Chapter9
As Sarah took the bread into her mouth, it dissolved and the drug took effect. Flowing through her body, her mind was overcome with its power and she drifted off.
Back in the circle, the two parents witnessed their daughter disappear in a mist. Finally, they were left looking at one another with the sounds of the battle raging all around them.
Sarah did not have to witness the terrible scene of the Roundhead cavalry charging the village. They easily threw down the barricades and ran through the streets, cutting down everyone in the wake. Finally, they were upon the gates of the Manor itself.
A cannon was brought up to pound the door, and once it was shattered to splinters the men charged through. Killing everyone in their path.
Squire Soams and his wife, knew they had to act fast. Once they were discovered all was lost for them; their family and the secret Order. So the couple came up with an idea.
Rushing to the garden, they made their way through the frightened crowd to the far end. Here was another door, kept locked through the crisis, they managed to slip through and shut it behind them. All this time the people of the village were more concerned with the Roundheads and the sacking of the house.
Here in this secret part of the garden, lay the Maze. Constructed from old Yew trees, it had grown for generations. Here lay a very old power, but not one which must be made known to the outside world. Together they buried the magical tools. The candles and their holders; the wand, and especially the sacred parchments.
"Could we not burn them?" asked Mrs Soams as they dug together, the cries rising behind them.
"Wife they simply would not be lost. They have to lay in the Earth itself. This old Maze will soak up that power and act as a natural passageway. Our daughter will find this out and be able to use it. But for us, we must face our destiny."
Together they held hands and took a piece of bread each in their mouths. But this was not a magical potion, far from it.
The Roundhead Captain found their bodies lying in the Maze when they broke down the door. Satisfied he had killed enough enemies that day, he left. Safe in the knowledge that there remained no enemies of their master in this parish any more.
Some of the villagers did survive, but most were cut down. The cavalry rode on to find the train of refugees fleeing North, and killed them; every man woman and child.
CHAP 10
TERRY'S STORY
Terry looked across the restaurant and wondered how he was going to pay the bill. It was already twice what he held in his wallet and escape routes were growing thinner by the minute.
Of course to try and arrest the problem he bought another large round of drinks.
Everyone laughed, even the bankers from the Arab Emirates, and to impress them was a prize in itself. But for all the good humour and new business contacts he had created, Terry could still not think of a way of paying the bill. How was he to come up with the money?
"Look, old man, what about these ships in Singapore?" Martin Burrows, his solicitor, and all-round party organiser; came over to his table with an idea. "Think we have a buyer, over by the window." He pointed to a group of cigar-smoking men in grey suits, who raised their glasses to acknowledge the drinks Terry had just serviced them all with.
£100 pounds a glass, thought Terry to himself. How was he going to pay for them?
"Sure no problem, Martin. We can draw up the details this afternoon. Ten million wasn't it?" The big money just kept rolling on.
There was the talk of the new money coming out of Russia and the old Soviet blocks. Where was it now that he needed it? Terry would have to fall back on an old trick. That was, in order to impress the bankers, he had to convince them he already had half the security.
In the end, it was the old favourites that always paid the bills. Even if the price was a little stiff. Terry looked across the room to the largest table of all, and the position filled by the largest personality of all.
Mr Cheesman raised his glass and beamed his wicked smile at Terry. As always Cheesman was enjoying himself. He was the sort of man who always came out on top, no matter how bad things were, or dark the hour; Mr Cheesman always won through. He was not the sort of man to go up against lightly, so it was with some trepidation he approached the table.
"Hello Mr Cheesman, how're things?" Very nervously, Terry sat at his table.
"Very well my boy, very well." Mr Cheesman looked around the table at his followers, all hanging on his every word. Money talked here and even the smallest of gossip could make someone a fortune.
"I have a business proposition to put to you, sir?" Terry knew that Cheesman liked the straight talk, and especially liked talk of big money-making schemes.
Always interested in a quick easy gamble, Cheesman listened. "Delighted dear boy, delighted. Prey tell?"
"Well, we have these ships in Singapore. The deal is watertight." Terry leaned across the table as if he was telling him something in confidence. "We are about to sell them on, and I wondered if you would be interested in sharing in the profits?"
Terry smiled a wicked smile to the older man and waited.
In all his many years Cheesman had never missed an opportunity to make money. Through the boom and bust times of the '60s and '70s; it was Cheesman who moved money around in oil; then property; then in the biggest coup of all, commodities. Now he had more money than he could ever possibly spend, but never a man to let that hold him back; he was interested.
"Singapore eh?" Cheesman ate a little more food and thought the problem over for a few seconds. All faces were turned to him now, and he knew it. This was when he was at his best, being cruel. "Well, I can help you if, you, young Terry, can help me?"
"Certainly Mr Cheesman, anything I can. You only have to ask." Terry was worried now but did not let it show.
"Good, then come round to my offices this afternoon, and we will see what we can do." Cheesman smiled and handed him his card. "Bring this, and they will show you my special problem."
"I shall try my best sir," replied Terry taking the card. He knew this was like drinking from the poisoned challis, but what else could he do.
"Consider those ships as good as sold. I'm sure we can help each other."
With that, Terry went around the room closing the deal. With the word from Cheesman the money flowed. All it took was one banker to give the nod and they were coming to Terry's table to pledge money. Once the big money flowed in, there was no trouble buying the ships, and money moved around the world.
Far away on the other side of the world, the magic worked. The ships were loaded and set sail, with just a few phone calls from London, and Terry had to admit he felt like a god with such power.
So it was with even more trepidation that he walked through the heavy doors of Mr Cheesman's Mayfair offices. The army of staff rushed to his aid on the spot. With security all around, and personal assistants attending everything he could wish for, Terry could see why people liked doing business with Cheesman. All this could easily go to your head, and even though he had come from the school of hard knocks, Terry was on his guard.
After handing over the special business card, Terry saw the look on their faces, as they read what Cheesman had written. It was some sort of coded signal to only them, but whatever it was, it worked, and quickly the man was brought into an office.
At first, it seemed like any other- office come studio- untidy with people working at computers and passing pieces of paper about. As Terry wandered about the studio part of the scene, the penny dropped. It was a photographic studio.
Now there had been certain rumours going around London, as to Cheesman's latest business venture. Even worse than it was dying on its feet. With growing horror, Terry realised first what the project was; then what his part was going to be in it.
"Porno!" He spoke the words out loud to himself and looked around, expecting a group of his friends, laughing their heads off.
"We don't use that word here!" A man, he knew, named Wallis walked over to where Terry stood frozen to the spot. Clearly offended by the outburst, he was about to put the record straight. "Mr Cheesman is very offended by the use of that term."
"I bet he is," replied Terry, shaking his head. "I can't be mixed up with this, I have a reputation, for God's sake."
"And whom might you be sir?" asked Wallis staring him out.
"I'm the poor sod who's been sent to peddle this filth." Terry held up a magazine lying on a table. Pictures of naked men and women, all woven around each other, their faces caught in startling posses.
"Oh, Mr Cheesman told us he had someone to solve our problem." Wallis looked around him, embarrassed.
"What problem is that exactly?" asked Terry, watching the models about to start another photo session.
"We do not appear to be able to shift the damn stuff!" Cheesman entered the office in a flourish. Every time he entered a room all eyes turned to him, such was the effect of the man. "A mere trifle my boy, but not one that can't be solved by your talents young Terence."
"I don't want to appear rude Mr Cheesman, but there is a problem here. Now I'm very grateful for the help with the ships. It helped me out of a tight spot." Terry stopped to search for the words.
"Yes I agree, especially as you were flat broke at the time, am I right?" Cheesman flicked through some photos of young girls, as he let the words sink in.
"I was just having some problems with my liquid cash flow, that's all. But this is different."
"Problems, my God we are having more than problems with this lot!" Cheesman threw the photos at the people around him and approached Terry. Now he meant business, nothing was really free with this man, and now he wanted results.
"What are people going to think?" asked Terry facing the man.
"They will think you are trying to peddle a load of wank mags! That's what they will think dear boy! Now let's get down to business." Mr Cheesman composed himself and stretched the material of his colourful waistcoat to calm his nerves.
