Thank you to all my readers and in particular to those lovely people who keep sending me such encouraging reviews. I'm slowing down a bit, I know, but you do keep me going even though this is only a rather short chapter - a glimpse of HOME through Crawford's eyes...
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37. Exchange
Crawford stood by the window of his office, comfortable with the bareness of the white walls and the flood of cold light from the striplights. He was smoking, a mug with cold coffee untouched on the windowsill. The suite of rooms Schwarz had been given lay in deep silence, only the laptop on Crawford's desk was blinking, a white square on an empty blue screen.
He was waiting.
Schuldig had dosed up with painkillers and downers to help him keep calm and get some sleep. Farfarello was in his cell, singing quietly to himself and hugging his knees while rocking back and forth on his heels. Childen's tunes with lyrics of his own making, which in Crawford's opinion was not a comfortable mix.
His jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, and stared into the darkness outside while the reflection of the cursor glittered in his glasses.
//HOME.//
He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing, and took a deep drag from his cigarette.
//Welcome back, Oracle.// A disembodied voice, neither male nor female, a low, even current deep in his mind...
//Not yet. I'm not back yet.//
//How petty. It is time for you to remember your place in this world. The three principles of service we all adhere to-//
//Be humble. Be true. Be ruthless for the sake of salvation.//
//Well said indeed. Now go and prepare to face the Grand Masters. The Trinity knows you have come here, and the Elders may grant you the honour of an audience if you are found worthy.//
//Worthy?//
//In your cell, you will find flogger and cilice. You have access to the well. Go, undress, wash and prostrate yourself in order to purify your flesh and open your mind. Meditate until you are called.//
The memory of excruciating cold. Toes and fingers, nose and private parts going numb with cold. Water layered with ice, grey stone slabs shimmering with frost. Crawford shivered, his lips turned blue while his skin crawled with goosebumps. Thorns of steel drawing blood from his thigh, his throat, his brow while the lead-weighted leather of the flogger licked trails of fire and blood over his flesh...
Crawford pressed his lips together and blew a stream of smoke through his nostrils. //When-//
//When it is time. When you have shed the stench of the OUTSIDE.//
//I have to return.//
//When the time comes. If you are still found useful. If it is judged that you have proven yourself.//
//I am-//
//A servant. We all are servants, and the most exalted shall be the most humble. Pride is a flaw. You shall not let weakness overcome you.//
An Oracle, he had meant to say. Unique. One in a billion.
Ash was dripping onto his feet, but he did not notice, and he did not say it, he did not even think it anymore. He knew better now than to plead for his team, and carefully locked away any stray twinge of concern or fear. He blanked his mind because it would be wrenched open like a tin of sardines, his brains rummaged through until his eyeballs were about to burst with pain and his vision was a blur of blinding white floods of light.
He raised his hand and touched the chest pocket of his jacket. The shape of the disc pressed lightly against his palm, and he traced it lightly with his fingertips while finishing his smoke. No, it was better to travel without worrying, and he drew back the tendril of his mind he had sent flying ahead. He was prepared, he knew his business, and this time he hoped to have something those at HOME wanted badly enough to set him loose once more.
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Next chapter: Cold Light of a Summer Morning