drawn back to this particular statue to take a closer look. He had a feeling that he had seen it before.
It was nearly a minute before he recognized her, and when he did, he almost fell over from the shock. He felt like he needed a drink.
~ Chapter Sixteen ~
T albot had wondered if perhaps Zeus had set the box among the stars. It had been a habit of his to do this with things – and even people – that he did not know what else to do with.
‘A bad habit,’ said Crispin, but it was an inspired thought, he said. Until it turned out that it was wrong, whereupon it magically became: ‘A bloody stupid idea that only an idiot like you would come up with. Almost as daft as that other idea you had, “a metaphorical box, my modem.”
Talbot had expanded this idea into quite an intricate theory that came under the heading of, as Crispin pointed out, “clutching at straws”.
‘It’s a real box, Talbot, get that into your thick head, and we might just be getting somewhere’
The situation was grave. The Apocalypse was now seriously behind schedule, if it were not sorted out soon, then heads were going to roll. It would be Bloody Ragnoroc all over again. The Twilight of the gods had gone completely wrong the first time, and had had to be staged all over again, thanks to young Whatisname, sticking his oar in. – Bloody heroes. And even then, they had not got all of them in the end. There were still a few of them hanging around. And this was far more important than the demise of a few mouldy old gods.
It was rumoured that up on thirteenth, a young programmer had ventured the opinion: ‘Sod the box, why don’t we just chuck a great big asteroid at them?’ but Crispin did not know if it was true. If it was, it was a mark of how desperate things were getting up there. They would never do it, though. They were the sorts who would always do everything “by the book” as the saying goes.
‘Pity,’ thought Crispin, ‘it wasn’t a bad idea.’ It would certainly solve his problem anyway.
* * *
‘What’s the big deal with that thing anyway?’ Jamie was curious about Denny’s apparent obsession with what looked to him like an old dagger. It was a curiosity, he supposed, but not really worth the minute attention that his companion was paying to it, surely? He had woken that morning to discover Denny sat in a patch of melted snow just looking at it. He was still looking at it now, several hours later.
Denny reluctantly tore his gaze from his treasure. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said.
He said this while holding the Athame and so, quite suddenly, he did know. At least he knew what it was, and what it was for and the powers it possessed. But it did not help him in the least to access any memories that he might have had regarding his ownership of it. He still could not find out what his connection with it was. He did not need to, he decided. It was enough to understand that the connection was there, and now he knew …
He stood up. ‘Time to go,’ he said.
* * *
Stiles never remembered afterwards how he had stumbled and slipped in a daze back to the library. Nor did he remember falling asleep in a large armchair in the library. It was late morning when he was awakened by the sun streaming through the window, casting pretty patterns on the wall behind him, and, had he known it, on his own unshaven face. He had been completely incapable of any kind of constructive thought the night before. But now he felt – what? Almost normal? He opened his eyes and looked around the room, and he was almost certain that he was not insane at all. He was slowly reaching that point of self-delusion that says: ‘It was all a dream’
That was it. He had fallen asleep in this chair, and had a very vivid dream. He could not possibly have seen what he thought he saw. Because things like that did not happen. He must have imagined the whole thing.
He had now
It was nearly a minute before he recognized her, and when he did, he almost fell over from the shock. He felt like he needed a drink.
~ Chapter Sixteen ~
T albot had wondered if perhaps Zeus had set the box among the stars. It had been a habit of his to do this with things – and even people – that he did not know what else to do with.
‘A bad habit,’ said Crispin, but it was an inspired thought, he said. Until it turned out that it was wrong, whereupon it magically became: ‘A bloody stupid idea that only an idiot like you would come up with. Almost as daft as that other idea you had, “a metaphorical box, my modem.”
Talbot had expanded this idea into quite an intricate theory that came under the heading of, as Crispin pointed out, “clutching at straws”.
‘It’s a real box, Talbot, get that into your thick head, and we might just be getting somewhere’
The situation was grave. The Apocalypse was now seriously behind schedule, if it were not sorted out soon, then heads were going to roll. It would be Bloody Ragnoroc all over again. The Twilight of the gods had gone completely wrong the first time, and had had to be staged all over again, thanks to young Whatisname, sticking his oar in. – Bloody heroes. And even then, they had not got all of them in the end. There were still a few of them hanging around. And this was far more important than the demise of a few mouldy old gods.
It was rumoured that up on thirteenth, a young programmer had ventured the opinion: ‘Sod the box, why don’t we just chuck a great big asteroid at them?’ but Crispin did not know if it was true. If it was, it was a mark of how desperate things were getting up there. They would never do it, though. They were the sorts who would always do everything “by the book” as the saying goes.
‘Pity,’ thought Crispin, ‘it wasn’t a bad idea.’ It would certainly solve his problem anyway.
* * *
‘What’s the big deal with that thing anyway?’ Jamie was curious about Denny’s apparent obsession with what looked to him like an old dagger. It was a curiosity, he supposed, but not really worth the minute attention that his companion was paying to it, surely? He had woken that morning to discover Denny sat in a patch of melted snow just looking at it. He was still looking at it now, several hours later.
Denny reluctantly tore his gaze from his treasure. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said.
He said this while holding the Athame and so, quite suddenly, he did know. At least he knew what it was, and what it was for and the powers it possessed. But it did not help him in the least to access any memories that he might have had regarding his ownership of it. He still could not find out what his connection with it was. He did not need to, he decided. It was enough to understand that the connection was there, and now he knew …
He stood up. ‘Time to go,’ he said.
* * *
Stiles never remembered afterwards how he had stumbled and slipped in a daze back to the library. Nor did he remember falling asleep in a large armchair in the library. It was late morning when he was awakened by the sun streaming through the window, casting pretty patterns on the wall behind him, and, had he known it, on his own unshaven face. He had been completely incapable of any kind of constructive thought the night before. But now he felt – what? Almost normal? He opened his eyes and looked around the room, and he was almost certain that he was not insane at all. He was slowly reaching that point of self-delusion that says: ‘It was all a dream’
That was it. He had fallen asleep in this chair, and had a very vivid dream. He could not possibly have seen what he thought he saw. Because things like that did not happen. He must have imagined the whole thing.
He had now
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