Author's note: Have to give a co-author credit to a friend of mine for this chapter for giving me a few landmarks in Oxford to help establish setting, since I don't know Jack about any place outside of PA, USA. Also, have been dropping hints in past few chapters about other stories and characters to make appearances later on in later books. This chapter gives a BIG hint, but don't expect who you may be expecting because I don't know who to expect yet. Did that make sense? No, ok then I'm on the right track…
Chapter Nineteen:
INTERLUDE Two
Oxford, England
In a quaint and well-kept cobblestone building off High Street, near Magdalen College, Quintin Travers sat in a tall leather chair in his dimly lit office, reading the morning paper by a large multi-paned window. The early morning light streamed past the open curtains, throwing long shadows over the top of a massive cherry-wood desk.
The walls were lined with bookcases, each shelf filled with innumerable volumes, ranging from recent publications on philosophy and sciences to ancient texts dealing with religion and mythology. A colorful tapestry depicting ancient Rome hung above a large fireplace, the mantle of dark, polished stone covered by a variety of antiques and one quietly ticking clock.
Travers picked up a small cup from the desk and sipped at the strong coffee as his eyes scanned the newsprint. The articles were of local interest, nothing that would have been of dramatic consequence to the rest of the world, but Travers had lived in the area for nearly forty years, and still liked to keep up on the local gossip.
He had not been born in England, but had adapted to his life there easily, the land and people being more of his temperament than a bustling American city. Now, as he was approaching the age of sixty, he better appreciated these private, relaxing moments in the face of his regular daily responsibilities…most of which stood in stark contrast to this momentary façade of tranquility.
A light knock on the office door stirred him from his thoughts. He smiled warmly as a gray-haired woman in a long simple dress pushed the door open and glanced inside. The smile was genuine, but the warmth did not touch his eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Travers," she asked, "Am I intruding?"
"Of course not, Sharon," he replied, "Please come in…have you just arrived?"
"Yes, sir," she said with a polite nod, "I just wanted to bring you your messages from last night before I began my own work for the day. Seems like it was a quiet night, only two phone calls and one courier letter…"
"Ah, thank you," Travers said, and then added with a wry grin, "Let's hope this trend continues…maybe I can put in for an early retirement."
"The day you retire, sir," Sharon replied smartly before she left the room, "Is the day I dance The Dutch's Waltz in Buckingham Palace."
Travers laughed at the old woman's dry wit. She had passed him several slips of paper, all marked URGENT. Each brief, typed letter had been delivered via fax from a late working student who manned the main phones at the Council's offices after dark. The job itself was quite dull (unless there was a crisis) but most of those training with the Council jumped at the chance, as the position also had developed a rather prestigious, if not infamous, reputation.
The night was the most perilous time for Council members, in any part of the world, due to their special and strange fields of study. And, while they did not typically interfere with their subjects, there was still a danger in the simple act of Watching, especially when those being watched did not approve.
Quintin Travers had been a Watcher of paranormal activity around the globe for over half a century, his studies initiated at a very young age, following the tradition of his family. Over the decades, he had earned the distinction of being a Council leader and it was now his duty to monitor all their concerns, from overseeing their most ancient laws to addressing any new issues with Council Houses on six continents.
In his half century of service, only one major issue had a lasting effect on Council policy, and that was the mutant phenomenon. Since the discovery of the mutant gene, the decision on how to address the existence of mutants within the Council's laws had been a matter of debate.
Mutants defied all previous classifications of beings, since they were not truly paranormal in nature yet often times possessed gifts of incredible power beyond scientific explanation. They were not demons or sorcerers or any kind of creature that gained their powers through aberrant means. Mutants were essentially human beings whose bodies had adapted to genetic changes caused by the extra part of their DNA.
Therefore, the Council had reached a stalemate. Their legacy demanded they monitor any dark and evil forces and train those gifted with paranormal powers how to protect the unsuspecting populace of the world from destruction. But did their duty also apply to mutants, who were not a paranormal phenomenon, but a natural evolutionary branch of humanity?
To Travers, the debate was dead, a non-issue that had existed in a limbo of indecision for decades, which he had thankfully been able to ignore for most of his time as a Council leader. The dangers that may or may not be presented by mutants had been secondary compared to the threat of unnatural creatures arising in the most western states of America, a problem that was currently well managed by a particular Watcher and his ward.
However, as Travers read the last note that had been received this morning from the Council's main offices, he knew he may finally have to confront the mutant issue head on. He planned to address it to one mutant in particular, a colleague from the past, who had built his own sanctuary for those with strange gifts.
It read:
To Q.T., Oxford, England
217 has been identified by Xavier. We believe they have arrived in Westchester.
Council advisement has been requested by Watcher in Arizona. Shall we
dispatch a team to New York? Please reply immediately as probability of
discovery is high. We await your instructions.
-- N.H., Buffalo, New York, USA
Travers sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. This had been something he had been dreading for twenty years.
"Charles…" he said, and tapped his fingers on the desk rhythmically.
After a moment, he pushed a call button on his phone, and gave one of the Council assistants orders to prepare for his immediate departure to the United States. He also gave them a short message to send to both Buffalo and Arizona.
To N.H. and M.D.
Council team dispatched from England.
Maintain positions.
Await further instructions.
-- Q.T.