I’mawriter.”
“Ohyes,I’veseen,”saidChesterfield,grinning.“DanBrownkindastuff.
Occultmysteriesandsuch.”Heshowedmehisphone,aSamsungGalaxy,which wasopentoanamazon.compagewithallofmybookslisted.
“DanBrownwritesfiction,”Ireplied,cold.ButIshouldhavejustletitgo.
Don’tofferthemanyinformation,Iremindedmyself. Anddon’tletthatPersian guyreadyourmind.
“Sowhat’syourbusinesswith‘theBaronofAlphamstone’?”Parisaskedwitha sneer,makingfingerquotes.Forcedtolookbackinhisdirection,Iconcocted somethingonthespot,knowinghewouldn’tbelieveme.
“Iwassupposedtointerviewhimabouthisfamilyhistory.They’resupposedly relatedtotheMerovingians.DanBrownkindastuff.”
Ireturnedmygazetotheredhead,whosestarewaslessinvasiveandyet somehowmorecharming,moreseductive,perhapsbecauseheseemedsafer.But IknewIshouldn’tletdownmyguardwithhimeither.Idranksomeofmy coffee.
Itwascoldalready,andwatery,withagrimysedimentonthebottom.
Chesterfieldclearedhisthroatandpreparedtolecturetome.
“Alphamstone,mydear,isavillageinEssexwithlessthan100residents.Itis notassociatedwithabarony.Themanyouarecalling‘theBaronof Alphamstone’isactuallyThomasWeir,amanwhosebeenlivingonbenefitsfor over20yearsbecauseof‘psychologicaldisabilities.’”
Hemadefingerquotestoo.Inoticedhisleftmiddlefingerwasshorterthanthe others.Istaredatit.Thetipwasmissing.
“Woodshopaccident,”Parissaidbehindme,showingoffthathewasreading mythoughtsagain.“Franklyhe’ssoclumsyIdon’tknowwhytheyeverlethim ontheservice.”Hechuckled.
“Oh,puffoff,”saidChesterfield,wavinghisbutcheredhandathiscolleagueas iftodismisshim.
“Idon’tunderstand,”Isaid.“There’sapageaboutLeopoldBlack,Baronof AlphamstoneontheofficialParliamentwebsite.”
“He’snotapeer,”Parisinsisted.“He’snotnobleatall.Hejustpretendstobeso hecansellfakefancytitlestocredulousforeigners.EspeciallyAmericans.
They’reagulliblelotwhenitcomestothisstuff.Evenyou,andyou’rean investigator.”
Hewaggedhisfingeratmeasiftochastiseme.Hewasopenlydemonstrating thefactthathewasfullyawareofwhatkindofwriterIwas,unlikehispartner, whoplayeddumb.
“Wellheneversoldanytitlestome,”Isaid,ignoringhisslight.“Inevergave himanymoney.Infact…”
Istopped. Betternotmentionthelecture,Ithought, ortheOrientalClub, the WorshipfulSocietyofButchers,themoneyhe’dsentme,northefactthathe‐‐
orthey‐‐hadpaidformytrip.Betternoteventhinkit.
“Washepayingyouforsomething?”Parisasked.Ofcourse.Hehadpickedup onmythoughts.
“No,”Ireplied,assumingthatasanon‐citizenIhadnorealobligationtotell themthetruthaboutsomethingthatwassurelynoneoftheirbusiness.Iopened mylaptop,foundtheopenWi‐Fifromthecafe,andtriedtoloadtheBaron’s pageontheParliamentwebsite.Tomysurprise,Igota404notfound!
“Idon’tunderstand!”Isaid.“Itwastherejustacoupleofdaysago!”
“Letmesee,”saidChesterfield.Heleanedovermyrightshoulder,andputhis lefthandonthebackofmychairtosteadyhimself.Thenhepressedincloser andpointedatthedomainnameatthetopofthepage.
“That’snottheofficialParliamentwebsite.It’stwolettersoff.”Heputhisthumb onthetouchpadandthebackspace,thenshortenedtheurltowhatshouldhave beentheindexpage.Itwas404too.Theentirewebsitewasgone.
“HehiredsomeonetomakeafakeversionoftheParliamentwebsitewithan entryabouthiminit.Therealoneisparliament.uk,notco.uk.”
Ifeltlikeatotaldumbass. Oh,howhefooledme! Ithought. AndItook money fromhim,innotableamounts!Wheredidhegetit?Fromsellingtitles?Is that howhewasabletorentouttheOrientalClubsohecouldshootthatvideo conferencewithme?Allthistimehewasjustajoblessconman?
Myheadwasfullofquestions,butIcertainlycouldn’taskthesetwoguys.
Infact,IfeltthatIneededtolosethemrightawaysothatIcouldgettothe bottomofthingsonmyown.
“Welllads,thankyouforrevealingthetruthtome,”Isaid.“Ifeelprettystupid.
ButIguessit’sbetterIfindoutnowratherthanafterIwriteabookoranarticle basedonsomethinghetoldme.”Iclosedmylaptopandstartedtopackitaway, signalingthatIwasreadyforthemtoletmego.
“IguessI’lljustmoveontomyrealreasonforbeinghere,whichisthe museums,asIsaid.”Istooduptoleave.
“Ohwecantakeyou!”saidChesterfield.Heactuallygrabbedmywristtokeep mefromleaving.“Whichoneareyougoingtofirst?”Hesmiledatme,andthen self‐consciouslysoftenedhisgriponmeforasecondbeforedroppingit completely.Parisshothimadisapprovingglance.
Youdirtybastard.
Ireadthethoughts,asheintendedmeto.
“TheBritishMuseum,ofcourse,”Ireplied.
“Welllet’sgothen,”saidChesterfield,lightlybrushingmylowerspinewithhis lefthandashepushedmychairbackinforme.“CanIcarryyourcase?”
“Nothankyou,”Isaid.
Thecontactbetweenhishandandmybackcreatedsomekindofelectrical chargethatradiatedthroughtherestofmybodyandleftmefeelingflushed.I knewthathewastryingtocharmme,probablyusingsophisticated conversationalhypnosistechniques,anditwasworking.Worstofallwasthe feelingthatAgentParisknewexactlywhatwashappeningandwaslaughingat meforit.Ilooked,andsureenough,hehadasneeringgrinonhisfaceashe regardedme.
IwaitedwithChesterfieldoutsideintheOldPalaceYardwhilePariswalked downMillbanktothe“Q‐Park”ontheothersideoftheAbingdonStreet Gardenstopickuptheircar.Aswestoodthere,Chesterfieldaskedaboutmy books.Igavehimvagueanswers,notwillingtomaketheefforttodescribemy
worktoanewbie
Hedidn’tseemtomind.Hejustkeptsmilingatme.Hetriedtogetmetogive himmyemail,purportedlysothathecouldbuysomeofmybooksdirectlyfrom me.ButwhenIputhimoffbytellinghimjusttogetthemfromAmazon,he changedhistactic.
“Look,thetruthisthattheSecurityServiceshaveanongoinginvestigationon thisWeirfellow,”hesaid,suddenlyactingserious.
“Who?”Ihadforgottentheguy’s“real”name.
“TheoneyoucalledtheBaronofAlphamstone!You’reawitness.Wemayhave morequestionsforyou.You’llhavetogiveusyouremail,andyouraddress,and yourphonenumbertoo.There’ssomepaperworkyou’llhavetofilloutinthecar beforeweletyougo.”
ForamomentIfoundthethoughtofhimcallingmeintohisofficetodetaining andinterrogateappealingforsomereason.Ichalkedituptothemindcontrol tacticsheandhispartnerwerebothusing.
Mustbesomethingtheyteachyouintraining,Ithought.
WeheardahonkasablackVauxhallAstraElite,recentmodel,pulledupinfront ofus.Thedoorsunlocked.Chesterfieldopenedthereardoorandgestured gallantlyformetoenter.Thenheboorishlyslidinrightbesidemeinsteadof takingthepassengerseatinthefrontasIwouldhaveexpectedhimto.
Hestaredatmelasciviously,anevilgleaminhisgreeneyesandhisred eyebrowscockedatadevilishangle.Iwassurehewasgoingtograbmypussy rightthere,Trump‐style.Butinsteadhereachedintoapocketonthebackofthe seatinfrontofmeandpulledoutapacketofcarbon‐copyformsformetofill out.
“Putyourcontactinfohere,initialhere,andsignhere,”hesaid.“You’rejust acknowledgingthatyouvoluntarilyansweredourquestions,andthatyou weren’t forciblydetained.”Hesaidthatlastpartwithfartoomuch
enjoyment.
Ittook15minutestogettothemuseum.Wehadtocrosstherivertwice,andpay
atoll.WefirstcrossedtotheothersideviatheLambethBridge,andaswe turnedonit,theybothproudlypointedouttometheiragency’sheadquarters,a buildingcalledThamesHouselocatedfurtherondownMillbank.
“SodidWeiractuallymakeanappointmenttomeetwithyouintheHouseof Lordstoday?”Parisaskedashedrove.Itwasthefirstrealquestioneitherof themhadaskedme.
“No,”Isaid.“HejusttoldmetolookhimuptherenexttimeIwasintown.I guessheneverexpectedthatI’dactuallyshowup.”
“When’sthelasttimeyouspoketohim?”Parisqueried.
“Probablyaweekago,”Isaidtruthfully.Myliesweregettingsloppy.
“SoyoutoldhimyouwerecomingtoLondontodoresearch?”Parisinquired.
“Well,yes,”Isaid.Icouldn’tthinkofawayaroundit.
“Butyoudidn’tmakeaspecificappointmenttomeet?”Parispressed.
“No,justaninformalagreement,”Ireplied.“IjustsaidI’ddropbysometime, that’sall.”Iwashopinghewouldn’tprobefurther.
“Sodidyoutalktohimonthephone?”Parisasked.
“No,justemail,”Itoldhim.Ididn’twanttomentiontheSkypeconversation,or thephonenumberhe’dgivenmewherenobodyeveranswered.
“Well,saidChesterfield,tenderlygrabbingmyhandandfoldingmyfingers aroundabusinesscard.“Here’smynumber,ifyourememberanythingthat mightbeusefultous.Especiallyifhecontactsyouagain.Don’ttellhimthatwe spoke,
orthatyoufoundoutthetruthabouthim.Trytomakeanappointmentwithhim, andthenletusknowwhereyou’regoingtomeet.”
Ilookedatthecard.Ithadthe RegnumDefendeMI5logowithadragon-tailed lionsurroundedbyportcullisesandpentagonalrosesymbols.Itwasagoodthing HerMajestyhadthesetwofinementodefendherrealmfromthemischievous
conmentryingtoselltitlestofakebaronies.Imentallylaughedattheridiculous situationInowfoundmyselfin.
“Surething!”Isaid.Thecarcametoastopinfrontofthesouthentranceofthe museum,withitsmassivecolumnedpedimentinthestyleofancientGreece.I managedtogetoutofthecarsomewhatsmoothlywithoutmakingfurther promisesorgivingawayanymoreinformation.ButnotbeforeChesterfield kissedmyhandridiculously,causinghispartnertoshakehisheadin embarrassment.
ThecarspedoffassoonasIshutthedoor.Iwalkedquicklythroughthe courtyardandupthelargestepstothedoorway,eagertogetoutofopenviewas quicklyaspossible.
Chapter8:NonSequitur
Thegreatsecretofmagic,theuniqueand
incommunicableArcana,hasforitspurposetheplacingofsupernaturalpowerat theserviceofthehumanwillinsomeway.
ToattainsuchanachievementitisnecessarytoKNOW
whathastobedone,toWILLwhatisrequired,toDARE
whatmustbeattemptedandtoKEEPSILENTwithdiscernment.
—EliphasLevi, TheGreatSecretHavingfinallyshakenlooseofmy interrogators,Iwanderedthroughgrandhallsfilledwiththegreatesttreasuresin theworldinablinddaze,hardlynoticinganyofit.Afterpayingmydonationto getin,Ienteredalargeopencourtwithanegg‐shapedreadingroomcarvingout alargechunkofspaceinthemiddle.ThefirstroomIsawtomyleftwasfullof Egyptianstuff.Isatonablondwoodenbenchunderneathagiganticbrokenbust ofRamessesIIandtriedtocollectmythoughts.
SoLeopoldisafraud.Whereishenow?HavethepoliceandMI5already questionedhim?Presumablyhehasn’tbeenarrestedyet.Butperhapstheyshut himdown,orheshuthimselfdown,realizingthegamewasover.Butwhatwas thegame?
Theagents’claimsmadenosense.Leopoldhadn’ttriedtosellmeanytitles, whichsurelywouldhavebeenthepointoffakinghismembershipinawealthy Britishgentleman’sclub.Itwouldhavebeenanexpensiveruse.
Hehadbeenseekinginformationfromme,ratherthantryingtoconvincemeof anything.Hehadspentaconsiderableamountofmoneyonme,ratherthan tryingtogetmetobuyanything.He’dliedtomeaboutbeingabaronandaPeer oftheRealm,butwithoutmentioninganythingaboutprovidingtitlesforothers.
Sowhatwasthepointthen?
Iwastooworkedupaboutallofthesequestionstotakeinthemuseumproperly.
Butthatwasn’treallywhyIwasthere.Iwantedtoseeformyselfthe veryitemsofinterestwhichIhadtravelledallofthiswaytotalkabout,buthad neveractuallylaideyeson.
IwalkedbackoutintotheGreatCourtanduptotheclosestinformationdesk.
Thiswasalargeblackcircularobjectneartheentrance.Severalagentswere workingthere,allwearinguniformsofblackpantsandblueshirts.
Theyallwerebusywithothercustomersexceptoneontheend.Shewasan overweightPersianladyinher20s,withherhairinamessybun.Hernametag said“Parveen.”Iwalkeduptoher.
“Hi,”Isaid.“Iwaswonderingifyoucouldtellmehowtofindoneoftheitems inyouronlinecatalogue.”
“Certainly,”shesaid.“Whatdoyouknowaboutit?”
“It’salimestonecoffer,itemnumber1866,1229.143intheDucdeBlacas Collections,”Isaid,readingoffinformationfromanemailaccessibleonmy phone.Parveentypedintohercomputer.
“Hmm,”shesaid.“Thatitemnumberiscomingupasnotfound.Wasitdonated byLouisdeBlacas,orPierre?”
“Louis,Ibelieve,”Isaid.Shelookeddisappointed.
“That’salargecollection,unfortunately,”shesaid.“Whatelsecanyoutellme aboutit?”
“Well,itwaslabeledashavinganimageofCybeleonthetop.”
Shetypedintohercomputersomemore,presumablyusingkeywords.Thenshe shookherheadsidewaysagain.
“Well,I’mnotfindinganylimestonecoffersatall,I’mafraid,”shesaid.
“Coulditbeinanothercollection?”
“That’simpossible,”Isaid.“Iknewitwasn’tondisplay,butitshouldstillbe here.”
“Whotoldyouitwashere?”sheasked.
“Themuseumstaff!”Ianswered,feelingfrustrated.“Throughemail!Theylet mesearchthroughthedigitalcataloguntilIfoundit.ThenIpaidthemtotake somebetterphotosofit,whichtheysentme.”
IcombedthroughmyGmailarchivesuntilIfoundanattachmentcontainingthe photosofthelidoftheMetecoffer.ThenIturnedmyphonearoundtoshow Parveentheimageofanaked,crowned,andbeardedHermaphroditegleefully pullingtheSunandtheMoon,upside‐downandoutoftheskywithapairof chainsattachedtoboththeheavenlybodiesandtheanklesofthegoddess.
“Cybeleisagoddess,notaHermaphrodite,”Parveensmuglyinformedme.
“That’snotwhatCatullussaid,”Isnappedback,nothavingtimetoexplainthe numerouscounter‐traditionsindicatingthatthe“MagnaMater”or“Great Mother”worshipedbyboththePersiansandtheRomanswasoriginally describedasahermaphroditethathadbeencastratedandcastoutofOlympusby theothergods.
“AnywayitwasyourmuseumthatlabeleditCybele,”Isaid.
“Andyousaidyougotthatphotofromus?”sheasked,soundingincredulous.
“Yes,”Ireplied.“AndIpaidthisinstitutiontotakegoodphotographs,whichI publishedinabooklastyearforthefirsttime,eventhoughthisartifacthasbeen mentionedinbooksabouttheKnightsTemplarwithonlylinedrawingsavailable toprintforoveronehundredandfiftyyears.Iamtheonewhobroughtthis
historicalitem,whichyourmuseumhasbeensittingonandignoring,intothe lightofday.AndnowI’dliketofinallyseeit.”
Parveenwasn’tlookingatmeormyphoneanymore.Shewastypingintoher computeragain.WhenIstoppedtalking,shelookedup.
“Whatdidyousayyournamewas?”sheasked.
“Ididn�
�tsay,”Itoldher.“ButI’mPamelaAuger.I’mawriter.”Shehitthekeys afewmoretimes.
“Ohyes,”shesaid.“Iseethatyoustillhaveanoutstandingbalanceof3000
poundsforphotographrights.”Shesmileda“gotcha”smile,andhereyes gleamed.
“Yes,andtheiteminthephotothatIowemoneyfortherightstoistheoneI’m askingyoutolocateformerightnow,”Ismiled.
Surelyshe’sjustaninformationdeskclerk,notacollectionagent,Ithought.
Herprimaryjobistohelpvisitorsfindthingsthey’relookingfor,nottocatch peoplewhoowemoneytothemuseum.
“Well,I’llcallintheAccountsReceivabledepartment.Maybetheycanhelpus figureoutwherethiscofferis,andI’msuretheycanworkoutsomepayment arrangementsforyou.Justasecond.”Shepickedupherphoneagainandsmiled evilly.
HaveIreallypissedheroffthatmuch? Ithought. AllthisjustbecauseI mentionedthatIhadmadehistorywithanitemthey’dbeenignoring?
Myhonesty,andperhapsmyarroganceaswell,wasabouttoscrewmeoutofa chancetoseethecoffer,andinsteaddrivemestraightintothegreedyhandsof billcollectors.Isuddenlywantedtoflee.
Iturnedaroundwiththeintentionofdoingexactlythat.ButthenIbumpedintoa bodyinlightbrownleathercaptoeOxfordshoesandalightbrownsuitthatwas toppedwithafamiliaroldface.ItwasLeopoldBlack!Atthatmoment,even thoughIknewhewasafraud,Iwashappytoseehim.
Butwhat’shedoinghere? Iwondered.
“IthoughtImightfindyouhere,”hesaid.“Lookingforthecoffer?”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Butthey’rehavingtroublefindingit.Theyseemmoreinterested intalkingtomeaboutthemoneyIowethem.Andthat’snotthestrangestthing that’shappenedtometoday.Whyhaven’tyoubeenansweringthephone?”
Iwasn’tsureifIshouldtellhimwhatIkneworplaydumbandpumphimfor information,asAgentChesterfieldhadencouragedmetodo.ButIdesperately wantedtogetawayfromthatinformationdeskbeforeAccountsReceivable showedup.
“Wellyouwon’tfindithereanymore,”hesaid.“It’sgone.It’sbeenstolen.”
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