Sentence The Sixhundredandfourth

 

Which is how it came to be that, on Christmas Morning 1946, Sadie awoke to find herself wrapped in the embrace of Bernie Cohen, Solicitor of the Parish, having apparently spent the night together and, by the state of the bed-linen, quite a night it had been; she couldn't remember everything she had told

him, although it was certainly much more than she had ever told anyone since her arrival in Scotland during the War and acquiring her new identity: oh, yes, it was far too much to share with such a nice Jewish boy, whose mother (if she ever found out) would certainly have Sadie's guts for garters! she pulled on a chintz dressing gown and padded through to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and think

about the implications of her encounter with this young man who had managed to have Mr AKA set free from the Cop Shop – and his conviction that AKA was indeed the Reichsmarschall, Hermann Goering raised more questions than it answered; but that was nothing compared to the state of Tavish Dalwhinnie, who woke, shivering, under a leaden sky on Christmas Morning 1266, with snow in the air and the realisation that he and his companions would need to push on hard to Roslin Chapel before The Feast of St Stephen – what he thought of as Boxing Day was known in the Christian Church – and their Midwinter turned even bleaker than it already was; they would be able to receive tzedakah, the traditional charity given to Pilgrims, on what in centuries to come would be the start of of Kwanzaa in the as-yet-undiscovered Americas – he had to keep reminding himself of how far off the 21st Century was and how small this 13th Century existence was for ordinary people without wealth, land and power. and, indeed, knowledge of the rest of their planet; which was when he felt the Christingle; quickly he poked his finger into the hole and drew out a rolled-up slip of paper; his

heart seemed to skip a beat as he read: 'greetings, Tavish, friend and colleague, Jasmine and I met with Levy Balquhidder and are presently in possession of his Portal, any message you care to send will come straight to me; please give co-ordinates if you have them or an approximate location and we will attempt to contact you direct; Levy has an idea which may or may not work – do you have a drinking vessel of any kind into which you can bore a small hole? crucial, best regards, and Merry Christmas, though I don't know what season you are in, Sam,' and Tavish almost whooped with delight, Good Old Sammy Boy! the Team was back in business; the next phase may or may not work, which probably meant that it would, and with any luck, exfiltration would follow! jollification swept through Tavish and he forgot the dubiety in Sam's words, felt like wassailing to the Glory of the Morning – never a devout Christian, he had been sufficiently instilled with the Faith of his parents to view certain dates as significant and this Christmas Day was now filled with Hope and Good Fortune!