The Long Watch
If you've been following my blog, you'll know that I'm taking part in NaNoWriMo. I'm also a contributor to a writing site called Write Stuff (they are the guys who provide the Fiction Friday prompts). They are running a Blog Carnival, and throughout November it is extracts from the participant's NaNoWriMo novels.
Now, the idea is to submit your favourite bit of writing from during the week, however the first Carnival, tomorrow, comes after only two days of writing. So, as my initial foray into the Carnival, I thought I would share with you the very opening of my NaNoWriMo story The Long Watch. It's rough, and it will desperately require editing in December/January. But I hope you like it.
San Francisco, October 31st 2007 - 23:01 PDT
Bryan looked up from the book and smiled. Everyone was holding hands, staring intently at him, hanging on his every word. He allowed a smile to creep across one side of his face, briefly, before regaining composure. His eyes swept across the faces of his friends, no, his acolytes. Ian and his girlfriend Carla, Steph and of course, the delectable Suzie.
“Happy Hallowe’en everyone - ready for some treats?” They all nodded, and Suzie let out a nervous giggle. Bryan winked at her. “Just remember, we do this right we all get what we’ve always wished for.” Bryan licked his lips as his eyes wandered to her breasts. Suzie blushed, but didn’t look away. What a tease thought Bryan.
He cleared his throat and peered at the open page before him. In the half-light cast by the candles he could barely make out the words. But it was all in fun, so what did it matter if he got some of the words wrong? It wasn’t as if any of this was real...
“By Azoth and Astotle, we summon thee, oh Dark Lord of Aeons past. Come ye destroyer of worlds, avatar of the Black Pharoah, we beseech thee...”
Vatican City, November 1st 2007 - 07:01 CET
A weak morning sun shone on the rooftops of the Eternal City, but failed to lift the autumnal chill. In the narrow streets of Rome, the morning mist clung low to the ground, lazily drifting with nowhere to go. Above the mist the golden dome of St Peter’s, at the heart of the Vatican City, glinted in the dawnlight.
Even at this early hour the corridors and courtyards of the microstate were bustling with activity, as clergy and laity prepared for the celebration of All Saint’s Day. In St Peter’s Square, faithful locals and pilgrims gathered, waiting for the Pope to appear and deliver a blessing on the crowd. A small number of tourists, aware of the significance of the day, had already positioned themselves at strategic vantage points for the best photographs. With some hours to go they amused themselves in nearby gift shops, or taking pictures with the colourfully garbed Swiss Guards, the Vatican’s private army.
Within the walls of the Papal palace, the Secretariat of the Holy See prepared for the days itinerary. As well as the Mass for All the Saints, final preparations were in place for a mass on the Feast of All Souls the following day. The Vatican Library and the Press Office were conducting final interviews and press releases on the publication of papers concerning the ever popular Knights Templar. The Pope was to receive three Ambassadors throughout the day, and the Secretariat had a final round of negotiations with the Italian government concerning security for visiting diplomats between the Vatican and Rome’s airport. The business of the Catholic Church continued much as it had done for hundreds of years...
But some business was of more recent vintage. Cardinal Mancini stood gazing out the window of his office, across the square and towards the wider city beyond, lost in private thoughts. Arms folded, head bowed, he looked the model of piety, a man of God engrossed in prayer. But prayer was not on his mind this morning.
At the opposite end of the room a heavy oak door slowly creaked open. At the noise the Cardinal snapped his head up, but did not turn around. The young woman standing in the doorway was dressed in a plain black dress, her dark hair tied back in a simple pony tail. She held a bundle of papers close to her chest, some in folders, others loose, freshly printed.
As she entered the room she took a circuitous route to the desk near the window, staying close to the edges of the room. When she was within a few feet of the desk, she stopped and waited, hesitantly.
Mancini remained still the whole time, casting his eye over the people below. The sheep, as he referred to them. Little lambs, weak and easily fooled. Maria disliked the analogy. She was never certain whether Mancini meant that the people were fooled by the Church or by other powers. Probably both.
“Do you think that any of those people down there...” The Cardinal gestured out towards the city without turning. “That any of them have the faintest idea of what could happen? What we do for them?”
Maria bit her lip, and weighed up whether or not the Cardinal was expecting an answer from her. As the seconds passed, she watched the pale light from the window encroach upon the darkened room. It spread across the desk, spilling on to the floor, relentlessly moving towards her feet. She shuffled backwards a few steps then spoke. “No your Eminence. I imagine they are wholly ignorant of our... duties.”
“Good. Good. All is as it should be. God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world, as they say.” Mancini chuckled, amused by the irony, given the circumstances of his position. He turned around and saw Maria take another step back from the desk. Sudden realisation spread across his face. “My apologies Maria, I wasn’t thinking.” Returning to the window he drew the thick velvet drapes across the window, banishing the dawn and returning the room to a gloomy darkness. A dusty green banker’s lamp on the panelled desk provided the only light in the room. Maria quickly walked towards the desk and placed the papers down. Mancini sat down at his desk and opened the top drawer to his left. He picked up a green leather case inside, flipped it open and took out a small set of steel-rimmed reading glasses. A sign of the times he told himself. There was a time when he could distinguish between peoples faces at two hundred metres, without any aids. Now he needed glasses just to make out the morning paper. As he rubbed the lenses with a cloth he nodded towards the papers Maria had placed on the desk.
“The latest reports?” She nodded. “And all is quiet?” She nodded again.
“Wonderful.” He perched the glasses on the bridge of his nose and gathered the papers up. “Thank God for Long Days and quiet nights...” He quickly scanned the pages, each containing no more than a paragraph, each headed with the name of a city. Wellington - all quiet. Sydney - all quiet. Tokyo - all quiet. There was a relief - the local field operatives appeared to have the Pacific under control. Nothing had awoken this year...
Bryan looked up from the book and smiled. Everyone was holding hands, staring intently at him, hanging on his every word. He allowed a smile to creep across one side of his face, briefly, before regaining composure. His eyes swept across the faces of his friends, no, his acolytes. Ian and his girlfriend Carla, Steph and of course, the delectable Suzie.
“Happy Hallowe’en everyone - ready for some treats?” They all nodded, and Suzie let out a nervous giggle. Bryan winked at her. “Just remember, we do this right we all get what we’ve always wished for.” Bryan licked his lips as his eyes wandered to her breasts. Suzie blushed, but didn’t look away. What a tease thought Bryan.
He cleared his throat and peered at the open page before him. In the half-light cast by the candles he could barely make out the words. But it was all in fun, so what did it matter if he got some of the words wrong? It wasn’t as if any of this was real...
“By Azoth and Astotle, we summon thee, oh Dark Lord of Aeons past. Come ye destroyer of worlds, avatar of the Black Pharoah, we beseech thee...”
Vatican City, November 1st 2007 - 07:01 CET
A weak morning sun shone on the rooftops of the Eternal City, but failed to lift the autumnal chill. In the narrow streets of Rome, the morning mist clung low to the ground, lazily drifting with nowhere to go. Above the mist the golden dome of St Peter’s, at the heart of the Vatican City, glinted in the dawnlight.
Even at this early hour the corridors and courtyards of the microstate were bustling with activity, as clergy and laity prepared for the celebration of All Saint’s Day. In St Peter’s Square, faithful locals and pilgrims gathered, waiting for the Pope to appear and deliver a blessing on the crowd. A small number of tourists, aware of the significance of the day, had already positioned themselves at strategic vantage points for the best photographs. With some hours to go they amused themselves in nearby gift shops, or taking pictures with the colourfully garbed Swiss Guards, the Vatican’s private army.
Within the walls of the Papal palace, the Secretariat of the Holy See prepared for the days itinerary. As well as the Mass for All the Saints, final preparations were in place for a mass on the Feast of All Souls the following day. The Vatican Library and the Press Office were conducting final interviews and press releases on the publication of papers concerning the ever popular Knights Templar. The Pope was to receive three Ambassadors throughout the day, and the Secretariat had a final round of negotiations with the Italian government concerning security for visiting diplomats between the Vatican and Rome’s airport. The business of the Catholic Church continued much as it had done for hundreds of years...
But some business was of more recent vintage. Cardinal Mancini stood gazing out the window of his office, across the square and towards the wider city beyond, lost in private thoughts. Arms folded, head bowed, he looked the model of piety, a man of God engrossed in prayer. But prayer was not on his mind this morning.
At the opposite end of the room a heavy oak door slowly creaked open. At the noise the Cardinal snapped his head up, but did not turn around. The young woman standing in the doorway was dressed in a plain black dress, her dark hair tied back in a simple pony tail. She held a bundle of papers close to her chest, some in folders, others loose, freshly printed.
As she entered the room she took a circuitous route to the desk near the window, staying close to the edges of the room. When she was within a few feet of the desk, she stopped and waited, hesitantly.
Mancini remained still the whole time, casting his eye over the people below. The sheep, as he referred to them. Little lambs, weak and easily fooled. Maria disliked the analogy. She was never certain whether Mancini meant that the people were fooled by the Church or by other powers. Probably both.
“Do you think that any of those people down there...” The Cardinal gestured out towards the city without turning. “That any of them have the faintest idea of what could happen? What we do for them?”
Maria bit her lip, and weighed up whether or not the Cardinal was expecting an answer from her. As the seconds passed, she watched the pale light from the window encroach upon the darkened room. It spread across the desk, spilling on to the floor, relentlessly moving towards her feet. She shuffled backwards a few steps then spoke. “No your Eminence. I imagine they are wholly ignorant of our... duties.”
“Good. Good. All is as it should be. God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world, as they say.” Mancini chuckled, amused by the irony, given the circumstances of his position. He turned around and saw Maria take another step back from the desk. Sudden realisation spread across his face. “My apologies Maria, I wasn’t thinking.” Returning to the window he drew the thick velvet drapes across the window, banishing the dawn and returning the room to a gloomy darkness. A dusty green banker’s lamp on the panelled desk provided the only light in the room. Maria quickly walked towards the desk and placed the papers down. Mancini sat down at his desk and opened the top drawer to his left. He picked up a green leather case inside, flipped it open and took out a small set of steel-rimmed reading glasses. A sign of the times he told himself. There was a time when he could distinguish between peoples faces at two hundred metres, without any aids. Now he needed glasses just to make out the morning paper. As he rubbed the lenses with a cloth he nodded towards the papers Maria had placed on the desk.
“The latest reports?” She nodded. “And all is quiet?” She nodded again.
“Wonderful.” He perched the glasses on the bridge of his nose and gathered the papers up. “Thank God for Long Days and quiet nights...” He quickly scanned the pages, each containing no more than a paragraph, each headed with the name of a city. Wellington - all quiet. Sydney - all quiet. Tokyo - all quiet. There was a relief - the local field operatives appeared to have the Pacific under control. Nothing had awoken this year...
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