restricted to Fred and Andy.
The pretence that Fred hadn’t informed Andy
precisely of what was going on and they had decided between them
who was going to do what.
She checked herself, then. An inner voice, a
truer voice, reminding her that she had no way of knowing any of
that, and she needed to remain open, flexible and trusting, at all
points. The important thing here was the desecrated Church over
there, the young man who had been killed, and the future of Wyn
Jones. It was Wyn Jones who hung here, in the balance: his future
almost gone. His life almost completely shattered and his faith on
trial. She pulled her own emotions into check.
‘Fred, I know you are not comfortable with
the Arcane. I know you think it is obsolete. I know you feel we
should have been abandoned at Vatican II. However... it was not.
The Holy Church still has room for this type of... endeavour.’
Fred nodded. He took the route she had
offered, the one of agreeing to disagree and just get on with
it.
‘I have discussed my... misgivings with
Andrew here. But I assure you, he is free to make up his own mind.
I brought no one else in, as we simply don’t have any one gifted
enough. The only person I could have recommended to you is the one
being accused.’
He got up and left. The atmosphere in the
room did not improve.
‘You have to forgive us both, Father Scott.
Old wounds, old battles.’
Scott stoically poured out tea that no one
would drink.
It was just past two a.m. when she and Andy
walked across through the graveyard and entered the Church by the
main doors. It was odd that this was the longest way from the
parish house to the Church, but the one that everyone took. The
stone wall that separated the two did push you down midway between
the two, but there was a diagonal path up to the Sacristy end, that
no one ever used. She’d watched and noted.
The drizzle was refreshing and she’d dressed
for cold, so the wind didn’t bother her. Andy carried her work case
as it was important that she unlock the door and open up.
At the transept, in front of the sanctuary
containing the altar, she laid out her work tools. The sight of the
dried blood without the police tape made it even more macabre. Andy
was so nervous she was tempted to shout ‘Boo!’ in his ear, but she
refrained.
‘First things first.’ She laid out a dozen
or so incense cones. As she lit them, she asked Andy to distribute
them about the nave. Smoke curled up and flowed around them.
‘Is there any special order to putting them
somewhere?’
‘No, I just want all areas of the Church to
be covered by them.’ She did the altar, the apse, and the side
altars, and set Andy to put a couple up in the choir.
She took her camera out and photographed the
smoke as it rose and curled from the cones.
‘We’re documenting the air flow.’
‘Why?’
‘So we know where the air flow is.’ She
smiled. ‘Not everything is more than it seems.’
He was relaxing, good.
The smoke did exactly what she thought it
would. She talked it through with him.
‘The air from windows and doors create a
natural air flow. With the main doors at the back and a good tight
seal on the stained glass windows, you’d expect the smoke to slowly
drift off to the main doors. The choir smoke should go up and then
spiral down into the nave and add to the flow to the back doors. At
the altar, the smoke will rise and swirl in line with how good the
window seals are. It should collect at the dome. At the transept,
depending how the doors face the wind and how good the seals and
hinges are, it should part; some will go out that way, some will
add to the smoke collecting in the ceiling.’
She photographed the eddies and flows and,
in the main, the smoke did exactly as she predicted.
‘Wow.’ Andy sounded impressed.
‘No, not wow: science.’ Her smile was
genuine.
When they’d documented the entire Church,
they moved the cones to the areas where the police tape had
The pretence that Fred hadn’t informed Andy
precisely of what was going on and they had decided between them
who was going to do what.
She checked herself, then. An inner voice, a
truer voice, reminding her that she had no way of knowing any of
that, and she needed to remain open, flexible and trusting, at all
points. The important thing here was the desecrated Church over
there, the young man who had been killed, and the future of Wyn
Jones. It was Wyn Jones who hung here, in the balance: his future
almost gone. His life almost completely shattered and his faith on
trial. She pulled her own emotions into check.
‘Fred, I know you are not comfortable with
the Arcane. I know you think it is obsolete. I know you feel we
should have been abandoned at Vatican II. However... it was not.
The Holy Church still has room for this type of... endeavour.’
Fred nodded. He took the route she had
offered, the one of agreeing to disagree and just get on with
it.
‘I have discussed my... misgivings with
Andrew here. But I assure you, he is free to make up his own mind.
I brought no one else in, as we simply don’t have any one gifted
enough. The only person I could have recommended to you is the one
being accused.’
He got up and left. The atmosphere in the
room did not improve.
‘You have to forgive us both, Father Scott.
Old wounds, old battles.’
Scott stoically poured out tea that no one
would drink.
It was just past two a.m. when she and Andy
walked across through the graveyard and entered the Church by the
main doors. It was odd that this was the longest way from the
parish house to the Church, but the one that everyone took. The
stone wall that separated the two did push you down midway between
the two, but there was a diagonal path up to the Sacristy end, that
no one ever used. She’d watched and noted.
The drizzle was refreshing and she’d dressed
for cold, so the wind didn’t bother her. Andy carried her work case
as it was important that she unlock the door and open up.
At the transept, in front of the sanctuary
containing the altar, she laid out her work tools. The sight of the
dried blood without the police tape made it even more macabre. Andy
was so nervous she was tempted to shout ‘Boo!’ in his ear, but she
refrained.
‘First things first.’ She laid out a dozen
or so incense cones. As she lit them, she asked Andy to distribute
them about the nave. Smoke curled up and flowed around them.
‘Is there any special order to putting them
somewhere?’
‘No, I just want all areas of the Church to
be covered by them.’ She did the altar, the apse, and the side
altars, and set Andy to put a couple up in the choir.
She took her camera out and photographed the
smoke as it rose and curled from the cones.
‘We’re documenting the air flow.’
‘Why?’
‘So we know where the air flow is.’ She
smiled. ‘Not everything is more than it seems.’
He was relaxing, good.
The smoke did exactly what she thought it
would. She talked it through with him.
‘The air from windows and doors create a
natural air flow. With the main doors at the back and a good tight
seal on the stained glass windows, you’d expect the smoke to slowly
drift off to the main doors. The choir smoke should go up and then
spiral down into the nave and add to the flow to the back doors. At
the altar, the smoke will rise and swirl in line with how good the
window seals are. It should collect at the dome. At the transept,
depending how the doors face the wind and how good the seals and
hinges are, it should part; some will go out that way, some will
add to the smoke collecting in the ceiling.’
She photographed the eddies and flows and,
in the main, the smoke did exactly as she predicted.
‘Wow.’ Andy sounded impressed.
‘No, not wow: science.’ Her smile was
genuine.
When they’d documented the entire Church,
they moved the cones to the areas where the police tape had
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