Chapter 10

Chapter ten:

            “Where’s Loki?” Thom asked.

            “I don’t know!” Delores said.

            “But he told me you were waiting for me!” Thom argued.

            “But he’s not here!” Richard said. “What’s that shadow thing you do? Did you focus on coming here because this is where we were last time, or did you focus on going to him?”

            “It doesn’t work that way!”

Loki watched through the mist as his employees squabbled. He was disappointed to see his team fall apart so quickly, and he wished he could be there to keep order.

A coughing fit caught him. After five minutes of intense, lung-racking coughs, he slumped backwards onto his pillows and miserably watched as the mist swirled around the image of his employees arguing needlessly. He waved a hand and the mist evaporated.

The door to his bedchamber opened and Dagmar entered. She crossed the room to the bed and sat by his side. She held his hand and kissed him softly.

            “My love,” she whispered, “you are colder every day.”

Loki shifted his position so that he was looking directly into Dagmar’s eyes.

            “Yet,” he said smoothly, “you, by my side, are more comforting than any heat vessel by my feet.”

They smiled a private, knowing smile.

             “I worry for you,” she told him, stroking his hand.

            “Why so?” Loki asked.

            “You’ve always been so defiant,” Dagmar said, “even in the face of cancer you worked day and night. Your physical pain often becomes my emotional anguish for you work yourself into the ground. I would lay awake at night sometimes, in the years when our children were young, beseeching Eir to make you well, or to make you see that you cannot continue on working yourself to the grave when you are ill. For this, I feel responsible for your current condition.”

            “My darling,” Loki said, taking his hand from under hers and stroking her cheek, “My condition is not your fault, rather it is Nature’s way of showing me that I am no longer young and fit, once as I was. Wipe your tears, my darling,” he said, wiping away the tears that were appearing at the corners of her bright eyes, “I will not die.”

            “To every beginning,” Dagmar said in a choked voice, “there must be an end.”

            “And to every ending,” Loki replied, smiling, “let there be a new beginning. Worry not, Dagmar, for I will return to health in a matter of days.”

            “But what plagues you?” she asked, remorse in her voice. Her eyes were worried, and her lips curled downwards in a frown.

            “Nothing, my sweet,” Loki said, “perhaps a bad case of a common cold. It might be the flu. It is my promise to you that I will be back to my usual self in a matter of days.”

Dagmar tried to smile through the tears. Loki’s heart ached to see her hurting on his behalf. What more could he do than kiss her, hold her, make fragile promises of getting better? They both worried of the same possibility: that the cancer had returned. There was evidence suggesting that it had- a tumour had appeared on his neck- but on the other hand, it didn’t feel like the last time. His medic would be coming soon to examine the growth, to see if it was a benign tumour or something worse.

His wife lay down next to him and they cuddled for just over an hour before Dagmar had to leave for work.

            “Have a fair day, my sweet,” Loki said.

She kissed him on the cheek and turned back to see him before leaving. Loki stretched out in the bed and ran his hand down his neck to feel the lump. It felt smaller than it had the previous evening... perhaps it wasn’t a cancerous lump? It could have been a spontaneous swelling, or a bite from a midnight insect.

Loki and Dagmar’s bedroom was considerably spacious, and warm enough even in winter despite the large window behind the bed which frosted over every evening. Dagmar often complained of the cold, promised herself and him that she would get curtains to hold back some of the cold, stop the light from waking them at the crack of dawn every morning. Loki was untroubled by the window as he liked to lay awake, staring at the night sky before he slept. He could see the stars, which were gradually disappearing. He reasoned with himself that this was because it was winter, and that rotation of the Earth was pointing the Northern hemisphere away from the stars. This would explain why there were so few, but it did not explain why the few stars he could see were suddenly brighter. Perhaps Odin was right, as much as Loki hated to admit it. There was something sinister happening up above the Earth. He turned on his right side and closed his eyes, when came a tapping above his head. It startled him, for the tapping was so crisp and clear.

’Tis the wind and nothing more, he told himself, the wind and nothing more.

The tapping continued liked hailstones hitting the window pane.

‘Tis the wind and nothing more, Loki told himself again, a clenching feeling turning in his stomach and moving up to his throat.

He lifted his head from the pillow and looked above at the window. He saw something moving. It was black and shiny, with beady black eyes. Moving into a kneeling position, Loki investigated the incessant tapping and saw that it was a raven. The tapping stopped. It looked at him through the glass and cocked its head to one side, looking at him with beady black eyes.

            “And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door.” Loki said with a small laugh.

The raven crowed and tapped at the window again. Loki opened the window and it flew in, landing on the foot of his bed and staring at him intently.

            “Hello there, little friend.” Loki said cordially.

The raven looked at him and cocked its head to the side.

            “Have you come to bear some news?” Loki asked, smiling.

The raven crowed.

Loki laughed.

The raven spread its wings and soared into the air, doing a few loops before landing atop the threshold.

            “Though your crest be shorn and shaven, you,” Loki said, not moving from his position on the bed, “art sure no craven, ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore- tell me what your name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!”

The raven looked down at him and blinked.

Loki laughed, “I shall call you Nevermore!” he said with a wide smile on his face.

The raven stared at him for a few moments, then proceeded to pace across the top of the threshold.

            “I should have a bust of Pallas,” Loki said inwardly.

The raven jumped from the threshold, flew over Loki’s bed and soared out of the window. Loki watched it with child-like glee. He closed his eyes, and opened them to find that he was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with Isabel and Delores standing over him. Delores had her hands around his neck and her fingers were circling the lump.

            “Just one minute more, Monsieur Mafuro,” said Isabel as she carefully watched Delores. Loki didn’t even feel Delores’ hands around his throat while she worked. After about a minute, she removed her hands and smiled pleasantly.

            “I assure you, Mr Mafuro,” she said, “that you will be fine- it is just a skin growth.”

            “Are you certain?” Loki asked, his hand going to his neck.

            “Mr Mafuro, the neck is an uncommon place for a cancerous tumour to grow.” Delores said. “Have you been fatigued of late? Have you lost weight? Chronic cough?”

            “I have had coughing fits.”

            “Have you coughed up bloody mucous?”

            “No.”

            “So they’ve been dry coughs?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mr Mafuro, the cancer has not returned.”

            “But how can you be sure?”

Delores gave him a sly smile. “Watchers are more certain of happenings than others, Mr Mafuro.”

            “You know you can call me Loki,” he told her, sighing.

            “This is a professional matter, sir,” she said, “where I am in control and you are not. Leave me to work as I do best.”

Loki turned to Isabel. She looked away and took a step backwards.

            “How are your children, Isabel?”

            “They are fine,” she replied quietly. She crossed her arms and kept looking away from Loki while Delores began to search her medical bag. Loki felt awkward as the three stood in near-silence, the only noise being the rustling from Delores’ rummaging in the medical bag. She gave a satisfied grunt when she found what she was rummaging for, and when she turned Loki could see that it was a small white bottle. She shook it, and it made a rattling noise. She popped the top, poured something- they looked like small purple pills- into her hand. She handed them to him, then returned to her medical bag and pulled out a punnet of strawberries. Loki put the pills in his mouth. They tasted like red grapes. Delores put the strawberries on Loki’s bedside table along with the still-open bottle of purple pills.

            “Take three of these tablets,” she said, “every twelve hours for two weeks.” She opened the punnet of strawberries and took one out. She handed it to him. He took it and ate it.

            “Finish the strawberries,” said Isabel.

Loki looked at her with distaste.

            “You are not a boss right now,” she told him sternly, “you are a patient. Need I remind you again?”

            “And you happen to be an International,” Loki told him, equally stern. “I do not recall you receiving medical training when you began working for me.”

            “I am not here on medical terms,” she said, “I am here to observe my colleague.”

            “In other words,” Delores said, staring at Isabel, “she is receiving Watcher training.”

            “What?” Loki shouted, sitting upright in his bed. “When did this happen? Why?”

Isabel sighed and rolled her eyes.

            “Come now, Cartier!” Loki said, “What’s this sudden change of career? This should have been mentioned to me! Why was it-” Loki was cut short by another painful coughing fit. It disappeared almost as soon as it had started. He looked up at Delores.

            “The tablets,” she began, “will balance your immunities. Eating the strawberries will help.”

Loki grunted. “I am not such a fan of strawberries,” he said. “Perhaps Ryan will help me to finish them.” He gave a small smile, but took it back when Delores looked at him with serious concern.

            “Finish them as you wish,” she said, “as long as you eat them. Even if you don’t, you are still the one who is ill and whether or not you recover quickly is in your own hands.”

She turned back to her medical bag and closed it. Picking it up, she walked towards Loki’s bedroom door. Isabel took one last look at him before following Delores to leave.

Loki was left alone after they closed the door. He leant back in the bed and looked over at the strawberries. They were quite large, probably home-grown or grown with an experimental ‘organic’ fertiliser. They were a deep red, the yellow-ish seeds deeply embedded in the juicy flesh. The top-leaves were a vibrant green, and Loki could smell the chlorophyll. He looked away from the strawberries and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt like an Egyptian mummy, swaddled in his yellow silk pyjamas and tucked neatly into black cotton sheets. His head began to pound softly, like a drummer tickling his drums. Touching a hand to his forehead, the pounding subsided and became an ignorable buzzing. He closed his eyes and turned on his side.

***

Matthew walked through the crowds of Lewisham High Street with Richard at his side. He felt lost, bug-eyed as he wandered through the large group of people. He was wrapped up in his black coat, black jeans and a thick, black jumper over a green long-sleeved t-shirt. Richard walked by his side in unison with his steps. Caped in a sky-blue winter coat and denim jeans with his hair neatly combed, Richard looked more like his son’s older brother.

It was December the nineteenth, and both Amsterdam boys could feel it in the bone-breaking chill. Moreover, Richard felt something in the atmosphere. It was something only his- and Loki’s- kind could ever notice: Yule had begun. In six days, the mortals would celebrate Christmas. In twelve days, they would be celebrating New Year. This was why Lewisham High Street was so crowded- next-to-last minute shoppers bustling, looking for the best, last-minute gift for their families, friends or accidentally-forgotten loved ones.

There is no easy way to describe the way Richard’s kind usually knew that Yule began- sometimes, the smell of pine needles was hinted in the air. Other times, it was just a kind of energy that seemed to build up over the twelve days until it was finally released on December the thirty-first and spread across the world in an attempt to renew the Earth’s atmosphere and restore life to the decaying parts of the globe. The feeling of energy was a relatively new feeling for Richard, but today the way he knew was by the smell of pine needles, and freshly-baked cookies and mince pies coming from the bakeries just up the street. Even though it was morning, Richard craved for those cookies. It wasn’t only the smell of pine needles by which Richard knew that Yule had begun- Matthew had become less responsive. Richard was thankful that the fits of blind rage had seemingly halted, but the way Matthew was staring with large, bug-eyes made him think differently. When his son had returned to sleep after the nightmare about the Well of Wisdom, Richard had tried to arrange a meeting by himself with a few others on Loki’s team, but it had failed for they couldn’t stop arguing. Eventually, Delores left and so did Thom. Richard followed suit and went home, too, only to find that a day had passed and Matthew had missed his last day of college before the Yule break. Richard had then proceeded to drink nearly a jar’s worth of caffeinated coffee, followed by six granola bars and five apples before Matt woke up, showered and professed little interest in eating or drinking. When Richard had seen Matthew’s body the day he found out about the scars, his second thought had been: He needs to eat more. Now, to look at his son was to see Marissa the day she died. Expressionless face, wide-eyed stare and all. It was often commented on how the father-and-son pair looked alike, but all Richard could see in Matthew was Marissa. The same nose, the same cheek-bones, the same eye-shape. All Marissa.

            “Any thoughts to what you want this year?” he asked Matt.

Matthew shrugged, keeping his glassy gaze in the distance.

            “Hm... Have you thought about what you’re getting your brothers?”

Matthew nodded absently.

Well, Richard thought, that’s a positive.

They entered the shopping centre, which was filled with people rushing between the shops. Some people were laden with shopping bags already- it was barely eleven in the morning- while others were still empty-handed. Richard and Matthew were among these ‘later shoppers’.

Richard turned to Matthew and asked; “Do you have enough cash on you?”

Matthew nodded.

            “Should we split up and meet back here?”

Matthew nodded.

            “In how long? Would an hour and a half be enough?”

Again, Matthew nodded.

            “Right, so I’ll see you here.”

Matthew nodded, turned right and headed down towards the bookshop. Richard watched his son go with a heavy feeling in his heart. Only after Matthew had disappeared into the crowds did Richard turn left and walk up to enter the nearest clothes shop. He roamed around for a few minutes before he picked up a basket and filled it halfway with a pair of red pyjamas for Kevin, a pair of sport-shoes for Ron and a couple of jumpers for Matthew. He decided that this was enough from this particular shop, so he joined the queue- which was, thankfully, not very long- to pay when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

            “Richard?” the voice asked. “Is that you?”

Richard turned around and saw a young-looking man with dark blonde hair and indigo eyes. He was wearing brown trousers, a yellow shirt with a blue tie and a thick tweed jacket which was fully buttoned up. He was clean-shaven, and Richard thought that he could smell blueberries. The man was holding a basket filled with children’s toys, a couple of ties and a few handkerchiefs.

            “My name is Michael,” he said, “Michael Cassio.”

            “I don’t think we’ve met.” Richard said, turning to step forward in the queue. Michael stepped up behind him. Richard was next.

            “Oh, but we have,” Michael said, “wait for me when you’ve bought your items and I’ll get us a coffee.”

Just as soon as Michael had finished, it was Richard’s turn. The till next to Richard’s operator opened up and Michael took it, smiling at Richard. Richard turned away and concentrated on buying his items, but he could feel that smile watching him. When his items were packed in the plastic shopping bags, Richard had every intention of just leaving the shop and going to a different one. Instead, the moment he reached the exit, Michael had caught up with him.

            “You’re a very fast walker,” he commented, looking up at Richard and walking alongside him. “And taller than I expected you.”

            “Who are you?” Richard asked, in as polite a voice as he could muster.

            “I told you,” Michael said, “Michael Cassio.”

But you know me as simply ‘Cassio’, said a voice inside Richard’s head.

Richard stopped, blocking an old lady.

            “You can’t just stop like that!” she said irritably and in a loud voice. Richard turned to apologise, but she pushed her way past him and bustled on with her shopping.

Richard turned to Michael Cassio. Richard had thought that his strange companion had walked a few paces ahead before stopping to look back. Instead, he was standing right by his side.

            “Hello!” he said cheerily. “You really are a bizarre man.”

A cheeky smile spread across Cassio’s face. Worry began to gnaw at Richard’s stomach. He was reminded of the night before Marissa died. The way her hand felt as he held it- cold, clammy, strong- and the disillusionment in her eyes as she faded in and out of consciousness.

Richard’s mouth when dry.

            “Who are you and why are you here?” he asked.

            “I am Michael Cassio,” Cassio said, “and I’m here because I’m on a mission.”    

            “A mission?” The worry in Richard’s gut was overshadowed by cautious intrigue. “What kind of mission?”

            “A mission involving you.” Cassio said, still smiling and showing his teeth.

            “Should we be talking about this?” Richard asked, lowering his voice, conscious of everyone around him and wondering if any of them were listening in.

You’re right, Cassio said inside Richards head, walk and think, my boy! Walk and think!

As they walked, they shared a telepathic conversation which worried Richard. Cassio revealed to him some secrets which would make Loki physically sick, and would worry Odin to his core. However, unravelling the Ancient Fable seemed a lot simpler in the terms Cassio put it. All Richard would have to do was relay this message to either Loki or Odin. He would be seeing them later, anyway. Perhaps he could call ahead and see if he could see them in advance?

So you see my dilemma? Cassio asked as they headed into the card shop.

Yes, I think I do. Richard told him cautiously.

Do you think you could pass what I have to you to Loki and Odin?

Yes, I think so.

Good. I’ll be going now. Cassio thought, breaking the connection.

            “Good to see you,” he said to Richard.

            “And you.

Cassio reached into his shopping bag and pulled something out. He placed it into Richard’s hand before leaving.

Richard looked in his hand and saw a neatly-folded piece of cloth. He shook it open in his hand and saw that it was a handkerchief embroidered with his initials- RMA- and the outlines of strawberries and grapes. The handkerchief was soft, possibly made from silk or at least a cotton-blend. He thought it was unusual, but he had to get on with his shopping, so he pocketed the handkerchief and set about buying some blank cards. When he was finished, he left the shop and navigated his way through the increasing crowds until he reached the supermarket outlet where he bought some chocolate, a vegetarian recipe book and some food to prepare for later that evening. Thankfully, the crowds of shoppers focused mainly on the other shops in the centre, so there were- in comparison to the other shops Richard had visited- few enough people here so that Richard could concentrate on what he needed to get and, most importantly, have a quick stroll through the aisles. After purchasing his items, Richard left the outlet with four large ‘environment-friendly’ shopping bags. With difficulty, he checked his watch. It was time to meet Matthew. Richard looked up from his watch and walked across the shopping centre to the place where he and Matthew had disbanded. He saw his son standing in front of the kiosk, looking down at the floor and holding two blue-and-white bags in his hands.

            “Hey, son,” Richard said when he reached the kiosk. “Did you get everything you need?”

Matthew shook his head. No, he didn’t have everything he needed,

            “Do you need to shop some more?”

Again, Matthew shook his head.

            “So, there aren’t enough shops here to get your gifts?”

Matthew shook his head.

            “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Matthew nodded.

            “Camden?”

Matthew nodded.

            “Now?”

Matthew shook his head.

            “Tomorrow?”

Matthew nodded.

            “Okay,” Richard said, “let’s go home then.”

They left the shopping centre and took the bus back home, where Richard unpacked his shopping and Matthew ran into his room with his bags. Richard could hear the television in the living room.

            “Dad?” he heard Ron call.

            “Daddy?” Kevin called.

Richard smiled.

            Yeah, it’s me,” he said, “just got back from shopping. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me!”

            “Okay!”

Richard went into the kitchen, set the bags on the floor and pulled off his winter coat which he hung on the door. He fished out and opened the vegetarian recipe book from one of the bags. He found a few recipes and set about making them, pulling the vegetables and baking ingredients from the bags as he went along. Soon, the oven was full- a chocolate cake on the bottom shelf and a vegetable casserole on top- while the hob was simmering with pots of tomato soup, potatoes and general ‘side-dish’ vegetables.

Richard was cutting up an aubergine to prepare for roasting when his mobile phone rang. He set down the knife and answered. It was Thom.

            “Hey, Richard,” he said, “I wanted to apologise for earlier.”

            “You don’t have to,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to organise a meeting by myself.”

            “Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” he said. “Am I interrupting something?”

            “No, no,” Richard said, “I’m nearly done, actually. I just have to roast an aubergine with mozzarella and then I’m good to go!”

            “Wait, what?”

            “Did you forget?” Richard asked. “It’s Mother Night in two days- tonight’s the last night we all have to feast.”

            “What about tomorrow?”

            “That’s the last night we can get hammered.”

            “Wouldn’t it make more sense if we got blitzed tonight, then soaked it all up with food tomorrow?”

            “It would,” Richard mused, “but then we’d be cooking with a hangover.”

            “Now there’s a Christmas special I’d like to see!”

Richard couldn’t help but laugh.

            “TV chefs go head-to-head in a battle of the hangovers!” Thom said. “Or would it be funnier with random people off the street?”

            “I don’t know,” Richard said, smiling widely. “Maybe TV chefs versus random people from the street?”

            “Good, good,” Thom said, “this has potential! I’ll write a TV station and get back to you!”

            “Good luck with that,” Richard said. “So are you coming tonight?”

            “You bet!” Thom said with enthusiasm. “You did say there’d be aubergine, right?”

            “I’m cutting it up right now.”

            “Ooh, you tease! Where is it?”

            “The HQ canteen, as usual,” Richard said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you there.”

            “Great- I’ll be there with bells on!”

            “Ciao,” Richard said, hanging up and returning to the aubergine. The cut edges had started to go brown, but it didn’t matter. He grabbed the mozzarella and sliced it. He salted the aubergine and covered it with the mozzarella before opening the oven and removing the casserole. Richard smelled it and smiled. He thought it smelled divine. Placing the dish on the counter top, he put the aubergine on a baking tray and inserted it into the oven. He checked the cake with a knife. The knife came away clean- it was done. Cooked perfectly, but not throughout- there was still some goo in the middle, but Richard liked to think that a gooey cake made for better reception.

Taking the cake out, smelling the hot, chocolaty aroma filled his lungs with an airy elixir. He felt young again.