The Sure Thing (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  “What does that mean?"

  “Maybe we'll get to it later. And then Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces, around to the start of the wheel at Aries again. The symbols save a lot of writing, a lot of space on the chart, and once you learn them it's automatic to look at the symbol for”—she quickly scribbled a couple of wavy lines, one above the other, on her notepad—“Aquarius, say, and know it is Aquarius, the sign ruled by the wildly eccentric planet Uranus”—she drew something like a capital-letter “H” with half of a dumbbell hanging down from the bar—“and so on."

  “And on,” I said. “And on, and on and on—"

  She pulled her arched brown brows down, pushed them closer together, then they went up high over her eyes again as she brightened, leaned across her desk to riffle through a stack of booklets, took one out. “He asked for it,” she mumbled. Before she flipped through the pages I was able to read on the paper cover Raphael's Astronomical Ephemeris and something about the Planets’ Places, and a four-digit number, either a number or the year when I was born.

  I wondered if it was just a number. Sometimes a body could get a mite apprehensive around astrologers, I decided, if only because they speak a foreign language.

  Cynara had flipped several pages, found what she was after. I peered, noted that the little book was open to a page filled with column after column of figures and symbols, and was oddly pleased that I could now recognize some of the microbes and even call them by name if I wanted to show off. It was with only mild unease that I noted, at the page's top, that same digit again, and the name of a month—the month and year of my birth, it was. And Cynara's coral-tipped index finger ran down the left-hand column to one for the day on which I was born. Irrationally, I had the queer, very queer, sensation of being at a stuffy party wearing only the Emperor's new shorts.

  “Let's see, for that hour he'd have”—mumble, mumble—“rising, Sun on Ascendant, and there's Moon conjunction Jupiter in the twelfth, ah”—mumble, mumble—“probably Neptune in the tenth, and wow, oh my”—mumble, ... She grabbed another blank horoscope chart, started making marks on it.

  I was fascinated. Maybe because the mumbling was about me. Undobtedly because it was about me.

  Cynara took a break from her concentrated perusal and looked at me, smiling that sweet-hot smile. "Shell," she said with some enthusiasm, “this is a chart. I've got to set you up. Tonight."

  “Set me up? Tonight?” I smiled.

  “Erect your timed horoscope, accurate to the minute of arc, current progressions and all. I've only glanced at the Ephemeris, but it's obvious you've got a lovely Mercury, Shell. And splendid third and ninth houses—"

  “Yeah, plus a vacation hideaway in Bimini."

  “I'm sorry, I realize you don't understand all this yet. But you could, in no time. Certainly, you're no dummy, the way you sometimes put yourself down—"

  “A fat lot you know."

  “Oh, you're rough enough, even capable of annoying crudity, but you've got a good mind, Shell, even if you don't look.... Well, you know what you're doing all the time. Most of the time."

  “Some of the time?"

  “Oh, most—be quiet. I want to give a quick check to the rest of your planets, and.... Oh! Oh, my!"

  Her voice was softer, but with a rush in her throat like a small whirling wind, and she put one hand over her left breast, or over her heart—let's say her breast, since she might have had merely an average ticker, and actually her hand was not over it, but upon it, or part of it—and I watched her hand rise and fall....

  “Oh, golly, good grief,” she murmured quietly. "Oh, my."

  Chapter Nine

  “...Oh, my,” Cynara murmured.

  I leaned closer to her, my arm touching her shoulder, and examined the Ephemeris page she was studying.

  “I don't see it the way you do,” I said seriously. “Looks worse than that. Lord, pork bellies are down a buck and a half a belly—I'm ruined."

  "You're not ruined, you'll never be ruined, you're the ruiner," she squealed.

  “That doesn't sound nice."

  “You're not nice. You're a lusty, libidinous, lecherous.... Oh, if you were a bull you'd be snorting all the time, and pawing—"

  “I do have more bulls than I know what to do—"

  “—Why, you're practically a secret sex fiend."

  “I didn't know it was a secret. Cynara, all these things—lusty, lecherous, libidinous—I'm hurt, I thought you were paying me a bunch of compliments. But, then, I think of myself as a nice sex fiend. Hey—don't stab me with that pencil. You were aiming at my eye, weren't you? Look, I joke a little, mainly because you've got to be making this up. You don't know what kind of guy I am—I haven't even made a pass at you, have I?"

  “No. But you will, won't you? Just as soon as you get a chance, you will, right?"

  “Well, if that's what you really want—"

  “Damn you—"

  She cut it off, scowled prettily, pushed her lips out—prettily—pulled them in, nodded sharply as if silently talking to herself. Then she jabbed that coral nail at the last little symbols she'd penciled close together on the chart and said, “Look at that Mars-Venus-Uranus conjunction in the fifth trine, that twelfth house Moon-Jupiter of yours—in the sex sign!"

  “OK, I'll look at it, but I'll feel like a voyeur—” I shut up because Cynara was muttering something, but I wasn't able to interpret it.

  While Cynara was talking, she'd entered ten symbols—all ten of my planets, I supposed—around the printed wheel. She gazed at her handiwork, then rolled her eyes slowly and gazed at me for a few moments with such a peculiarly intent expression that it was a bit disconcerting.

  “Last time I saw that look,” I said, “it was on the face of an infected bacteriologist—"

  “I'll finish this later, I believe.” She pushed my chart to one side. “Or else we'll never get around to Gippy's horoscope. That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

  “Once upon a time, that's how it started—ah, don't be so twitchy, Cynara."

  “That's because your Mars-Venus-Uranus is right on my...."

  “On your what?"

  “Now, you'll see in Gippy's chart here,” she said quickly, as if she hadn't even heard my question—but there was a pinker flush to her cheeks, almost as though she were a schoolgirl blushing, and for quite some time she managed not to look at, or even close, to me.

  “In Gippy's chart, the inner circle shows the planetary positions at his birth. The adjacent larger circle shows the movement of his progressed planets from the day last September when he consulted me through the following year. And the outer ring shows the year-long movements of the heavier, or slower-moving transiting planets."

  She paused, as if for some comment, still not looking at my face. So I smiled benignly at the chart, which had dark blue symbols on the inner wheel, light blue for the middle, and in the outer ring the same symbols as appeared in both the others, only these were in bright red ink.

  “It's pretty,” I said. “Especially the progressed and transmitting."

  “Transiting—referring to the actual, not symbolic, movements of the planets in the heavens. This is late October, so right now the Sun is actually transiting, or moving through space, at the very end of Libra and about to enter—rather, has just entered—Scorpio. Progressing, or directing, a horoscope is done by using the day for a year, mentioned in the Bible, in Ezekiel. In Numbers, too."

  “Bible? You mean astrology's mentioned in the Holy Hardback?"

  “Do you have to be so irreverent?—of course you do,” she finished, rolling her eyes down to my own horoscope again. “It is mentioned, over and over again,” she continued. “The three wise men, or Magi—Magi-ans, Magicians—for example, were obviously astrologers. They observed the bright star in the East, probably a Jupiter-Saturn conjunction in Pisces, or the Fishes—never mind, it would take too long. The basis for directing a horoscope—to determine the major internal influences bearing upon
an individual's life at any specific time—is that the movements of the planets during the first day of a person's birth exert definite influence upon him during the first year of his life, their movements through the second day affecting the second year of his life, the fiftieth day all of his fiftieth year, and so on."

  “Astrologers do this directing, or progressing, because it's mentioned in the Bible?"

  “No. Because it works. That's why it's mentioned in the Bible. Now, I referred to Gippy's suffering for a long time from Saturn squaring his Moon. This, you'll remember, is the symbol for Saturn.” She drew a straight left-to-right line with what looked like a little sickle descending from it.

  “There he is,” I said, tapping that same symbol three times, once in each of the three wheels. “A dark blue one, a light blue one, and a red one. I like the—"

  “Or natal, progressed, and transiting Saturn. Now find his progressed Moon for me. And transiting Saturn."

  “Easy.” The Moon symbol was shaped like a little new moon, and light blue was “progressed,” so I gave it and the red Saturn each a tap and said, “I never realized astrology was so easy."

  “How far apart, how many degrees distant, are they?"

  That took me a while, but finally I said, “About ninety-some, less than a hundred."

  “Good enough. When two planets are approximately ninety degrees apart or at right angles to each other we say they're in square aspect. One hundred and eighty degrees apart, or opposite each other, they're in opposition. Those are difficult aspects usually, indicating delay or friction, or a slowing-down, or some kind of frustration, and very powerful. Sixty degrees apart, the sextile aspect, and one hundred and twenty degrees or the lovely trine, those are the smooth and easy, usually helpful, lucky aspects. But, as you've pointed out yourself, Shell, transiting Saturn there was still—then, over a year ago—in square aspect to Gippy's progressed Moon. Now, because it takes Saturn about twenty-nine and a half years to move through all twelve signs, and it requires almost the same length of time for the progressed Moon to move through the zodiac's three hundred and sixty degrees, they can hold the same aspect for years. If the aspect is a trine or sextile, that's good, but in Gippy's case he's had that heavy square in his chart—in his life, in other words, whether you believe it or not—for nearly ten years."

  “And it's a bad one?"

  “It doesn't have to be, but it can be pretty awful, and obviously it hasn't been much fun for Gippy."

  “So what happens to the little guy? Saturn keeps on mugging him for another ten years?"

  She finally looked at me, and smiled. “That's the nice part. Shell. The aspect was separating, getting weaker, when he came to see me, and it should be almost out of effective orb by now.” She grabbed another Ephemeris from the stack on her desk. “Let's enter his current transits. It'll only take a minute."

  The gal was efficient, all right. Flip the pages to October, finger down the date-line, plastic ruler under the twenty-fourth day—today—zip, zip, scribble, and ... in just about a minute she was done, looking at the chart. Looking quite soberly at it.

  “Oh, dear,” she said softly. “Oh, my."

  “He's a sex fiend, too, huh?"

  She snapped her head around, eyes very bright. “Dammit, be serious—"

  “Well, it's just that you made the same noises when—"

  “—because I'm serious. He could get hurt. Badly hurt."

  And suddenly I was not longer jovial, felt a queer and growing concern. Not that I believed Cynara could actually see some kind of squashing calamity in those little drawings she'd made, but because a queer thought had popped unbidden into my head.

  And suddenly I was no longer jovial, felt a queer and a middle-aged con-artist named Zoreena, which sounds like the name of a lady snake charmer, though this babe was neither charmer nor lady but a female fortune-teller who smelled of garlic. She read cards. Undoubtedly there are some people who can “read” cards, or tea leaves, or mowed lawns, and see things in them that I can't. Not, however, Zoreena, who came to my professional attention because she'd informed a rich female client said client was destined to lose something of much value to her, within a week. And Zoreena knew—because Zoreena knew that her husband, who was a professional burglar, intended to burglarize said client's home within a week, which he certainly did, removing from the premises a hundred and twenty thou worth of diamond and ruby brooches, pendants, bracelets, and rings, plus one zircon of little value.

  This clairvoyance impressed the rich client so much that she returned to Zoreena on numerous subsequent occasions, and did not become my client until after being burglarized for the second time. Some people are slow. All of which was not now important except that, as Cynara was speaking, I suddenly remembered Zoreena, whom I had not thought of for at least a year.

  I didn't know why she'd popped into my mind. Maybe only because the name sounded a little like Cynara.

  But I tried to shake that unfair comparison quickly out of my head, and said, “What do you think might happen to him? And when?"

  Cynara had looked into a different Ephemeris, entered another little light-blue Moon figure, drawn a couple of arrows, and entered a few numbers on Gippy's chart. “Well, Saturn square his progressed Moon is out of orb now,” she said, “and that helps. But I don't like transiting Uranus in Libra exactly quincunx his radical Mars-Uranus conjunction in the Ascendant."

  She paused, tapping the tip of her pencil on the desk top, looking at the chart, nodding a couple of times. “Interesting ... same planets involved again. Transiting Mars is exactly square Gippy's natal Mercury now, and it was square his Mercury and Sun, and his Ascendant—from Sagittarius then—when Gippy had his accident last year and was hospitalized.” She glanced at me. “That was before he consulted me. Do you know about his accident, Shell?"

  “Yeah. Same planets involved, huh? Does that mean he might get kicked by another horse? Or even Godolphus—?"

  “Of course not. Mars is in a different sign and house now, for one thing. But he's still wide open to accident or injury, especially for the next week or so. There are a lot of other factors, and I don't like his twelfth house—I'll go over his chart more carefully tonight—but with all that Mars influence, and since Mars rules Aries, it could be a head injury, or.... No, it's the affliction in Virgo that bothers me, so it's something in the abdominal area...."

  “What's an affliction in Virgo?"

  “In this case, I was looking at Gippy's natal Mercury in Virgo. That's a splendid place for Mercury, since it rules Virgo, and is exalted in that sign. But his Mercury is afflicted naturally, and squared now by transiting Mars—and Virgo rules the abdominal area."

  She looked at me. “Each of the signs rules, or governs—has dominion over—a different part of the body. To oversimplify, just as Aries rules the head, Taurus the throat, and so on around the wheel, Virgo rules the abdominal area. And that's where Gippy's birth chart Mercury is. The rough aspect is that square from Mars, almost exact to the minute of where we are right now."

  Cynara shook her head, looked at me again, and asked, “You'll be seeing Gippy, won't you?” And when I nodded, she said, “Ask him to call me. I don't usually push myself on former clients, but this time I'll make an exception."

  “OK,” I said, perhaps a bit casually, “will do."

  "Please do, Shell. I'm really worried about that affliction in Virgo."

  She went back to her charts, frowning, pushing her lips out prettily again. I noticed she was examining the little horoscope she'd set up for me, shaking her head. Then she said, “That's interesting. You're under very similar afflictions yourself, Shell."

  “That is interesting. Where am I going to get it? This is lots of fun, isn't it?"

  She glanced at me, not smiling. “I don't mean you might get killed or anything like that, you probably won't, but ... take care, will you, Shell? You're in a period for a few days when you're not only liable to accident but might be more irritable, mor
e on edge than usual. And, too, you'll be inclined to be more brash or impulsive than normally, and—oh, I don't know, you could leave important items lying around, forget things, overlook something important, do something dumb."

  “Me, do something dumb?"

  “Have you already forgotten Mrs. Gernbutts? Seriously, Shell, take care. Even if you think I'm crazy?"

  “Sure. And you're not crazy, dear, just a little flaky, and perhaps erotically undernourished—watch that pencil, will you? I get it now, you'll tell me the stars say I'm in danger of getting stabbed in the eye, and then you poke my eye out with a pencil. You ought to meet Zoreena—"

  “I know you won't pay any attention to what I say, but you might at least tell your client he's in a dangerous period now and for several days more. He might listen."

  “I'll tell him. Going to see him and his wife tonight.” I looked at my watch. “In twenty minutes or so."

  “Then it's about time you left, isn't it? And let me finish up and get out of here myself?"

  “Just a couple more quick questions first, OK?"

  “All right."

  “Gippy seems to have gone into this drilling venture of his largely because of astrological factors he felt were good, and also upon the advice of a man named Morraigne. Am I right in thinking you and this Mr. Morraigne have been friends for some time?"

  She gave me a slow sidelong glance, as though wondering why I'd asked that particular question, but then answered easily, “Yes, Dev Morraigne and I are very good friends. He was one of my very first clients, shortly after I founded and incorporated Starguide—that was seven years ago—and we've been dear friends ever since. What did you want to know about him?"

  “Well, what kind of guy is he? And I understand his advice to Gippy was based on mysterious operations of some sort of doodlebug he's put together...."

  I stopped, because Cynara was smiling, shaking her head gently. “Did I say something funny?” I asked her.