Influence Page 4

  ‘I do not bear pleasing news,’ said the Serf. In the place the creature had been drawn from titles and names were meaningless, but this… Summoner, as he entitled himself, insisted on this term of servitude.

  ‘Then you are as useful as the new bag of flesh which facilitates your existence in this world. What did we learn?’ The candle flame flickered and strained to make impact against the surrounding darkness causing shadows to dart in all directions.

  ‘The Bodleians have moved the scroll, I know not when or where to.’

  ‘That is hardly news spirit, we know the society placed the scroll there, we must assume they were aware of our interest.’ The Summoner held his chin in his hand contemplating the next move.

  ‘Knowledge of my intent in that place was confirmed by an inconvenience.’

  ‘I gathered that Serf, judging by the change in… attire.’ The Summoner swept a hand up and down examining the new body.

  ‘The monk, or what passes for a monk in this time, was sent to discover my task.’

  ‘Yes I am sure modern day makes for a very different breed of pious enthusiast than what you’re used to. What happened?’

  ‘Progress was slow, the monk intervened. The old man had to die. It was unavoidable.’ The Summoner exhaled heavily.

  ‘Murder is somewhat frowned upon in this day and age creature, did I not make myself clear when I sent you there? When a corpse is found it tends to lead to complications you could scarcely fathom, I trust you removed the body as I instructed if such circumstances transpired?’

  ‘Unavoidable, and yes the instructions were followed,’ The Serf said, slower and louder, his rage simmering close to the surface. The Summoner looked into the face of the Serf seeing no emotion but sensing the mounting anger.

  The candle projected the Serf’s flickering shadow, but rather than the silhouette of the monk, some elongated hideous form was cast against the wall which seemed to move when the body casting the shadow did not.

  ‘Yes, well. The body?

  ‘Is in the old man’s vehicle.’

  ‘Well, the absence of a body will delay the interference of the authorities for a while but disposing of the body and the vehicle will be your next task’

  ‘My next task? I have fulfilled my obligation to you, I have obeyed have I not? I have completed the instruction given?’ The Serf’s voice grew louder still.

  ‘No, your task, demon, was to locate the third scroll and you have failed,’ The Summoner’s temper now flared. ‘When the scroll is in my possession I will then, and not before, consider your contract fulfilled. You are bound to me and there is much work to be done so save your complaints they will see you released no sooner.’

  ‘Master,’ the Serf lowered his head in subjugation, his fury buried. The Summoner stood and walked around the small room thinking.

  ‘Death is an inevitable consequence of our work Serf, and you will be required to deliver more yet. In fact I know where next it will be required. You have my word though, we will soon be in possession of what we need and you may return to whatever putrid hell I dragged you from.’

  Five

  Lizzie was in her favourite place in the world.

  Her first trip to Oxford had been four years ago, which had been a year after her aunt had moved south. Lizzie’s mother had put her on a train at Edinburgh’s Waverley station, kissed her and passed in her rucksack. As the train had pulled out her mother had cried, Lizzie had not. It was the first time she had done anything, of real note, on her own and she was far too excited to be upset. Janice had met Lizzie off the train in Oxford, and immediately given her a tour of the city, or as much of a tour as she could manage, being a relative newcomer herself.

  Lizzie had arrived prepared, with a list and a heavily marked and highlighted map. Janice’s tour had, before long, descended into a fulfilment of Lizzie’s wish list culminating in a trip to the Pit Rivers museum, where Janice feigned enthusiasm for the shrunken heads and weird trinkets, which in truth she found boring and creepy but had enthralled Lizzie no end.

  Lizzie had fallen in love with Oxford, and it had been love at first sight. She was smitten, sold. The history, the civility and the prestige which resonated from every inch of the city was utterly spellbinding. Lizzie had recently been introduced to the idea of someday going to university, she had visited Glasgow University with her school and had been in awe of the main building and surrounding area of the campus in the west end of the city. She had understood then that universities comprised of many buildings sometimes spanned out over large areas, such as she had found in Glasgow but she had struggled to get her head around Oxford. The University of Oxford, as far as Lizzie could tell, was Oxford itself, like the city was a living, breathing institute of learning. Countless colleges, which somehow existed in their own right, also made up the university as a whole. To Lizzie it was like a dismembered body, each unattached limb and organ still performing its function independently but somehow held together and coordinated as part of a larger entity.

  Janice had suggested a few different restaurants and fast food outlets but Lizzie had asked if they could eat outside as, after all, it had been a lovely day. They bought sandwiches, crisps and drinks and Janice had followed Lizzie as she searched for a place to sit and eat. Lizzie had found a little bench within the grounds of Jesus College. She had been unsure whether it was permitted for non-students to make use of it, but it was wonderful to sit and watch the students come and go. Some lazily walking in the sunshine other scurrying off to some lecture they were late for. They had sat in silence indulging in Lizzie’s favourite pastime – people watching. How people interacted with one another, and how they went about their business, wrapped up in their own little worlds fascinated her and from this bench she could watch, as if invisible, the students of Oxford University live their strange, privileged, wonderful lives.

  Lizzie still had no idea whether it was okay for her to sit on this, her bench as she considered it, but by now she refused to feel uncomfortable even if it had turned out she was somewhere she shouldn’t be. The magic of Oxford had not diminished for her. Each time Lizzie came back to Jesus College to sit at her bench, listen to music and thumb through a novel it took her back to that first time, to her adventure with her aunt Janice, before it had all fallen apart.

  That first time Janice had met her from the train she had been full of smiles and laughter. The last time she had collected Lizzie from the platform however she had managed to hold it together for all of five seconds before wrapping her arms around her and sobbing her heart out. Lizzie’s own resolve collapsed even though she would have sworn blind that she had completely cried herself out that she was, by then, numb to it all.

  Lizzie’s mother’s death had not been unexpected, she had been sick for some time, and really sick for the last twelve months, however when the inevitable happened it had still come as an earth shattering shock.

  The illness took her mum from her but also, strangely, it had brought her back to Lizzie. She had been twelve when her mother had met her stepfather. Lizzie had never met her own father and knew very little of him other than that he had left before Lizzie had been able to form any memory of him. It had been a prickly subject and Lizzie had learned to leave it alone. Besides, she didn’t know enough of him to miss him. When her stepfather had moved into the house she had resented him from the start. He wasn’t cruel to her mother but nor did he seem to make her happy or make her life, in any noticeable way, easier. Lizzie saw him as a leech draining her mother’s attention and time. Her stepfather had held a few jobs, briefly, but nothing of any note. He had attempted several times to act like a father to Lizzie and each time it had resulted in a vicious argument which had upset Lizzie’s mother most out of the three of them. Lizzie’s relationship with her mum had deteriorated as a direct result of him, they rarely conversed anymore, and when they did talk it was almost always with raised voices. Lizzie had taken to spending as much time away from the house as possible, retu
rning only to sleep and eat. He was a wedge between them and the tight bond they had once enjoyed had slackened. By the time her mother had been diagnosed it hung loosely and tenuously.

  That day though had sparked a change, a reversal. The sicker Lizzie’s mother became the more she needed Lizzie and the less her stepfather would be around. ‘Your mother needs her rest’ would be the common parting shot as he would leave the house for destinations unknown. Lizzie barely left her mother’s side in that final year. School was no longer of any importance despite her mother’s pleas. Lizzie had her mum back and she was determined to relish every second they had left together.

  There then followed a dark time, a period which had passed in a cloud of drowsy but raw emotion. Lizzie had only fleeting recollections of family and friends she only knew from photographs drifting through the house like ghosts, looking pityingly at her and all muttering their condolences. The only person Lizzie wanted to see was her aunt Janice but she had been out of the country with work and had been unable to return on time. She hadn’t blamed her, after all her mother’s passing had come sooner than the most cynical of the doctor’s predictions; she had not blamed her, but she had needed her.

  In her will Lizzie’s mother had requested three things. That Lizzie’s guardianship be tasked to Janice, that the house be left to Lizzie with the provision that her stepfather be allowed to stay in it for as long as he required and that whatever estate left be used, by Janice, to ensure the best possible schooling for Lizzie for her to complete her studies. Lizzie’s mother had been so proud of her academic prowess and it broke her heart to be the reason for her having missed such an important period in her schooling. Janice and Lizzie’s mother had clearly discussed the matter at length before her death as Lizzie learned of her enrolment at Queen’s Grove House as soon as she had arrived in Oxfordshire. Janice had explained she had passed by the school many times and when Lizzie’s mother had expressed her wishes she had investigated the matter and found the school to be just about within budget and excelling in performance.

  Lizzie drummed her fingers on the arm of the bench, oversized headphones pumping music around her head as she considered the circumstances that had brought her to this place. It was late morning, grey skied, but dry. Lizzie looked around the courtyard of Jesus College which had suddenly busied while she had been lost in her reverie. It must have been the start of a new lecture period judging by the way students bustled their way here and there. She imagined herself among them, and strangely she envied their concerns and problems – late for class, end of year exams, fitting in and being surrounded by people you assume are so much smarter than you. This last one wasn’t difficult to imagine. Lizzie was well aware of the huge task she had taken on at Queen’s. She had missed so much school, and even before her mum had been struck down her grades were only just on par with entry levels at Oxford. Her poor prelim results had been a real blow, and as a result she had tried to employ a sense of reality. She swore to herself she wouldn’t allow her hopes to rise to Oxford level any longer. Her application was in, it had to be by now, but she was now looking to alternative options and trying to put thoughts of studying here far from her mind, which is not easy sitting in the middle of Oxford.

  Blistering feedback interrupted her thoughts and Lizzie pulled her headphones down to rest around her neck. She would see people from time to time looking curiously at her giant black headphones, like something a radio DJ would don. Of course the trend was to go for small and discreet but Lizzie hated the little razor blades you had to stuff into your ear canal. They irritated her, they failed to block out external noise and worst of all they didn’t carry that - piss off and leave me alone - message her own conspicuous choice provided.

  A group of Asian girls, perhaps Japanese, huddled together examining either a timetable or a map, Lizzie couldn’t quite see, and therefore she couldn’t tell if they were students or tourists. On the grass near to them a boy sat with his back against the trunk of a tree reading a book. On his lap lay his jacket and on top of that the head of a girl, his girlfriend she assumed, who was also reading a book. Lizzie was beginning to drift into thoughts of how difficult it must be to maintain a relationship while studying here, particularly if you were also holding down a job to pay for tuition and everything else that went with living somewhere other than at home when another group of students wandered into her eye line and stopped on the grass blocking her view of the reading couple. This group caught Lizzie’s eye straight away, they demanded your attention. Lizzie pulled back on her headphones but pressed stop on the CD to allow her to concentrate whilst still maintaining the illusion of being deaf within her bubble. There were six of them, Lizzie counted, each a little weirder than the next. Two of them, boys, were impossibly tall which would have made them conspicuous enough without the trench coats and eye makeup. There were three girls with very white faces and very black eyes, one of them had harshly applied blusher on her cheeks in a triangular shape and reminded Lizzie of Elvira from that awful movie she loved. The remaining boy wore a black leather jacket and his look was a toned down version of the others. His dark curls were piled on top of his head with the sides shaved in making him seem taller than he was but as he stepped next to the two giant ghouls it became apparent just how short he was, probably no more than an inch taller than her. Lizzie all but rubbed her hands, her favourite hobby of people watching had just flicked on to an unexpectedly interesting channel, she just wished she could turn the volume up and listen in. She inspected the group with Attenborough intrigue. She tried to work out who the alpha Goth was and who was coupled with whom among the group. She also wondered what the collective noun was for a group of Goths. A misery maybe, or perhaps a glum? A glum of Goths had a nice ring to it, but who knew? Lizzie watched for a while and found herself a little disappointed, as despite all the promise of their appearance they actually seemed pretty normal. They chatted, they smoked and, much to Lizzie’s surprise, they laughed.

  One of the girls left and the others seemed ready to break apart when the small guy with the curly hair caught her eye, He was staring right at her.

  The hair on the back of Lizzie’s neck suddenly stood up, she felt like an undercover cop suddenly rumbled during a stake out. She looked away acting as nonchalant as possible. She bobbed her head in time to non-existent music and scanned every angle of the landscape other than at the Goths. After thirty seconds or so had passed she thought it safe to venture a look. She turned to see the boy still looking at her; he was smiling and held a hand out giving a small wave. Lizzie’s first instinct was to turn away but she caught herself as this would surely have been proof of her guilt. Instead she gave a smile and bounced her head away slowly to the silent song. Another thirty seconds passed and Lizzie allowed her head to gradually turn back to the boy who was, shit! Walking right towards her.

  Lizzie’s pulse quickened. She pulled her bag in close to her thigh on the seat of the chair making it impossible for anyone to sit right next to her. She folded her arms, turned her head to the side once again and waited.

  ‘Hi,’ he said though Lizzie pretended not to hear. She continued the head bobbing charade hoping one failed attempt might put him off. He stood in front of her though, keeping a respectful distance at least. Unperturbed the boy leaned his head down into her eye line apparently fooled by the headphones but not put off by them. ‘Hi,’ he repeated. Lizzie could no longer continue to ignore him, not without descending into an unacceptable level of rudeness which Lizzie’s character would not allow. Lizzie pulled her headphones around her neck.

  ‘Sorry?’ she said in a tone she hoped was neither rude, nor inviting.

  ‘I said hi,’ Lizzie looked up at the boy who was smiling at her. He was obviously older than Lizzie but only by a few years. He was very slim, even with the fairly rigid leather jacket on.

  ‘Hello,’ she said throwing him a confused look, ‘do I know you?’

  ‘Actually no, but I’ve seen you around, or really I mean I�
�ve seen you here. What are you studying?’ Lizzie didn’t want to lie if she could help it but she wasn’t sure whether this guy was genuinely interested or whether he was checking to see if she was sufficiently authorised to be here. She waited, allowing one of Mr Pallister’s silences to slide between them like an awkward barrier. Lizzie could feel the boy’s discomfort and was just about to put him out of his misery and come clean about her situation and confess to trespassing when he broke first. ‘Sorry, I’m being nosey aren’t I, here you are minding your own business enjoying a bit of peace and some guy charges in interrogating you. Let me start again, hi, my name’s Void,’ Lizzie’s confused look deepened.

  ‘You mean your name has somehow expired, or is no longer valid?

  ‘What? Oh no, no, that is my name, you can call me Void,’ Lizzie’s expression changed ever so slightly in that one eyebrow raised a half inch giving Void here a look that could only mean – Really? Again she allowed a silence and waited. ‘Frank, my name is Frank, but my friends call me Void.’ He looked thoroughly abashed and Lizzie couldn’t help feel just a little sorry for him. From a distance, and standing next to his overtly painted friends Lizzie had thought he didn’t have any makeup on, but up close she could now see a hint of white foundation, his eyes and lips were also unnaturally dark. ‘Hey, if you can’t reinvent yourself at university then when can you eh?’ he said, his makeup failing to hold back his blush.

  ‘I guess,’ Lizzie offered him, making her feel a little less guilty for his embarrassment. She was surprised just how effective old Pallister’s silence trick worked, she wondered if she sat here long enough saying nothing whether he might give her his bank card and PIN number.

  ‘I’m Lizzie’ she said, and had considered giving him a false name but she was determined to maintain the truth where possible, and there seemed no harm in his knowing her name. She turned her head away from the boy.