A finer end - Deborah Crombie [22]
“You mean like ghosts? Or a séance?”
Wincing, Montfort said, “Not necessarily. It could be the person’s subconscious seeking … well, I suppose you could call it an unusual outlet.”
“Is that what you think happened to Mr. Bond—whoever he was?”
“It was Bond’s friend who actually did the writing,” Simon said tersely. “So whether the information came from Bond’s subconscious or another source, he still had to transmit it in some way to Bartlett. Unless, of course, the two were total charlatans, and that I don’t believe.”
“It seems odd, don’t you think,” Montfort mused, “that the one question no one ever asked was ‘Why John Bartlett?’ Bond’s connections to the Abbey were obvious—was Bartlett chosen simply because of his friendship with Bond, or was there something more? Bartlett was retired military, an intelligent and fairly well-educated man, but there was nothing to indicate a natural facility for automatism.”
“When you say Bartlett was ‘chosen,’ I take it you favor the collective-memory hypothesis?”
“I’m inclined to, yes,” Montfort answered with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh. “Speaking from my own experience, I find anything else highly improbable.”
There was a moment of surprised silence, then Garnet said, “Your own experience? Do you mean you’ve done automatic writing?”
Montfort hesitated, then with a glance at Winifred, pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket. “All these since March. And I knew very little about the history of the Abbey, just the ordinary schoolboy stuff.”
Curiosity battling against disbelief, Simon reached for the papers. He had always been intrigued by the story of Bligh Bond’s experience—what if he’d been wrong in assuming that Bond himself was the source? He read, fascinated, from the first halting script. As he finished each page Garnet reached eagerly for it, then passed it in turn to Faith.
As he read, a strong sense of personality began to emerge. Simon glanced at Jack Montfort, who sat cradling his drink in his hands. Montfort seemed an unlikely candidate for a hoax, nor could Simon imagine that some repressed part of Montfort’s personality sought expression as a medieval monk. And as an architect, the man certainly had nothing to gain by revealing such a thing—it could, without a doubt, seriously damage his career.
Simon felt the beginnings of an excitement he hadn’t experienced in years. Suppose there was the remotest possibility that these communications were genuine, that it was somehow possible to establish a living link with the past. What would that mean for his own studies, to have direct access to history? There could be a book in this that would take his career in an entirely unexpected direction.
He had reached the last page. Seek one goal and ye shall win, began the monk who signed himself as Edmund. Work at that which comes. Take others as ye find, for the task is great, ere ye shall join the Company. We are those who watch, and we are ever with you.
Garnet took the sheet from him almost before he’d finished reading it. She skimmed it, then read it again more slowly, her lips moving. Wide-eyed, she looked up at Montfort and breathed, “The Company of Watchers. They’ve chosen you.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Winifred. “Who—or what—is the Company of Watchers?”
“The Watchers are those who are tied to Glastonbury by a bond not even death could sever. They guard the spiritual heart of Britain—Logres—and some even say they watch over King Arthur, waiting for the day when he will rise again.”
“Britain’s hour of greatest need?” scoffed Simon. “Surely no one believes that old chestnut?”
“Six months ago I wouldn’t have given it the time of day,” Montfort answered slowly. “But now … after all this …”
Garnet fingered the Celtic pendant she wore at her throat. “This is a time of conflict, so near the Millennium—”
“Your paranoia’s showing, my dear,” Simon said sharply. Then he looked at the pages gathered in Faith’s slender hand and wavered.
“And the task?” asked Faith.
“I don’t know,” answered Montfort. “That’s one of the things I hoped