Chapter One: The High Ground

The tall, striking figure stepped from the shadows and crouched smoothly, plucking at his soaking trousers for comfort and waving the other forward. A shorter, more powerful figure joined him, unconsciously mimicking the pose. The rain ran down them. They stared past the flowing gutters down into the street far below, breathing gargoyles unnoticed by the hoards.

"He-ere, we can bear witness and yet leave them undisturbed, free to go about their, little business, unaware that, a greater power looks down on them." The first man spoke in a rich whisper, turning at times to look his audience in the face to ensure he caught every word.

His stocky companion made sure to hide his annoyance, wishing he'd get to the point. If there was one thing the Father seemed to love, it was the sound of his own damned voice. Then he chastised himself inwardly and made a note to flagellate one for disrespect when he got back to his cell.

"There! He's coming out now - wonderful!" He patted his own thigh in delight, his smile warm and engaging. The younger man strained to see, then bit his tongue as the Father helpfully pointed the way. Far below a figure in a beige trench coat waded against the rushing tide of late London commuters, shoulders up and hat down against the downpour. As the traffic queued for the lights ahead he crossed between cars, wading across the flooded street.

"How did you spot him? He looks like all the others from up here," said the young man. Just another worker ant, hurrying, scurrying. The Father nodded with enthusiasm.

"Indeed, but therein lies the beauty - and the danger. He goes unnoticed by his fellows, all unaware that he could be the harbinger of a new world. He himself knows nothing of his potential. That is why we must act now." The older man rose and the water which had pooled in the folds of his cloak rushed away. Standing, tall and proud against the roiling cloud-filled sky, he struck a truly angelic figure - serene, powerful. Unstoppable. The younger man swallowed.

"Let's take a closer look." The cloak swept dramatically as he lead the way across the rooftops.

*

"He posits rules regarding behaviour in animals that parallel human decision making!"

"Fascinating." Walking close to the edge of the building, he kept one eye on his footing, the other over the side alert for glimpses of their quarry. The pedestrians were thinning out as the rain came down the harder.

"The first, well, merely how beasts might react to stimuli, but the second, development over time - it is little more than to suggest animals are able to learn, and adapt, and - and -"

"Good gracious." There, the beige coat passing beneath the wide awning of a hotel entrance.

"But he goes on, to discuss beneficial effects upon breeding selection, Phylogeny... even... Evolution."

The Father turned to face him, almost in surprise. "Openly?" The younger man put on a prevaricating expression and waved a hand awkwardly.

"Well, behind closed doors, amongst a few particular students."

"Ah." He looked back to the street - the man was missing from the emptying street. He stopped, the young man jerking to a halt a few steps ahead. He leaned over the drop to scan the street both sides, both ways. "The hotel - he's gone in there." His companion gazed eagerly downwards.

"Let me get him!" he hissed, "He knows me, I'll -" The Father shook his head.

"No, no. We must be cautious. But..." He thought. "Take him a note - no, take it to the front desk and ask to pass it to him in the morning. Remember the room number, and return he-ere." He smiled at the look of disappointed frustration on the face of the younger man. "Discretion, always, and you'll never go wrong. I'll go to him, and you? You can watch and learn."

*

"He-ere, we see, Nikolaas Tinbergen," said the voice, warm and husky, discretely low and yet unafraid of the silence surrounding it. It woke the sleeper in an odd fashion for, being in a man's bedroom, the heart of his privacy, it should have been invasive and yet wasn't.

"Who's there?" asked Tinbergen, sitting up slowly in the dark. The drapes where thick, the room black as pitch - or perhaps not. Was there a warmth to the darkness? Was there breathing? He didn't reach for the light at his bedside, as if unconsciously hoping the dark would hide him.

"Nikolaas Tinbergen," said the voice. There was the faintest of amber glows in the room, at the armchair across from the bed. Beside the only door. "It is strange to find you away from Den Hague, in this season. Habitat, is crucial to a creature's wellbeing, is it not?" With a quiet scraping the baffle of a lamp opened, revealing the Father in the soft glow of a candle. He smiled gently from the chair, inviting his host into the discussion.

"Yes," said Tinbergen. "You are a man of science, are you? How marvelous." It seemed like a dream, but he felt a thickness, a heaviness in the hollow of his throat. Like dread. "Who are you?"

"I am Father David Attenborough," said the seated man. "Hand of the Holy Inquisition."

Tinbergen croaked like a frog caught in the hot sun, clutching at his bedsheets.

"You have brought question to the holiness of the creation of the world, Nikolaas Tinbergen," said the man, setting his lamp down on a small table and rising to his feet. "You have put Man amongst the animals, and raised animals to a level of civilisation." Still a whisper, but somehow ringing out like the most strident voice ever to cry out from a pulpit. "It is time to confess all."

"No, no - there is no contradiction! Just a greater understanding of creation!" Tinbergen quaked, his feet kicking to drag the sheets down for escape just as desperately as his hands clung to them to feebly shield himself. "Please, Father! Please - I have nothing to confess!"

The Father raised one hand, pointing - but not a finger, unless that glinting finger carried an edge. "Nothing to confess, to me," came the whisper. "Only to Him."

The lamp's baffle clicked fully open, mirrors within amplifying the candlelight to shine with all the glory of heaven itself. With a wail of terror Tinbergen tumbled from his bed, crawling towards the door as a caped shadow eclipsed the radiance behind him, swooping, that shining blade sweeping before his eyes... then darkness engulfed all. And that voice said, "Go with God."

*

Father David joined the young man outside on the broad balcony, from which he had observed all through a chink in the drapes, made for him by the tutor before the duty was begun. They stared out across the city, Attenborough with quiet satisfaction, his companion less so.

"I could have done it, you know," he muttered. "And without all the chitchat."

"It is enough, that you brought him to our attention, Richard." Father David replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have gone a long way, to proving yourself, in the eyes of the church. And you, clearly, have the passion for our, vital work. You won’t be a novitiate for much longer.” His expression became contemplative.

Richard resisted the temptation to shrug the hand off. “Thank you, Father,” he said. “I swear that I will never let down the might of the Holy Church.” The hand patted him affectionately.

“The Right of the Church, Richard: the Right.”