Brotherhood of Shades

Chapter Three – D’Scover

“I cannot send anyone until at least next week, possibly Thursday; that is my final word on the matter.”

The tall, thin man leaned across his desk and flipped the pages of a large desk diary lying in front of him. Loose black hair fell forward across his almost impossibly pale skin as he ran a lean finger down a list of diary entries. Using both hands, he pushed his hair back, frowned and adjusted his telephone earpiece as the voice on the other end of the line continued to speak.

“What do you mean?” he snapped. “Why did you not say this before? This puts a very different light on the matter. You know full well that activity of this nature is dealt with by the lower departments.” He slammed the diary closed. “You can call them yourself and arrange an agent; Section One does not deal with matters so trivial.”

He waited while the person on the other end responded.

“No!” he suddenly snapped. “I care not which minor royal is involved. As a courtesy, I will put the alert through to Section Three myself, but there my involvement ends. Now, if you will excuse me, I have far more important work to attend to.”

He disconnected the caller and tossed the earpiece on to the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he expelled a long, slow breath while rubbing his eyes wearily. Pulling out the drawer by his knee, he removed a small black cube, which he clicked into place in a niche at the far right of his laptop keyboard. The screen turned black as he reached out and pressed the middle finger of his right hand into the cube. It now turned deep purple and a map of the world appeared upon it. This was liberally decorated with red patches clustering tightly round all of the major cities.

He touched the map over England and a more detailed one filled the screen; this he tapped again and raised a complicated mesh of lines representing London. The red patches split into hundreds of smaller points of light; these he watched for a moment before touching the image again and raising a detailed map of Gerrard Street and London’s Chinatown. On this screen the dots were fewer, just four or five, and they moved slowly around in a gentle waltz of colour. He tapped the keyboard and a single dot became a vivid yellow. When this was touched, the screen changed and went blank, taking on the purple shade of a day-old bruise. A single yellow-coloured word blinked in the centre of the display – Searching.

“Come on, Marcus, I know you are there,” the man muttered to himself.

He laced his fingers together behind his head, rocking his chair impatiently while he waited. A moment or two passed and the yellow word on the screen fractured into a spiral as the screen appeared to spin before settling itself on an image of a red-brick wall. He reached out for the keyboard and pressed a combination of numbers before speaking.

“Marcus? I cannot see you. Point your CC the other way.”

“What?” a distant voice said.

“Your Communication Cube, point it the other way; you have it pointed at the wall,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah, right,” the voice said again. “Knew I forgot something.”

The view of the wall swam past and the image of a chubby man of about twenty suddenly jumped into the frame. He looked pale and grubby and his hair was an unruly mess; he looked as if he had woken up in a gutter.

“Hi, To—er, Mr D’Scover, sorry. How are you, sir?” he asked.

“Marcus, why are you in Gerrard Street?” D’Scover asked, getting straight to the point.

“Not sure exactly – think I had some drift last night after I Dispersed,” Marcus replied. “I just Dispersed in South Kensington as usual and when I pulled back, I was here.”

“I do not see how you can have drifted such a long way, and I am not prepared to discuss it with you now – just get back where you belong and keep a lower profile.”

D’Scover pointed at his diary and it obediently slid across the desk towards him and fluttered open at the pages for the following week. Scanning down the cluttered pages, he found a small, empty line towards the bottom of the second page.

“I am calling you in next week,” he continued. “We need to have a bit of a talk about your drift problem, do we not?”

“Yes, sir, anything you like, sir,” Marcus grovelled, but the face on the screen carried a flash of anger for a split second.

“The sixteenth – do you have date awareness?”

“Yes, sir, always know what day it is,” Marcus said.

“Very well, I shall be in touch on the morning of the sixteenth to Hotline you back. Until then, stay in South Kensington. You are no use to the Brotherhood if you lose stability before your due time.”

D’Scover touched the Communication Cube again and the screen once more returned to the stark white map of the world. Reaching out, he flicked his hand in a small gesture and a large brown box file dutifully rose from its position on a shelf on the opposite side of the room and slid through the air towards his outstretched hand. Laying the box file on the desk, he opened it and pulled out a file marked ‘Marcus Resnick’. Opening it, he added a note to a number of others on a page marked ‘Unauthorised Movement’. Closing it up again, he placed it in the bottom drawer of the desk before flicking his fingers to gesture the box back into its place on the shelf. It was halfway across the room when the office door suddenly opened. D’Scover flicked his right hand up in a circular motion so quick that it almost defied perception and the file plunged to the floor, fanning out its remaining contents across the carpet.

“Oh!” The young woman who had just entered gave a start.

“Emma!” D’Scover said. “You must knock; this office is not exactly always ready for visitors, as you well know.”

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that you had an urgent call on seven and I couldn’t get through as you’ve disconnected.”

“Could it not have waited?” He frowned at her. “It has been a busy morning and I have held substance since four a.m. I am exhausted.”

“Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid it can’t wait. There’s been a fire in a homeless shelter in Birmingham, Zone Nine, terrible thing. The system’s picking up at least five not passing through and at least one is showing some destructive tendencies. It may be the spirit that started the fire in the first place and the thought of a fire starter in a heavily residential area is not . . .”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” He sighed. “I will see who I have on for that region.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything I can get for you before I go?” she asked.

“No thank you. Are you leaving soon?”

“I have about another forty minutes of good substance, but Julie’s due here soon.”

“Julie?” D’Scover was surprised. “Is she ready yet? I thought she was still in training?”

“She is, sir, but this is her final month. Section Four thought she could do with some experience in the field from a more observed viewpoint first,” Emma replied.

“Section Four? Training now think that they can meddle in my department,” D’Scover grumbled, “so they send a fresh Shade with no experience in the field to work for me?”

“Not exactly, sir,” Emma said. “They’ve sent her to work with me actually. With respect, I’m perhaps more senior than you care to remember.” She could see concern on his face. “She was a secretary before; she already has office skills.”

“Well, I suppose that she will have to do. Pass the information about the fire on to her when she arrives, will you? I will inform agents in the area right away, but Julie will need to know too as I intend to Disperse as soon as possible after I have dealt with this matter.”

“Of course, sir,” she said and turned to leave his office.

“And Emma,” he continued without looking at her, “can you please remember that the details need to be finalised for the movement of the texts from America this week? This will mean liaising with the living members of staff in both libraries. I would like you to handle this aspect of the transfer.”

“Certainly, sir,” she said with confidence. “I’ll start right away.”

D’Scover looked over the edge of his desk at the spilled paper and gestured for it to refill the box, which it did with a rustle, before the file rose once more and slotted back into its place. He turned back to the map and repeated the process of isolating a region once more before selecting a single red dot. Searching blinked yellow on the screen. After a few brief moments a woman’s face appeared before him and silently waited to be addressed.

“Carol?” D’Scover said, and the woman looked up. “You are the senior agent in this area, have you felt the disruption yet?”

“Yes, sir, a bad one. How many?” she asked.

“At least five, with some possible poltergeist activity,” D’Scover replied. “And I will need a Level One watch for a possible fire starter. Can you handle it?”

“Yes, I can handle it,” she confirmed. “I may need a substance boost later to watch for the fire starter. I can’t hold together for a whole night.”

“I shall arrange it right away,” he replied. “Thank you for your efficiency. I will Hotline the details for you. Are you ready?”

She nodded and, with a few taps on the keyboard, he raised an overlapping grey screen of information. This he reached out to with his left hand and moved the information up so that it covered her image. Holding the fingertips of his left hand over the information, he once more placed the middle finger of his right hand over the cube and took a deep breath. The screen momentarily swam with a rainbow of colours like oil on water and then restored itself with the image of the agent. He breathed out and shook his head briefly as if to clear his vision.

“Did you get it, Carol?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be back in touch if there are any problems,” she replied, giving a brief nod as the screen faded to purple again.

The display returned to the map once more before D’Scover removed the CC and replaced it in the drawer. He stood and stretched before walking to the door, opening it and leaning round it into the reception area to find Emma. She was reaching into a filing cabinet, holding a large bundle of paperwork.

“Emma,” he called, “I want no disturbances for at least two hours – and this is a Code Red instruction.”

“Absolutely, sir, I understand.”

She leaned over her desk and passed her hand over a small flat panel embedded in the surface. This flicked on and began to emit a pulsating red glow. As D’Scover closed his office door behind him, it gave off a slight hiss and a sucking noise as it sealed from the outside.

Walking back across his huge but sparsely furnished office to a blood-red couch standing against a vast expanse of window, he sat briefly. Drawing in a number of deep breaths, he closed his eyes and the room filled with a deep silence. When the silence seemed to begin to crush the air from the room, he stood and walked to the windows. One whole wall was made of glass, forming huge sliding doors leading out to a balcony, and it was towards this that he waved his hand. In silence the glass slid effortlessly open to reveal a wide and empty balcony overlooking the slate-grey mass of London in early February. This building was one of the tallest on the south bank of the Thames and from here he could see across the river and over the city and even out to the thin band of green where the countryside still tried in vain to resist the urban sprawl.

D’Scover walked out on to the damp stone slabs of the balcony and lifted his head as the wind forced itself around him, ruffling his hair and clothes. Closing his eyes, he raised his hands, palms skyward, in front of him. He held this stance for a number of minutes before moving his arms, still extended and palms upwards, out to his sides. Expelling a long breath, he raised his hands swiftly above his head, clapping them together. In an instant the city became dark, as though a gigantic shadow had fallen across it for just a fraction of a second. On the balcony a faint image of a man held its shape momentarily before it shattered into a million tiny glistening grey particles that swirled away with the wind.

Chapter Four – The Good Sister

D’Scover had returned to form hours later in a whirling mist that thickened until it took on the shape of a man, gradually becoming more recognisable until he lay re-formed on the couch in his room, regulating his breathing in a slow and steady rhythm. With each intake of air he became more solid until, after another ten minutes of steady control, he looked as alive as any person in the street. With a final deep sigh he sat up and smoothed his hair back and stretched. Standing, he walked over to his huge oak desk and flicked the intercom unit.

“Emma?” he said.

“Emma has Dispersed, sir,” a youthful female voice replied. “It’s me, Julie. Did you have a restful Dispersal?”

“Indeed I did. It has been a while since I was away for such a lengthy period. Are there any messages for me?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll bring them straight in.”

D’Scover sat at his desk and looked down at his hands, idly fading them in and out of solidity while he thought. He looked close to forty, but as if it had been a lonely journey to get to that age. With his clean-shaven face framed by a thick gloss of collar-length black hair, his pale skin seemed to shine out from a halo of deepest night. His high cheekbones defined his lean face and his eyes were large and dark, and with no pupils they gave away none of his emotions. On the rare occasions that he smiled, it sat uncomfortably on his face like a party hat on a head teacher – an effort towards jollity that he did not really welcome. His work was everything to him and he made sure that all around him knew. Very few things – living or dead – in the world meddled with Toby D’Scover.

Julie wafted through the door to bring D’Scover his messages. Arriving in the room, she looked down at her empty hands, remembering only then that the file could not pass through the wood as she could. It had tumbled to the office floor behind her.

“I . . . I’m s-s-sorry, sir,” she stammered, turning back towards the door and banging her face hard against it.

“Julie!” he said brusquely. “I realise you have not yet finished your training, but what is the Prime Rule of the Brotherhood?”

She looked down at her feet as she answered. “Concentrate,” she muttered.

“Concentrate,” he repeated. “We rest our success on never being caught out. Those who are seen are not fit for the Brotherhood. Concentration ensures that we can move amongst the living without their knowledge. And what would one of our living agents say if they saw you marching through doors? You know it makes them uncomfortable to be reminded of their own mortality.”

“I’m truly sorry, sir,” she muttered through obviously gritted teeth. “I’ll try and concentrate harder.”

“Do so.” He stared hard at her as she stood in front of the closed door.

A moment’s awkward silence trickled round the room as she stared at her shoes.

“Messages?” D’Scover queried with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh!” she said. “Yes, the messages!”

She opened the door and reached out to gather up her fallen file and the paperwork that had spewed from it on to the floor. D’Scover impatiently flicked his hand and the scattered paper shuffled itself into a neat pile and rose through the air towards his desk.

“Do not bother,” he said dismissively. “I am in a hurry to get on with my work. Can you just get back to the desk and watch the incoming reports, please?”

Julie sniffed loudly and turned away from him before scuttling from the room and back to her desk. The door closed heavily behind her and D’Scover could hear her muffled sobbing through the wall.

“Amateurs,” he muttered to himself before looking at the folder of messages.

There were the usual reports of spectral sightings from around the globe, many of which he could recognise as familiar spirits that needed no further action. Some were spirits causing a fuss close to their Final Dispersal and could be left to pass on without any help – time would take care of those for him. Others were agents caught momentarily going about Brotherhood business: these would need a caution, but could wait until later

By far the most persistent reports were about fakers, charlatans. These were D’Scover’s pet hate, so-called psychics who cashed in on the beliefs of the weak and needy. Many of these he dealt with personally and had done so for as long as Spiritualism had existed. Not all of these people were fakers; in fact some of his best agents had been recruited from these meetings. Some people were genuinely sensitive and could maintain contact with the Spirit World, but most were just out to make money from the lonely and bereaved. This vile trade made him angry – and an angry D’Scover was a force to be reckoned with.

Often, all it took to expose the charlatans was to attend a seance or so-called ‘spirit reading’, find out their tricks and show the other clients. He would attend as a living person and, while attention was diverted by the charlatan, he would detach wires, or pull back curtains, to reveal the trickery. On rare occasions it took what D’Scover called “a bit of a scare” to put them off. No one had ever continued with their deception after a “scare” visit from D’Scover.

Flicking through the final messages, one caught his eye and he reached for his CC and slotted it into place in the keyboard. Isolating a particular location on his screen, he waited for the image to load. When it did, it was of a solid-looking woman wearing a nurse’s uniform and with a broad smile across her face.

“Sister Goodman,” he said. “It is good to see you after such a long time.”

“Hello, Toby, how are you?” The rotund nurse squinted at him. “You look terrible. Are you getting enough rest?”

“Now you did not ask me to call you just for social reasons or to comment on the state of my apparent well-being, did you?” D’Scover evaded the question. “What can I do for you?”

“Straight to the point, as usual.” Her smile faded. “I have a boy here, very close to the end, and I think you should come and take a look at him.”

“If you say so. I trust your judgement,” he replied. “Do you have a safe computer for me to Hotline?”

“I’m sending you the code now,” she replied.

A series of numbers scrolled across the monitor and an empty black square unfolded at the bottom of the purple screen.

“Good. I will be there immediately,” D’Scover said.

The image of the nurse faded and all that remained on the screen was the black square. D’Scover moved this to the middle of the display. He took a deep breath and straightened his back, shuffling his chair backwards a little so that he was exactly at arm’s length from the monitor. Reaching out both hands, he placed his fingertips on the glass and closed his eyes.

“Inter vivos,” he whispered to himself. “Once more amongst the living.”

Blue sparks crackled around his fingertips and gradually began to spread up his hands. A rolling blue haze boiled over his arms and, within seconds, covered his whole body, enveloping him in a cold light that drained the colour from the room. He looked down and expelled a noisy breath; as he did so, his shape flickered and began to destabilise. Then, with a whoosh of static that made the loose paper on the desk jostle and dance, he became a spiralling vortex of glistening grey particles dissolving into the screen.

In a locked office at St Mary’s Benevolent Hospice a computer in standby mode began to flicker and automatically load a deep purple background. Another black square unfolded on it and the room fizzed with static electricity. The lights in the corridor pulsed as a blue spark showed on the screen, then another and another until a spike began to form. The spike extended and grew from the screen, getting larger and larger and then expanding until a tall shape began to form in the room. A sudden rush and whirl of grey particles within the sparks and D’Scover stood in the dark room.

He brushed himself down and straightened his suit before walking towards the door. At the door he hesitated as he remembered something and reached his hand up into the air. He clicked his fingers and a security badge appeared in his hand bearing his photograph and the name DR T SMITH; he clipped this to his pocket. He touched the keyhole in the door, which sparked blue and clicked as it unlocked and swung open, allowing him out into the corridor.

Following the gentle beep of Sister Goodman’s CC, he soon found the way. She was waiting for him outside the boy’s room, quietly standing alone, looking through the window to where he lay deep in a coma. D’Scover could see the faint violet aura that she had created to shield her from the eyes of the living. She turned and smiled at D’Scover as he came towards her and stepped forward and hugged him, much to his obvious distaste. Pulling back, he held her gently at arm’s length.

“It has been a long time,” D’Scover said blandly, his faint smile resting only on his mouth as though it did not have the strength to reach his eyes.

“Yes, Toby, it has, far too long. It is a shame you are always so busy with the troubles of the living; too busy to come and see an old friend?” she reprimanded.

“The dead are equally demanding,” he said by way of reply. “Recently there has been a rise in incidents. I feel there may be too many disturbances to write them all off as a coincidence or another transitional phase.”

“Still caught up in your precious Vision?” Sister Goodman chortled. “Honestly, Toby, I do despair at your affection for the living.”

“There are still many on both sides who have faith in the Vision, sister,” D’Scover said, “despite the long wait.”

“Hmm, so it seems,” she smiled. “You and I will never agree.”

“What do you have for me?” he said, changing the subject. “It sounded urgent.”

“This boy.” She gestured at the bed on the other side of the glass. “I think you might be interested in him.”

“He is still alive, sister; we do have rules.”

“Do not mock me, Toby, I know all the rules. This boy is different.”

“How long does he have?” D’Scover peered through the glass at the small heap under the bedclothes.

“He will not last the night; his heart is failing fast.” Her face fell into a frown for the first time. “He was found in the street, no family, no one to grieve for him, a lost waif.”

“This sounds very familiar.” He stared through the glass. “Are you sure that you are not just being sentimental?”

“I am possibly the least sentimental sister you will ever meet and you know that full well,” she snapped.

“So why is this one so different? Why does he need my special attention? You could easily have dealt with him without my help.”

“He is different,” she replied slowly, “because he saw me.”

“What did you just say?” D’Scover turned quickly to face her.

“He woke briefly a couple of times, and he could see me.”

“Hmm.” D’Scover peered through the glass once more. “How long has it been since anyone saw you?”

“Such an impertinent question! You know my experience: no one has seen me without my express desire for over two hundred years,” she replied.

“This is indeed interesting,” D’Scover agreed, “and with the rise in disturbances, it could all become even more interesting.”

“I thought you should know,” Sister Goodman said. “As I said, he does not have much time left.”

“Thank you, sister; if fate is running true to course, this boy could prove to be what we have been waiting for.”