It's morning. In the not-overly-expensive hotel where he is staying, light filters through Gabriel's bedroom curtains.
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Gabriel hits the button on the buzzing alarm clock, and rolls out of bed with a grunt. He stands,
stretches, gets a cup of water, and sits down to the laptop for his morning run at writing copy.
Ah, his mind is refreshed and flexible. Copy comes easily to his fingers today, flooding onto the
laptop screen in incendiary prose.
Gabriel writes down all the crap he experienced yesterday in copy pyramid format, almost as if
he's on automatic.
Soon it's all down, unbelievable as it is, in deathless sentences.
Gabriel doubts its deathless, and wanders into the shower to get clean and dress.
There is hot soothing steamy water. There are relatively clean clothes from his case. Soon there
is Gabriel Knight, Hotshot Reporter.
Gabriel Knight, Hotshot Reporter goes downstairs to partake of the crappy hotel provided
continental breakfast before he hotshots his way out into the morning.
There is a crappy continental breakfast downstairs, soggy croissants, cold toast, butter,
marmalade, and a lot of tea or coffee. There is also -- naturally -- the morning papers. And there's
the person on the front desk waving at him. "Mr Knight?"
Gabriel saunters over to the front desk, and blinks blearily.
The overly-bright young perky thing passes him an envelope. "Someone phoned for you, Mr
Knight. Left this number for you to call him back. Enjoy your breakfast!"
Gabriel opens the envelope.
Inside is a single hotel notelet, with a name, "Fairfax," and a phone number.
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Gabriel sighs, shoves the note in his pocket, and trudges back up to his room. In the room, he
dials the number.
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The phone is answered after one ring. "Fairfax. Who's that?"
Gabriel says "Knight. Gabriel Knight. You have my shoes."
Fairfax says, "Yes. I can give them back, reporter. And I figure we need a talk. You're the most
level-headed of your lot."
Gabriel sips his coffee. "You going to go on record?"
Fairfax says, "No. This is off the record, and if I even think you are wired it's going up your ass.
But we need to talk."
Gabriel considers where to put the wire. That's not an unreasonable suggestion.
Gabriel says "I believe I answered all your questions yesterday."
Fairfax says, "Yeah, well, this is so you can ask me some, and I can tell you some stuff. Pick a pub
round by your hotel. I know the area."
Gabriel picks one he saw on the way in the night before.
Fairfax says, "That'll do. An hour be long enough for you to have breakfast and read the
papers?"
Gabriel says "I've had breakfast."
Fairfax says, "You haven't read the papers, though."
Gabriel says "Is that a hint?"
Fairfax makes a sound that could be a long puff on a cigarette, then says, "Yeah. I figure you may
want to know a couple of things after that. I'll see you in half an hour?"
Gabriel says "Sure."
Fairfax says, "Okay," and the phone goes dead.
Gabriel takes the hint, and wanders downstairs to look at the paper.
The paper is ... a normal paper. Ordinary. Troubles in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. A
murder here, a robbery there, a Health Service problem here. But no mention of a weird murder
yesterday. Or snipers. Or zombies. Or anything.
Gabriel flips through idly, mostly trying to pass the time.
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As he flicks through, Gabriel's trained eye picks out three lines at the bottom of a very minor
page, mentioning the death by heart attack of one Jerome Guerson while visiting London.
Gabriel writes this down in his notebook and tucks it into his pocket.
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Otherwise, the papers don't seem that interesting. Certainly Gabriel could have written a lot of the
articles _much_ better and with much sexier photos.
Gabriel rolls up the newspaper and goes up to get his gear (camera and such) before his meeting.
Then he trundles on over.
The pub is, as Gabriel remembers from seeing it, seedy, shabby, and dubious, with little
formica-topped heavy metal tables. Fairfax is in a corner, smoking a battered cigarette.
Gabriel drops heavily into the booth across from the officer, squirming as if he had shoved a wire
up his ass.
Fairfax reaches under the table, hauls out a carrier bag which bulges suggestively, and passes it
over. "Shoes."
Fairfax says, "Yours and the others."
Gabriel takes the bag. "Gracias. Not that you could get anything off the bottom of shoes that had
been tracked all over London, but hey."
Fairfax says, "Part of the job. We had to try. Coffee or smoke, or both?"
Gabriel says "Both."
Fairfax nods. He waves over the blowsy waitress, who dumps a mug of coffee in front of Gabriel,
and offers a battered packet of Woodbines.
Fairfax says, once the waitress has retreated, "You've seen the papers now." He lights himself
another cigarette.
Gabriel says "I've seen."
Fairfax says, "I'm talking to you because there are three sensible ones among you lot, you, the
punk, and the Latino biker, and you're the most likely to have seen weird shit."
Gabriel says "'Weird shit'? Is that a technical term?"
Fairfax shrugs. He sucks on his cigarette. "You got a better one?"
Gabriel says "'Unexplained occurances' would lend you dignity and an expanded volcabulary. Just
a hint."
Fairfax shrugs. "I'm not on tape. Weird shit will do. Look, kid, this is a warning. There are two
groups out there, and they have the power to squash news stories, and they have the power to
squash *people*."
Gabriel gives him a "this is new how" look.
Gabriel says "So?"
He takes a slurp of coffee. "What would you say if I told you they were angels and demons?"
Gabriel says "I'd say that you've spent too much time in sunday school."
Fairfax snorts. "Do I look like some sort of vicar?"
Gabriel looks him over carefully.
Gabriel says "You never can tell these things. You might be an undercover agent of the
church."
Fairfax looks scruffy, less than ideally shaven, battered raincoat, cigarette, coffee. Not very
vicarlike.
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Fairfax says, blandly, "Oh, they have some of those. Not many, but some. The angels who are
more into Christianity like those things."
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Gabriel says "I thought they were the Jesuits."
Fairfax says, "Yeah, them too. My wife didn't go into much detail."
Gabriel gives him a _look_.
Gabriel says "You called me to tell me that your wife told you there are angels and demons
running around?"
Fairfax shrugs, pulls on his cigarette. "There are a couple of the ones who work the laws higher
up in the police. They squashed your case. Don't want the public talking about zombies. They do
that from time to time."
Fairfax says, "My wife told me some of the ins and outs before she went off to work for them.
God commands, you know? And me the poor man who just gets shafted."
Gabriel comes to the enlightened conclusion that everyone whom he has met thus far on this
journey is crazy.
Gabriel also decides to humor the crazy man. "Okay, sure."
Fairfax says, "Yes, I know, it sounds totally crazy."
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Fairfax shrugs again. "How do you think I felt when my wife told me she was leaving me to go
work for angels?"
Gabriel says "Okay, um, I don't want to sound forward, but is this conversation going
anywhere?"
Fairfax says, "Probably. I wanted to tell you to be careful. Whatever your problem is, there's some
demons mixed up in it, and possibly at least one angel. I know how they act when they're
D-noticing something."
Fairfax says, "If you and your friends poke into it, you're going to be in *danger*."
Gabriel just looks at this poor madman.
Fairfax shrugs. "What could I say that would convince you?" He chews on his cigarette end.
Gabriel says "I think you've convinced me enough. Thank you."
Gabriel starts to get up out of the booth.
Fairfax sighs, exhales smoke. "Fair enough. I tried. You have my number." He pushes himself
upright.
Fairfax says, "Don't tell anybody about this. I'm not going to admit to it, and I don't want their
fucking truth-sniffers around." He pauses. "And watch out for the Hellfire Club."
Gabriel just puts on his boots.
Fairfax smiles, nicotine-stained teeth showing. "Give your friends their shoes back too." He heads
for the door.
Gabriel contemplates the cost of postage for shoes.
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Fairfax vanishes through the door, leaving Gabriel alone in a comfortable, seedy pub, surrounded
by familiar coffee and cigarette smells.
Gabriel takes the bag, not entirely sure what to do with it. Back in his hotel room, he
supposes.
It's about ten-o'clock. London is busy. Life looks good.
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There is a Mr M Guerson in the phonebook, indeed. Location somewhere vague out in
Sevenoaks. No Mr J Guerson, however.
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M Guerson's phone rings several times. Eventually, a harassed-sounding female voice says,
briskly, "Yes?"
Gabriel mentions who he is, what he's in connection with, and who he is looking for.
There's a long pause. The female voice says, "Where are you based?"
Gabriel says "London."
The female voice says, "I'd like to send someone around to speak to you. What's your
address?"
Gabriel says "And who would that be?"
The voice says, "You can call me Meg Guerson."
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Gabriel says in a nice, friendly voice, "I'm rather mobile. It's just me. Why don't I come out to
meet you? I have several errands to make as it is, and this would be just one of them."
The female voice says, "I'm busy today. I can send someone to meet you. Where do you want to
connect up?"
Gabriel says "Someone? Who is this someone?"
The female voice says, "A relative. Depends which one I can get hold of."
Gabriel says in a voice which is trying vainly to be amused, "Of course, in this trying time, I'd like
to get to the source with as little problem as possible, and with bothering as many grieving
relatives as I can."
There's a snort. "On the contrary, you are utterly uninterested in personal grief, and wish to find
out what is really going on."
Gabriel says "Well..."
Gabriel shrugs, but it's hard to transmit a shrug. "I'd like to get to the bottom of the murder."
The female voice says, "I have offered to arrange a meeting. What more do you want?"
Gabriel says "I would prefer someone close to Mr. Guerson, instead of an aunt or an uncle who
might not be able to help me."
The female voice says, "I'll see who can be found. Why precisely are *you* so curious about the
whole business?"
Gabriel says "I was there when he was killed, ma'am."
She says, "I . . . see. Well, that's better than most, I suppose. Name a time and place. This
evening?"
Gabriel says "I would prefer it earlier in the day, unless you can give me some leads now."
She snorts again. "Two o'clock, at the Hard Rock Cafe, in Covent Garden. Sufficient?"
Gabriel writes it down. "Can you answer a question for me before you go?"
She says, "That depends upon the question."
Gabriel says "Where was Mr. Guerson's place of employment?"
She says, "Christ's Hospital School."
Gabriel writes this down. "Great, wonderful. Two PM then."
There is a click, and the phone goes dead.
Gabriel takes off like a shot, then, to go make himself a real nuisance at Christ's Hospital
School.
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The phone is answered by a young woman, breathy and slightly sniffly. "Good morning, Christ's
Hospital Office. Can I help you?"
Gabriel gives his name, why he's calling, and who he's affiliated with.
Gabriel then asks for Mr. Guerson's assistant.
The woman, still sniffling, is easily malleable and fast-talkable. She puts Gabriel through to Daniel
Verks, who is the head of the History department. Mr Guerson apparently didn't have an
assistant.
Daniel Verks sounds a touch shocked himself. "Good morning, Mr Knight. What can I do for
you?"
Gabriel gives his name, and who he is affiliated with. "Good day. I'm researching the untimely
death of Mr. Guerson. I was hoping you could answer some questions."
Daniel Verks says, "Of course, anything I can do to help. What do you want to know?"
Gabriel asks this guy about Mr. Guerson's current research.
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He explains that "Jerome" was currently taking some of the fourth form (fifteen-year-olds) in a
course on the Plantagenets for the forthcoming public examinations, the GCSEs. "Of course, he
had his own interests, too..."
Gabriel says "Could you expound on those, please?"
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Daniel says, "No problem. He was a Templar enthusiast, but his real mania was the French
Revolution. Whenever a course on that turned up, he always used to take the classes."
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Daniel continues, "He had quite something of a personal library on the subject. Some of his friends
and relatives visited occasionally, but they never stayed for long."
Gabriel says "Any friends in particular spring to mind?"
Gabriel asks this as he writes down notes.
Daniel pauses to think. "A cousin of his, called Meg, used to stop by from time to time. Tall
woman, slightly horsy air. Very tight-spoken. Another friend, called Lucius, who looked rather
younger. Business-type."
Gabriel says "Did either of these have last names that you're aware of?"
Daniel can be heard scribbling vaguely at something. "Lucius... Lucius Marlow, that's it. Meg had
the same name as him, Guerson."
Gabriel thinks, M. Guerson.
Gabriel says "Did you ever have any interactions with these people?"
Daniel says, no, he didn't, and fails to provide any other really useful information, though agrees
to speak to Gabriel if he visits.
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