Bren
drove back into town and arrived early. She sat in her car, as she did before,
for a few minutes, looking out of her window at the entrance.
She wanted to just rush past when Seymour
opened the doors and search the building by herself. But she didn’t know the
layout. And she’d have no means to defend herself. The Scanners wouldn’t take
kindly to anyone running around their place of worship. Bren was sure there
were things other than the gauntlet they wouldn’t want her finding. Things she wouldn’t want to find, if rumors
were to be trusted.
She got out of her car at noon and
walked up to the doors again. She didn’t bother to check for traffic and
received an earful of temporary horn transmitted roadrage until she threw up
her hands apologetically and shrugged and walked to the side and gave them the
bird as they drove off.
She didn’t see it was a minivan
filled with children until the noticed a face in one of the windows staring back
at her.
“Good afternoon,” Seymour said from
the doorway. He was a sneaky cadaver; Bren hadn’t heard him open the doors.
“Is it time?” Bren asked.
“We can begin ceremonies now,” he
said, “Or, later, if you need more time.”
“I’m good now,” she said.
“Then, please,” he said. He inclined
his head, put an arm out, and backed up, opening the door, beckoning her
inside.
Bren wished that she had the common
sense to stifle a gag. His whole act was so melodramatic that Bren had a hard
time believing that the Scanners were capable of an activity as complicated as
stealing Hopeful Serenity.
The hallway that lay immediately
inside the doors was only about three people wide, and was one fourth of the
building’s length. There were two rooms, one on the left and one on the right,
and at the end of the hallway was a set of double doors. There was a marble
floor and pillars, and cold granite walls and ceiling. Bren felt the chill as
soon as Seymour shut the door to the outside world.
It was a gravelike cold, she
thought.
“So,” Bren said, “This is it.”
Seymour began to lead her towards the doors at the far end.
“It is indeed,” Seymour said, cocking his
head, “Were you expecting something different?”
“A painting or something,” Bren said, “Some
flowers on a pedestal would have been nice.”
“You fear we focus too much on the morbid
aspects of the Slumbering One?”
“He wasn’t just the Autarch of death,” Bren said, “His powers extended to life
too. Everyone knows that.” Everyone who knew who the Scanners really were,
anyway.
“Perhaps you will make a welcome addition,”
Seymour said. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, “A new voice for the
circle.”
“Is the circle a big deal?”
“Yes,” Seymour said, “’Big deal’ is a
colloquial expression that would adequately express that.”
“Neat,” Bren said, “Which way?”
The two doors on the sides were shut.
“To the central chamber,” Seymour said,
“Where we will conduct ourselves for your installation. We have long awaited you.”
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