1 - Rolling in the Deep

            ‘Neither look nor speak to me, thank you!’ he muttered under his breath, nodding his impish head from side to side. ‘Your business here is of no interest to me, thank you!’ The Klatchin’s squeaky voice was snobbish and offensive and Sir Gobling resisted the urge to kick him into the field of jagged rocks flanking the path. Not wanting to distress his mistress, he bit his tongue and concentrated on guiding her toward the tower. Its shaft soared before them; the intricate masonry becoming visible as the muttering Klatchin approached an impressive flight of golden stairs carved into the bedrock. In the light of the lantern Gobling saw that the tower was built of octagonal stones, each half the size of a small hovercar. The spaces between each of the gigantic stones were filled with a shiny metallic fluid that shimmered as the light of the lantern danced across the surface. Upon closer inspection, he realised that it was pure gold!

‘Bow to me if you will, thank you!’ exclaimed the impudent Klatchin, turning on his heel at the foot of the steps. ‘Once again I remind you I have no interest in your business here!’

Sir Gobling lost his patience and gripped the Klatchin around the throat, snarling, ‘Show some respect you filthy, little rat!’

He shook the startled Klatchin and threw him to the ground, dislodging his coiffed wig. The lantern went rolling down the path in a jarring cacophony. For the first time the alarmed Klatchin looked properly at the beautiful woman. He paled. ‘Y-your Grace! Oh my! Please, how can I e-ever apologize, I …’ He grovelled on the paving stones, clutching his sides, flustered beyond words.

‘Leave now!’ bellowed Sir Gobling.

The robed woman hadn’t moved from the foot of the short staircase, her head turned up towards the foreboding tower. She didn’t respond to the snivelling imp and barely seemed to notice his frantic apologies. The icy breeze brushed against the folds of her robes and tugged wickedly at the elegant twists of her hair. The Klatchin retreated into the darkness wheezing uncontrollably, still trying desperately to apologise. Though no visible door appeared at the summit of the steps, an octagonal block of stone suddenly dissolved into the shimmering gold mortar that glittered in the crevices of the tower. Sir Gobling and his mistress stepped into the yawning entrance and behind them the opening instantly filled itself, sealing them inside. All that occupied the cavernous interior was a great, circular staircase spiralling upwards and vanishing in the darkness above them. As they ascended, whispering voices filled the air and echoed inside the empty maw of the tower:

Be true to yourself and let faith be your sword …

Sir Gobling glanced behind him. His mistress followed; her head held high and her gaze fixed before her.

Time has come for judgement …

Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness.

Seek not the answer for it will come …

The lady lifted the folds of her ivory robes with one hand as she climbed, and with the other she caressed the swell of her belly. The circular stairway opened onto a long, glass passage on either side of which were assembled enormous marble statues. Seven male figures faced seven female figures, their carven beauty quite astonishing. Each statue held a raised sword in the air forming an imposing tunnel-like structure through which Sir Gobling and the lady passed. Between each of the mammoth statues, large oval windows opened to the night sky beyond.

’Our Beloved Elohim,’ the lady whispered, ’I greet you in love and gratitude, Mighty Hercules and Amazon; Beloved Cassiopeia and Minerva; Orion and Angelica …’ Sir Gobling glanced down and was momentarily distracted by the view; below them, the Thyne-Occo spilled over the plateau in a deafening implosion of water and mist. Beyond it the ocean stretched to a far horizon where the moon cowered behind a stroke of lonely clouds.