Chapter 36

APRIL 18TH

"T ell me again why tonight?" Annice was walking alongside Griffin. It was ten at night. They were aiming for Griffin's parish church.

"The vigil service." Griffin glanced up at her. She caught a good look at him in the streetlight. "I know it's not as common elsewhere, but it's honestly one of my favourite liturgies. The ritual text has a fair bit of Latin, but they'll do the readings and all the parts you have to agree with in English."

Griffin was, Annice suspected, the sort of person who had a dozen favourite liturgies, all for different reasons. They were absolutely about the structure of the space and how it related to time, in the particular ways that enthralled him nearly as much as truth and fairness did. "Not tomorrow at dawn? That's what we did in Whitby." They'd talked a little about the fact that her experience of Whitby's Anglican parishes was different from his in trellech, but not nearly all the details.

"There's a dawn service at the Temple of Healing tomorrow. Poor Augustus has to do double duty and get up for it. It's rather impressive, but it's also more than a bit of a crush. All the people who only go to services two or three times a year. I wish them well with it, but I don't need to be there." His shoulder twitched for just a second. "Also, I don't get much of a view. Mostly people's arses. They take the pews out, so everyone's standing the whole time."

They paused for a second before crossing a street, and he gestured. "I like this much more. We start outside, and then we go in, and if you'd hold my candle when we get to that part, I'd be obliged. There's a side entrance with the ramp, and a space for the chair all the way forward on the left."

"Why half-ten?" That was the part Annice hadn't been able to figure out.

"Astronomical twilight. And it means we'll have the Acclamation after midnight. Satisfies both beginning in true dark, and the coming of the light, and means we're not up until dawn on this end."

About at that point, they came up to the small group gathering outside St. Matthew's. It was one of the three Anglican parishes in Trellech. St. David's was further north, and more ardently Welsh in particular ways. Annice could more or less manage the Latin of the service when it was used. But she'd only picked up enough Welsh to make it clear she didn't speak it. It was apparently a common enough tongue among the people who'd grown up in Trellech, which made sense. Saint Hildegard's was apparently the posh parish, deep in the well-off section of Trellech, attended by those with a particular interest in materia and magic along with their religion.

Griffin was immediately welcomed in by a number of people, though almost no one spoke. Griffin had explained this was more or less picking up in the middle of a service, running from Good Friday through to this evening.

As it got on for half-ten, there was a single toll from the bell tower. The ritual began in darkness and in silence, barely a rustle of clothing. There was a priest there as celebrant - not the usual rector, Annice had met him on previous Sundays - and others, all in plain white vestments for the moment. They formed a loose half-circle around the front porch of the church, with the priests and deacons and acolytes and a choir standing on the steps. The celebrant called fire with his hands and magic into a great shallow metal bowl, and began, his voice carrying clearly into the night. There was a prayer, calling them together and blessing the fire. Then he used it to light a tremendous beeswax pillar, nearly as tall as the men on the steps.

Annice found someone pressing a candle into her hands, then handing one to Griffin. Everyone processed in. Griffin made for the left-hand door, handing his candle to her before he went. He kept pace with the procession, just a little behind where that single tall candle was lit. It stopped each time the deacon with the candle sang, each time "Lumen Christi", the light of Christ.

When the procession reached the front of the church and the altar, he gestured for her to go into a pew. Griffin aligned his chair with the open spot on the end, out of the side aisle. Just as he stopped moving, someone next to her had their lit candle, and she took a breath, lighting hers. Then she handed Griffin his own, and let him light. The room was shimmering now with a hundred, two hundred, tiny candle flames in the darkness, flickering. She couldn't really see the altar, properly - it was so dark there, and there were people in front of it. But she thought it might be entirely empty, as it had been for the last day.

Just at that moment, another person sang, or rather first one person, and then the choir led the response. She did not know this tune, but she did not need to, the people around her carried her along, especially Griffin's voice beside her. It seemed the most magical of services, how the dark played against the candles, and the way the candles held enough hope to get through the hard times.

She had not been prepared for the readings. It wasn't just that there were a lot of them - Griffin had warned her about that. It was what they were. Laid out, in ancient words, were the building blocks. It began with Genesis, and she understood immediately why Griffin liked this service. Each reading built on the others, some of the most known stories and moments, one after another. It didn't matter that it was long. She was enthralled.

Finally, they worked around to baptisms and confirmations, with everyone following on and reaffirming their own oaths. Of course, that would matter here in Trellech, where everyone lived their lives anchored by their oath on the Silence, as well. It had a new weight, one that Annice was going to have to think about a lot. The Silence Oath, the one she'd made at twelve, like everyone in Albion, didn't limit her actions, other than talking about magic with those who didn't have it. It didn't enforce a belief or a cultural custom. Just that one thing. But now, here she was with people who were committing to belief and to practise, and it felt wonderful to be in company as she renewed her own baptismal commitments.

The organ picked up music then, great sound from the pipes at the back, and the choir sang. Annice tried to focus on what was going on at the altar, but she couldn't quite see, rather like there was a fog. Out of the near darkness, as the song faded, came the call "Alleluia, Christ is Risen!" The entire congregation surged to their feet - even Griffin, who had a hand out to balance on the bench back in front of him.

There was a deep bass rumble from the organ, and then all the lights came up, shining as bright as day. They were bright both inside the church and somehow bright enough outside to shine bolts of colour onto the floor from the stained glass. The music broke out into something utterly joyous, full of bells and trumpets, echoing drums, all together in cresting sound.

At first, she was certain the altar was still bare. Then, before her eyes, item after item appeared, as - that must be the bishop - stepped forward, now fully robed. His cope was thick with golden thread and even stones sewn in that caught the light and sparkled. Soon, the altar had everything needed, and there were flowers bursting into bloom around the pillars, filling the air with a living fragrance. That was magic at work, to make all of that happen in an instant, and she had no idea how they managed it.

The service from there was what she was used to, and she felt buoyed by the tradition of it, of knowing what to expect after having so much newness. When they were seated again and the service went on, Griffin reached for her hand, holding it until it was time for them to receive the Eucharist. He managed that with a cane, though they were near enough the front that it at least wasn't a very long walk.

They waited - as they had at the theatre - for most of the congregation to file out, before making their way down the expected line of clergy. Griffin was beaming until they came to the end, and the bishop. Griffin reached out a hand. "Augustus! Happy Easter to you." Then he glanced at Annice. "This is my friend and colleague, Annice Matthewman. Annice, Bishop Augustus Fuller. We won't keep you, Augustus, but perhaps supper sometime, once you've had a bit of a rest?"

"I will look forward to it. A pleasure, Mistress Matthewman. Anyone Griffin knows is worth knowing better." He inclined his head, and they went on, into a small knot of people, calling out to Griffin, wanting to meet Annice. Someone passed around biscuits, and Griffin murmured that they were traditional, and also tasty. She took a bite, and it near crumbled in her mouth, all currant, and orange and sugar and a hint of spice. The conversation continued for a few minutes until people individually made their good nights and went off in different directions.

It wasn't until she and Griffin were on their own, perhaps halfway back home - and yes, it was firmly home tonight - that Annice spoke up. "Of course you know the Bishop. Why did I think you wouldn't?"

Griffin laughed, delighted with her. "Well. To be fair, he baptised me, early in his time as a priest. And second, Trellech is a diocese of three churches. He'd be terrible at his job if he didn't know the regulars. He rotates which parish gets him for vigil every year, besides the Temple of Healing in the morning. Shall we have him round for supper, or would that be too much?"

"What's he like, when he's not..." She gestured at the shape of the mitre.

"He loves interesting food - not necessarily posh, interesting - and good conversation, and people who can talk about things other than their own immediate problems. When he's not on duty. He'd love hearing about Whitby, he did a stint up in Yorkshire as part of his seminary training. Before my time, obviously."

"I can talk about Whitby. Let's, yes, if you'd like it and he'd like it." Annice knew, as she said it, that she was, in fact, committing to something. That she'd already committed to something, sometime in the last days. She'd chosen to stay with Griffin, then to share his bed. And now she was working around to saying yes to far more. She wouldn't take it back, even if there were a lot of details to work out still. She halted, and Griffin stopped a second later. "Don't ask me about beyond that yet? Tonight was amazing, but it was a lot."

"It's a very impressive service, and I'm always amazed that they get all the coordination right. Easier with magic. We use some of the same tools in the courts, when we have to be impressive and sequence things just so. But getting everything ready for the altar, and the additional vestments and all." Griffin grinned. "The set Augustus was wearing go back a hundred and fifty years, and they're charmed to catch the light and reflect it."

That set the tone for the rest of the walk and both of them washing and changing for bed. It wasn't until they were tucked up in bed - which was no longer entirely strange - that Griffin changed the subject. "I loved having you there tonight. As a thing we did together, that we shared." His hand shifted to take hers. "I'm not asking you anything yet. I just want to be sure you know how much I'm enjoying this. Your company, coming home and knowing you'll be here."

"And you only stayed late at work once this week," Annice said, before kissing his nose. "I like you being here and working, though. It's not the working that's the problem."

"The here." Griffin nodded, taking a deep breath, leaning his forehead against hers. "More of the here, then." Then he dimmed the lights, as if he'd be tempted to say more if he didn't, and Annice fell asleep in the dark, listening to his even quiet breaths.