Vince reread the letter, scarcely believing his eyes. This was not possible. It had to be a joke. He reached for the telephone, then stopped.
No phone calls. It was one of the rules, laid down right here in black and white. It is necessary, not for the League of Prometheus to prove itself to you, but for you to prove yourself to it.
The arrogance, writing in the third person! He studied the letter once more, noting the heavy crested parchment and mock-Tudor penmanship, somewhere between an invitation to a golf club and a Pirates of the Caribbean treasure map.
THE CHALLENGE OF THE DECADIURNAL NOCTURNE
The League of Prometheus Charges Vincent Robert Reynolds With Acting In Defiance Of The League's Basic Tenets.
The Accused is required to make amends by performing a series of tasks to be set by the residing members of the League, said tasks to be undertaken during the period from the onset of darkness on December 6th until the arrival of daylight on the morning of December 7th.
This Challenge will take the form of a set of tests requiring ingenuity, energy and intellect to complete, for the purpose of measuring the Accused's supposed knowledge of his city and country, it being the belief of the League that the best form of punishment is the attainment of constructive knowledge.
Each part of the Challenge must be completed within its time allocation.
If the Accused refuses to accept the Challenge, he will be executed.
If the Accused fails to survive the Challenge, innocents will suffer.
If the Accused fails to carry out any part of the Challenge, those who are blameless will be punished.
If the Accused chooses to go to the authorities, said action will cause loss of life.
If the Accused attempts to speak to members of the public in order to enlist their help or attempts to communicate in any way with anyone, that person will be taken prisoner and may possibly forfeit his or her life.
If the Accused fails to complete the entire Challenge within the allotted time, he will be executed in an appropriate manner and buried in unconsecrated ground by members of the League.
If the Accused fails to utilise the enclosed key before the hour of seven PM he will forfeit his life.
It is necessary not for the League of Prometheus to prove itself to you, but for you to prove yourself to it.
When the fight begins within himself, a man's worth something – Robert Browning
Vince chewed a thumbnail, watching as the first fat drops of rain spotted the pavements below. They were serious, they were goddamn fucking serious about this! Sebastian had to be feeling pretty threatened to issue such a challenge – not that he would have needed much encouragement to turn the whole thing into a game. He must have figured Vince knew something that would cause lasting damage to the League. The embarrassing part was that, despite the tough tone of what he had written so far, he had uncovered no hardcore evidence of any illegal activities.
But he knew.
He knew they had killed the journalist, Tyler, getting him drunk and shoving him down the steps. He knew they had run Carol Mendacre off the road and watched her car burn. Just as he knew that they would kill him if he failed to obey them, and hide the evidence just as successfully.
But this sheet in his hand was proof of their existence, solid testimony. And even as he studied it, the paper began to dry and crumble in his fingers, splintering first in half, then quarters. A faintly bitter chemical smell arose as the craquelure deepened across the broken page, and the flakes of paper drifted to the floor, disintegrating further. They would not even allow him such meagre proof as this.
He looked at his watch. Twenty-past six. He checked inside the envelope. There was nothing else except the key. How could they be watching him? The telephone was less than a metre away from his right hand. Suppose he lifted the receiver and called the police? Could Sebastian's men somehow see into the flat? What could they possibly do, anyway? They were just trying to scare him, having a laugh at his expense.
If only he believed that. He had seen the silent fury on their faces when they had discovered him in the chamber. They had the means to get rid of him, and now he had given them the motive. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what to do. It was coming up for six-thirty. If he accepted the challenge, he only had half-an-hour in which to find a use for the key.
They had to be able to see in somehow. Very slowly, he moved in front of the window and tried to look into the rooms on the other side of the street. The sudden racket of the telephone took a year off his life. He allowed it to ring three times before lifting the receiver.
'I hope you haven't forgotten about tonight,' said Pam.
'What?' Relief flooded through him.
'We're having dinner tonight, remember? You've blown me out twice recently, and I'm not standing for it a third time. Amazing as it may sound, I do have a scrap of pride left, you know.' Her tone was playful. The last thing he needed right now.
'Listen, Pam, I've got some kind of – thing – going on here and -'
'I have to win you away from that computer somehow, so I'm offering to pay for the meal. You're allowed dessert and everything.'
'I don't think I can -'
'No "no" for an answer this time, sonny boy, you promised, remember?'
'You're right,' he admitted, 'I promised.'
'So I'll see you at eight-thirty, as we arranged. Resistance is futile. I'm looking forward to it already. A tout à l'heure, saucepot.' She rang off.
He picked up the key once more and tried to think. The telephone rang again. This time he answered before the end of the first ring.
'I hope you slept well last night.' The voice was amused, male, almost playful. 'You received your instructions, I hope. This night will require all the intellectual and physical energy at your command if you are to survive it. You really should have started by now. You're going to miss your deadline. You've only until seven o'clock to use the key, or you're out of the game.'
'I'm not playing your stupid games, Sebastian, you can go fuck yourself -'
'There's that gutter language again. So limiting, when there are so many beautiful English words to choose from. In case you had trouble with the title of the challenge, by the way, Deca -'
'- diurnal means in a cycle of ten, ten challenges, yeah, I figured that part, I'm common but I'm not completely stupid.'
'You're not allowed to take anything with you that you would not normally be carrying on the street. I think we forgot to mention that.'
'I'm not doing this, Sebastian, I already told you.'
'If you don't you will be killed, and others may be hurt too. We are deadly serious about this, Vincent. You're not the first to stand accused. But you could be the first to win. Where's your sense of gamesmanship?'
'And if I win, what does my victory entitle me to?'
'It grants you the title of "Grand Master Of The City". You get a badge, a hat and everything. More importantly, you win the right to publish. We'll be in touch again. Right now it's six-thirty-two precisely. You'd better get going. There's only a short time left for you to reach the base-point of your first challenge. The time limit for each section of the night will be given to you in due course. Now, if you're not out of that gruesome little flat in the next few minutes, we will claim our forfeit, invade your life and bury your pathetically miserable soul in pieces so far apart that no two people in the same time-zone will be able to find it.'
The line went dead.
It took him exactly two minutes fifty-five seconds to load his leather duffel bag and hit the street running.
CHAPTER TWENTY
VINCE TURNED the tiny steel key over in the palm of his hand, tipping it to the light. There was something engraved on either side. On one, the number 12. On the other, a longer series of numerals. He tilted it back and forth until he could read the inscription. 18371901. Some kind of serial number, perhaps. There were no other markings.