someone knocked on the office door. Tohsaka clenched instantly.
He was not supposed to start the circle without the consent and the presence of the Edelfelts. But not answering would only make the situation worse.
- Yes? Who is there? he began cautiously.
- The butler of Madam and Sir, answered a deep voice muffled by the wood of the door. Hideaki thought that the insulation of the walls was remarkable. I knocked on the front door Sir, said the man, and in the absence of an answer, I allowed myself to enter your apartments. May I open the door, Sir?
- … Yes, go ahead, he said, gritting his teeth.
The servant pushed the handle, then the door with a sure gesture, causing a few sheets to fly off at the same time. The man was relatively tall, and although he did not seem to be over 45, his hair was almost entirely white. However, the most disturbing thing to Tohsaka's eyes was his glasses. Tinted with a particularly dark green, it was impossible to discern his eyes through them. It was very disturbing and to say the least, unusual.
It was therefore impossible for Tohsaka to determine whether the butler was paying attention or not to the chaos that was spreading in front of him, since he resumed naturally:
- I come from Madam. This one asks you for dinner. She also wants me to tell you that she does not trust you, Sir, to come on time at the meal.
- Tell her I'm coming...
Tohsaka carelessly swept the air to signal the butler to leave him alone. The latter, however, did not make the slightest gesture.
- Madame asked me to accompany Sir, he said, turning to the clock of the sitting room. And the meal takes place in 7 minutes.
The young man looked hastily at his pocket watch.
- Damn!
Hideaki immediately put the candle he had in his hand on the desk.
He walked out of the office over the paperwork spread around the circle and went to his room to dress more appropriately. He came out of it quickly, rid of his dirty clothes, wearing a dry suit that was more suitable.
He ended up leaving the apartments with the butler and locked the front door twice.
- Please Sir, follow me and press the pace, Madam is very punctual.
The man was particularly intimidating, and Tohsaka followed suit. He caught up with him little by little and took the opportunity to look at the man's eyes behind his glasses. He did not have time to see much, because at the same moment the man suddenly turned his head towards a perpendicular corridor, screaming:
- ANNA!
Turning in the same direction as the man, Hideaki had just enough time to see the young servant who had led him to his apartments at the end of the hallway. Hearing the howling, she rushed to the first intersection, smiling, a basket in hand.
The butler groaned, and resumed his way, followed by Tohsaka, who was slightly surprised.
- This is Anna, a girl a little too casual for this job ... The housekeeper dreams of firing her, but she is the favorite maid of Sarah, Madam's sister. Apparently, her daring pleases her a lot, he added, a smile in the corner of his mouth.
Her daring ... the word was weak.
- Well, here we are, Sir.
At last, at the top of the main staircase, the butler led the man to the door of what must have been the dining room.
Tohsaka looked at his watch mechanically. Just in time - his host should not guess that he had not followed their directions. Mary Edelfelt was as kind as she could be stubborn. And the Edelfelts never talked lightly about the war.
The man walked towards the imposing doors.
- I wish you a good meal, Sir.
At the same moment he opened the door and motioned Hideaki to enter.
The room was splendid.
- Well Hideaki! I did well to ask Mark to accompany you. You're right on time. Take a seat, please.
Smiling, the hostess pointed to a seat next to another young woman, who was in every aspect identical to Mary Edelfelt.
He sat down and saluted her.
- Good evening Sarah, it's been a long time.
She smiled timidly, eyes blank, finally turning to him.
- Hello.
If Mary Edelfelt was rather playful, Sarah Edelfelt seemed rather calm and discreet. Diplomatic and resonant in a very fair way, she often became evasive, disinterested, even annoyed when talking about magic.
Hideaki sighed at this thought. Sarah could have been an extra ally of great value.
- And I present you my husband, Henry Clifford.
Cutting into his thoughts, Tohsaka realized that a man in his thirties was sitting in front of him. The man was rather slender, standing at the table with the dignified dress of the English seemliness. His hair was black, just like his eyes, which contrasted terribly with his pale skin. His face was characterized by a hooked nose, short eyebrows, and a marked jaw, adorned with a long beard.
The man was looking at him with a simple, straightforward smile, which surprised Tohsaka.
- Hello Mr. Tohsaka! It's a pleasure to meet you!
He reached out a hand across the table that Hideaki finally grabbed. The man was shaking it tightly.
- It is rather rare to meet old acquaintances of my wife, you know? Henry said, letting go his interlocutor's hand. Mary has always been very taken by her duty as heiress to the Edelfelt.
- I'm also happy to meet you ... answered Hideaki.
- Henry, call me Henry, the man added.
While the husband Edelfelt was making conversation, some servants came to put dishes under bells on the table.
Hideaki was really impressed by all the splendor exhibited by the Edelfelt family. Remaining silent, he listened to Henry's near-monologue. He learned that the Edelfelt couple had been married for almost two years now. They apparently met at a symposium organized in one of the Clock Tower's amphitheaters. In this regard, the Clifford family was, according to his words, one of the most important families of mages in Britain. Which made it, indeed, an interesting party for the venerable Edelfelt family.
- Are you a mage yourself? Hideaki asked.
- Yes, I studied at the Clock Tower, just like Mary. And I regularly come back for lectures. Unfortunately, I have never been able to develop any major practical arrangements, but I remain somehow a recognized theorist.
- Do you have a favorite field?
- Since the Clock Tower has lost its greatest Mineralogy specialist, specialists in this field are welcome, (so) I've…
At this evocation, Hideaki frowned.
- One moment ... You're talking about Lord Ghisolfo? The most recognized specialist of the continent in Mineralogy? Why doesn't he teach anymore?
- So you have not been informed? The bell tower was attacked almost four years ago. The attack was dazzling and terribly barbaric. About twenty mages lost their lives in the laboratory of the Fourth Department, poisoned or impaled by crossbow bolts. The case of Lord Ghisolfo, however, was the most terrifying. He was found dying in his office, pierced right through. Needless to say, he could not survive such a bestial attack.
- The Lord had been tortured? Underlined Tohsaka.
- Certainly ... and the reason of this attack will forever be a mystery. The attack was conducted in less than twenty minutes, the reinforcements arrived too late. We do not know who they were, nor how many, much less the objective of their assault. Security was reformed soon after this incident.
- I see ... About security, Mary, I was able to observe when arriving one of your barriers of protection ... I imagine that there are others, right?
Tohsaka did not bother to look the young woman in the eye and continued his meal while waiting for her answer. If he showed at that moment a dignified and assured attitude, it was because he actually realized he had asked his last question very clumsily.
Mary watched the young man's game, not at all deceived by his casual behavior, and burst out laughing:
- Ah, if you did not exist Hideaki, you'd have to be invented! But here we go ... the external barrier is indeed not the only one. With the help of my husband, we were able to strategically dispose: alarms, barriers of protection, traps ... And I bet the most effective: portals of invocations and bottomless labyrinths. And the barrier that you have seen on your arrival is, of course, to repel the enemy, but also to hide any activity inside our home. Magic emanations cannot be detected. You can perform your invocation without fear of being spotted, she said smiling.
- This dome is invisible from the outside ... I did not pay attention when arriving.
- Of course… Sarah growled.
- Absolutely ... said Mary. Strategically, staying in anonymity, or at least being as discreet as possible, is surely part of your priorities. Besides, I'll have to give you something to wear. The English appreciate the attention to details in their pageantry. Especially for individuals of our rank.
She tilted her head and stared at Tohsaka for a moment, who stopped in his movements, perplexed. Mary, cheerful, turned her face to her husband.
- I'm sure a hat would suit him. What do you think about that Henry?
- I think you put a lot of ardor in embarrassing our guest, Mary.
With these words, Mary stood up straight, sulky, while her husband finished his glass of wine with a sneer.
Hideaki, pleasantly surprised by the good agreement of the couple, spoke again:
- It's always nice to see such a complicity ... he began, getting their attention. I imagine the family will expand quickly in the coming years, he finished with a sincere smile.
A tense silence answered him.
Henry looked at his wife with an embarrassed smile, as she was not smiling at all.
- Indeed, allowed Henry to clumsily resume himself ... But tell me, I am curious to know how you intend to perform the invocation. Do you have a specific artifact?
Tohsaka gradually recovered from his surprise and answered:
- Well, my first goal is to invoke Saber first ... he began, playing with his fork. So I have done various research to be certain to become his Master. And you're right, because Saber will not be randomly summoned, I managed to get my hands on a horseshoe that was designed in Asia during the medieval period. As for the subject of the invocation ... as Mary said, caution is in order and I intend to keep this with me as long as possible. Yes, Mary, no point in looking at me, I do not want my allies to know who my servant will be. Besides, I think you have said enough on the subject.
- Hideaki?
The voice of Sarah Edelfelt which had remained very discreet throughout the meal surprised Tohsaka.
- Why ... she inhaled and resumed, why on earth did you come to London when the Grail War always took place in Fuyuki? And why is it only 20 years after the Second one? What's going on, exactly?
Sarah, usually so calm and peaceful, was looking at Tohsaka right in the eyes, anxious.
He sighed.
- She is not wrong, said Mary. The last war dates back 28 years, which is very short in comparison to the interval of time separating the two previous wars. And I confess I was very surprised when you told me that the Third Grail War was about to begin. Is there a particular reason for this phenomenon?
- I admit I can't give you a satisfactory answer. I admit I didn't really know until I received the mark of the Grail.
Tohsaka then pointed to the back of his left hand.
- To tell the truth, no one has ever really known if there was a Grail rule about it. Maybe the time interval between two wars is random. Even though I can't be sure of that. However, the Grail cannot be summoned in another place than Fuyuki, and on this point I agree with you. The Lower Grail has certainly undergone stresses of magical origin. Only the Einzbern family can orchestrate the invocation of the Grail, and the Einzberns have no interest in moving the place of the war. That they advance it, on the other hand, can give them an advantage - after all, they are the suppliers of the receptacle...
- What if it was not the Einzberns? Sarah asked.
- It does not matter anymore. The war is imminent and whatever its origin we must be prepared.
The meal ended quietly while Henry fed the conversation. Once finished, Mary stood up and addressed Tohsaka.
- Do you want me to help you in preparing the invocation?
Hideaki tensed.
- Well, the preparations are already over...
- What? Hideaki, I told you to wait until the diner...
- He did right, Mary, Sarah interrupted, the faster the summoning is done, the better you'll get organized.
She turned and headed for the exit.
- Good evening, she finished slamming the door.
Mary sighed:
- Well ... let's go, I guess.
After they arrived in Tohsaka's apartments, Mary asked her husband to leave them. What was going to happen was only the Tohsakas' and the Edelfelts' matter.
Entering the office, Mary scanned the room, stunned.
- How did you end up with such a shamble?!
Tohsaka did not even listen to his host and resumed what he was doing before the meal. He started lightning the candles and arrange them around the invocation circle.
- Everything is ready, he announced to Mary.
- Do I have to add protections in anticipation?
- It will not be necessary... Step back, the ceremony must begin.
Mary moved away from one corner of the room, avoiding in vain to trample the sheets scattered on the ground.
Tohsaka went to the office. He cautiously grabbed a package made of fabric, yellowed by time and wear, roughly closed by a blackened cord.
He pulled on the knot sealing the object the size of a hand and unraveled it. Inside was a box of elm wood with a raw iron clasp. On the wood was carved an elongated mark reminiscent of writing. The clasp, finely worked, drew arabesques on the edge of the box.
Tohsaka opened it and pulled out a horseshoe rusted by time. He placed the artifact on a table in front of the circle on the ground, then stepped back to face it.
The heir of Tohsaka was concentrating.
His eyes half closed, he raised his right hand towards the circle.
Finally, his voice proclaimed through silence:
Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill!
Five times repeated.
Let the time given to us get locked away.
Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.
I hereby declare:
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!
An oath shall be sworn here!
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven.
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!
In the center of the circle, a burst of light violently dazzled in the office, for a moment so short that Tohsaka thought he had dreamed it.
Barely a few seconds passed, when a light wind seemed to rise in the closed office, gradually turning into a gust more and more violent. The leaflets scattered in the hall swirled in a furious whirlwind, while the glare reappeared very feebly in the center of the circle at a height of one meter. A loud whistle sounded louder and louder as the glow intensified until it burst into a loud, dazzling crash.
In this torrent of violence, Hideaki took shelter with both his arms, while Mary huddled in the corner of the room where she was, pressing her hands to her ears and keeping her eyes closed.
Thus took place the invocation of Hideaki Tohsaka's Servant, in a saturated atmosphere as violent as it was unnatural.
---
The bells were ringing, the morning Mass had ended with the blessing, just after the announcements of the diocese.
The parishioners had just learned that they would not see their bishop for the next few weeks. The rest of the diocese either.
Bishop Lowell Connor was sent on mission by the Church.
After the end of the Mass, while the organ still sounded the last song, the parishioners came one by one to say goodbye to their beloved bishop, wishing him good luck for his mission. Some old women pressed his hand insistently, supporting the goodness and benevolence of the man of the Church who was going to miss them. Still others congratulated and encouraged him as to the good execution of his future mission, which had been entrusted to him by God. Whatever may be the future that awaited him, God trusted his apostles. Some children were urged by their mothers to say goodbye, and to promise to continue their catechism.
The church was emptying little by little.
The organist left last, wishing Bishop Connor good luck. On leaving, he locked the doors of the church, leaving him and four other priests alone, near the large wooden door now closed.
Lowell Connor, a robust man with a good-natured face, then turned to his colleagues, a serene smile stuck to his lips.
- It's time to get ready, our guests should arrive soon.
With the same gesture of approval, the four priests worked to remove the benches in order to make order in the nave. During this time, Connor went to change, and put on the red habit reserved for the bishops.
In the lodge reserved for the ecclesiastical body, he paused for a moment before the cross installed. He humbly clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and recited in a low voice the Lord's Prayer.
"Our father in heavens,
Hallowed be thy name,
Thy kingdom come,
Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
As we have forgiven our debtors.
And do not bring us to the time of trial,
But rescue us from Evil. "
The time of silence, he spreads his hands and lifted his palms to the ceiling.
"For thou belong to:
Kingdom, power and glory,
For centuries and centuries.
Amen »
The man heard voices in the nave. After a last sign of the cross, he left the box and saw four confreres still dressed in their traveling clothes. With a smile on his face, he made his way to one of the arrivals wearing a purple cape:
- I welcome you, Archbishop Theodore, it is a real honor to receive one of the cardinals of the Eighth Sacrament in this place.
- Glad to meet you, Bishop Connor, I will be your guarantor and guide to engage the mission that is yours.
Cardinal Theodore Dwight was a dry, tall man. His salt-and-pepper hair barely beneath his earlobes was carefully combed to the back of his skull. He cast his pale eyes into those of the bishop.
The cardinal turned to his three comrades whom he pointed with a gesture.
The first of the three men was dressed in a beige box and a brown cape. His round face, rosy by the cold was crowned with a tonsure revealing some entirely white hair. The man, very small, was wearing round glasses on his childish nose.
On his right, his colleague of greater stature, wore a white monk's robe and a thick black hooded coat. The man with the bushy eyebrows had his head shaved and a thick black beard.
Finally, the last individual was fully clothed in black and was almost as tall as his neighbor although thinner. Wearing a white-fringed tonsure, a beard and a cut mustache, his features were very marked, and gigantic sunken half-closed eyes.
- Here is Brother Ernest, of the order of the Franciscans, said the cardinal, pointing to the little man nodding his approval. It is with him that we will discuss the conditions and rules that surround your future mission. Then comes Brother Ignas., the cardinal pointed out the man of high stature. Brother Ignas, like you, comes from the Dominican order. He will assist you with the help of Brother Edward, from the Benedictines who is there, the cardinal pointed to the man dressed in black before resuming.
- Now that the presentations are done, it's time to get right to the point.
The cardinal then gradually advanced towards the heart of the church. His confident step echoed rhythmically as his voice thundered in echoes.
- It turns out that I sent you the minimum information on the subject, and this for the sake of discretion. The sacred mission that was directly entrusted to you by the Eighth Sacrament Council requires great capacities, both martial and magical. However, the reason that led us to choose you is in no way related to these qualities, as important as it is for the future.
He stopped in front of the steps of the hotel, and all his colleagues following him, and looked at the crucifix raised in height.
- Lowell Connor, I have the great honor to announce to you that you have been chosen by our Lord in person to accomplish his quest.
With a movement of theatrical cape, Cardinal Theodore turned out and stared at Father Connor with his sharp eyes.
- Indeed, I say to you, it is by God Himself that you have been entrusted with the holy task of representing the Church in the next Great War of the Holy Grail.
Looking at Father Connor's surprised look, Brother Ernest intervened:
- To be more precise, you have been designated through the Holy Grail which has left you its mark... on the right hand precisely.
The little man adjusted his glasses and pulled from his cloak a notebook that he consulted while resuming.
- We received your queries on this subject by mail last week ... I quote: "A blood red mark appeared overnight on the back of your right hand. No recent fact explains its appearance. Indelible and painless it separates into three parts: an arc of a circle directed towards the wrist; a sun with four points, located inside; and finally an irregular line recalling a needle from the wrist to the solar symbol. ". You were quite right to suppose that this mark was of sacred order besides... can I see it?
Father Connor lifted his sleeve and pointed to the back of his hand for the little monk.
- It corresponds perfectly, it is indeed Command Seals offered by the Holy Grail to the elected officials of the Great War. Be reassured, this brand is not harmful, on the contrary. The Church has never had its representative in the previous battles, and now you will finally represent our party, he smiles.
Father Connor and the two young priests accompanying him did not hide their surprise.
- So, began the bishop, this war is not a myth...
- That you thought otherwise would be insulting, laughs the cardinal, keeping this kind of things secretly belongs to the remit of the Council of the Eighth Sacrament itself.
Father Ernest continued:
- As you know, your goal is to win this war so that the Holy Grail can finally resume its original and legitimate place within the Church.
The grave voice of Brother Ignas took over:
- In order to make the Divine Fear prevail, you will have to be the armed arm of God. And for that you will have to appeal to a divine envoy.
The voice of Brother Edward shouted:
- During this war, seven spirits will fight to win the Grail, the majority, poor fishermen, act to satisfy their desires, seeing one of their wishes to be granted. Each of them grants the right by the mark affixed on their hand to invoke a Heroic Spirit. Thus making the summoner a Master and the hero invoked his Servant. The Servant's identity and abilities depend on the Summoner's personality as well as the manner in which the Summoning takes place.
He turned to the empty nave.
- We will use this space to prepare the invocation. I will assist you personally with the help of Brother Ignas.
- There are seven categories of Servant, ranked according to their combat skills: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin and Berserker. Each of these classes has its qualities as well as its defaults. Nevertheless, three of them stand out from the others. These are the three Knights Saber, Archer and Lancer. Obtain one of these Servant will guarantee to succeed this war. We will also start preparing the invocation, with the help of your two confreres. If you will follow me, he said to the two priests usually assisting the bishop.
The two young priests went to help the brothers Ignas and Edward.
Let's talk somewhere else, will you? Proposed Theodore.
- Of course gentlemen, follow me.
Father Connor took the cardinal and the Franciscan monk to the priests' box. The monk then spoke again.
- I would like us to talk again about your Command Seals... yes I'm talking about the famous mark on your hand. You need to know that all participants also have a similar brand, although the three reasons are different. It's a pretty effective way to identify other Master's. These seals of commandments will allow you to give your Servant three absolute and irrevocable orders. It's up to you to use them strategically or in case of extreme necessity. However ... if it happened that all the seals of commands at your disposal are used. You will lose your legitimacy as a Master and will be excluded from the Holy War. Finally, continued the cardinal, unless you have any questions to ask we will pass to your part in the making of the invocation. Do you feel ready?
The bishop looked for a moment through the stained glass window, time to put in order the multitude of information he had just swallowed and then finally answered the bishop.
- Yes, I am ready.
At this reply, the cardinal's mouth stretched into a large satisfied smile:
- So be very careful to what I'm going to teach you...
At the same time, in the nave, the two monks were busy tracing on a gigantic sheet, spread in the center of the nave, charcoal incantations, which they ended up delimiting with three concentric circles.
The two young priests who were assisting them, observed their ride with, curiosity for one and anxiety for the other. If Father Rhys was passionate about anything related to sacred rites, his confrere, Father Adriel, seemed to be somewhat afraid of what was happening before his eyes.
The two monks had first asked them to help out with the equipment on a carriage still outside. Father Rhys being sickly and too puny to carry heavy loads, it was Father Adriel who had been instructed to fetch, in the cold of winter, the necessary material for the famous invocation, with the help of the coachman.
The myth of the Holy Grail was unknown to anyone, the sacred cup containing the blood of the Christ, was one of the most coveted relics, and many chalices had been studied in the vain hope of finally discovering the mythical object of Arthurian legends.
Once back in the church, his arms cluttered, he barely had time to see the brown head of his colleague, when he freed him of a large white tablecloth, folded in the box he carried.
The tablecloth, which proved to be much larger than he had thought, was spread on the ground. And as he continued to empty the contents of the box, Adriel could watch Father Rhys busy with the preparation of the ritual, following the orders of Father Connor's guests.
And it was by seeing the invocation circle traced on the ground that he thought back to the second legend surrounding the Holy Grail. The legend of the Grail War, to which his mentor would have to participate.
At the same time known to all priests, on the surface at least, and terribly misunderstood in depth. A recurrent war organized in obscure conditions. A true myth in short, and a very well-kept secret by the Council of the Eighth Sacrament of what he understood.
Adriel did not really like magic, for him, it was too often synonymous with war. It corrupted the Church since the Crusades. And in his eyes what was unfolding before him was magic, no matter whether it was done in the name of God or not.
"You have broad shoulders, Lord," he whispered to himself as much as to the entity to which he had dedicated his life.
- Well, did not you hear what I asked you?
Adriel jumped, and turned to Brother Edward, who was staring at him with terribly indifferent air, his head bowed slightly and his hands crossed behind his back. The brother smiles:
- Change that expression on your face that looks bewildered, he said with a wave of the hand, I saw that you seemed preoccupied... father?
- Father Adriel, my brother.
- Well, Father Adriel, when you feel ready, I would like you to place the candles at the points indicated by ocher crosses, around the sacred invocation circle.
- Of course, Sir! Please excuse me…
The father was busy taking a linen bag filled with candles out of the box, which he applied to arrange around the circle, in the places indicated. At the same time, Father Rhys pulled a lighter out of the box and lit the candles, following the movement of Adriel who put them one by one. The atmosphere of the Church was something mystical, bathed in the light of day radiating through the stained glass, the light of the candles had really only interest for the ritual.
The invocation circle in the center of the nave, thus illuminated, seemed to be approved by divine grace. Subjugated by this painting, Adriel finally thought that no matter what was going to happen, only faith would guide the thought and deeds of a man as good as Father Connor.
Footsteps sounded as the bishop, the cardinal, and Brother Ernest solemnly emerged from the priests' box.
- The ritual is ready, Archbishop, said Brother Edward.
The cardinal then addressed Father Connor.
- The rest depends only on you now... May the Holy Spirit guide your steps in this holy enterprise.
The Cardinal climbed the stairs leading to the hotel and placed himself on the highest of them. The Ernest and Ignas brothers joined him on both sides, a few steps below. Father Ignas seemed to hesitate for a moment, then approached the cardinal a moment to whisper a few words to him:
- Don't you think that an artifact is needed?
- Well, I think it would be more interesting to see what the Lord's chosen will invoke of himself, he answered in a low voice.
As Brother Ignas took place, Father Edward chanted a passage from the Bible that Father Rhys was holding against him.
Father Connor placed himself in front of the circle, so that he found himself on the other side of his confrere, facing the hotel and the gigantic crucifix behind it. The cons-day made the sacred cross still more imposing, spreading its shadow down the steps. Father Adriel, walking around the circle ceremoniously, provided a censer that he was swinging along a chain at a steady pace.
Lowell Connor closed his eyes, only the psalmody resounded in those sacred places. He let himself go to the melody of the prayer, and when finally the church returned in its silence, serene, he opened his eyes, spread his arms and recited in a loud and ceremonial voice:
Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill!
Five times repeated.
Let the time given to us get locked away.
Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation
O cup that causes rain and spreads fire,
Pouring on the apostles in the upper room of Sion
Belonging to the Holy Spirit, the source of divine treasures,
Thou, who are everywhere and fill everything,
I hereby declare:
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!
An oath shall be sworn here!
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven.
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!
The last words pronounced by Father Connor resounded for a few moments in the church.
Then very slowly, the black acronyms emitted a faint glow which rose little by little in a multitude of small luminous globes, thus making think of a cloud of fireflies. The whole stagnated in the air for a moment, before turning on itself, in a ballet faster and faster, accompanied by a high whistling, to finally focus in the center of the circle. The luminous form became clear, finally making room for a Servant.
A great silence followed the invocation.
Brother Ignas turned his head quickly to the cardinal. He thus discovered his wide-eyes of him and the amazed faces of his colleagues. Closer to the circle, Father Connor was dubiously watching his Servant, while Father Adriel carelessly slid the censer, producing a tinkle that finally broke the silence.
In the center of the circle was a young woman, or rather a young girl, a teenager who still had the sweet features of childhood on her face. The latter was surrounded by a long purple hair and a bangs over her closed eyes. The long monastic robe she wore, as well as the guimpe which rose to her neck, testified to her belonging to the religious orders.
Father Ignas growled:
- Neither Saber, nor Lancer, nor Archer...
At these words the cardinal sighed.
Father Adriel seemed completely out of touch with reality. How could such a frail girl be sent as a human weapon in this war?!
Slowly she opened her eyes, revealing an empty and haggard look, as red as blood.
- You, who had the audacity to pronounce these words, she whispered, her eyes fixed on emptiness. You who have made the promise to win, she went on, looking up at the shivering cardinal.
She turned around suddenly, making the skirts of her dress fly, and stared at the bishop with her now-glowing eyes.
- Servant of the Lord...
The sentence rang out a moment before finally the young woman declares with a huge smile:
- I ask you ... Are you my master?
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Originally Posted by Silva
