I watched the old building, knowing the location was correct- but were my instincts? Months of endless reading, sending transmissions, infiltrating a hidden circle. The message I discovered was no accident, did the radar blip and find me? Fear instincts threatened to creep in like the October breeze. Was it bait? I would know soon enough.
My shadow stretched to the door before I did, the sun giving its last light for the day. I pulled at the worn metal handle, the correct choice reassuring me, as the door creaked open.
It was darker inside than the twilight I had left. Trying to adjust my vision, I swear I could see shapes. Were there people milling about, or their souls, still not finding the solace they once sought within these walls ? It was hard to tell, the worn leather and wood chairs groaning, the large metal oven still ticking, waiting for a spark. There was life here, and if it was a sinister presence, I was dead meat.
Various altars of heavy wood were scattered about. Symbols were carved upon all of them; the rough edges of blades scratching and puncturing from determined hands; others drawn and painted on. Messages, testimonies, memorials?
What did I know about the Divers anyway? They were loyal, single minded – sworn against the systematic Shackers, forcing their own to wait, single file, in any weather, to feast.
I jumped, turning to find several figures standing in a half-circle behind me.
“Huh? I was, just… you were expecting me?”
“In a way. You obviously decoded the subtle message I posted, meant to summon Divers, but sometimes new acolytes find us.”
“But let’s not grill you further.” He put his cloak aside, and waved his hand towards the oven. There was a louder click and it ignited, burning bright, warm, hungrily. Another member handed me a glass filled with a thick, dark brew.
The group gathered at a large altar and looked towards me expectantly.
“Medium well ok?”
So as it turned out, the wait for a table was not hellish, the Guinness WAS dark,
and the Bistro Burgers were sin…fully delicious.