Iwasactuallywonderingifthishadallbeenanelaborateandexpensivejoke,in whichseveralthousandpoundshadbeenspentjusttowastemytime.
ThefearmusthavebeenapparentonmyashenfacebecauseasIwentthrough customs,theyoungwhiteEnglishladywhointerrogatedmeaboutmybusiness intheUKgavemespecialattention.
“Areyoualright?”shesaid,lookingmeoverwithsuspicion.Shestaredstraight intomyeyestointimidateme,forcingmetostareback.“Yourfacelooksvery
…pale.”
Well,Iamnaturallyquitepale,andImusthavelookedevenmoresoasIstood thereinfrontofher.ButIgotthefeelingthatsheactuallythoughtImightbe wearingheavymake‐uptohideadarkercomplexion.Icouldfeelhertryingto
“unmask”mewithhereyes.Thenshejustcamerightoutandsaidit.
“Franklyyoulookabitoff.”
NowIcouldfeelmyselfgettingangry. Offwhat? Ithought. Offmyrocker? I couldn’tletitboilover,though,asthiswasadelicatesituation.Iknewshewas justbeingvigilantbecauseofthestabbingsbyISISagentsthathadhappenedat Gatwick,theotherLondonairport,aweekprevious.Ithoughtofawayto expressmyannoyancethatwouldsurelyshutherupandallowmetobeonmy way.
“Ma’am,”Isaid,“areyoutellingmethatyoufindmesuspiciousbecauseofthe colorofmyskin?”
Herfacecurledupintothetrademarkregretfulhalf‐smileofwhiteguilt.
Thislookisusuallyonlygiventoethnicminoritieswhohavejustbeensubjected tospecialscrutinybecauseoftheirrace,onlytobefoundinnocent.Ireturnedit withthemostgenuinesmileIcouldmuster,andreachedouttotakebackmy
passportfromheraftershefinishedstampingit.
AsImademywaytothebaggageclaimarea,Isearchedfruitlesslyforthesight ofachaufferholdingasignthatsaid“PamelaAuger.”Butnonewas forthcoming.Iwatchedalltheluggagefrommytranscontinentalflightcircle aroundtheconveyorbelt15or20times.Afterdeterminingthatmysuitcasewas notonit,IfiledareportwithUnitedAirlinesstaffandmademywayouttothe taxistand,wonderingwhattheHellIwasgoingtodonext.
IgotintoablacktaxiwithaPakistanidriver.Wedroveforaboutfortyminutes togettomyhotel.Thankfullyhedidnotmakeanysmalltalk.Insteadhelistened toendlesslyloopedreportsaboutthecurrencycrisisandthelatestISIS
attacksinEuropeonSkyNewsradiowhilehemutteredunderhisbreathabout thetraffic.LondonwasinmanywaysjusthowIremembereditfromprevious tripsthere,butthevibewasabitmoreintense.Aswepassed10DowningStreet, Isawsoldierswithmachineguns.
Twicewewentthroughtollboothsontheway.Whenwegottothefirstone,the driveraskedmeifIhadanycashtopayit.ItoldhimIdidn’thaveanylocal currencyyet,sohechargedittomycardwiththerestofmyfare.IwasgladI hadinsistedthatLeopoldpaythreegrandupfront.IfIhadcometherewithonly myownmeanstosupportme,Iwouldn’thaveevenbeenabletofinishthecab ride.Pietyhadcometomeasoflate,andsoIthankedGodthatIwasOKsofar, eventhoughIwondered,asIalwayshave,whichgodIwasprayingto.
IwasevenmoregratefultothisunknowndeitywhenIfoundthatmyroomwas stillreservedforme.AsIcheckedintotheRegentPalace,whereplaqueson thewallproudlyboastedofthebuilding’shistoricalsignificance,Ianticipated enjoyingashower,anapandroomserviceinwhatIthoughtwouldbeopulence, judgingfromtheelegantdécorofthelobby.Iwasreadytoflopdown immediately,butfoundIhadtowalkupseveralflightsofstairs.Someonewas presentlystuckintheelevator,andahalf‐dozenfiremenwereworkingtotryto rescuethem.
WhenIfinallyreachedtheseventhfloor,room729,Iwasbreathless.Ishoved thekeyinthehole(fortheystillusedmetalkeysinthisoldbuilding).
WhenIstumbledin,Ijustabouttrippedoverthenarrowbed.Itactuallylooked
likeaprisoncot.Andtheroomwasbarelybigenoughtoholdit.Infact,thebed wastheonlythingintheroom.Therewasnofurniture,andnospaceforany.IfI hadbroughtmysuitcase,Idon’tknowwhereIwouldhaveputit.
“OhmyGod,”Isaidoutloudtomyself.“Areyoukiddingme?”Icouldn’t believethattheBaronofAlphamstoneandhisfriendsattheWSBweresocheap thattheybookedmeforsuchaterribleplace.
Despitemyshock,Ireallyneededtopee.SoIlocatedthebathroom,whichwas accessiblethroughanarrowdoorthatstoodrightnexttothefootofthebed.
Thereweretwostepsleadinguptoitbecausethefloorofthebathroomwas raisedupaboutafoothigherthanthemainroom.
Itwasaboutthesizeofanairplanerestroom.Therewasasmalltoilet,andalittle pedestalsinkwithatinybasinthatsortofhoveredoverthetoiletseat.
Next,toitwasadiminutiveshowerwithatilefloorandaplainblueplastic curtain.ItremindedmeofashowerIusedatacampgroundinOhioonce.
AfterIhadwashedandrelievedmyself,Iwentbackintothemainroom,puton mydirtyclothesagain,andopenedthewindow.Itonlyopenedaboutaninch, andtheonlyviewwasofthehotel’sroof,alongwiththewindowsofother upper‐floorrooms.Thetopfloorsofthebuilding,whichIwason,onlyhad roomsaroundtheperimeter.Thiscreatedatrapezoid‐shapedspacebetween themwhenthebuildingwaslookedatfromanaerialview,asIdiscoveredlater fromlookingatthesiteonGoogleEarth.Thewindowhadbeenfixedtoonly openaninchsoastopreventpeoplefromwalkingoutontheroof.
Isupposeitshouldnothavesurprisedme,consideringthestateoftheother accommodations,whenIrealizedthatthehoteldidnothaveanyWi‐Fiavailable.
WhenIcouldn’tfindasignal,Iusedthegray1950s‐erarotaryphoneattachedto thewalltocalldowntothelobby.Whentheytoldmetherewasnointernet,I triedcallingLeopoldagain,andagaingotnoanswer.SinceIcouldclearly accomplishnothingfrommyhotelroom,Ipackedupmylaptopandheadedout intothestreetsofLondon.
Chapter6:ErosandAnteros
Loveisthelaw,loveunderwill.Norletthefoolsmistakelove;fortherearelove
andlove.Thereisthedove,andthereistheserpent.Chooseyewell!
—AleisterCrowley, TheBookoftheLaw
Iwalkedoutofmyhotelandintothethrongs.Itwasstillmid‐morning,andthere werepeopleouteverywhere.Theladyatthefrontdeskhadtoldmetherewasa bankacrossthestreetwhereIcouldusetheATM.Ilooked,andmychest instinctivelyconstrictedwithfearasIsawthefamiliarlogoofBarclays,the companythatcalledmethreetimesadayregardingmy3000‐pounddebttothe BritishMuseum.ButIneededcashandIfiguredtherewasnorealdangerin usingtheirATM.
Iwalkedoverandusedthemachinetoextract100poundsfrommybank account.Ithensteppedintothecornershopnextdoorandboughtabottleof Oranginatobreakoneofthe20‐poundnotes.IhadtheIndiankidatthecounter pourtheresulting20+coinsweighingapproximatelyonemetricfucktonintothe outsidepocketofmylaptopcase.Myshouldersmartedundertheweight,and mybodyleanedrighttocompensate.
“Whenaretheygoingtomakeaone‐poundnote,forGod’ssake?,”Imutteredto myself.
IwalkedoutofthestoreandimmediatelynoticedastatueofCupidstandingon topofafountainatPiccadillyCircus,whichwasdirectlyinfrontofme.I decidedtositunderneathitwhileIlookedataLondonUndergroundmapthatI hadgottenfromthefrontdeskatRegentPalace.Iwastryingtofigureouthow togettotheHousesofParliamentonthetube.
TheplacewhereIsathappenedtobenexttoaplaquethatexplainedthestatue.
Asitturnedout,itwasactuallyafigureofAnteros,thebrotherofEros(the GreekversionofCupid).Hewasthegodof“counter‐love,”andhebore butterflywingsinsteadofthecherubicwingsofhisbrother.This,asWikipedia explainedtomeonmyphonefor20centsaminute,wastakenbymosttomean thathewasthegodwhopunishedunrequitedlove.Inotherwords,ifyou
werein lovewithsomebodyandtheydidn’tloveyouback,youcouldcallonhimtoget revenge.
Mysixthsenseforoccultsymbolismstartedtoitchatthesightofthis explanation.Itjustdidn’tseem complete.Itfelttomelikeacoverstorytohide
thedirtytruth,asIsooftenfoundwheneverIdugbeneaththesurfaceoffolklore andmythology.
Theinterpretationofferedbythedesignerofthefountainwasevenmoretame, callingAnterosthe“godofselflesslove.”Itwassupposedlymeanttobea monumenttoLordShaftesbury,aPeeroftheRealmandphilanthropistfromthe latenineteenthcentury.Hehadworkedallhislifetoimprovethelotofminers, childrenworkinginfactories,andlunaticslivinginasylums.Thestatuewas meanttorepresenthisloveforpeoplewhocouldnotreturnhislove.
Thisstruckmeasanodd,awkwardandforcedmetaphor.Whyconflate charitableandreformistworkwithsomethingthatisobviouslyanerotic symbol?
Infact,atthetimeithadbeeninstalled,therehadbeenmanyobjectionstoits
“pagansensuality.”MostpeopleinmoderntimesstillassumethatShaftesbury FountainisastatueofEroswhentheyseeit.
Asiftounderscorethis,therewasevenanadulttheatercalled“ErosCinema”
thathadoncestoodrightinfrontofthestatue.Indeed,theentirecornerhadbeen ahavenforburlesqueparlors,dirtymovies,andprostitution.Therewasevena debunkedrumorgoingaroundthat“Piccadilly”wasanoldwordforprostitution insomelanguage.
Themostsignificantaspectofthestatue,asfarasIwasconcerned,wasthe arrowhewasaimingwithhimbow.BecauseLordShaftesburymademostofhis reformisteffortsthroughtheHouseofLords,thearrowinAnteros’bowhad beendesignedtoaimdirectlyatParliament,justwhereIwasheaded.Idecided thatwasnocoincidence,andthatIhadbetterbeonaboutmybusiness.
WhenIlookedagainatthetubemap,however,Ifoundthattherewasnotrain goingdirectlytherefromthePiccadillystation.Iwouldhavetoeitherwalkto anotherstationortakeaseriesoftrains.SoIdecidedonceagaintorelyon Google,andfoundthatitwasbetterformetotakebusnumber159bywalking overtothecornerofHaymarketandOrangeStreet.
IstoodupandbegantowalkeastdownCoventryStreet.ThenItookarightto gosouthonHaymarket,andmyeyeswereinstantlydrawntoanotherinteresting landmark.ItwasrightinfrontofthedoorsoftheCriterionTheater,underneath
thebalcony.Againitwasastatuedecoratingafountain,thisoneoffourhorses allreelingbackontheirhindlegs.Theinscriptiononthefountainidentified themasthe“HorsesofHelios,”thesungod.
Itookapictureofitwithmyphoneandwalkedon.ButIkeptlookingbehind me.ItwasasifIcouldfeeltheireyesonme—thehorses,thatis.Afterwalking abouttwoblocks,Isawthereddouble‐deckerIwaslookingforheadedmyway.
Oneblockaheadwasmybusstop,markedwithasign,whichIreachedjustin time.Nooneelsewasthere,butthedriverspottedmeandpulledover.Iasked hertoannouncemystop,andshesaidshewould.
Itwasn’tverycrowded,butIremainedstandingbehindthedriversothatIcould watchformystop.SevenminuteslaterIwasatWestminsterStation,on ParliamentStreet.IwalkedtothecornerofBridgeStreetandsawBigBenup aheadontheleft—or,moreproperly,ElizabethTower,as“BigBen”isreallythe nameofoneofthebellsinside.
Icrossedthestreettothecornerthattheclocktowerwason,thenfollowedthe crowdtoanopeninginthefencewherepeoplewerewalkingbackandforth.Up ahead,Isawamanwalkinginthroughoneofthedoorsinacornerofthe building,rightbeneaththeclock.SoIfollowedhim,walkingpastahedged enclosurewithanopeningintheside.AsIwentpastIsawafountainfeaturing statuesofanemaciatedunicornandseveralothermacabre‐lookingheraldic creatures.
WhenIgottothedoor,Iwasrebuffedbyasecurityguard,whotoldmethat
“strangers”hadtoenterthroughSt.Stephen’sGatedownthestreet.SoIwalked backpastthehedgesandturnedleftwhenIgottothesidewalk.IwentonuntilI sawthestatueofOliverCromwellonmyleftthatthesecurityguardhadtoldme tolookfor.
ThereIturnedleftontothewalkwaythatleddirectlytothevisitors’
entrance.Iwalkeddownaramptowardsavaulteddoorway,infrontofwhich thereweretwosecurityguardswearingplasticgloves.Theyfriskedmeand searchedmylaptopcase.Thentheyletmein.
Ienteredagiant,emptyhallwithstonefloorsandahugevaultedceilingmadeof carvedwood.Ithenturnedlefttogoupsomestonestepsandthroughanarched woodendoorwaywithaclockaboveitthatledto“St.Stephen’sHall.”
Thiswasacorridorwherethewallswerecoveredwithbeautifulfull‐color muralsofscenesfromBritishhistory,andstained‐glasswindowsdepictingmore suchscenesabovethat.
AllalongthewallswerewhitestonestatuesofimportantEnglishmen,including someinsetintothewallsinthecorner,andstonebenchescoveredwithleather thecolorofBrunswickgreen.Brilliantchandeliershungfromtheceiling.
Attheendofthishallwasanothervaulteddoorwayunderneathyetanother clock,whichledtothe“CentralLobby.”
Iwentthroughthedoorandemergedintoanoctagonalroomsituatedunderneath anamazinggold‐coveredmosaickeddome.Thereweremorestained-glass windowsbeneaththedome,andmanymorestatuessetintothewall.ThenI lookeddowntoseeagiantblackeight‐pointedstarinthemiddleofthemosaic floor,composedoftwosquaresatoppositeangles.Thepointsofoneofthe squareswerealignedwitheachoffourcorridorsthatledelsewhere,including theoneIhadjustcomeoutof.Thepointsoftheothersquarewerealignedwith statuessetbetweenthese,presumablyofimportantBritishpoliticiansfromthe past.
Istrolleduptothesecretary’sdeskinthecornertomyleft.Behinditstooda whitemaninablacksuitwithawhiteblouseandablackbowtie.Hewastalking onablackdeskphone.Iwaitedforhimtofinishhisconversation.Afterafew seconds,helookedupatme,puthishandoverthereceiver,andaskedwhathe coulddoforme.ItoldhimthatIwasafriendofoneofthelords,theBaronof Alphamstone.
“Canyoubuzzhisofficetoseeifhe’sthere?”Isaidhopefully.
“Excuseme,”themanreplied,lookingveryconfused.“TheBaronof Alphamstone?”
“Yes,LeopoldBlack,”Isaid.“Pleaseseeifhe’sin.Ifnot,I’llleaveamessage.”
Whenheheardthewords“LeopoldBlack,”heraisedhiseyebrows.
“CanIhaveyournameplease?”hesaid.
“Sure,”Ireplied.“MynameisPamelaAuger.HeknowswhoIam.”
“Wouldyouhaveaseatononeofthebenchesplease?”hethenasked.Hestarted talkingintohisphoneagain.
Hehadpointedtomyleftatablueleatherbench,oneofseveralliningthewalls.
ItwasrightbehindastatueofsomeguynamedWilliamEwartGladstone,and underneathasmallerstatuethatwassetintothewall.Isatdownthere,and turnedaroundtocheckoutthestatueaboveme.
ButthenIheardfootstepsapproaching,soIturnedtolookinfrontofme.
Thereweretwomenintheir30sapproachingme.OnehadPersianfeaturesand darkhairinaBeatlescut.Theotheronewaswhiteandginger,withcurlsanda mustache.Theywerebothwearinggraysuitsofslightlydifferentshades.
“Ms.Auger,”saidtheIndian.“Wouldyoucomewithus,please?We’dliketo speaktoyouaboutthepersoncallinghimself‘theBaronofAlphamstone.’”
Chapter7:RegnumDefende
NobodywasreallysureifhewasfromtheHouseofLords.
—TheBeatles, ADayintheLife
ThefoodservedtoMPsandtheirguestsattheTerraceCaféintheHouseof Commons,whereIwastakenbymytwonewfriendsfromtheSecurityServices, seemedratherplebian,abitlikethelunchesservedtokidsinpublicschoolsin theUS.However,IwasassuredbyAgentParisandAgentChesterfieldthatt
he ingredientswerehighquality,local,andcompletelyfreeofGMOs.Ipickedout somelasagna,andbothmenorderedasandwich,withcoffeesallaround.
Chesterfield,theredheadwiththethinmustache,insistedonpaying.
WesatoutsideontheterraceoverlookingtheRiverThames,rightnexttothe café,asortofblack‐and‐white‐stripedtentedstructurewithglasswalls.Thetwo agentstookseatsacrossthetablefromme,withtheirbackstotheriver,sothatI couldenjoytheview.ThegiantFerriswheel,theLondonEye,wasspinningin thedistanceofftomyleft.
Ididn’tknowwhattosay,andIdidn’tknowwhattheyweregoingtosay.
Butitseemedlikelytheyweregoingtotellmetherewassomethingphonyabout Leopoldafterall.Therefore,Iwouldlikelyneverseetherestofthemoneyhe hadpromisedme.
Whatevertheyweregoingtosay,itwasgoingtobealet‐down.Iwasalready embarrassedthatIhadletmyselfbefooledsomehow.Ibracedmyselfforbad newsandnervouslypickedatmylasagna.Itwasextremelybland,ifit’spossible forblandnesstobeextreme.ParisnoticedthelookonmyfacewhenItookmy firstbite.
“IsthisyourfirsttimeinEngland?”Helookedmestraightintheeye, penetratingly,andIknewthatheknewwhatIwasthinking.
Theyjustdon’tusespicesinthiscountryforsomereason.
Idon’tknowhowIknew,butIjustknewthatheknew,andthatheknewIknew.
ThewordsthatIwasthinkingwerebeingtransmitteddirectlyintohis brain,anditwasasthoughIcouldseethemreflectedinhiseyes.Thisisabad rapporttoestablishwithagovernmentagentwhoisabouttointerrogateyou.I lookedattherivertobreaktheeyecontact.Acruiseshipdriftedby,packedwith tourists.
“No,”Isaid.“I’vebeenhereoncebefore,asateenager.Familyholiday.”
“Sowhat’syourbusinessherenow?”Chesterfieldaskeddirectly.
“Research,”Ianswered.“Imainlywanttohavealookatsomeofthemuseums.
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