Meanwhile, while Sam and Mrs. Steers wandered about
London, Xavier Graff sauntered without a care, passing through anyone in his path. He ambled over St. Margaret's Street, through
an open iron gate, and into a green space next to Westminster Abbey. He strolled into the Abbey's north
transept. Inside, he perused the line of
stone monuments of Britain's famous citizens. Xavier had spent many hours in
solitude here, meandering among the departed buried here.
Today, Xavier had a meeting in the Chapel of St.
Paul. He spotted Rose who was wearing a
blue silk turban. She was reading an
engraving on the chapel's wall.
"It is
about time," said Rose, not evening turning around.
"Shhhh... This is an abbey. Do you have it, Rosey dear?"
"Yes, and do you not refer to me as Rosey. You
know I hate it when you call me that."
"Sorry," said Xavier with a mischievous
smirk. He knew she hated that nickname
and loved taunting her.
"Mrs. Steers and the boy are somewhere in London,"
said Rose finally spinning around to look at him. "Our first rendezvous is Buckingham
Palace. I am to meet Ari outside the main
gate. There we will wait for her. We will pass on the information. Let me have the note."
Xavier handed her a folded piece of bluish paper. She tucked it in the left side of her turban. From under the right side of her turban, she
pulled out a folded salmon-colored paper.
"How did you know I just love pink?" grinned
Xavier. Rose rolled her eyes.
"If we do not pass her at the palace..."
Rose's composure changed mid-sentence as her eyes moved beyond Xavier, focusing
on something behind him. She lowered her
voice to a whisper. "Then it is onto the House of Beeswax..."
Aware that someone had caught Rose’s attention, Xavier played along with her switch to speaking
in code.
"I see.
Yes, the House of Beeswax..."
Xavier watched her eyes moved steadily from left to right, following
someone. "That's a perfect place to meet."
"Who is it?" whispered Xavier. "Some of
our delightful friends?"
Rose leaned forward and whispered. "Vincent and Quince. They may be following us, but I am not
sure. They did not seem to notice us." Rose still focused on the last place where
her eyes had stopped. "I assume you
did not see them when you came in?" Her eyes moved even further to the
left. "They have gone from my sight. I think we are safe for the moment." She relaxed.
“They are probably still in here.”
Xavier chuckled.
"Lame-brains. The dreaded
Doctor has sent two promising melon heads.”
Down the aisle between the chapel of Edward the
Confessor and around to Poet's Corner, Vincent Malthead and Quince,
two of Dr. Herkeimer's followers, passed through the Abbey's visitors. They had not seen Rose and Xavier.
Taller by a foot and skinnier, Vincent was prim,
clean, and well-groomed. Vincent wore a
black suit, giving the impression he was an undertaker, especially with his
black short top hat with a black silk ribbon tied around its middle.
Quince, on the other hand, was a middle-aged plump
slob, who wore a snug-fit hat. His colorful garb looked as if he had stepped
out of a fairy tale book. Quince's blue
jacket clashed with bright red pants stopping just above his scuffed and muddy
ankles boots.
"Oy, check this out. Poet's Corner," said Quince.
Vincent dramatically ran his hand across Milton's
name. "Yes, their mystical words
are flowing through the air. Here we
have John Milton, auteur of Paradise Lost.” In his typical fashion, Vincent dramatized the moment by quoting from
the poem.
“All is not lost; the unconquerable will and study of
revenge, immortal hate.” Vincent moved
slowly then stopped and stood in a classical pose. His arms were outstretched as if he was
addressing an audience. “And courage
never to submit a yield; and what is else not to be overcome…”
"Looks like he lost more than paradise,"
said Quince, interrupting Vincent.
"Funny," retorted Vincent. "Why don't you save your humor for
somewhere else? Right now, we need to be on our way. We have our mission."
Vincent and Quince left.
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