He frowned. ‘There were rumours, obviously. Contradictory, and based on nothing more than hearsay. Felix, the Catholic Church isn’t a vast, secret conspiracy, whatever you happen to think – in terms of freedom of information, it compares favourably to most governments.’
‘Set your bar a little higher,’ I suggested sourly. ‘Matty, I’m not talking about the Little Sisters of Maria Assumpta – I’m talking about a group within your church that’s using werewolves to run their errands. Are they reaching out to our hairier brethren? Is “deal with” a polite way of saying “recruit”? And they have daggers made to their own design, for fuck’s sake. You think they open a lot of mail? Cut a lot of cakes? What?’
‘I don’t know what they do,’ Matty repeated patiently, refusing as always to lose his temper with me. ‘I will tell you, though, if you’re interested, why an up-to-date listing of Church groups would leave the Anathemata out.’
‘Go on,’ I said. I was distracted by the TV images over his shoulder. Broken windows, and policemen in riot gear charging forward in a solid line.
‘Because they were disbanded,’ Matt said, with just an edge of smugness. ‘The new pope questioned their methods and their usefulness. He ordered the seniors of the order to stand down, after first reallocating their members to other groups and tasks. This was all quite recent – only a year ago.’
‘And did it take?’ I asked pointedly. I glanced down at the knife. ‘Because that thing on the table was used on me even more recently.’
That reluctance came back. ‘The prelates of the order took issue with His Holiness. I gather that they argued. . .’ He hesitated, and then didn’t seem to know how to start up again.
‘They argued . . . ?’ I prompted.
Matty nodded curtly. ‘Don’t try to browbeat me, Felix, please. I’m trying to word this in a way that doesn’t make it sound too sensational. They argued that the rising of the dead, and the appearance of infernal creatures as the shepherds of the dead, were an indication that the Last Days had begun. They felt – many of them felt – that their own dissolution would leave the field open to Hell, and that they would be remiss in their spiritual duty if they accepted it.’
He’d been looking at the knife. Now he looked up and met my gaze. He’d clearly reached the thing that he hadn’t wanted to say, and I was impressed by how well he swallowed the pill.
‘So they refused. En masse. And they were excommunicated.’
I whistled, long and low. ‘That’s strong stuff,’ I said.
‘Yes, Felix, that’s strong stuff. It put their souls and their bodies outside of the Church’s communion and comfort. It denied them the possibility of a place in Heaven.’
‘It left them with nothing to lose,’ I summed up.
Matty opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him with a raised hand. ‘Matty, do you know where these people operate out of?’
‘No.’
I considered that bare monosyllable. It seemed to me to be concealing at least a moderately sized multitude of sins.
‘Would you know how to contact them, if you had to?’ I asked.
Matt breathed out, long and hard, through his nose. ‘The Anathemata are historically linked to the Douglas Ignatieff Biblical Research Trust in Woolwich,’ he said. ‘I say historically, because it’s been a long time since anyone in the movement published any papers or took part in religious debate. I doubt very much that the connection is an extant one.’
‘But would there be someone there who—?’
I stopped dead, my brain finally catching up with my eyes, and leaned over to the right to get a better look at the TV on the wall behind my brother. It was showing a scene of chaos on the nighted streets of a city: running people; a yellowish flare of distant flames, and in the foreground the corner of some building – one wall of red-brick, the other of glass with a huge hole in the middle of it like a jagged-toothed mouth. The camera was handheld and the light wasn’t good, but it looked like an office block of some kind – low-rise, only three storeys above a street of shopfronts.
‘Wait.’ I got up and crossed to the set. ‘Can you turn up the volume?’ I called out to the waiter. The resolution was still as clear as mud, but I could read the strap-line at the bottom of the screen well enough: it said WHITE CITY SIEGE.
The waiter looked a little indignant. ‘We keep it low so it doesn’t disturb the other diners.’
‘Yeah, I know. Just for a moment. It’s important.’
He held out for a moment longer, but I kept staring at him implacably and he folded. He found a remote from somewhere and aimed it at the set: the whisper of sound became a just about audible mumble. ‘– Are feared to be dead, although it’s obviously the hostages who are the immediate concern right now. The police have surrounded the Whiteleaf shopping precinct, and they’ve closed off Bloemfontein Road at both the north and south ends. Now they’re waiting to see if there are any demands. But since they don’t even know who they’re dealing with, or whether the motive is political or something else entirely, it’s far to early to say whether we can expect—’
I lost the rest of the sentence, because I suddenly caught another glimpse of what I thought I’d seen before: a pale, familiar face in the ragged-edged hole in the glass – leaning out from some anonymous strip-lit space, with two male faces behind her, one of them holding what looked to be a kitchen knife.
It was Susan Book, the verger at Saint Michael’s church.
I turned to Matty.
‘I need a car,’ I said. ‘Did you drive here?’
To my surprise, he reached into his pocket and handed me the keys. He’d seen my face as I was staring at the screen, and I guess it didn’t leave him with any questions.
‘It’s a Honda Civic,’ he said. ‘Dark blue. On Prince’s Avenue.’
‘Thanks.’ I gave him a nod, grateful that he wasn’t wasting my time by asking for explanations. ‘For the loan, and for the information. Shall I bring the car back here or –?’
‘There’s a Carmelite convent over in Hadley Wood. You can leave it there. The sisters know me.’
A predictable joke about the biblical sense of that word died on my lips as I stared into Matt’s solemn, concerned face.
‘Or leave it somewhere else, if you have to,’ he said. ‘Explain to me later, Felix. If there’s something important hanging on this, you’d better go.’
I went.
10
I drove back up Colney Hatch Lane like a bat out of some part of Hell where life was particularly cheap, took a hair-raising left onto the North Circular and accelerated to eighty. That took me past the Stanger, and I thought fleetingly of the incredible change that Rafi had undergone.
Why now? What had happened to trigger it? Were the forces that seemed to have driven so many Londoners over the edge into murderous insanity only one half of some cosmic see-saw that had also tipped Rafi back into his right mind? And was either end of the see-saw connected with the sudden interest that the Anathemata were taking in me? The link there was Peace. I was looking for him, and they were too. So were they only following me to get to him, or was there some other reason why I couldn’t spit without hitting them? And given what Matty had said about their attitude to the undead, what were they doing handing out stake-out jobs to the likes of Po and Zucker in the first place?
I pulled my attention back to the job in hand. Whatever was going down in White City, I needed some more information before I walked into it, that was for damned sure: otherwise what I didn’t know could end up hurting me quite a lot. I didn’t even know what I was going to do when I got there – I just had a feeling, maybe activated by seeing Susan Book in the middle of all the bad craziness, that this was somehow connected to what Nicky had described: the wave of murder and mayhem that had swept through West London on Saturday night. That part of the city was the epicentre of something very nasty: something subterranean that broke the surface as a murder here and a rape there – and now as a riot. I couldn’t believe there wasn’t a link.