* * *
“I should bloody well like to know what in the world is going on!” I cried. I believed I was justified in my indignation, if for no other reason than that I had been thrown from a window, chased aboard a train, and had to kick a shadowy blighter in the face to prevent myself from being forcibly abducted.
“And you shall,” responded Professor Penniweather blandly.
Yet his words seemed to belie his actions, as he proceeded to pull out an old, beaten blackthorn pipe, and then slowly began to pack it full of dark, sweet-smelling tobacco. I watched him, at first annoyed at his seeming inability to get to the point. But as he finally finished his task, and lit up with a single match he found in his pocket (after a lengthy search), and then leaned back in the carriage-seat, puffing merrily away, it occurred to me that perhaps the night’s events had been just as hard on this old, book-bound gentleman as they had been on me, and perhaps he needed a pipe-full to calm his nerves in order to tell me his tale.
“Long ago,” he began presently (and as he spoke he assumed the manner of a professional lecturer, well-versed in his subject and craft), “when the Byzantine Empire and the Abbasid caliphate were first beginning their mortal contest across the ancient Middle East, there was a strong nation of warriors from the steppes of Central Asia, whose domain extended from the Crimea to the Aral Sea. These warriors were known as the Khazars, and their empire was called the Khazar Khaganate. Situated as they were between Constantinople and Baghdad, they could not help but be drawn into the politics and machinations of the two mighty religious empires to either side.
“In an effort to remain neutral and not arouse the anger of either of these two rivals, the Khagan of the Khazars, a wise man named Bulan, decided to listen to the advice of a rabbi named Yitzhak ha-Sangari, and the Khazarian nobility all converted to Judaism. You see, both the Christian Byzantine Empire and the Muslim Abbasid Caliphate recognized Jews as something like co-religionists, and Khagan Bulan believed that by converting to Judaism he could maintain peace with both empires.”
I was nonplussed, to say the least. “I say, do you mean to tell me that there was a great Jewish empire that rivaled both the Byzantines and the Abbasids? How is it that I’ve never heard of such a thing?”
“Not Jewish, Turkic,” Penniweather patiently explained. “They were Turkic peoples who converted to Judaism as a political expedient. And I rather expect that you have never heard of them because they were semi-nomadic and very little of anything they wrote has come down to us.” He paused. “Also, in 969 AD, the rising power of the Kievan Rus, the early Russians, conquered the Khazar Khaganate and destroyed its capitol city, Atil.”
The professor’s pipe had gone out during his exposition, and he searched absent-mindedly for another match as he continued. “For centuries, however, the Khazars were the dominant power in Central Asia, and heavily influenced politics and diplomacy in the rest of the world. Their position on the Silk Road, as well as their placement between the Christian and Muslim worlds, led to truly impressive accomplishments in trade, manufacturing, and agriculture. Their capitol was at Atil, on the Volga River, the very site where you discovered your artifact, and it was the center of a flowering, powerful nation.” The Prof’s long search finally produced a match, and he re-lit his pipe, huffing and puffing until the bowl was glowing. “I believe that the Khazars manufactured that artifact, and that it is connected with the Voynich Manuscript, which I believe to have been copied from ancient Khazarian texts.”
As he finished he leaned back in his carriage-seat and studied me over the rims of his little round spectacles.
I was not entirely sure what to say. Finally, clearing my throat, I said: “Erm, thank you for shedding some light on my artifact about which, I freely admit, I never had the deuce of a clue. I’m sure it’s all quite interesting to one such as yourself.”
“Yes, yes. Quite fascinating,” agreed the Prof, smiling amiably.
“What is more interesting to me, however,” I continued, fighting back the urge to yell at this supremely frustrating old man, “is that I was pursued and very nearly abducted by some fellows in black cloaks who, so you say, want this very artifact of mine. What, are they ancient Khazrians, trying to get their trinket back?”
“Khazars, not Khazrians,” the Prof responded calmly. “And no. They were Germans.”
“Well that makes even less sense!” I cried. “This is absolutely insufferable!”
All this time, Rebecca Dare had been sitting quietly, listening, but now she spoke. “It will make sense, Mr. Westlake, after Professor Penniweather explains about the artifact, and the power that we believe it to possess.”
“Oh dear me, of course he doesn’t know!” the Prof exclaimed. “Allow me to explain. Perhaps you can show me the artifact?”
I had the distinct impression that Rebecca had made her statement by way of gently reminding the professor that he still needed to tell me the whole story. An eminent mind Professor Penniweather might be, but he also seemed to be rather an absent mind.
Whatever my misgivings, the events of the evening had shaken me quite a bit, and I felt that I didn’t really have any other choice than to trust these two people. I pulled the chain from my pocket and let the artifact fall into my outstretched palm. Such a fuss over such a small trinket! Unclipping the chain, I handed it over to Professor Penniweather, who took it, almost reverently, with his fingertips. Propping his spectacles up on his forehead, he studied the little ovoid intently, moving it about so as to see it from all angles, and murmuring to himself the while.
I looked over at Rebecca, who was also looking with some curiosity at the object. “What power do you refer to, when you speak of this artifact?” I asked her.
“We’re not certain,” Rebecca said, looking at me. “Our study of Khazarian records and artifacts has led us to believe, however, that the Khazars were instrumental in holding back some great, magical evil, and that to accomplish this they possessed some form of power or knowledge unknown to us.”
“And this artifact is the key to gaining that power, I suppose?”
“Possibly,” broke in Professor Penniweather.
“Which is why Germany wants it?” I pressed.
“Germany?” the Prof looked quizzical. “But Germany has nothing to do with it.”
“I thought you said the men after us tonight were Germans?”
“Oh, of course. But they don’t represent Germany. They represent the Thule Society, a secret organization which is trying to collect talismans of occult power for some dark, unrevealed purpose.”
“Oh.” There really wasn’t anything else I could think to say. I had apparently stumbled into the plot of a pulp-fiction dime-novel and now, apparently, I was supposed to matter-of-factly accept the notion that magic was real. If it had not been for the exceedingly mysterious nature of the artifact and the night’s encounter with the cloaked abductors, I should have immediately laughed at the entire business and found my way home through the fog at the very next stop.
As Professor Penniweather lapsed into deeper study of the Atil artifact (as I had begun to think of it), Rebecca picked up the thread of the story. “You see, Mr. Westlake,” she said, in her calm, gentle voice, “a pseudo-scientific philosophy has begun to take root in Europe, springing from the horror and chaos of the Great War, and given impetus by the words of people like Helena Blavatsky and Guido von Liszt.”
“Theosophy?” I replied, feeling slightly proud of knowing the word. I liked to think I had a grasp on a fairly wide base of knowledge, although I would be the first to admit that I could not be considered an expert in any areas, save very few. “I’ve heard something of these fellows. They’re interested in runes and whatnot. Secret rituals and so on. A pretty harmless bunch, I’d always thought.”
“For the most part, yes,” Rebecca agreed. “But there are other, darker aspects of the hidden
rituals, aspects which overshadow and threaten the very foundations of the world.” Her voice dropped lower as she spoke, and she leaned forward, clasping her hands together before her. Almost without realizing it, I leaned in as well, drawn by the evident concern and danger she felt. Her earnest eyes and gentle voice captivated me, and as she spoke I could almost feel the chill damp of deep castle dungeons closing around me, almost see the guttering flames of mystic candles fluttering in the corner of my vision, and hear the low, ominous mutterings of strange incantations uttered by shadowy men, cloaked and cowled in the very bowels of the night.
“I speak of the ariosophy of the Thule Society,” she continued, and my mind flashed back to the hate-filled, pale face which had grabbed my leg on the platform earlier. “Their philosophy was founded upon the thought of Lanz von Liebenfels and Karl Maria Willigut. In the early twilight of the world, according to their belief, there were two races of man: the Aryan and the ape-man. The Aryans were god-like, with powers beyond the possession of mere mortals, while the ape-men were nothing more than animals, fit only to serve their betters. They believe that through inter-breeding and the resulting degradation of the Aryan race, the Aryans lost their god-like powers until they were at the mercy of these ape-men, a condition which has existed down to the present day.”
“What a remarkable notion!” I said. “Where do they suppose these ape-men went?”
“Mr. Westlake, according to their philosophy, the ape-men are any who are not pure ethnic Germans. They reserve particular distaste and hate for Jews and Slavs, among others.”
“But this is just plain anti-Semitism,” said I. “It’s the sort of thing that crackpots rave about, the sort of thing some lunatic claimed in The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and surely everyone knows that was just a hoax by now, thanks to the work of Peter Graves. That sort of thinking is dying out in the civilized world, I should think.”
“It is not simple anti-Semitism, Mr. Westlake,” Rebecca said earnestly, “and it is not dying out. The Thule Society is only the latest incarnation of a very old, very mysterious society, a society which has long worked to gather talismans of dark power and bring about an age of terror and slavery; a world where they would be the masters. They wish to recreate the master Aryan race, and to subject all those who are ‘impure’ to abject slavery.”
I was more than a little incredulous. Despite the occurrences of the past night, I could not believe that something so remarkable could ever escape the eventual discovery of the government, who would put a quick stop to it, and I said as much.
Rebecca shook her head, her soft blonde hair swinging around her shoulders. “Think of the state of the governments of Europe,” she said quietly. “The world, and Europe in particular, is in chaos, on the very brink of complete collapse and disaster. Germany and Russia, two of the most powerful nations on earth, have collapsed and are in the grip of anarchy and revolution. France has lost much of her strength and wavers on the brink of revolt. Plague and famine sweep the continent, and the great masses of the people search for an answer, for relief from their suffering. No organization or government exists which can recognize the danger and act. Even here in Britain, relatively untouched by the chaos sweeping across the continent, the government is quite overwhelmed with its own problems: insurrection here, rebellion there, rising unemployment, the growth of Bolshevik power in Russia. They have precious little time to spare for fanciful tales of sorcery and black magic. But if the Thule Society is not stopped, they will gather the talismans for which they search so voraciously, and they will surely bring about the destruction of the world as we know it.”
“What talismans do they search for?” I asked, and it came out as a whisper. Even though I could scarcely believe such fantastic stories, Rebecca’s very earnestness had brought me into the spell, and I felt shadowy hands reaching out as if to grasp me, and pull me into the blackness of the night.
Rebecca sighed. “It is difficult to tell, for their plans change, and as their plans change, so do the talismans for which they seek. The world is full of hidden power, Mr. Westlake. The Ark of the Covenant, the Spear of Longinus, the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the armor of Achilles; all exist, all contain powerful magic. Other, greater magics lie hidden in the far corners of the world. But for now, as you saw tonight, they seek the artifact of the Khazars.”
“But what power can this tiny metal trinket hold?” I asked, looking over at the professor, now comparing the markings on the artifact to a hand-written diary he had laid in his lap.
“We believe it to be the key to deciphering the Voynich Manuscript,” Rebecca said. “The Manuscript is a document that we believe to hold the hidden knowledge of the Khazars. We believe it holds the knowledge of how to defeat a great evil, the same evil the Khazars held at bay for centuries.” She paused. “We also believe that the Voynich Manuscript may hold the knowledge of how to release this evil. And make no mistake, Mr. Westlake: the horror of that evil can devour the earth. It feels no remorse, only hunger; it feels no compassion, only hate.”
“But what is this evil?” I asked.
Rebecca looked uncomfortable for the first time that night, and I could tell she did not like her own answer. “We don’t know. No one can read the Manuscript. It has resisted all attempts at deciphering and translation. It is no language that still remains on this earth. It is why we need the Atil artifact. We must decipher the Voynich Manuscript and find a way to stop this evil, should the Thule Society succeed in awakening it. Failing that, we must at all costs stop the Society from achieving its nefarious purpose.”
I was full of wonder, and still could not wholly believe this remarkable and ominous tale. “And who are you, who fight these clandestine battles to save the very world?” I asked, not certain if I should be skeptical or not.
“Why, we’re from the British Museum,” chirped Professor Penniweather happily, as if it were the most natural answer in the world. “And I believe this is our stop.”
The Affair of the Atil Artifact: A Professor Penniweather Adventure Page 2