Page 26 of The Running Grave

‘All that’s needed is to say the words the Wounded Prophet spoke, a quarter of a century ago, which gave him the sign he needed, and which led to his exultation, and his ascension to heaven. Will you say only this: “I admit the possibility”?’

Wace paused, smiling. Nobody had spoken.

‘If you want a sign, speak the words now: “I admit the possibility.”’

A few scattered voices repeated the words, and a titter of nervous laughter followed.

‘Together, then!’ said Wace, now beaming. ‘Together! “I admit the possibility!”’

‘I admit the possibility,’ repeated the congregation, including Robin.

The attendants began applauding, and the rest of the congregation followed suit, swept up in the moment, some of them still laughing.

‘Good!’ said Jonathan, beaming at them all. ‘And now – at the risk of sounding like the lowest of low rent magicians –’ more laughter, ‘– I want you all to think of something. Don’t speak it aloud, don’t tell anyone else, just think: think of a number or a word. A number, or a word,’ he repeated. ‘Any number. Any word. But decide on it now, inside the temple.’

Forty-eight, thought Robin, at random.

‘Soon,’ said Wace, ‘you’ll leave this temple and go about your life. If it should happen that that word, or that number, forces itself upon your notice before midnight tonight – well, it could be coincidence, couldn’t it? It could be chance. But you’ve just admitted the possibility that it is something else. You’ve admitted the possibility that the Blessed Divinity is trying to talk to you, to make Their presence known to you, through the chaos and distractions of this worldly clamour, to speak to you by the only means They have at Their disposal at this time, before you begin to learn Their language, before you’re able to strip away the dross of this earthly plane, and see the Ultimate as plainly as I, and many others, do…

‘If nothing else,’ said Wace, as the images of deities on the cinema screen behind him faded, and Rust Andersen’s smiling face reappeared, ‘I hope the story of the Wounded Prophet will remind you that even the most troubled may gain peace and joy. That even those who have done dreadful things may be forgiven. That there is a home to which all may be called, if they only believe it is possible.’

With that, Jonathan Wace gave a little bow of the head, the spotlight vanished and, as the congregation began to applaud, the temple lamps began to glow again. But Wace had already gone, and Robin had to admire the speed with which he’d absented himself from the stage, which, indeed, gave him the air of a magician.

‘Thank you, Papa J!’ said the blonde girl who’d spoken to Robin earlier, mounting the stage and still applauding as she beamed around. ‘And now,’ she said, ‘I’d like to say a word or two about the UHC’s mission here on earth. We seek a fairer, more equal society and we work to empower the most vulnerable. This week,’ she said, moving aside to let a new film appear on the cinema screen, ‘we’re collecting for the UHC’s Young Carers’ Project, which provides holidays for young people who’re caring for chronically ill and disabled family members.’

As she talked, a number of film clips began playing, showing a group of teenagers, firstly running along a beach together, then singing around a campfire, then abseiling and canoeing.

‘At the UHC we believe not only in individual spiritual enlightenment, but also in working for the betterment of conditions for marginalised people, both inside and outside the church. If you’re able to do so, please consider giving a donation to our Young Carers’ Project on the way out, and if you’d like to find out more about the church and our mission, don’t hesitate to talk to one of the attendants, who’d be delighted to help. I’ll leave you now with these beautiful images of some of our latest humanitarian projects.’

She walked off the stage. As the doors hadn’t opened, most of the congregation remained seated, watching the screen. The temple lights remained dim, and David Bowie began to sing again as the stationary congregation watched further film clips, showing homeless people eating soup, beaming children raising their hands in a classroom in Africa, and adults of diverse races having some kind of group therapy.

We could be heroes, sang David Bowie, just for one day.

11

Six in the fifth place…

Shock goes hither and thither…

However, nothing at all is lost.

The I Ching or Book of Changes

Strike, who was eager to hear how Robin’s first trip to the temple had gone, didn’t receive her first few attempts to contact him because he was sitting on the Tube, with a carrier bag from Hamleys on his lap. Robin’s fifth attempt to contact him finally came through when he’d left the train at Bromley South, and was on the point of pressing her number.

‘Sorry,’ was his first word. ‘Didn’t have reception. I’m on my way to Lucy’s.’

Lucy was the half-sister with whom Strike had grown up, because she was his mother’s child, rather than his father’s. While he loved Lucy, they had very little in common, and outsiders tended to express disbelief that they were related at all, given that Lucy was small and blonde. Strike was undertaking today’s visit out of a sense of duty, not pleasure, and was anticipating a difficult couple of hours.

‘How was it?’ he asked, setting off along the road under a sky that was threatening rain.

‘Not what I expected,’ admitted Robin, who’d walked several blocks away from the temple before finding a café with seats outside where, due to the chilliness of the day, she had no eavesdroppers. ‘I thought it’d be a bit more fire and brimstone, but not at all, it’s wall-to-wall social justice and being free to have doubts. Very slick, though – films shown on a cinema screen and David Bowie playing over the—’

‘Bowie?’

‘Yes, ‘Heroes’ – but the big news is that Papa J was there in person.’

‘Was he, now?’