When John and the policemen had left, Karen closed the sitting-room door and stood with her back to the fireplace, looking down at the coven.
'Now,' she told them. 'We have a lot to talk about.'
Just how many High Priests and High Priestesses were taken into preventive custody that night the witchcraft movement never knew because no figures were published -
in fact, although the police swoop was nation-wide and carefully simultaneous, the media only reported it indirectly and piecemeal. But within the movement the news spread like wildfire and no one was in any doubt that the arrests ran into several hundreds, or that the police knew exactly whom to take. In each area which was in the habit of holding collective Festivals, the year's Sabbat Queen, the Sabbat Maiden, and their respective Priests, were put under lock and key without a single exception; two who happened to be in hospital were placed under police guard and their substitutes who had been chosen to officiate at Lughnasadh were arrested as well. These seemed to make up the bulk of the arrests, though a handful of other key figures who might have been expected to step into the breach were also taken in. Officially, preventive custody was not 'arrest' but that was what everybody called it.
The effect on the witchcraft movement, already shaken by sudden and unheralded harassment after a generation of tolerance, was traumatic. In general covens withdrew into their shells; some celebrated Lughnasadh in groups of not more than six, others took a chance with full covens behind thick curtains, a few disappeared into woods or empty heathland with carefully screened candle-lanterns. Nobody risked the usual large-scale collective Sabbat, except one in Suffolk, one in Cornwall, and one - astonishingly - on Primrose Hill in London. These, to the bafflement of the police, were not in breach of the Order, because in each case a local clergyman (the Suffolk one a Catholic priest), his conscience outraged by the Order, had offered himself as official chairman of the gathering and been gladly accepted. Large contingents of police, arriving hurriedly at the three locations to break up the assembled witches and arrest the ringleaders, found everything legally in order, and themselves in the curious position of having to protect the witches against angry hecklers who wanted to take the law into their own hands. Next morning, three very indignant bishops had the culprits on their respective carpets, and the Arc
hbishops of Canterbury and West
minster demanded a joint meeting with the Prime Minister to devise a means of plugging the loophole in the Order immediately, lest any other of the more turbulent progressives in their own flocks might get the same idea. The Prime Minister was only too willing, and called in the President of the Methodist Conference and the Chief Rabbi as well. Within hours, an amendment to the Order was laid down that if, in the opinion of the police, a significant number attending any religious meeting were not genuinely of the denomination of the official chairman, that meeting constituted a breach of the Order. The progressives were even more outraged, quoting the Bible, the Koran and the Buddha with what might have been devastating effect if anyone had been listening; but few were and the loophole was plugged.
The Crusaders were not interested in legal niceties; they were out in force in search of Lughnasadh coven meetings and were unconcerned whether or not these exceeded the permitted number of six. How many curtained windows, up and down the country, which might conceal candlelight the Crusaders smashed that night, not even they bothered to count; and if quite a few of the curtains merely hid innocent people watching television, that was just too bad. (From then on, television-watchers developed the habit of leaving their curtains open.) In scattered areas the 'stormtroopers' succeeded in tracking d
own open-air Sab
bats in what their celebrants had hoped were sufficiently isolated hiding places. All in all, according to the confidential report which reached Harley's desk in Beehive next day, 137 people were arrested for contravening the Order and twenty-eight under various headings from breach of the peace to grievous bodily harm. Of the three GBH arrests, only one had been an attacking Crusader; he had been unfortunate enough to be witnessed in action by a policeman with old-fashioned ideas about the beating-up of women.
The figure of twenty-eight was low in relation to the number known to have been treated in hospital as a result of Lughnasadh incidents; this was eighty-five, of whom nineteen had been admitted; the condition of four of them was serious. The contrast was due to the fact that almost all the casualties occurred in Crusader attacks on Sabbats before the police arrived - if they arrived. In general, police and Crusaders had not pounced on the same targets; or (so the witches believed) on finding the others already there, had turned back. Another reason for the few arrests for violence was that only a small minority of witches resisted the police, so it was simpler - and publicly more effective -to arrest them for defying the Order in Council.
'Nobody actually dead,' Sir Walter Jennings, who was with Harley when the report reached him, commented drily. 'Just as well. Martyrs are so inconvenient. The Hassell woman would have been bad enough, if she and Andrea Sutton hadn't cancelled each other out.'
'I understand Ben Stoddart has pointed out the danger to his people,' Harley said. 'Their discipline is remarkable considering the recruitment explosion the Crusade has undergone in the past five weeks. We must thank Stoddart's charisma for that - he sees to it that all the, er, storm-troopers have met him personally at least once, and his local leaders are hand-picked. Barring accidents, they will not go so far as to kill anyone.'
'For the present.'
'I am talking of the present, naturally.'
Jennings thought for a moment, and then said: 'One thing puzzles me slightly. All the clashes seem to be between Crusaders and witches. Isn't that over-simplifying? Other pagan and occult fraternities beside the witches celebrate the eight Festivals. Have non
e of them been involved? And are
all
the attackers Crusader stormtroops? What about the spontaneous public resentment you had in mind? Hasn't it happened?'
To your first question - yes, of course other occultists are involved; but most of them are either more academic than the witches or more private. I can assure you that my - that is,
the
Intelligence arm is keeping a close watch on them. Remember, the Order relates to "religious", meetings. It's up to us to decide whether a fraternity is "religious" -the Home Secretary has that power. If we need to move against one of them, he has merely to define it as religious in an instruction to the police and it becomes subject to the Order in Council. But at this stage, I would remind you, we
are
concerned with creating an
identifiable
scapegoat, with a single, simple label. And that label is "the witches".
’
'Fair enough. And my second question - the Crusaders?'
'So far, yes, eighty or ninety per cent of the actual
aggression
against the witches has been by the Crusaders, or at least under their on-the-spot leadership. But more and more the public
are
, so to speak, cheering them from the sidelines. And the amount of non-violent pressure on the witches - ostracism, deprival of business, redundancy dismissals and so on - that is gathering momentum.'
'There's still one aspect that needs strengthening,' Jennings said. 'It's all very well having a scapegoat but a scapegoat for what? The idea was to link them in the public mind, whether consciously or subconsciously, with the earth tremors. Now let's be honest - only the lunatic fringe will actually
believe
the witches are responsible for them. But we
can
create an irrational conditioned reflex about it so that when the real disaster comes, and Beehive Red and all it entails - as much as possible of the public anger is diverted from Beehive which they can't get at anyway, towards the witches whom they
can
get at. They won't even stop to think why.'
'That is obviously our aim.'
'But are we achieving it? The witches are b
eing set up as Public Enemy No 1
- with some success, I'll grant you. But what about the associative link "witches/earthquake"? How's
that
coming along?'
. 'I'm glad you asked,' Harley replied with a touch of smugness. 'When you leave here, take a look at your evening paper. And this evening, at the television news commentaries.'
Jennings glanced at him sharply. 'Come on, Harley. You look too pleased with yourself. What've you been up to?'
'I have arranged for an accidental lapse of security. One of Professor Arklow's daily seismological reports has been leaked to the press.'
'For Christ's sake! Not the
real
one?'
'The real one.'
'But, Harley, what the hell . . . There aren't two hundred people in Britain who know what we're really sitting on - perhaps a thousand more who could make an educated guess. Let the public know what's building up before we're safely into Beehive Red, and you're asking for panic and worse!'
'I said
one
of Arklow's reports. To know what's building up, one has to study them in sequence. A single day's report is frightening enough, but it
could
represent a peak in activity - perhaps the worst day since Midsummer. We shall see to it that it is so interpreted on the media, by well-briefed experts. Tonight, the Government will refuse to comment on the leak. Tomorrow, it will reluctantly admit that the report was genuine. What will
not
be revealed is that it is typical of the whole period since Midsummer -
merely a single point on a steadily rising graph.' Harley smiled. 'The leaked report is the one for the twenty-four hours ending 0600 hours this morning. In other words, for the period during which thousands of witches, legally or illegally, were celebrating the Lughnasadh Sabbat. And to underline the message, tomorrow's papers will carry extensive coverage of the charges against the 137 who were arrested for celebrating it illegally. Most of the sentences, too - over half of them have been in front of magistrates' courts today. With the point made that hundreds more must have broken the law and not been caught - not to mention the thousands who just kept within it, with the legal maximum gathering of six. Do you begin to get the picture?'
Jennings whistled. 'A gift on a golden platter for the Wrath of God school.'
'And a subliminal injection of uncase for the rest. . . . Are you happier now about your association link?'
Tonia Lynd looked up from the morning papers spread on her desk and said: 'Gene, there's something phon
ey about this whole business.' ‘Y
ou mean the leak?'
'Yes. I can smell a deliberate "leak" when it's under my nose and so can you. And this one's tou damn convenient.'
'Oh, God, Tonia - are you on to that witch-hunt thing again?
...
Look, if by sheer coincidence a bad night on the seismographs happens to coincide with the broomstick jamboree, it's a bonus for the Government's propaganda. Do you
blame
them for cashing in?'
'Short answer - yes, but let's not go into that. I just don't believe it's coincidence. . . . Gene, what do you and I know about these seismo reports?'
'Damn all and quite right too. All we can guess is that something pretty nasty's on its way, which is why Beehive Amber was ordered. Come Beehive Red; and we'll know it's any day now. Of
course
the public don't know the score or all hell'd break loose.'
'Then why was that one day's report leaked?'
'I've already agreed with you - because it was convenient. An extra nasty rumble down under, happening to coincide with the witches' shindig. Jackpot.'
'But
was
it extra nasty - or just average on the curve of increasing nastiness?'
'For God's sake, what's the difference? We should worry, down here!'
'Oh, no difference, I guess. I just wish to hell I
weren't
down here.'
'What are you - suicidal? Be your age, Tonia.'
Tonia shrugged and said no more. A minute or two later she was aware of Gene watching her, assessing her. She shuddered inwardly; his eyes seemed cold, alien, almost reptilian. They were no longer the eyes of the Gene Macallister she had worked with - and for all his limitations liked - for two years. Tonia decided she must be very, very careful.
At first, Betty Summers had found it hard to adjust to the total blackness of their Beehive cell when they went to bed and switched the light off. At home there had always been the friendly neon glow of London's night sky filtering through the curtains, with now and then a moon fighting splendidly to outshine it. True, she had liked even better the velvet nights of their occasional deep-country holidays - star-dusted, moon-etched, or merely making a subtle difference between the grey square of window and the greyer walls. But always
something,
however faintly discernible, to give reality to the world around her. Here there was nothing; darkness made even more absolute by the multicoloured scintillae, the writhing tapestry, of her own optic nerves. Reality was Philip beside her, their two bodies, the bedding where it touched their skin; only her mind, not her senses, could put out tendrils to what lay beyond. The solitary tiny message still reaching her from that outer world - the whisper of the air-conditioning -even that was strangely personal because it was the one thing in Beehive that was Philip's responsibility. Their isolation was complete.