So Saxon didn’t stay long, not long at all. One minute he was there: bright eyed and bushy sideburns. The next he was replaced by the most miserable sod I had ever seen: Archbishop Michael Ramsey, miserable git.
Sadly I never got the chance to say farewell to the one who reminded me that a world existed beyond my pigeon filth streaked cave, a world that specifically held a place for me. Saxon, apparently, was taken by the flu – nasty thing it is – all I know is he cleaned the church up, cleaned me up, re-opened the doors and then just vanished, body taken back to the united States of America. Shame really, but thats the thing with life, well with mortal life anyway. I helped out at the church for a while, lost track of time really. We ‘landed’ on the moon, questions of deep space were being asked, even in service. I held my tongue.
The Order of St Oswalds set up in secret. Meetings were held in the town hall, mayor and local constabulary present, of course. But so were others. Capitalists had become the true rulers, dictators, or whatever you want to call them. I was a silent/inactive spectator. None spoke to me and I to none. I did however meet the occasional nervous glances from the fat cats. I fiddled my sharpened pigeon bone expertly and watched on, all the while wondering how long had passed since I last killed a man.
I prayed often. I prayed alone mostly, but when I prayed alone I always kept my eyes open. Never learned how to truly surrender I guess. Not really bothered, I still woke up everyday and saw the sun rise. Still listed to the bird song coming from the lone pine tree by the drystone walling. And I still smarted with the reminder of my saviour. Sometimes I couldn’t lift up my arms properly to get dressed. The scars on my ribs often re-opned and bled. The Archbishop merely dismissed this as a sign of mercy from God, mercy? I often thought about impacting one of my sharpened bones through his eye socket. Never did though, unfortunately. Someone else got to him first. I just got to find him, reverse crucified and skinned before the alter. I had seen this kind of thing before and my heart raced. But I wasn’t so sure if it raced from fear or excitement, maybe both.
The message was meant for me, of that I was certain. Henry Game would not be allowed to fade into a normal existence, I snapped my pigeon bone and rolled my shoulders to the satisfying crack of familiarity. The door stood wide open…
Finally, Henry Game was back.