PROOF

By Rosemary Clarke

Proof of Crime

Parliament states

When we all know

Of Partygate.

Proof of war crimes

Ain't it sad?

Is the world

Entirely mad?

Proof he hit her

Or she hit him

Our future is

So very dim

Many have seen

With their own eyes

No need for these

Evasion lies!

If no one listens

To what we say

The liars will

All have their day.

No more justice

Will come to pass

Then law will really

Be an ass!

Why can't we all

Tell the truth

Or soon we will need

Proof of proof?

 

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

Tylywoch ~ 12

 Tylywoch ~ 12 Divine Light II

By Len Morgan

   She viewed the fighting dispassionately, watching from her balcony, as it unfolded before her.   It all seemed so unreal, a hundred individual cameos of ferocious frenzied hand-to-hand combat.   Each, a life and death struggle with an irreversible outcome.   Three or more Browns fell for every Red, but her Red guard were outnumbered ten to one.   The attacking force bore no visible markings, but she could identify a face here, another there.   They were the Surbatt of the 9^th Clan, and they would know that she knew.  She could see prince Taleen in the shadow of the shattered hardwood door.   With dreadful certainty, she knew they would kill all who defended her.  She knew also, that her Reds would gladly fight to the last man.   But, if she died they would have nothing to fight for.   It would all end and another Divine Light would be chosen and would shine in her stead.   She deliberately stood up tall and called in a loud voice she knew would be obeyed.   “Put up your weapons!”   The battle ended all eyes now on her.    “My soldiers will surrender” she commanded.   The Red guards held their weapons high slowly, reluctantly, many with tears on their cheeks, but they obeyed their Empress as always without question.   One by one they were disarmed.   Archers appeared at the door bows flexed, they drew a bead.   This would be it she thought, and smiled “I forgive and pardon you all” she said “No recriminations after I am gone...”

  The bows jerked in the hands of their wielders, and the air blurred before her.   She did not want to die, but she could not live with the alternative.   A young female body-double stood and took her place and pushed her unceremoniously down, falling on her like a sack of grain.   The air was forced from her lungs.   So this is dying she thought, as she lost consciousness. 

  The bloody corpse with six arrows protruding from it was dragged through a rear door, with the Divine Light still unconscious beneath it.   To all who saw it, the dead girl was the Empress.  Her bodyguard, now thirty five Tylywoch, barred the door and efficiently removed her to the throne room, the oldest and the most defensible part of the Emerald Palace.   They would neither confirm nor deny her death; they would simply play for time.   There were kitchens, food and water, a surgery, armoury, sleeping quarters, and of course, a temple dedicated to the twelve gods of Cheilin.   They could survive for many weeks in comfort, or eke out the provisions for months.   With their training, this could almost be indefinite.   All nonessential staff were ushered from the quarters, leaving only the Tylywoch and the Divine Light.

The archers swore to a man that their shafts flew true and found their mark.   Their sergeant thought the target had blurred at the last instant but acceded to the certainty of his sharp eyed young marksmen.  

.-…-. 

  The Knodd is a council of twelve learned elders, one from each Clan.   It is convened when a leader dies without leaving a clear line of succession.   They meet, talk, and propose one candidate from each of the Clans for consideration as the new leader.   After interviewing all the prospects, they vote by ranking each in their considered order of suitability (1 to 12).   The four that score lowest go through to the second ballot, where two more are eliminated, leaving a clear choice between two candidates for the final ballot.

   Three years earlier, their choice had been between prince Palek of the 9^th Clan and princess Veille of the 5^th Clan.   The gods had willed that the late emperor Daidan III's, eldest choked on a fishbone and his youngest died in a whorehouse fight, leaving no surviving issue to continue his dynasty, so the Knodd was convened to decide on a new line.   After much deliberation, and intrigue their choice had been prince Palek, the father of prince Taleen.   As is the custom, the Knodd made their choice on the first day of a new month and would ratify it on the first day of the month following.   This was normal and accepted practice, Palek would be emperor designate for thirty one days, prior to being anointed, this was to allow his enemies to wind up their affairs in the city and make good their escape before he was given teeth to bite them with.   This was largely symbolic and good humoured; many of Palek’s friends would make great play of fleeing the city, travelling in a caravan to an appointed oasis to celebrate his elevation to the divinity.

Palek was emperor designate for eleven days.   He died quietly in his sleep, and never became ‘The Divine Light of the World’.    The leaders of the 9^th Clan believed that prince Taleen would succeed to the office, by right of accession but, the Knodd was convened and princess Veille of the 5^th Clan, duly became the anointed Empress and ‘Divine Light of World’. 

Prince Taleen and his followers, an extreme sect known as the Surbatt, never slept easy with the decision and refused to ratify it in private or in public.   Many of the 9^th considered Taleen to be the legitimate Emperor, even to the point of anointing him publicly, in a parody of the official naming ceremony.   They vigorously maintained that the death of Palek had been contrived and could not have been natural.   They steadfastly maintained that it was instigated by the ruling sect of the 5^th the Chussagen and probably carried out by paid assassins from the hated Tylywoch, who dared to dub themselves 13^th Clan.

For three years they festered, biding their time, waiting and plotting revenge.   Then struck without warning...

.-...-.

So, the Cheilin Empire, was now ruled by Empress Veille, 1st of her dynasty, known to her subjects as the ‘Divine Light of the World’.   By custom She would rule from the Eternal City.   

There are twelve other major cities, each being within seven hundred and fifty miles of the Eternal City, each being the headquarters of one of the Twelve Clans.   Clan rule extends for two hundred and fifty miles in any direction from its central city.   The Eternal City has a border with a five hundred mile radius and is situated at the centre of an imaginary clock face.  The 1^st Clan situated at one o’clock, the 6^th at six o’clock, the 9^th at nine o’clock, and so on.

The Tylywoch (13^th Clan) administer the lands beyond the clock face, on behalf of the Empress. The Twelve considered they were welcome to its mainly barren waste and lawless tracts.  The 13^th act as a buffer between the Empire and the outside world.   The Clan lands are governed like feudal fiefdoms, the peasants within Clan jurisdiction were, clan property, members of the Clan in name only, and treated as little more than slaves by the ruling classes.   The bulk of their produce taken in taxes. 

 Outside the Clan lands was a political wilderness; rule is left pretty much in the hands of the General of Internal Security (GOIS).   His predecessor Aldor had set up and maintained  forty garrisons strategically placed around the outskirts of the Empire.   The 13^th Clan man the garrisons, feeding and clothing a standing army of 2000.   They come from the surrounding communities they are sworn to protect.   The trainees are hand picked upon attaining the age of sixteen.   They serve for two years then return to their community with prestige and sufficient funds to purchase their own land where their families prosper in peace and security.   In times of national emergency, they can be called back by their garrison commander or by the GOIS to defend their homeland from invaders.  Conscripts know that their families and community would be taken care of in their absence, it being that kind of close knit force.  Though manned at all times by 2000 troops, most garrisons could raise 5000 by putting out the call.   Their combined force would probably be in excess of 200,000 highly trained warriors.   To muster the army would take weeks, depending on the muster point, but weapons were another thing, arms are always in short supply. 

In times of emergency, a garrison would be able to muster 1000 to 1500 men immediately, while still leaving sufficient to administer the territory and guard the borders.   If necessary they could top up with conscripts from the local populace.   Because of its peripheral nature, 3000 troops of the 13^th would always be within a days march of most cities.   Within a week this could be 20,000, doubling in two and so on…   None were garrisoned more than four weeks from the Eternal City, the centre of the Empire.   These would not be green troops but veterans from  frequent border skirmishes.

  All those who serve, and their families, are granted membership of the 13^th Clan – the inner core of which is the Tylywoch sect.   Members received full rights and privileges, and the respect due to honoured clan members.  This bond of trust has been built up gradually, since the beginning, and is deeply ingrained in the culture of those not of the twelve.   They are a huge silent majority, not considered significant by the ruling classes of Cheilin, but they are a hidden army, a force for mutual self protection both from outside and from within.   If the Knodd ever declared a vendetta against the Tylywoch, in the event the 'Divine Light' was extinguished, they would be taking on far more than a nameless mountain village, thanks to the forethought of Aldor.

Each province an autonomous cell, self governed.  Each cell a unit of the largest army in the empire, capable of mobilisation within hours following the release of a flock of messenger birds.

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 DIANA

By Janet Baldey

Diana drove through the twilit lanes towards her home.  Humming softly, she pressed the accelerator and felt a familiar thrill as her Lamborghini responded instantly.  She loved speed, it spelled power and when she was behind the wheel she felt invincible.  She increased the pressure until the darkening landscape was just a blur and, with the wind storming through her hair, in no time at all she’d reached her driveway.  Gravel crunching underneath her tyres, she drove on until her home appeared in the distance.  As she deftly brought the sleek machine to rest outside the front entrance, she took a quick glance at her Rolex and saw with satisfaction that she’d knocked ten minutes off her record.   She stretched, relaxing back in her seat after the long drive, taking a moment to appreciate the graceful lines of the old manor house.   An acquaintance had once wondered if she realised how lucky she was and had described the house as ‘drowning in ivy’   Diana’s lips curled; a ridiculous statement from a ridiculous person.   Her family had worked hard for this and it was her inheritance.  Even though she’d rarely seen them, it showed they’d loved her.  In a way, she’d paid for it with her lost childhood and when they went they’d made amends by leaving her enough money to buy anything she wanted, fine cars, exotic holidays, maybe even, perhaps, the husband she adored.  Not that David didn’t love her, of course he did.  After all his infatuation with that silly girl hadn’t lasted long.  She shuddered remembering the awful scene when she’d confronted him.  The sparks had really flown that evening and no mistake but it had all ended happily.  It was when she mentioned changing her will that his attitude changed.  He’d gone a sickly yellow under his tan and had positively grovelled his remorse.  Since then, he’d been so sweet. Flowers, perfume, a foxy new coat.  She looked over her shoulder to the back seat where its fur was reflecting the glow of the setting sun.  

But she couldn’t lie to herself, she’d been relieved at their reconciliation.  When they’d got married, all her friends had envied her having such a tall and handsome husband while, frankly, most of theirs looked like toads.  It would have been so demeaning if they’d found out there was a crack in her marriage maybe even, God forbid, a divorce.  Not to mention her pals at the golf club, it would have been doubly awful if they’d been given that juicy bone to gnaw.  She shuddered again, thinking of Monica, with her aristocratic nose and foghorn mouth.  How her little piggy eyes would have shone as she picked over the remains of Diana’s marriage in full voice.  She sighed, never mind, that was all in the past. She and David were even closer now. 

         She opened the door of the car and with fluid movements began to swing her legs outside, then she stopped and a frown marred the perfection of her forehead.  The house was in complete darkness, with not even a glimmer of a light to be seen.  David should be home by now, surely he wasn’t still at work.  Really, men were so inconsiderate, after being away for a week, he should be waiting for her with a chilled martini ready mixed. Her lips tightened thinking she might have to insist he gave up his potty little job, if this continued.  After all, it wasn’t as if they needed his money.  Her scarlet fingernails tapped on the steering wheel in time with the tic of the cooling engine.  Suddenly a thought flashed into her mind and for an instant she thought the unthinkable.  God forbit that it was happening again; quickly she wiped that idea from her mind.

         She let herself into the cool darkness of the hall and made straight for the bar.  She needed a stiff drink to calm down.  Carrying the glass in one hand, she kicked off her shoes put her drink on a side table and curled up in her favourite armchair.  Suddenly, she raised her head and sniffed, she could smell something, something familiar that nagged at the back of her mind, something that shouldn’t be there but which she couldn’t put a name to.  She sighed and closed her eyes, she was too tired to think, whatever it was could wait. After a few moments she felt herself drifting away.

         The thunderous sound of the God of War jolted her awake and abruptly both her eyes and her mouth flew open.  Her heart was thudding in tune with drums and after a few seconds it dawned on her that the mobile in her chest pocket was clamouring to be answered.  Still muzzy with sleep she groped for it, held it to her ear and heard David’s dark chocolate voice filling the silence.

         “Hi darling, it’s me.  Welcome back.  Sorry I’m late but I was held up at work.  Look, I’m a bit stuck.  I’m at the station and there’s a queue a mile long for the taxi.  Sorry to ask, but would you be a perfect love and pop down to pick me up?”

         She was almost out of the front door but stopped abruptly when she realised.  That smell, it was perfume but not hers.  Although adulterated by sweat and, she closed her eyes and swallowed, may be even sex, still she was sure she could put a name to it.  Anais Anais, a brand that she’d rather die than wear.  For a moment the world wore a grey mist and she sagged, clutching at the doorframe.  “Come on Diana,” she whispered, “you’re stronger than this.”  Dragging herself upright, her lips thinned to a steel line and she ran to her car, jumped in and roared away gravel spurting from beneath her wheels.

         The second she’d gone, a dark shape stepped out of the shadows and stood watching as the red eyes of her taillights disappeared.  She’d be driving too fast, she always did and the route to the station took in a steep hill with a hairpin bend at the bottom.  David’s lips twisted into the semblance of a smile, it had only taken him a few minutes to do what was necessary.  Ridiculously easy really.  He wiped the oil from his hands and entered the house where he lit a cigarette and settled down to wait. 

Copyright Janet Baldey

 Everything Must Go

By Len Morgan

The sign on the gate said ‘EVERYTHING MUST GO’ The front door was open and the curious wandered in looked around and came out with something they thought might be of use to them.  On the way out they passed an honesty box outside the door with a notice that said:

For the victims of Covid 19 in all its forms…

Some contributed, others did not.  By the gate, a ‘House for Sale’ sign was posted.

A Luton van pulled up outside.  Two men in their forties got out.  They opened the rear doors of the van.  In the next two hours, they removed the contents of the dining room, bedrooms, kitchen, and loft.  The gaffer put a bundle of £50 notes in the box.  As they drove away two young men entered the gate and removed the ‘honesty box’.

 

A passer bye shook her head in disapproval, “that money is meant for charity,” she yelled.

 

They laughed and pointed to the sign:

 

EVERYTHING MUST GO

Tylywoch ~ 11

 Tylywoch ~ 11 Divine Light I 

By Len Morgan 

   They were less than a day away from the Eternal City, when they heard the circulating rumours.   The Emerald Palace was or had been under attack.   The stories varied, but it seemed that the raiders, who most thought were Tylywoch, attacked from within. They overpowered the household guards and the Empress’s bodyguard, taking her captive.   Some seemed certain that she was already dead, others that she and her retinue were, barricaded in the throne room complex refusing to allow anyone in or out. 

As they approached the city, the trickle of refugees became a flood.   Foreign workers and merchants put as much distance between themselves and a site of potential carnage as possible.   People who were not native to the city had a habit of being blamed for things and often ended up as the first casualties.

Weilla was concerned, “What is happening, could it really be Tylywoch?   No! that would be ridiculous…”  she voiced aloud her disbelief.

Galyx sucked on a back tooth choosing his words with care, “That really depends.   If the Divine light were truly in danger and it was the only way to protect her they would.  I certainly would!   It would be their duty to do so,” he said with dreadful certainty. 

They entered the city just before dusk.   A city, familiar to Galyx, that Weilla viewed for the very first time with awe, she could scarce hide her surprise and wonder at its beauty and size.

“We will be staying with a local merchant and his family, they are Tylywoch and will be in a position to brief us on the situation with facts rather than idle speculation.”   He made no attempt to hide his contempt for hearsay.    They are an important intelligence group, and have been living in this city under constant threat for more than five years …”  Galyx halted and pulled her into the shadows.   They watched as a troop of militia marched by, stopping a group of new arrivals.   Their papers and persons were searched.

“Are we in danger?” she whispered.

“Best to be safe, the Captain of militia is an old adversary and some of his men may also know me.” As he explained, he led her down a side street away from the military presence. 

Fifteen minutes later, they stopped and knocked on a heavy wooden door – 3 short, pause, 1 long, 2 short.   They waited thirty seconds, then Galyx rapped twice more and waited.   Within moments, they heard a heavy bolt being drawn back.   The door opened, and they were ushered in.   The lights were off and the curtains drawn, they stood in total darkness for several moments until a voice said “welcome friend.”

“May chance never be a factor.” Answered Galyx, as the door was barred once more.

From a curtained side room a young woman appeared with a lamp, closely followed by an older woman.   Galyx embraced the short fat merchant, his wife and his daughter.   “This is Galt, his wife Amree, they were members of my first Quad.   This is their daughter Schell, she is about your age Weilla and was trained in my home village.”   The young women exchanged greetings.

Amree and Schell produced pastries and wine. They sat and consumed their simple but filling meal.   When the remains of their meal were removed from the table Galt cleared his throat, and began his briefing.

“There was no warning given, we were all caught by surprise.   Three days ago the Surbatt attacked.   We called our team together and went abroad to gather information.   It seems they were gathering to celebrate the conjunction of the moons in the manner of the Bluttlanders.   The 9^th Clan had apparently been infiltrating the city for some weeks, arriving in small groups and keeping well out of sight.   Then without warning, they converged on the Emerald Palace in their thousands and were let in by insiders from their own clan.   They knew what they were doing.  They struck at key strategic points, taking over strategic positions with the element of surprise and superior numbers.   By all accounts, they should have snuffed out the Divine Light and taken power in a relatively bloodless coupe.   But, they underestimated the Tylywoch, who even now defend her in the central chamber of the palace…” 

“The throne room,” said Galyx in amusement.

“Correct!” said Galt.

“The Surbatt have spread rumours that the Divine Light is being held hostage by Tylywoch.   They cannot now allow her to live, or the truth would come out.   Our clansmen are defending against overwhelming odds.   While most loyal troops from other clans seem either to have swallowed the story or have been sent out searching for Tylywoch or any suspicious characters that may be aiding them. Others, more savy, have been arrested and now reside in the accommodation beneath the palace; against their will.  That includes most of the Red Guard.”

“I cannot believe they surrendered,” Galyx said.

“She ordered them to put down their arms” Galt explained.

“They may well be our only chance, I’ve got to get in there and free them.   Is there an easy way?” Galyx said thinking aloud.  

“The only sure way in is to get arrested and handed over to the Surbatt for interrogation.   You would need a damn good plan of escape though, the other members of our current quad are down there with countless others called to aid our clansmen, there are dozens still unaccounted for,” said Galt.

“Have pigeons been sent?” Weilla asked.

“All our birds were released when they started the house to house searches.   The cages were used for firewood.   In answer to your question, there should be a number of Tylywoch bands heading in our direction at this moment, but we don’t know how far away they are or how much time we have…”

Galyx stood up, coming to a decision, “I’m going in!” he said with finality.   “If the situation worsens or if I fail to return in twenty-four hours, assume the worst.   Weilla as our only other Generalist, I would expect you to take command and give the necessary orders, no matter how painful.  At all costs, you must ensure the safety of the Empress.”

“Schell, observe.” Said Galt.   She went up into the roof space and watched Galyx stumble drunkenly into the street, and straight into the hands of his old adversary and drinking partner. 

“Captain Vadeem!   What is happening?   I’ve been back in the city for less than a day and it seems as if there’s an emergency in progress.   Why are you and your men not ensconced in some cozy tavern enjoying the fruits of your just and righteous labours.   Come, let me pay the first reckoning…” He stumbled clumsily towards a nearby tavern.

“One moment sir,” said the captain, “papers if you please.”

“Oh come on Vadeem, it’s me Galyx, why be you so officious…”

“Papers!” the captain demanded more forcefully, a hard edge creeping into his voice, a determined jut to his jaw.   Galyx saw also, the number of unsheathed swords now pointing in his direction.   He chose not to acknowledge them, brushing them aside as he took several steps towards the captain.

“Of course old man,” he answered brusquely fumbling inside his tunic.   “Orders are orders, believe me, I know.”   He handed over his wallet and the captain took his time studying his papers.  

When he spoke, his voice was cold and formal.   “Captain Galyx, you are under arrest as a possible enemy of the empire.   You will accompany us to a place where you can be detained and properly questioned, until such time as your involvement in the kidnapping of our illustrious Empress can be established.” He turned to his patrol, “Take him to the guard post.”

“Arrest?   Kidnapping?   Enemy of the empire?   Are you delirious?   I’ve just arrived back in the city after six years absence fighting border skirmishes in the back of beyond.   My remit is to protect the Divine Light with the last drop of my blood if necessary, that makes me an enemy?   You’ve been listening to reactionaries from the 9^th!   I’d have thought you’d know better,” he said noting the force of his words hitting home in the mind and the eyes of captain Vadeem, a good and valiant warrior from the 5^th Clan.   He was about to pursue it further when the truth dawned.   The patrol was an eclectic group comprising elements from various clans, most significantly a third of them were from the 9^th Clan.   He fell silent.  

His arms were seized from behind, he deftly feigned a stumble and shook them off.  

“No need of help gentlemen.   I’ve now quite recovered my composure.”  He unsheathed his sword and presented it hilt first to the captain so fast, that none had time to react.   Without another word, he started to walk in the direction of the nearest guard post in that sector of the city.  

“I think sir, he should be taken to the palace for interrogation,” said a crusty sergeant from the 9^th.

“Sergeants outrank officers in the 9^th?” asked Galyx.   Without further comment, he changed direction heading towards the Palace.

(to be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan

TOMORROW

TOMORROW 

By Sis Unsworth 

John did so hope for tomorrow, or the day after that may still do,

but how to live through the present, he really didn’t have a clue.

He’d gone and caught Covid last Monday, standing at the local bar.

Now he was in full isolation, just for enjoying a jar.

All day he stared through the window, hoping to catch someone’s eye,

his house was so far from the pavement, he felt he wanted to cry.

He didn’t mind being alone there, he quite liked his own company,

He had his old tom-cat there with him, he stroked him on his knee.

It wasn’t isolation that got to him, the one thing he really did fear,

He must be okay by tomorrow; he was down to his last can beer.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

EVERYTHING MUST GO   (2nd & Last)

by Richard Banks

  As usual business was brisk and by 2pm he was almost out of stock when the ranks of his customers were augmented by the Angel.

         “Is it time?” asked Ernie.

         The Angel thought not. He motioned at the few things left on the stall but even when they were gone the Angel seemed disinclined to do anything but observe. 

         “What now?” protested Ernie, impatient to get the dying over with and his new life begun.

         “Everything must go,” replied the Angel, staring at Ernie and the remaining obstacles to his passing.

         “What, not my….?”

         “Everything!” thundered the Angel. He continued to watch as Ernie unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the cart where it was snatched up by a rough sleeper who also laid claim to his shoes and socks. Another man of bedraggled appearance grabbed Ernie’s trousers. He looked thoughtfully, but without enthusiasm, at Ernie’s boxer shorts before deciding that they were best left where they were.

         “Can we get on with it now?” pleaded Ernie clinging defensively to the waist band. “No one’s going to want these.”

          For once the Angel raised no objection and on the peremptory instruction of “follow me” set off between the market stalls, turning left into Railway Parade and second right into a narrow lane of dismal appearance that had somehow acquired the name Paradise Road. He stopped outside a large Victorian building and rang the doorbell. “Tell them who you are and that you have an appointment with the Archangel at 2.45.” Without further comment, the Angel began to walk away.

         “Aren’t you going to stay?” said Ernie.

         “No,” replied the Angel, “things to do and people to see. It’s down to you now.”

         A panel opened in the door and a face peered through it. The voice belonging to the face said, “blimey, what do you want?”

         “Ernie Smallpeace to see Gabriel please, I’m his 2.45. I’ve just died, at least I think I have, to tell you the truth I’m not too sure.”

          “You look alive enough to me,” said the face. “Is this how you usually show up for meetings?”

         “Ernie assured him that the Angel had left him no choice. “Everything must go, he said, so it all has, everything except what you see. Have I not done enough!”

         The entity on the other side of the door expressed the opinion that he had done more than enough to gain admittance. The panel slid shut and the sound of bolts being drawn was followed by the opening of the door. The figure that now came into view was deceptively humanoid, his heavenly attire consisting of a white, knee length coat over a polo necked T-shirt and denim jeans. Reassuringly the initials IHS appeared on his coat pocket.

         “So, you want to see Gabriel?”

         “Yes, that’s right, Gabriel the Archangel.”

         “Oh, that Gabriel. Then you had better come in. My colleague here will show you the way. You follow on and I’ll bring up the rear as they say. Don’t want you getting lost before you see Gabriel.”

         “No,” replied Ernie; this was not how he thought it would be. Slightly reassured by the ascent of two flights of stairs he was shown into a small, windowless room with upholstered walls. His two attendants hastily withdrew to the corridor outside and shut the door. By the light of a single light bulb shining down from a protective grill in the ceiling he surveyed the empty space around him and the dark grey, walls that in several places bore the initials IHS. Yes, he told himself he was in the right place. This was no more than a reception area for the necessary processing of new entrants. Once done all would be well and he would be up and on his way, hopefully, kitted out with something to wear. Perhaps, he thought, it might ease things along if he sent up a prayer. He was about to kneel down and cup his hands when the rattle of key in lock heralded the arrival of a visitor. To his relief, the door opened to reveal the Angel and a tall, bearded man who announced that he was James.

         “What, James the Apostle?” said Ernie, wondering if this was a step up or down on Gabriel.

         “No, I’m James from Ilford Health Services. I gather that you know this man and are seeking entry into the Kingdom of Heaven?”

         Although the answer to both questions was yes the accompanying statements of fact did not auger well for his onward journey. “You mean you’re not the apostle and this isn’t heaven.”

         “No,” said James, and whatever my friend may have told you he isn’t an Angel. This is the Paradise Road Psychiatric Unit where I work and this man, when we can stop him from escaping, resides here. If you would also like to stay I can arrange a psychiatric assessment, if not, you had better leave.”

         The Angel frowned and said that this should not be allowed to happen. Although Ernie was a gullible fool he was also a good man who deserved to go to heaven. He had been prepared to sacrifice everything that he owned for the uncertainty and poverty of another world that he sensed and valued but barely understood. He had faith and those with faith should always have their reward.”

         “But why bring him here?” said James, “this is Paradise in name only. Surely you know that?”

         “I do, but no one, even in this grim place, should be without hope.”

         “And what hope have you brought who daily adds to my troubles? Don’t say you are about to leave?”

         “Indeed I am,” said the Angel. I take this man to heaven and would gladly take you. All you need is faith. In faith, there is also hope.”

         “Oh, that again,” said James. “Do you never give up? I only wish you were an Angel but you are just a man.”

         “But I am an Angel,” insisted the Angel, “and if you are not coming we must be off.”

         James wondered what might be said that hadn’t been said before, but he was too late, the conversation had ended and he was alone.

 

The End

Copyright Richard Banks