chapter 21 Beelzebub—Lord of the Flies #3
She looks up to see Mr. Redway sitting on the Hierophant’s throne in the east. She is at first startled. Then she becomes livid. “Mr. Redway! What on earth are you—”
“Not entirely on earth, Annie,” Redway interrupts. “You called, and I have come.”
“Redway, if you do not leave this place immediately, I shall send for the authorities.”
“Ah! But you did send for the authorities, Annie . . . and here I am. Things are seldom what we imagine, are they?”
Redway rises from the throne and peers for a moment at the lamp. “Oh dear. I will need to make this fast, Annie. I’m afraid you’ve lowered the lamp a bit too low.”
“Redway! You are interrupting something very important.”
Redway turns to face Annie. For a moment she thinks she sees a third eye in the center of his forehead.
“Listen to me carefully, Annie. You can see me, but actually this room is completely dark, and it is rapidly filling with gas.”
Annie cannot move. Redway continues to speak as he glides slowly toward her.
“The great order you wish to lead is not made of painted wood and a gaggle of magicians in silly hats. It is a living spirit, Annie, a living, breathing god, if you will. It’s a moving force whose job it is to periodically knock the world off balance just long enough to coax a reluctant humanity to take the next great step.
“Yes, Annie. Mathers made contact with us, and we responded. But he never allowed himself to believe himself worthy. It was a shame, really. We didn’t create the rituals.
He did. He designed the teachings. It was his genius that made it all magic—but he lost his link to us the moment he believed in the magic more than he believed in himself. It’s as simple as that, Annie.”
Horniman begins to swoon. “Redway, I . . . don’t understand.”
“No, my dear, you don’t understand.”
She falls unconscious in Redway’s arms. The room plunges suddenly into darkness.
“Annie? Annie! I think she’s in there.” It is the voice of Yeats.
“I smell gas!” shouts Stoker.
“She’s locked herself in the temple!” screams Gonne.
The three struggle to force the doors open.
“Lucky girl,” Redway whispers. “I do believe your friends are here to save your life.”
Light floods the temple as the doors crash open.
Redway is gone. Farr, Stoker, Yeats, and Gonne cough violently.
“Gas!” Yeats shouts, as he lifts Annie off the floor and carries her out into the antechamber.
Stoker (his right arm in a sling) takes a chair and smashes a window.
Gonne rushes to turn off the gas light then joins the others.
Horniman starts to come around. Looking very confused, she glares at each of their faces. “Where have you been? I’ve . . . I’ve made contact with . . .”
“Hush, Annie.” Yeats gives her a quick kiss on the forehead. “It seems we’ve all had a terrible day . . . each one of us.... We’re all
lucky to be alive. We’re being attacked, I’m sure of it.”
Horniman insists, “I’ve made contact! Here! Tonight! In the temple!”
The four look to each other in sad disbelief. Farr tries to humor her. “Oh, Annie! That’s wonderful. Don’t try to talk. Let’s get some fresh air in you.”
“No! Everyone, it’s true! Maudie, listen . . . you don’t believe me? You think I’m mad?”
“Of course we don’t, dear. You just need a moment to clear your head. We’ve all been cursed.”
“No! Really, people. Listen to me! It’s Mr. Redway, the bookseller! Mr. Redway’s a Secret Master . . . Redway’s a god! He can materialize out of thin air. He glows in the dark. He reads all our minds. Redway!”
Farr cradles Horniman’s head and rocks her gently. “Of course, dear. Of course.”
Stoker slams the floor with his good hand.
“Listen to us! We’ve all gone barking mad.
That’s it! I quit this bloody freak show!
” He stands up and limps to the business office.
Yeats follows him and discovers him rifling through the file cabinet, trying to locate his membership files.
He roughly pulls them out with his one good hand.
Other files fall to the floor. “I’ll not let history link Bram Stoker to this madness.
You’d be wise to do the same, Bill. Salvage what reputation you still have.
Run from this magic stuff and never look back! ”
Stoker limps toward the door with a stack of folders. “And never try to contact me again!” He slams the door so hard it shatters the rose-cross stained-glass window mounted on the adjacent wall.
Sir Francis stopped his dictation and got up to refill his pipe. We had been working since just before noon. It was now half past six in the evening. London had been dismal and wet; Lady Harris’s library was a comfortable and cozy contrast.
“Let’s break for dinner, Brother Harland. I’m feeling a bit done in, and I have to pee.”
I had to hand it to the old man. His vision and feel for the texture of the period was impressive.
The story was engaging enough, but I was still distracted by the caricature nature of his cast of characters, most of whom I knew full well were not being accurately presented, at least not historically.
I guess I shouldn’t have been thinking so loud, because he responded before I said a word.
“We’re not writing history, Brother Harland.
” He sang his words like a mother lightly scolding a child.
“We’re all caricatures. Movies, even great movies, are shallow and inaccurate caricatures of life.
It’s the audience who breathes truth into a movie.
We’ll be lucky if your movie just succeeds in staying out of the way of that truth! Now, I have to pee!”
We picked back up at 8:15. Bendick seemed particularly anxious and introspective.
“These final parts will be a bit tricky, Milo. There will be quite a lot of cuts back and forth between scenes and locations. I’m even going to require us to use very special film effects that have not yet been developed.
It might be difficult for you to notate these things with your shorthand.
Do the best you can. It’s likely to be quite a ride for you. ”