Tagline: “He wants to be King. God wants a word”.

Chapter 5: Please Wait...

Chapter 5.1 Bricks.

Victor stood on the dingy street corner of Avenue Z. He weighed the red brick his father had given him in his small hands.

Victor paused for a moment, looked up and down the street, then hurled the brick with all his might through the window in front of him. The window of his father’s business rival, a Brooklyn property developer, shattered with a mighty crash.

Victor ran to his father’s dark blue Cadillac, which was parked out of view. His father, as always dressed in a smart business suit and tie, was behind the wheel, a cigarette between his lips. The passenger door was open.

“I took care of it,” Victor said proudly, as if he were expecting applause.

“Did we shake on it?” he asked calmly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“No,” Victor replied, surprised.

With that, his father leaned over and slammed the passenger door shut.

"We didn't shake on it. First rule of business: make a solid agreement. So, no deal.’

“But you said you would pay me,” Victor replied. “So, I can put the down payment on the boat.” He could already picture himself at the wheel, dressed in a suit, the wind in his hair and renaming the boat ‘American Fortune’.

His father took another drag on his cigarette and stared straight ahead. He said nothing.

Victor waited for an answer.

His father put the Cadillac into gear and drove away, leaving Victor standing alone on the street corner.

Victor watched the car vanish down Avenue Z. Behind him, broken glass lay all over the pavement. Victor shrugged.

He had done exactly as his father asked, and his father had no intention of paying him. He would remember that moment for the rest of his life.

He would have to find another way to get the money. The boat wasn’t going to pay for itself.

5.2 Follow Me.

Ambrose Wren looked at the empty courtyard. Moments before, the courtyard of the monastery had been full of red-robed monks going about their daily business. That was until Victor Kane arrived.

The courtyard was full of the robes and staffs of the former monks, who had quit the monastery after Victor sat in the chair of the Great Pmurttii. When the world did not implode and the five deadly horsemen failed to appear, the monks had thrown off their robes and staffs, abandoning the monastery and its traditions in a collective act of apostasy.

“I have spent twenty years studying the traditions of this kingdom,” Wren said quietly, in disbelief.

He looked at Victor.

“And in five minutes, you have managed to break all of them.”

“Victor.”

“Yes?”

“Did you just destroy a monastery?”

Victor considered this.

“Technically, they destroyed themselves,” he replied, pleased with himself.

Behind her sunglasses, Katarina closed her eyes.

“Of course they did.”

Katarina had never been able to figure out where her husband got his fortune from. He seemed to have the reverse Midas touch, breaking everything he touched. He had been declared bankrupt multiple times since they had married, yet he never seemed to notice. She could never understand how her husband Victor, despite being a millionaire, was always losing money.

How did you own a casino in Las Vegas and still go bankrupt?

After all, people went to a casino to give you money.

5.3 Heresy

“Harris!” shouted Kane.

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep up. Don’t scratch the paintwork on the chair. It could be valuable, very valuable.”

Victor had demanded that Harris carry the heavy chair of the Great Pmurttii, just in case he felt the need to sit down. Harris lumbered after Kane and the others with the chair. It could have been worse, he reasoned; at least Victor hadn’t decided to have him carry the chair with Victor sitting in it.

Harris adjusted the chair and hurried after Kane. But he had no intention of carrying furniture for the rest of his life.

Ambrose Wren led the party of three deeper into the monastery. They followed Wren through an endless labyrinth of stone corridors, empty except for the occasional abandoned red robe, a sign of the monks who had abandoned the monastery.

The chair was heavier than it looked. But to Harris, everything in this strange place was heavier than it looked. Eventually, they entered a large waiting room. It had the look of a headmaster’s study, not the actual study, but the corridor outside. The tiles on the floor had been polished by generations of people who had stood waiting while considering the wisdom of their actions.

And of course, no chairs. Which annoyed Victor.

Harris gladly put the chair down, making sure it was a short distance from Kane, just in case he decided to sit in it. His arms ached. Harris looked at the chair; it was nothing special, but yet it was the literal seat of a religion.

He began doing sums in his head. There were opportunities here; he was sure of it. He just hadn’t worked out what they were yet. But he had carried the thing halfway across the monastery and, knowing Kane, probably wasn’t finished with it yet. He looked at the chair. Perhaps the chair was worth keeping. Harris reasoned that his boss wasn’t entirely wrong: a chair was just a chair. It was who sat in the chair that mattered. If Kane became King, Harris reasoned, the man who carried the King’s chair might be worth knowing.

He smiled to himself. Then again, if Kane didn't become King, there was probably a market for a very expensive chair. But then Harris Blackwell had never been one to put all his eggs in one basket.

“This,” said Wren, “is the waiting room of God.”

“Waiting?” said Kane.

“Yes, we have to wait for our time to be called for the audience.”

“I don’t wait,” said Kane. “You expect me to wait?”

“Yes, everybody waits,” replied Wren.

“How long do we wait for?”

Kane looked around the enormous room, which in his mind resembled an airport waiting room. But then, in Victor's mind, everything looked like an airport; he didn't know why.

“Usually an eternity, or until God is ready.”

Kane stared at him.

“For a meeting?”

“Yes.”

“That’s really bad customer service. Really bad.”

“Best if you wait quietly,” said Wren. “After all, it’s God who decides if you become King or not. And you just destroyed his religion.” Wren was starting to wish he had stayed in bed.

It didn’t take Victor long to notice that his party was not alone in the room. At the other end, standing in front of a huge ornate door, was a middle-aged man dressed in deep blue ceremonial robes, with gold embroidery running down the fabric. His dark hair and eyes gave him a dignified appearance, and around his neck hung a pendant bearing the symbol of the Ain Tower.

He inclined his head towards Ambrose Wren.

“Mr. Wren.”

“Ambassador.”

The two men regarded each other in silence.

Victor looked between them.

Katarina Kane noted that nobody seemed particularly pleased to see anyone else.

“This is the Ambassador of the Ain,” Wren said quietly.

Kane’s eyes wandered behind the Ambassador, where another figure stood. He was dressed in dark clothing and was a short, stocky, ugly little creature with greenish-brown skin, pointed ears, a broad nose, sharp teeth and long fingers. He had dark, watchful eyes and a sour expression. He was dressed practically, with a belt and a weapon, and stood behind the Ain Ambassador with the confidence of someone who knew perfectly well that he was the most dangerous person in the room. His eyes measured Victor with contempt.

“What’s that?” Victor asked.

“That,” said Wren, “is a goblin. His name is Strzek. He serves as the Ambassador’s guard.”

Victor stared at the creature.

“Nice mask,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“I Strzek,” said the goblin.

“Make him take it off,” he said to Wren.

“What?” said Wren.

“The mask he’s wearing.”

Strzek moved like lightning from behind the Ambassador and stood in front of Kane, his teeth bared.

“That’s not a…,” said Wren.

“Of course it is. Look how good it looks. Is it Halloween already?”

Kane jabbed Strzek in the nose.

“Take it off. I want to see where it’s made.”

Strzek snarled, spit running down the sides of his mouth as he grabbed Victor by his golf shirt and lifted him off his feet.

“Is not mask,” spat Strzek the goblin. “Is face, you stupid.”

The goblin held Victor in the air, his expensive shoes several feet in the air.

Strzek shook him.

“You call me UGLY? Do you want a problem?” spat Strzek in broken English.

“No, I’m just interested in who made the mask.”

“Is NO mask. Is face,” grunted the goblin. “You have a little lizard brain.”

The Ambassador turned to Strzek

“Be a good chap, Strzek, and put him down.”

Following orders, the goblin returned Victor to the ground with a thump, deliberately dropping Kane harder than necessary.

“You touch me again, I break your fingers,” grunted the goblin.

Victor inspected his golf shoes

“I hope you haven’t damaged my shoes. These are personally monogrammed golf shoes. Very expensive. One of a kind.”

Strzek looked as though he was about to become violent, but the Ambassador snapped his fingers, and the goblin returned to his place behind him.

Kane turned to Harris

“Make a note: Kane Masks for next Halloween.”

5.4 The Door

“What’s behind that?” said Kane, pointing towards the door.

Nobody answered.

Wren looked at him.

“The Pnuarrium,” Wren said with absolute reverence. “The place where no one from the other side of the Arch has ever entered.” Wren paused, as if to clarify his meaning. “Where you come from,” he said, “the world beyond the Arch.”

Victor nodded.

“The Pnuar... what?”

“It’s where God lives,” said Wren, with a tone of annoyance.

“And he lives here?” asked Victor.

“Yes, full time.”

Victor stepped forward and moved as if he intended to open the door.

“I’m King. I’m going in.”

The Ain stepped forward in front of Victor’s path.

“I think your guide is wrong,” he said to Victor.

Wren turned towards him.

“Excuse me?”

“The Pnuarrium contains the Voice of God, not God himself.”

Wren stared at him.

“That is Ain heresy.”

The Ain shook his head.

“And your belief that the Voice is God is Ainborn heresy.”

Victor looked from one to the other.

“So, which is it?”

Neither answered.

Wren pointed at the door.

“The Ainborn believe the Great One has come to us and the Child is God himself.”

The Ain folded his arms.

“And the Ain believes the Great One speaks to us through his sacred vessel, the Child.”

Victor looked at the huge door.

“So, you don't actually agree on what's in there?”

“No,” said Wren and the Ain at the same time.

Victor thought about this.

“That's useful.” Said Victor as from deep within the Pnuarrium came the sound of movement.

The blue-robed monk stepped in front of Victor and shouted in his face.

“Nobody enters.”

Victor looked annoyed and barged the monk out of his way.

“This is ridiculous. Let's find out what's in the room, I wouldn't have rooms in my Casinos that nobody goes into. You can’t make money from a room that nobody uses. ”

Wren closed his eyes.

“Victor, please.”

“Sir, this might not be a good idea,” said Harris.

Harris glanced at the Ambassador and then back to Kane. He noticed that the Ain Ambassador had the look of a man who was watching a prisoner going to his execution.

“I’m King. I’m going in,” said Victor as he threw the door open. For the first time in centuries, the doors of the Pnuarrium had been opened by an outsider. Or so Victor Kane thought.

Victor stepped inside.

“Right,” he said. “Let's talk business.”

From inside the room came a sharp clank, as if something had been slammed onto the floor.

“Oh, not another one,” said the voice of God.

END OF BOOK ONE: TO BE CONTINUED.....