The aged man sat alone and at the same table and on the very same seat he had occupied for as long as he could remember. A glass of his favourite ale lay empty before him, save for the tears of sadness that now flowed into it from his wizened eyes. He picked up the two week old newspaper, now crumpled and sodden by the anger and misery of his grief. As he had done on as many times as the number of years of his life, he read again and again its sorrowful news. “Yesterday [11th December] at about eight o’clock in the evening, emergency services were called to the scene of a horrific car crash that took place near Wetherden in Suffolk. A police spokesperson told our reporter, that the car, belonging to Dr. William Gilderiche, 44, an Architectural Historian from Woodham Ferrers, Essex had hit a tree and burst into flames, causing the vehicle to be burnt almost beyond recognition. According to the owner of his local garage, Mr. Eddie Jones, the car was believed to be a 1905 vintage Rover, recently restored by Dr. Gilderiche. Mr. Jones added that ‘if it were mine, I would never drive it, it should be in a museum, it’s was a danger to other road users’. The spokesperson went on to say that despite an extensive search of the area, no trace could be found of the driver or his companion, who is believed to be Mrs. Elisabeth Songster, 42, a divorcee from Finchingfield. Police are appealing for any witnesses to come forward, who might be able to help them with their ongoing enquiries.”

He then reached into the pocket of his threadbare jacket that never once held money for his ale; and from it pulled out an unopened letter stained brown not with age but by Ridley’s best brew. On its envelope was written his name alone, penned in a hand he knew so well. It would tell of all that Ned feared. His friend’s death was no mere accident. He alone did end their present life; with his beloved at his side; whilst returning to the only place they ever truly belonged.

"I am now ready to make my confession before my Lord God. Despite the great and many horrific crimes, I have committed, for which I freely admit my guilt, I am yet, still free to walk this Earth with impunity. I have never been found guilty of any crime, nor convicted by any court of the same or even suspected of any complicity in them. And in many cases my acts were done on the lawful orders of others, whether it be by church or state. I did not care, for I was sanctioned by them to commit evil, in the name of God or as an act of war. But to me, it was still wrong, as it was in the eyes of my Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. I have gone against each and every one of the decalogue of commandments, passed down to us from Mount Sinai, by Moses himself; which became the very means and reason why I avoided the justice, which I at long last do crave. I must now repent of all my sins. I have finally broken the shackles of my evil. I have done what I was told I must do. I have prayed for forgiveness for the terrible sin I committed on that fateful day at Aldham Common. It was here that I condemned the first of my victims to be consumed by the fire of hatred that burned in my heart. The first of the many thousands that have followed me across time itself. It was he, the very first, who revealed to me how these fires of my own making, could be turned on me, so that I might be free of all pain; the pain that once burned so fierce in my very soul, that constantly reminded me of the untold hurt and grief I had brought upon the world, these past centuries.

I showed no preference or bias, based on any of the many of the criteria that are used to describe humankind. It did not matter if they were male or female, young or old; nor did the colour of their skin; or the religion of their faith; or the language they spoke. I was not prejudiced against any class, rich or poor; or whether they had goodness or evil in their hearts. None has escaped my flames, not even the animals which inhabit this world; for a lowly monkey was amongst my victims. I was the epitome of my ilk. But none have done what I have done. For I am unique. Fire was my choice of weapon, whether it be from a pyre of wood, or in a barn full of hay or out of a firestorm of bombs. This was the instrument of my sins. I know, I can never be brought to account for my past sins in the life I now lead; for it has been blameless and beyond the reproach of any juror, judge or court. For these instruments of justice, can never try, convict or condemn, a person’s soul. A soul which has remained hidden by many names; a soul that masqueraded itself within the frailty of the human forms it took and in the incarnations of my nefarious lifetimes. Like my victims, my own diabolical reincarnations are long since gone and forgotten by all, save myself. But now, I must be judged for all that I have done! I cannot rest until justice is dispensed. I submit my wicked soul to be judged by the highest court of all; so that it may at last burn in hell, consumed by the fiercest conflagrations that the devil may set upon it…the Flames of Redemption. My name is William Gilderiche and I am the Devil’s Arsonist.”

Casting aside this confirmation of his despair he looked down at the ancient metal box, left at his table by one between worlds. On its lid could still be seen the now faded Coat of Arms of he who had sealed it, so long ago; the colours of its blazon - a red chevron between three arrowheads on a silver shield, still lingered amid the rust; below which was written the family’s motto in old Portuguese: Del Fuego io Avola – I escaped from the fire. His hand trembled as he broke its wax seals, untouched and unbroken since a time, now centuries past, when another Elizabeth sat on the throne of England. He lifted its lid and took out a leather bound book wrapped in a silken cloth; its pattern unblemished as if new. The Tudor Rose motif of its woven damask glistened brightly in his hand. What words the book contained was no mystery to him, for he had been privy to nearly all it would tell. He opened it and began to read its tale; a tale of good and evil; of damnation and redemption; of war and peace, of murder and death; of truth and lies; of loyalty and betrayal; of trust and deceit; and of love and grief. All of this and more. It was truly a riddle within a tale, that told of a brave monkey who cried and died by the very devil’s flames.