It had taken five days, Damascus time, to gather the membership and for them to arrive; the last to appear was a blue-haired, bird-like geriatric named Tess; spry as a spring lamb and feisty as a terrier, she wasted no time informing Cass that she was eighty-four years of age in one world and a hundred and twenty-nine in her home world. “How old are you?” she asked bluntly, her voice betraying the remnants of a French accent.
“Twenty-five,” admitted Cass.
The little woman’s grey eyes narrowed and became piercing in their intensity. “Fascinating,” she pronounced. “That’s when it usually happens, you see?”
“When what happens?” Cass had asked.
“This!” exclaimed Tess. Regarding Cass’s puzzled expression, she leaned close and confided, “Enlightenment, ma chérie. Enlightenment. True knowledge of the way the world works, insight into the nature of reality.”
“Oh.”
The pale-grey eyes grew keen. “Every religious figure in history achieved enlightenment between the ages of twenty-five and thirtyfive. That seems to be when human consciousness comes fully into its own and acquires a finer spiritual perception. Perhaps it simply takes that long to develop. In any case, it’s a well-documented phenomenon. Look it up sometime.”
“I will,” agreed Cass. “At first opportunity.”
“Knowledge of the hidden engines of the universe and the spiritual foundation of all that exists.” She winked. “Most people never tumble to it, poor things. I find it tremendously exciting, don’t you?”
“I think I’m beginning to.”
Tess grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze with a bony hand. “You are in for the time of your life, ma chérie. You’ll never look back.” She laughed. “As if one could!”
There were others too—eleven in all, seven ladies and five gentlemen— all of them golden-aged senior citizens who should have been in their dotage, yet all of them full of beans and vinegar and fizzing with rare vitality. It seemed to be the nature of ley travel that not only did it extend life, but those who practised it enjoyed health and vigour beyond any normal expectation. Mrs. Peelstick introduced Cass to the various members one by one as they arrived for the meeting, which would be followed by a gala supper to welcome the new inductee.
After a pleasant tea in the courtyard, Brendan called the group to order, and everyone trooped up to the genizah to observe the ceremony. When the august members had been seated, Brendan, looking dapper in a creamy white suit, took his place beside a raised table on which an unlit candle and Bible had been placed. He welcomed the members and banged his gavel on the table, calling the meeting officially to order. “Before we get to this evening’s festivities, I must ask if there is any new business to be discussed.”
One of the gentlemen—whom Cass identified as Parton—raised his hand. “I have a question about finance,” he said.
“Oh, Dickie,” chided the one called Maude, “you always have a question of finance.”
“The financial health of the society is important, Maude, darling.”
“I agree—which is why I have placed my entire portfolio in Brendan’s capable hands.” She smiled sweetly. “I have more money than God—more than I will ever need, anyway. It might as well be put to good use by the society.”
There were murmurs of “Hear, hear!” and “Most generous” and “Well done” from the other members.
“A full report will appear once I’ve had a chance to ascertain the value of the Williams portfolio,” Brendan continued, “as will an official thank-you from the society.”
Maude batted away the idea like a bothersome fly. “Bosh! I do not need a thank-you—official or otherwise—for something I’m only too happy to do. The society has been my passion for more than half my life, and it is only right that I might in some smaller measure give back to the institution that has given so much and meant so much to me.”
Again there were affirmations of “Hear, hear!” and “Quite right” and “Maudie, you are a treasure” and the like. Cass was touched by the simple sentiment of the exchange.
The old woman gazed around the ring of faces. “Well, I didn’t mean to get up on my high horse and make a speech, but there it is.” Suddenly flustered by the attention, she made a shooing motion with her thin hands. “That’s enough. Let’s get on with the reason we’re all here.”
“If there is no more business”—Brendan paused and looked around the room, then banged his gavel—“done! We will proceed with the induction of our new member.”
He held out his hand and asked Cass to join him before the group. As she took her place beside him, he smiled and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Fellow members, it gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce to you Miss Cassandra Clarke, late of Sedona, Arizona, in the United States of America. A palaeontologist by training and trade, she brings to our gathering a keen mind, honed in the rigorous cut and thrust of the academy. She brings also a thirst for a more thorough understanding of the universe and its manifold splendours, combined with a healthy scepticism in service to an exacting search for truth.”
It made Cass feel self-conscious to hear herself described this way, accurate though the words were. She smoothed the front of the smart blue dress that she and Mrs. Peelstick had bought for the occasion, caught herself fidgeting, and folded her hands in front of her.
“Cassandra,” Brendan continued, picking up the Bible, “place your right hand on the Holy Bible and repeat after me . . .” He then led her through a litany of phrases in which she solemnly promised to promote the interests, aims, and objectives of the society; to further the search for knowledge through study and exploration; to use such gifts as she was given and that came to her for the good of her human family; to offer immediate aid to any of her fellow members in need; to provide counsel and contribute to the material welfare of the society and its members; to keep herself in perpetual preparedness to further the quest at every opportunity; to safeguard all that would be placed upon her and expected of her; and, finally, to fight valiantly against evil in all its insidious forms to the glory of the Creator who made and—by perpetual loving care—continually sustains the Omniverse and everything that lives, moves, and has being within it.
With her palm firmly on the Bible, Cass repeated the phrases, mentally agreeing with each one and concluded by saying, “I, Cassandra Clarke, make this vow in good conscience and of my own free will, pledging life, health, and strength to the quest set before me, so help me God.”
As she spoke these last words, it really did seem as if she had taken on a new and different dimension to her personality, indeed, to her very soul. The feeling was confirmed when Brendan handed her an unlit candle and asked her to light it from the larger candle on the table. As she held her candle to the flame, he said, “May this light be a symbol of the Great Light on which you may rely as you make passage through the darkness of ignorance, evil, and death towards the never-ending light of eternity.”
The unlit wick caught, and the candle flared to life with a bright yellow flame. Cassandra turned to face the gathered members once more.
“Ladies and gentleman of the Zetetic Society,” Brendan announced, “please welcome our newest member, Cassandra Clarke.” To the accompanying applause, he shook her hand, and then each of the other members came forward to shake hands and welcome her into the fold.
Then it was over—a simple ceremony, but satisfactory in every regard. Cass did feel as if she had joined a band of fellow travellers and friends on whom she could rely in the days ahead. A fine meal of Syrian delicacies followed—flat bread with hummus, baba ganoush, roast lamb with rice, broad beans with tomato and mint, fatoush, and chicken kabobs—which Cass enjoyed, but not as much as the company of her fellow diners, who all made it a point to approach and offer her special words of wisdom for travelling the leys: wear loose clothing and carry a change of underwear; gold is the universal currency, always have a few sovereigns or Krugerands at the ready; a Swiss Army knife with a cor
kscrew is a lifesaver; a no-nonsense cotton scarf can work wonders; sturdy, high-topped leather shoes won’t let you down; secure a broad-brimmed hat . . . and so on.
Each comment was delivered with the best wishes of the giver along with a pledge to help their newest member in any and every way possible. Cass thanked them all for their good advice.
Later, as they were having their coffee out in the courtyard under the stars, Tess sidled up to her. “Smell the jasmine,” she said, inhaling the sweet, heady scent. “Absolutely heavenly.”
“It’s always been one of my favourites,” Cass replied, drawing in the perfume-laden night air. “Ever since I was a little girl.”
“You seem distracted,” Tess observed. “Has someone said something to upset you?”
“No, not at all. On the contrary,” replied Cass quickly. “It’s just . . .” She hesitated, then confessed, “I feel a little daunted, is all. Overwhelmed. So much has happened all at once, and I know so little about any of it. I feel like I’ve got a mountain to get over.”
The old lady regarded her with a sudden intensity, then announced, “I’m going to adopt you, dear heart. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Cass replied. “But do I look like I need adopting?”
“Not in the least,” Tess answered. “I do it for purely selfish reasons. I am far too old to pursue the quest anymore, but I can still be involved in my way. I can uphold you in prayer, for example.”
“Prayer is our greatest and most salutary weapon in the eternal battle,” put in the man called Schecter, joining them. He took a sip of coffee and continued, “No less than gravity, prayer is one of the elemental forces that moves the world. We underestimate it at our peril.”
“Keep your sermons to yourself, Robert,” Tess told him. “I saw her first.” She took Cass by the arm. “Come, we’ll go where we can speak a little more privately.”
“You cannot keep her all to yourself,” Robert called as Cass was pulled away. “We all hope to get to know her better.”
They found chairs in a leafy corner of the courtyard and sat down together. “Robert is right, of course, but he will pontificate so,” said Tess. They settled themselves, and Tess leaned close. “Are you a believer?” she asked in her forthright way.
“In prayer?” wondered Cass.
“In God—Creator and Sustainer of the Universe.”
“Well, yes—ever since I was a little girl.” Cass regarded her elderly companion. It was not easy to believe that she was as old as she claimed to be; the vitality radiating from her was almost contagious. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it means there is so much less that one must unlearn.” She leaned back, and a smile spread across her wrinkled face. “I should know—I was the most obnoxious atheist you ever met. In my unenlightened years I positively relished playing the cat among the pigeons with my God-fearing acquaintances. I thought it great sport to poke holes in their reasoning and rhetoric, to point out all the inconsistencies, and to ridicule their muddled thinking. Although so much religious dogma serves only to buttress power and befuddle the masses, it really deserves to be ridiculed. I mean, you hear these so-called revivalists banging on about heaven and hell and what not— what do any of them really know about such things? They claim to know what God wants and what he demands . . . Bosh!” She tapped Cass on the arm. “Anyone who tells you he knows the mind of God is selling something. You can take that to the bank.”
She looked at Cass’s mildly perplexed expression and sat back. “Good gracious me—I seem to have gotten rather carried away. This is not what I wanted to talk about at all. I want to talk about your assignment. Has Brendan mentioned it yet?”
“He hasn’t said anything about any assignment.”
“No? Well, in my day all new members were required to undertake a purposeful project—something of material value to the advancement of the society, something we need doing.”
“He didn’t mention anything like that. If he did, it failed to register.”
“Maybe it has gone by the wayside,” the old woman sighed. “It has been so very long since we had a new member, you see. Perhaps we don’t do that anymore.” She passed her gaze around the courtyard. “I wonder what has become of Cosimo? I want to introduce you. I’ve never known him to miss an induction—or a dinner, for that matter. He is usually the life of the party . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Cosimo Livingstone?” wondered Cass.
“You know him?”
“Brendan told me about him.”
“Well, I should very much like you to meet him. I shall look forward to introducing you personally.”
“Are you very good friends?”
“Friends, yes, and something more.” Her voice took on a wistful note. “Cosimo and I were once engaged to be married.”
Cass raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, it would never have worked out,” Tess continued quickly. “We had just come off a particularly harrowing journey together— exploring one of the leys on Cosimo’s piece of the map. We had grown very close—extreme danger can do that to you, so take that as a word to the wise.” Her voice quavered slightly, taking on a wistful note. “Dear Cosimo and I had made all these grand plans, and then . . .”
The silence stretched. “What happened?” asked Cass at last.
“We came back!” Tess laughed, recovering her former good mood. “That is also much the way of things. Once we had returned, we realised it was all a bit fervid and overwrought—passion of the moment, shipboard romance, or what have you. It was simply not to be.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” Cass sympathised. “I’ve never been in love like that, but I can imagine.”
“We were very fond of one another, still are. But I had my life and he had his, and that was that. Marriage would have made us both miserable in the end. Besides, it would probably have meant that I would have had to give up questing—which in those days it did, anyway— and I was not about to do that.”
“But you did give it up, eventually,” considered Cass. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” sighed Tess. “But one gets so old, don’t you know.” She gave Cass a sad smile. “I have my memories, and I still travel a bit—like coming to these society functions. But it is for younger folk to shoulder the burdens now. Still, while there is life and breath, I can help. And that is what I mean to do through you.” She reached for Cass’ hand. “I want you to know that I pledge every resource at my command to aid you in the quest. Whatever you need—money, advice, a soft place to land, the expertise gathered from a lifetime of questing—it is yours. Do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Tess. That is the best offer I’ve had in a very long time.” Cass turned it over in her mind for a moment. “You said Cosimo had a piece of the map,” she continued. “You’ve seen it?”
Tess nodded slowly. “Seen it, yes, and held it in my hands—a hundred times if once.”
“Brendan also told me Cosimo’s piece of the map has gone missing.”
“Has it now? That is interesting. I had not heard about that.” She pursed her wrinkled lips. “I wonder if that is why Cosimo isn’t here—he’s out searching for his bit of the Skin Map.”
“Not exactly,” countered Cass gently. “It seems Cosimo has disappeared too.”
“No!” The old woman gasped. “Disappeared, you say?”
“That’s what I’ve been given to understand,” Cass confirmed. “A man named Sir Henry is thought to be with him—and also someone called Kit, his great-grandson, I think.”
Tess made a sour face. “Oh, I don’t like that. No, I don’t like that at all—not one little bit. Something will have to be done.” She leaned forward and took hold of Cass’ arm. “Finding them is a matter of highest priority.” The old woman leaned close. “I see it now. This is why you are here!”
“Pardon?” said Cass. “I don’t follow.”
“Dear heart, you are here for such a time as this. Someone is needed to find C
osimo and Kit, and someone has been provided.”
“Me?”
Tess gave her a solemn nod and released Cass’s arm. “There is no such thing as coincidence. All that happens to us happens for a reason.”
“I’m happy to help, but I must tell you I don’t know very much about Cosimo—or anything else, come to that.”
“That is easily remedied,” declared Tess. “Cosimo doesn’t have a permanent home, but he keeps a flat in London—a little bolt-hole where he has a bed and change of clothes and what not. He spends a lot of time with Sir Henry Fayth at Clarimond House. I would try there first. Brendan can give you the coordinates.” She stood abruptly. “Where’s Brendan got to? Ah, there he is!” Tess declared, striding briskly across the courtyard. “Come along, there is no time to lose.”
Which is how Cassandra Clarke, the newest member of the Zetetic Society, found herself in the hills north of Damascus, walking along a path between two stones, taking her first steps to find Cosimo Livingstone.
CHAPTER 33
In Which Haste Makes Hideous Waste
The French doors of Charles Flinders-Petrie’s study were open to the garden, and the drapes pulled back to allow the fresh air into a room that had been sealed all winter whilst its occupant was away on his foreign travels. Those journeys completed, Charles had returned to a London in the midst of a glorious spring, and he revelled in the balmy day. Outside he could hear a steady snip, snip, snip as Cumberbatch—his caretaker, gardener, and menial—trimmed the box hedge with his long-bladed shears.
The easy rhythm seemed to give shape to his thoughts as he pored over his ledger. The household had functioned reasonably well in his absence, but there were gaps and oversights to be reconciled and rectified. Had he known he would be so long away, he might have made better arrangements. Still, his plans had come right in the end, and the trifling matter of the accounts was nothing that could not be put right with a visit to the bank and a few letters of apology.
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