Tales from the Triverse

Zealots: part 3

Early shift
On duty: DC Yannick Clarke & DC Lola Styles

London.
1973. July.

Clarke rubbed the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply and sighed it out. "Well, this is very annoying."

The tram station was, if anything, less busy than it would be ordinarily, only half a dozen people waiting for the next train. There were two rows of rickshaws waiting to take people to wherever they needed to be, mostly foot-powered but a couple had engines in the back, funnels angling up out of the roof. The station was out in the middle of nowhere, a good forty-five minutes on the tube just to get nearby, then another ten on the local tram.

"Guess the leaflet was a fake," Styles said, holding up the offending item and staring at it as if to discern some deeper, hidden meaning.

"Or they clocked us and scarpered," Clarke said. "Either saw us coming, or maybe gave us a decoy leaflet with the wrong location on in the first place."

"You know, I think Robin said that this was handed in by a uniformed officer."

"Jesus, as if they're going to give PC Plod a map and instructions on how to find them." Clarke took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. It was a hot day, hotter than it ought to be even for July. The usual lot were banging on about global warming and ice caps melting, which all sounded a bit far-fetched to him, and as usual were pointing to Max-Earth as some kind of crystal ball. Look what happened to them! and We still have time to do it better! Of course, doing it better usually meant tanking the economy, wiping out most of the kingdom's industry and making everything worse. Besides, Max-Earth seemed to be doing pretty well for itself, as far as Clarke could tell. Maybe they just didn't like that Mid-Earth was catching up ahead of time.

"OK, so now what?" Styles turned the leaflet over in her hands. "Maybe if we go hunting around for one of these ourselves, plain clothes, then we'll have more luck?"

"Nobody knows when or where these nutters are going to appear, though."

"Right, but tourist destinations seem like a good bet."

"Fair play," Clarke said, shrugging. "Let's find a phone box and call it in, maybe we can get some extra hands on the job."

And so he had demonstrated his commitment, then they had provided him with new clothes, new reading material and lots of items to hand out at the next event. He had only been told the location the day before and was now in place, wearing his uniform, bag full of leaflets ready to pass around to anyone who was interested. Greenwich Park stretched in all directions, with the Royal Observatory's dome shining beautifully in the mid-morning sun. It was a perfect summer's day and the park was busy, as was the observatory and museum. A good mixture of locals and visitors.

The previous month the country had witnessed a partial eclipse, making the observatory the perfect place for a little more magic. The lingering excitement from that event had left people more spiritual and eager for alternative explanations. Nobody wanted to hear only the dry facts, after all - that was deemed too Maxist; too much like something a Max-Earther would say, with their scientific obsession. Myrodin's teachings weren't for people like that: he needed those who had real imagination and a desire for the grander stories of Palinor.

Benji began handing out the print - simple folded leaflets with background information on Myrodin, on the group, and where to meet for the next gathering. Part of the job was trying to figure out who was genuinely interested, and avoiding anyone official - police officers, observatory staff. Seemed like a pretty easy job, and if Benji did it right he'd be able to go up to the next level and get that little bit closer to Myrodin himself and one-on-one teachings.