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indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
57.
Grotesque. Ebullient. Animated. Ethan wasn't quite sure what they were, but they looked like they were enjoying themselves. Against a blasted landscape, they twisted around each other, reaching up towards a gibbous moon.
"Is this the concert poster or the record sleeve?"
"Look at the shape," said Randall. "It has to be the poster."
They were about forty other charcoal sketches scattered over the drawing room floor. The one Randall held in front of him probably was the best.
"What do you do next?"
"I'm thinking screen print. I want to make some mockups, test out the inks. This one should be good for t-shirts too."
"Shouldn't you run it past the band first?"
Randall looked up at him. "Marty has complete faith in my artistic judgement." He started to gather up the rejected versions. "Besides, I drew him a sketch up at Stonehenge."
"Well," said Ethan, "congratulations on the commission."
"Thank you," said Randall. "I think I'll start experimenting with the colour now."
"You're not coming out to Ripper's gig?"
He shook his head. "I want to keep going while I have it clear in my head."
Ethan went to find Diedre. She was in her room, surrounded by a circle of stones and candles.
"I'm practising."
"Diedre," he said, searching for the right phrase, "what I said at Stonehenge--"
"I know you think I'm lazy," she said.
He didn't deny it. "You might have talent," he said.
"Well, I'm going to find out."
"You're not going out to the concert either?"
"I'm busy," she said. "And Stan's not back yet, if that's who you'll be looking for next."
"I'll go myself then," said Ethan.
He seemed to spending a small fortune on Tube tickets and trains these days, at least compared to what he used to. Fortunately, Mr Grey had backed up his words on the telephone by sending another letter. This one detailed how Ethan should plant some small stones unobtrusively around a warehouse in Hackney. They'd be material components for a spell cast at a distance, but he hadn't yet worked out what sort of spell. He'd see to it tomorrow.
The pub Rupert was playing at was not as small as Ethan had feared. He'd aimed to turn up half an hour late, and succeeded, but some sort of electrical fault had meant that the band hadn't quite started. He found a seat in one of the darker spots and got himself a beer as they started.
He'd only just sat down when Adrienne appeared. She looked haggard.
"You look haggard," he said.
"Only because I am." She had a long swallow of red wine.
"Tough day at the office?"
She gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh. She said, "You know, I hold our group together. I do the planning. I make sure people know when and where the meetings are. When we have something that needs to be done, I organise the right people to do it. I keep the peace, I make sure everyone is heard, I work my arse off. And tonight some major people, major people, Ethan, big names, men of great reputation, came to see us. And you know what they ask me to do?"
"They ask you to make the tea."
"They ask me to make the bloody tea." She sipped her wine. "The revolution cannot come fast enough."
Someone on the next table over leant towards them. "Can you shut up? We're trying to listen to the band."
They turned their attention to the stage. Rupert was up there, playing guitar and frowning.
"He's fucking this one up," said Adrienne into Ethan's ear.
The song ended, Rupert looking a bit flustered as he swapped places with someone else to sing into the main microphone. He seemed a bit shaky at first, but then he got into it, losing himself in the music. Ethan found it unexpectedly affecting.
"How are you two going, anyway?" Adrienne asked.
"Quite well. We went to the seaside together today."
She looked at him as if she didn't believe him.
The Grins turned out to be one of those bands that do banter between songs. One of the other guitarists kept coming up to the microphone to explain why they wrote the next song, what it was about, and which people in the audience had helped with it. Ethan swivelled around in his seat, trying to work out if there was anyone at the gig who wasn't friends or family of a band member. He thought he spotted a face he recognised.
"That's the drummer from his last band," said Adrienne. "I met him a couple of times."
"I met him once too, I think."
Ethan thought he would have been bored if it hadn't been Rupert up there. But it was good to watch him hard at work, his face full of concentration.
When they announced the last song, Ethan got up to go. Adrienne put her hand on his arm to stop him. "They'll do an encore," she said. "Aren't you going to stay and be introduced to the band?"
"No," he said. "Why would I want to do that? But could you see if you can persuade Ripper not to get paralytically drunk tonight?"
"I can try," Adrienne said.
58.
Ripper was coming home from work when he saw the car. He'd just turned the corner onto the street and it wasn't clear whether the occupant had seen him. He could have just walked back, taken a train somewhere else, and ventured back late at night. Or he could have walked straight past, gone into the house, and barricaded the door: the others would have helped him.
But what he did was walk up to the driver's side door and knock politely. When the window wound down, he said, "I presume you're looking for me."
"Giles," said Dr Chalmers of the Council of Watchers, "is there somewhere we could go for a discreet discussion?"
So Rupert took him to the pub.
It was the mid-afternoon and not very busy. Dr Chalmers bought them a pint each. Rupert hadn't had any lunch yet, but the kitchen was closed. Dr Chalmers persuaded the publican to procure something like a ploughman's lunch.
Dr Chalmers was always very persuasive. He was in his forties, with black hair receding into his hairline and a drooping moustache to make up for it. He always wore rather good suits.
"Now, Giles," said Dr Chalmers, as they took their seats in a booth near the back, "you know why I'm here. What you don't know is why I'm here now.
"The Council's given up on you, Giles. There won't be any more cars dropping by to see how you're doing. They won't be guilt-tripping your parents, as least not officially. Your case will be closed. You're not the first of us to leave precipitously and, if you'll forgive the cliché, you won't be the last. You're a loss in terms of talent and resources but they're ready to write you off."
Chalmers gestured towards Rupert's guitar. "How is your new career going?"
"I'm not sure that you're actually interested," said Rupert.
Chalmers gave a small shrug and a smile. "I expect you're good at it. I can't imagine that you'd deceive yourself about that. If you think you can carve yourself a career in music, I've no doubt that you actually can.
"And music's a great thing. All art is. I have to say I prefer chamber music myself, but there have to be some similarities. I don't know, the connection between the audience and the musician, the wellspring of emotion, and the deep satisfaction of seeing technical prowess transformed into artistry. It's one of the glories of the world.
"But you and I, we know how fragile this world of ours is underneath. We know it's threatened on an almost daily basis. We've seen some of the things which want to bring an end to what we value in life, whether that's chamber music or a pub gig. And, knowing all that, we have to decide how we're going to use our courage and talents."
"I couldn't do it," said Rupert. "I just couldn't."
"You pushed yourself too hard. It's all right to coast sometimes. One of the things every man needs to learn is his own limits, and then how to work around them to achieve what you wouldn't think was possible."
Rupert said faintly, "I'm not going back."
"Well," said Chalmers, "it's still the holidays. You have a bit of time to think. If you do come back, I'll make sure there's a place for you. We can't afford to lose someone of your calibre if we can help it. But if you do choose not to come back, this is likely to be the last time we ever meet."
Chalmers stood up and extended his hand. Rupert felt he had to stand too and shake hands.
"I hope to see you again, Giles" said Chalmers. "And if not, I wish you luck with everything else." He stepped out of the booth and paused. "And you should wish us luck then too."
Rupert sat there, staring at the remains of his lunch. It took him a moment to notice that Ethan was sitting opposite him now.
"Who was that?" Ethan asking. "The man with the moustache."
They're going to leave me alone now," said Rupert.
"The Council of Watchers?"
There was no point in wondering how or why Ethan knew that, or anything else. "Yes. That was their last attempt to win me back."
"Well, that's wonderful," said Ethan. "I'll buy you a drink. I'll buy you ten drinks."
Rupert looked over at him. Ethan reached out to grasp his shoulder.
"Don't you see? You've escaped."
59.
Rupert was in a funny mood that night. He'd got fairly plastered at the pub, having enthusiastically take up Ethan's offer of a drink or two. Then they'd gone home and Rupert had cleared the drawing room of Randall's latest sketches so that he could cover the floor with large chalk circles. He wanted the genius loci spell and Ethan couldn't give it to him.
"Look," said Ethan, "I'll see Terry when I've got some money again. I'll ask him if he's got anything we can use."
"How much busking is that going to take? You had all of five pence a week ago."
It wasn't as if they were alone in the room, either. Randall was listening to his records, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Diedre started out leaning against him, but then came over to look at Ripper's chalk sketches.
And then Stan had come home, after more than a week's absence, in a swingeing good mood.
"We were worried," Diedre said.
"You should have written," Randall said, in a rarely-used tone of voice that meant he was actually angry, but Stan was blasé.
"I had a fantastic time in High Wycombe," he said, a statement which cried out for refutation. He poured champagne out into plastic beakers for everyone. "I'm finally with the girl of my dreams."
"Well, that's lovely," said Diedre, because nobody else would tonight. "What's her name?"
"Julie. I knew her years ago, but back then she was dating this complete wanker. And then there she was at Stonehenge, with no bloke in tow. And we get on just as well as I remembered." He went around the room, topping up everyone's cups. "She's smart, she's funny, she's hot, she has three books on the Napoleonic Wars..."
"Surely she must have some faults?" Ethan said.
"Well," said Stan, "she didn't come right out and say it, but I think she has a degree. She's going to expect a lot of me."
"What did you tell her you did for a living?"
"Bartending. I mean, I used to." This latter half of this explanation seemed to be aimed at Rupert, who was, however, ignoring the conversation entirely; he was frowning over a piece of pentagram.
"So when do we get to meet her?" Diedre asked. "She could come along to my party on the weekend, if you like."
"Um," said Stan. "Maybe, maybe a bit later? Little steps, yeah?"
Randall opened his eyes. "You think we're too weird for her," he said.
"No, no," said Stan. "I'm sure she's broad-minded. But you're a lot to take on all at once, yeah?"
In the pause that followed, Grace Slick's voice filled the room.
Then Diedre said, "Of course we are! We're the weirdest of the weird. We're all freaks here. Have we run out of champagne? I'll fetch something else."
"It's going to be a long trip to and from High Wycombe," Ethan said, "if that's where she's living."
"It's not that bad," said Stan. "But I think I might get a car."
"And another job?" said Ethan. "Somewhere to live that's a little closer to her place?"
"Ethan," said Randall, "he's met the right one. Congratulate him."
"Congratulations," Ethan said.
57.
Grotesque. Ebullient. Animated. Ethan wasn't quite sure what they were, but they looked like they were enjoying themselves. Against a blasted landscape, they twisted around each other, reaching up towards a gibbous moon.
"Is this the concert poster or the record sleeve?"
"Look at the shape," said Randall. "It has to be the poster."
They were about forty other charcoal sketches scattered over the drawing room floor. The one Randall held in front of him probably was the best.
"What do you do next?"
"I'm thinking screen print. I want to make some mockups, test out the inks. This one should be good for t-shirts too."
"Shouldn't you run it past the band first?"
Randall looked up at him. "Marty has complete faith in my artistic judgement." He started to gather up the rejected versions. "Besides, I drew him a sketch up at Stonehenge."
"Well," said Ethan, "congratulations on the commission."
"Thank you," said Randall. "I think I'll start experimenting with the colour now."
"You're not coming out to Ripper's gig?"
He shook his head. "I want to keep going while I have it clear in my head."
Ethan went to find Diedre. She was in her room, surrounded by a circle of stones and candles.
"I'm practising."
"Diedre," he said, searching for the right phrase, "what I said at Stonehenge--"
"I know you think I'm lazy," she said.
He didn't deny it. "You might have talent," he said.
"Well, I'm going to find out."
"You're not going out to the concert either?"
"I'm busy," she said. "And Stan's not back yet, if that's who you'll be looking for next."
"I'll go myself then," said Ethan.
He seemed to spending a small fortune on Tube tickets and trains these days, at least compared to what he used to. Fortunately, Mr Grey had backed up his words on the telephone by sending another letter. This one detailed how Ethan should plant some small stones unobtrusively around a warehouse in Hackney. They'd be material components for a spell cast at a distance, but he hadn't yet worked out what sort of spell. He'd see to it tomorrow.
The pub Rupert was playing at was not as small as Ethan had feared. He'd aimed to turn up half an hour late, and succeeded, but some sort of electrical fault had meant that the band hadn't quite started. He found a seat in one of the darker spots and got himself a beer as they started.
He'd only just sat down when Adrienne appeared. She looked haggard.
"You look haggard," he said.
"Only because I am." She had a long swallow of red wine.
"Tough day at the office?"
She gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh. She said, "You know, I hold our group together. I do the planning. I make sure people know when and where the meetings are. When we have something that needs to be done, I organise the right people to do it. I keep the peace, I make sure everyone is heard, I work my arse off. And tonight some major people, major people, Ethan, big names, men of great reputation, came to see us. And you know what they ask me to do?"
"They ask you to make the tea."
"They ask me to make the bloody tea." She sipped her wine. "The revolution cannot come fast enough."
Someone on the next table over leant towards them. "Can you shut up? We're trying to listen to the band."
They turned their attention to the stage. Rupert was up there, playing guitar and frowning.
"He's fucking this one up," said Adrienne into Ethan's ear.
The song ended, Rupert looking a bit flustered as he swapped places with someone else to sing into the main microphone. He seemed a bit shaky at first, but then he got into it, losing himself in the music. Ethan found it unexpectedly affecting.
"How are you two going, anyway?" Adrienne asked.
"Quite well. We went to the seaside together today."
She looked at him as if she didn't believe him.
The Grins turned out to be one of those bands that do banter between songs. One of the other guitarists kept coming up to the microphone to explain why they wrote the next song, what it was about, and which people in the audience had helped with it. Ethan swivelled around in his seat, trying to work out if there was anyone at the gig who wasn't friends or family of a band member. He thought he spotted a face he recognised.
"That's the drummer from his last band," said Adrienne. "I met him a couple of times."
"I met him once too, I think."
Ethan thought he would have been bored if it hadn't been Rupert up there. But it was good to watch him hard at work, his face full of concentration.
When they announced the last song, Ethan got up to go. Adrienne put her hand on his arm to stop him. "They'll do an encore," she said. "Aren't you going to stay and be introduced to the band?"
"No," he said. "Why would I want to do that? But could you see if you can persuade Ripper not to get paralytically drunk tonight?"
"I can try," Adrienne said.
58.
Ripper was coming home from work when he saw the car. He'd just turned the corner onto the street and it wasn't clear whether the occupant had seen him. He could have just walked back, taken a train somewhere else, and ventured back late at night. Or he could have walked straight past, gone into the house, and barricaded the door: the others would have helped him.
But what he did was walk up to the driver's side door and knock politely. When the window wound down, he said, "I presume you're looking for me."
"Giles," said Dr Chalmers of the Council of Watchers, "is there somewhere we could go for a discreet discussion?"
So Rupert took him to the pub.
It was the mid-afternoon and not very busy. Dr Chalmers bought them a pint each. Rupert hadn't had any lunch yet, but the kitchen was closed. Dr Chalmers persuaded the publican to procure something like a ploughman's lunch.
Dr Chalmers was always very persuasive. He was in his forties, with black hair receding into his hairline and a drooping moustache to make up for it. He always wore rather good suits.
"Now, Giles," said Dr Chalmers, as they took their seats in a booth near the back, "you know why I'm here. What you don't know is why I'm here now.
"The Council's given up on you, Giles. There won't be any more cars dropping by to see how you're doing. They won't be guilt-tripping your parents, as least not officially. Your case will be closed. You're not the first of us to leave precipitously and, if you'll forgive the cliché, you won't be the last. You're a loss in terms of talent and resources but they're ready to write you off."
Chalmers gestured towards Rupert's guitar. "How is your new career going?"
"I'm not sure that you're actually interested," said Rupert.
Chalmers gave a small shrug and a smile. "I expect you're good at it. I can't imagine that you'd deceive yourself about that. If you think you can carve yourself a career in music, I've no doubt that you actually can.
"And music's a great thing. All art is. I have to say I prefer chamber music myself, but there have to be some similarities. I don't know, the connection between the audience and the musician, the wellspring of emotion, and the deep satisfaction of seeing technical prowess transformed into artistry. It's one of the glories of the world.
"But you and I, we know how fragile this world of ours is underneath. We know it's threatened on an almost daily basis. We've seen some of the things which want to bring an end to what we value in life, whether that's chamber music or a pub gig. And, knowing all that, we have to decide how we're going to use our courage and talents."
"I couldn't do it," said Rupert. "I just couldn't."
"You pushed yourself too hard. It's all right to coast sometimes. One of the things every man needs to learn is his own limits, and then how to work around them to achieve what you wouldn't think was possible."
Rupert said faintly, "I'm not going back."
"Well," said Chalmers, "it's still the holidays. You have a bit of time to think. If you do come back, I'll make sure there's a place for you. We can't afford to lose someone of your calibre if we can help it. But if you do choose not to come back, this is likely to be the last time we ever meet."
Chalmers stood up and extended his hand. Rupert felt he had to stand too and shake hands.
"I hope to see you again, Giles" said Chalmers. "And if not, I wish you luck with everything else." He stepped out of the booth and paused. "And you should wish us luck then too."
Rupert sat there, staring at the remains of his lunch. It took him a moment to notice that Ethan was sitting opposite him now.
"Who was that?" Ethan asking. "The man with the moustache."
They're going to leave me alone now," said Rupert.
"The Council of Watchers?"
There was no point in wondering how or why Ethan knew that, or anything else. "Yes. That was their last attempt to win me back."
"Well, that's wonderful," said Ethan. "I'll buy you a drink. I'll buy you ten drinks."
Rupert looked over at him. Ethan reached out to grasp his shoulder.
"Don't you see? You've escaped."
59.
Rupert was in a funny mood that night. He'd got fairly plastered at the pub, having enthusiastically take up Ethan's offer of a drink or two. Then they'd gone home and Rupert had cleared the drawing room of Randall's latest sketches so that he could cover the floor with large chalk circles. He wanted the genius loci spell and Ethan couldn't give it to him.
"Look," said Ethan, "I'll see Terry when I've got some money again. I'll ask him if he's got anything we can use."
"How much busking is that going to take? You had all of five pence a week ago."
It wasn't as if they were alone in the room, either. Randall was listening to his records, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Diedre started out leaning against him, but then came over to look at Ripper's chalk sketches.
And then Stan had come home, after more than a week's absence, in a swingeing good mood.
"We were worried," Diedre said.
"You should have written," Randall said, in a rarely-used tone of voice that meant he was actually angry, but Stan was blasé.
"I had a fantastic time in High Wycombe," he said, a statement which cried out for refutation. He poured champagne out into plastic beakers for everyone. "I'm finally with the girl of my dreams."
"Well, that's lovely," said Diedre, because nobody else would tonight. "What's her name?"
"Julie. I knew her years ago, but back then she was dating this complete wanker. And then there she was at Stonehenge, with no bloke in tow. And we get on just as well as I remembered." He went around the room, topping up everyone's cups. "She's smart, she's funny, she's hot, she has three books on the Napoleonic Wars..."
"Surely she must have some faults?" Ethan said.
"Well," said Stan, "she didn't come right out and say it, but I think she has a degree. She's going to expect a lot of me."
"What did you tell her you did for a living?"
"Bartending. I mean, I used to." This latter half of this explanation seemed to be aimed at Rupert, who was, however, ignoring the conversation entirely; he was frowning over a piece of pentagram.
"So when do we get to meet her?" Diedre asked. "She could come along to my party on the weekend, if you like."
"Um," said Stan. "Maybe, maybe a bit later? Little steps, yeah?"
Randall opened his eyes. "You think we're too weird for her," he said.
"No, no," said Stan. "I'm sure she's broad-minded. But you're a lot to take on all at once, yeah?"
In the pause that followed, Grace Slick's voice filled the room.
Then Diedre said, "Of course we are! We're the weirdest of the weird. We're all freaks here. Have we run out of champagne? I'll fetch something else."
"It's going to be a long trip to and from High Wycombe," Ethan said, "if that's where she's living."
"It's not that bad," said Stan. "But I think I might get a car."
"And another job?" said Ethan. "Somewhere to live that's a little closer to her place?"
"Ethan," said Randall, "he's met the right one. Congratulate him."
"Congratulations," Ethan said.
