Upaheadseveralhundredfeet,therewasanopeningleadingtoaroundroom, alsolinedfloortoceilingwithbrick.
“Youfoundit,”saidLeopold.“Congratulations.”
“Ithoughtyouneededmetoguideyou,”Isaidresentfully.
“Wedo,”hereplied.“Thatwasjustatest.Awarm‐upexercise.”
Milespushedmeforwardagain.Iwalkedon,butjustthenIsmelledsomething familiar.ItwasanodorIcouldn’tforgetbecauseoftheyearsmyparentsspent
tendingasmallranchinSherwood,Oregon.Itwascowshit,unmistakably.
“Arethereanyanimalsdownhere?”Iasked.“Itsmellslikecowpatties.”It seemedimprobable,butmynosedidn’tlie.Isensedthebeast’slifeforce,andits fear.ThenIhearditlowmournfully.
“Yes,well…”Leopold’svoicetrailedoffforamoment.Milespushedme forwardagain.ThenLeopoldfinishedhissentence.
“Animalsoftencrapthemselvesthemomenttheyrealizethey’reabouttodie.”
Istumbledthroughthedoorwayintotheroom,terrifiednow,asasingle fluorescenttubelighthangingfromtheceilingcameon.Thisrevealedthescene infrontofme.Amaninablackleatherveilandamatchingleatherapronovera brownsuitwasstandinginfrontoffour‐foot‐highwoodentablecoveredalsoin blackleather,withalargeaxeheldaloft.
Uponthistablewaspressedtheneckofabull,beingheldwitharoperoundits neckbyanotherman,similarlydressed.Themanwiththeaxebroughtitdown ontheneckofthebull,whobellowedloudlyatthemomentoffirstimpact.
Theheadcamerollingoff,andthebloodbeganspurtingoutwardinjetsasI collapsedandfelldownontothebrickfloor,staringupatthebeehive‐shaped brickceilingandthetubelightbeneathit,whichgotshotwithajetofbloodjust beforeIpassedout.
Chapter10:ScryingatStratfordPlace
TheDukeofWellingtonissaidtohavegiventhefoundersoftheOrientalClub twopiecesof
characteristicallysuccinctadvice:‘Haveaclubofyourown’and‘Buythe freehold.’
—AnthonyLeJeune, TheGentlemen’sClubsofLondonIawokewithmyface layingonmyarms.Iwasseatedinastraight‐backwoodenchairwithno armrests.Myarmsandheadwerelyingonalongrectangulardiningtable,where Iwasseatedatthehead.Sittingaroundtherestofthetableweremaybeadozen menandwomenofvariousages,mostlywhitebutnotexclusively.Theywereall
dressedquiteproperly,asifforanightattheopera.Allofthemwerestaring directlyatme.Isawintheirfaces,variously,curiosity,amusement,concern,and pity.
Attheotherendofthetablewasaprojectorscreenarrangedonastand.
ThedécoraroundmewasVictorian,everythinginared‐stainedwood.
Bookshelvesfilledwithantiquebookslinedthewallsinfrontofmeandtomy left.
Againstthewalltomyrightwasalittlewoodentablewithtwochairs.
Leopoldsatontherightsideofthetable,withablackrectangularobjectinhis hand.Anothergentleman,considerablyolderthanhim,satontheleft.Both lookedverystern.
Iturnedtolookbehindme.TherewasaportraitoftheDukeofWellington hangingoverawhitemarblefireplace.IknewfromtheresearchIhaddone beforethetripthatIwasinoneofthediningroomsofStratfordHouse,where theOrientalClubheldtheirmeetings.
Finally,Ilookeddownatmyownpersonandtooknoteofmycondition.Ifelt terrible.Iwastiredanddehydrated,withapoundingheadacheandsoremuscles allover.Butoneconditionhadimproved.
IwasnolongerwearingthesamesoiledclothesI’dhadonsinceIleftPortland.
Instead,Iwassportinganelegantbluegownandmatchingpumps,withalacy whiteshawl,whitepearlsaroundmyneck,andamatchingbraceletaround myleftarm.Ireachedupandranmyhandsthroughmyhair.Ithadbeencurled.
Itriedtorubmyeyes,buttheyoungladynexttomeputherhandonmyarmto stopme.
“Oh,don’truinyourmake‐up,”shesaid.“Iworkedhardonit!”
Sotheyhadchangedmyclothesandmademeup,Ithought. ThatmeansI was naked.Whatelsedidtheydotome?
“Wehadyoufixedupabit,”saidLeopold.“There’sadresscodeinthisclub.”
Iglaredathim. Howdidtheydoallthatwithoutwakingmeup? Iwondered.
IfiguredtheymusthavegivenmeasedativeafterIpassedout,whichwould explainwhyIstillfeltgroggy.
Theycouldhavedoneanythingtome,Ithought.
“Don’tworry,wehadthewomenchangeyourclothesandbatheyou,”
Leopoldsaid.“Yourdecencywaskeptintactthewholetime.”
Thatonlymademefeelslightlybetter,andsinceIknewhewasaliar,Ididn’t fullybelievehim.Still,Iwasnicetohavefreshunderwear.ButthenIthoughtof thebulldecapitation,andthebloodspurtingout.Andthegunatmyback.And allofthelies.
Notsonice,Ithought. Whoarethesepeople?
“SoisthistheWorshipfulCompanyofButchers?”Iasked.
“Society,”Leopoldcorrected.
“Youmeantotellmethat this ishowtheliverycompaniesofLondonconduct themselves?”Ishouted.
“Wearenotaliverycompany,”theancientmannexttoLeopoldinsisted.
“Weareadifferentsortofentity.”
“Weconductbutcheryonlywhennecessary,andtoaspecificend,”saidayoung manontheotherendofthetableontheleftside.“Wecarryonthe traditionsofsacrifice,andspillthebloodthatisneeded,butonlytokeepthings inbalance.”
“Tosatisfythedivinecommandments”saidawomanacrossfromhim.“To preservethesacredorder.”
“OnefortheLord,andoneforAzazel,”saidLeopold,undoubtedlyknowingthat thisreferencewouldhavemeaningforme,havingreadmyBaphometbook whereitwasmentioned.
“Wewatchoverthepillarsthatholdupthesky,”saidanotherman,immediately tomyright,“andtheportalsthatleadtotheotherrealm.Wemakesurenobody abusesthesethings,nomatterhowpowerfultheymightbeonEarth.Themighty arealwaysseekingmeanstoevengreaterpower.Butsomethingsmustbekept inviolate,orelseeverythingwillbedestroyed.”
“Whatdoesallthismean?”Isaidtothempleadingly.“Andwhatdoyouwant withme?”
Justthenadooronthefarendofthewalltomyrightopened,andinstepped Miles.Heswitchedoffthelight,andLeopoldclickedabuttonontheobjecthe washolding.Theprojectorcameon.AlinedrawingofthelidoftheMetecoffer appearedonthescreeninfrontofus.TherewasMetepullingtheSunandMoon downwithchains.TheancientmannexttoLeopoldspokeagain.
“Doyoustandbyyourinterpretationthattheimageonthiscofferrepresents Metepullingthegodsofheavendownfromthesky?”
“Yes,”Ianswered.“Iamconvincedofmyhypothesisandhavenoreasonto thinkotherwise.”
“You’vereallyletthecatoutofthebag,”themansaidcontemptuously.
“Knowledgelikethisisdangerous.Itcangivethewrongpeoplethewrong ideas,andthatiswhatyouhavedone.”
“Whatintheworlddoyoumean?”Isaid.Themanonthefarendofthetableon theleft,whohadspokenbefore,repliedtome.
“Thereisnowaverypowerfulandevilmagicianwhoisattemptingtochallenge thepowersoftheArchons,spurredonbythecontentofyourbook.
Andithascomedowntoustoputastoptoit.”
“Youmeanhe’stryingtomaketheskyfalldownwithachildsacrificeritual?”I asked,referringtomytheoryregardingwhatIbelievewastheTemplars’
mostimportantsecretceremony.“Sosomeone’stryingtoescapethematerial world?Topenetratethegatesofthegodsaboveandovercomethem?”
“Yes,saidLeopold.“TheBaptismofWisdom.Justasyoudescribedinyour book.”
Well,Ididn’tdescribeitinmuchdetail,Ithought. Nobodyknowsthe
details.
IjustfiguredoutwhatIcouldfromlookingatafewpictures.
“Iwasreallyjusttheorizing,”Isaid.“BasedonwhatIsaw,andmyresearch.
I’mnotevensureifIwasright,andIsaidsointhebook.Icertainlydidn’tthink anybodyinmoderntimeswouldtaketheideaseriously.Howcanyoudestroy existencebydoingaritual?”
“Ifanybodyeverdoesfigureitout,wellenoughtoexplainthemechanicsofit rationally,bythenitwillbetoolate,”saidthewomantomyleft—theonewho haddonemymake‐up.
“That’snotwhatweneedtoknowrightnow,Pamela,”saidLeopold.Heclicked hisclickeragain,andthepictureonthescreenchanged.“Whatweneedtoknow fromyounowiswhatyouseehere.”
Ilookedatthepicture.Itlookedlikeamap.Infact,itlookedquitefamiliarto me.IhadbeenstudyingsimilarpicturesfordaysbeforecomingtoLondon, planningmytripthere,listingallthelovelyhistoricalmonumentsIwouldvisit whileIwasintownforwhatI thoughtwaslegitimatebusiness.Butthemapin frontofmenowwasupside‐down.
Soisthisanotherstupidtestofmypsychicabilities? Iwondered. Likehow they forcedmetodivinemywaytotheslaughterroomtheyhadalreadysetupfor me inthetunnels?
IfeltlikeIhadnochoice.Ihadtoplayalong,tostayontheirgoodsidelong enoughtofigureawayoutofStratfordHousebeforethoseweirdoskilledme.
SoIspokemymind.
“Well,it’sLondonofcourse,”Isaid.“TheCityofLondon,theoldtown.But youneedtoturnitaround.Anythingelse?Wecanplaywithadeckofcards.I canprobablyguessatleastoneoutoften.”
“ByJove!”exclaimedLeopold,leapingtohisfeet.Hewalkedovertothe
projectorandturnedthepicturearound.“She’sright!Look,there’sSt.Paul’s.”
Hepointedtoadarkcircleinthemiddle,thesamefeatureIhadidentifiedas matchinguptoSt.Paul’sCathedral.
“Andthere’stheGherkin,”hecontinued,pointingatanotherspottotherightof it.“RememberMiles,”hesaidtohisvalet.“Thepartthatwasstickinguplikea thumb?”
SothisisamodernmapoftheCityofLondon,Ithought,realizingthatthe Gherkinwasthatpickle‐shapedskyscraperthatdominatedtheskyline.Iknew thatthepartoftownofficiallyknownas“theCityofLondon”(controlledby
“theCorporationofLondon”)ismerelyaboroughofwhatisnow“Greater London.”Ialsoknewthatitstillroughlycomprisedthesamespaceasthe originalRomansquaremileknownas“Londinium.”
Althoughitwasoftendescribedincompletelyasthe“financialdistrict”of GreaterLondon,itwasreallyaseparatelegalentityfromtherestoftheBritish empire.TheQueenwastraditionallysupposedtoaskpermissionfromtheLord MayoroftheCityofLondontoenterthesquaremiletoconductformal business.
Thisiswherethecentersofcorporatepower,incounterbalancetoregaland ecclesiasticpower,werecurrentlybased.TheBankofEngland,theStock Exchange,andtheLondonBullionMarketAssociationwerethere,alongwith mostofthecorporateheadquartersofBritain‐basedfinancialinstitutions.Even the“Temple”areawheretheKnightsTemplarhadoncekeptapreceptory,was locatedintheCity,andhadalwaysbeenthecornerstoneoftheBritishcourt system.
Whyaretheyshowingmethismap,Ithought. Andhowdidtheynotrealize that itwasamap?WhatdidLeopoldmeanabout“thatpartthatwassticking up”?
Ididn’twonderforlong.Themanontheleftattheoppositeendofthetable gavemetheanswer.
“Thisisadiagramwemadejustanhourago,oftheliverofthebullthatwejust sacrificedinthebasement,whichyouwereawitnessto.”
SoI’mheretoreadentrails? Ithought. ButIwasn’ttrainedasaharuspex!I knownothingaboutdiviningfromlivers.YetsomehowIknewthatthisliver
looked liketheCityofLondon.HowonEarthisitevenpossiblefortheliverofa bullto looklikeaboroughofLondon?
“Sowhatareyoulookingfor?”Iasked.
“Where’sthecancer?”askedLeopold.“Telluswhereyouseethestrongholdof theevilmagicianwedescribed.”
“Didyoutakeanyphotosoftheactualliver?”Iasked.
“Yes!”Leopoldsmiled.“ThatwasMilesidea.Hetookaphotowithyour phone.”
Mileswassmilingtoo,proudofhimself.Hewalkedovertome,pulledmy phoneoutofhiscoatpocket,andhandeditover.AssoonasIturnediton,Isaw thephotoofthebloodyliverandalmostretched.Itwasmostlythememoryof thekillthatcausedthereaction.IlookedupatMilesagain.
“ThankyouMiles,”Isaid.“CanIhavemylaptopcasebackalso?”
“Ohyes,”hereplied.“It’ssittingnexttotheprojector.”
Ilookeddownatthephotoagainandtriedtoclearmymind,lookingfor
“thecancer,”whateveritwas.ThelongerIremainedusefultothem,Ifigured, thelongerIwouldremainalive.AsIstared,Isawaringofsicklygreenappear ontheliverforamoment,rightontheendofatriangleofwhitishdiscoloration Thenthecirclevanished,butthewhitetriangleremained.Therewasasimilar triangleoflinesformedonthediagramontheprojector.
“IthinkIseesomething,”Isaid.“Here,betweenSt.Paul’sandtheGherkin.”
Igotupandwalkedovertotheprojector,thenpointedonthediagramtowhereI hadseenthegreencircleappearonthephotograph.“It’srightonthistriangle here.Isawitwithmymind’seye.”
“Goddamnit’sthatfuckingJewbugger!”saidamanontherightsideofthe table.“Theonewhothinkshe’smorepowerfulthantheQueen.”
“Don’tbesovulgar!”saidawomansittingnexttohim,lookingatmenervously.
“We’renotagainstJewsorhomosexuals.Wearen’tbarbarians.”
Ilookedawayfromher. That’sexactlywhatyouare,Ithought.
“Itdoesn’tmatter.He’lldousallinifwelethim,”saidanotherman,addressing theentireroom.“That’swhyhebribedtheCitytolethimbuythemethroom.
That’swhyhebuiltthatbulky,impenetrablemassinthecenteroftheCity.He wantstodoitthere,rightthere.Tocutaholeintheskyandbringdownthe pillarsitsitson.Doesn’tthatmakesensenow?”
No,itdoesn’tmakesense. Ithought. Didyouactuallysay‘methroom’?”
Ihadnoideawhotheyweretalkingabout.Ididn’tcare.Whileeveryonewas talkingtooneanother,Itookamomenttokneeldownandpickupmylaptop case.AsIwasdownbeneaththetableIpunchedafewbuttonsonmyphone, gratefulthatIhadinputAgentChesterfield’sphonenumberalreadywhileIwas sittingintheEgyptianroomattheBritishMuseum.
Isilencedthespeakersbutleftthemicopen.ThenIranghisnumberandputthe phoneintheoutsidepocketofmycase,whichIleftopen.Ireturnedtomyseat attheendofthetable.
“Whatspecificallyareyouafraidisgoingtohappen,”IaskedLeopold,locking eyeswithhim.
“Pamela,whetheryouunderstandornot,rationally,Iknowyougetitintuitively.
Therereallyarepillarsthatholdupthesky.Theykeepthelayersofexistence fromcrashinginoneachother.Andtherearethosewhoarelookingforpower beyondthisworld.ThemanwearetellingyouaboutwantstomakeAtlasshrug forreal—nometaphor.WesacrificebullstotheArchons,tomaintainthecosmic order.ButhewantstokilltheCelestialBull,andteardownthecolumnsthat upholdcreation,sothathecanclimbup,outofhere,andrulethedestroyed worldsfromabove.Hebelieveshecanmakethegodsthemselvesbowdownto him.Andintheprocesswemayallbecrushedorannihilated.”
“Youcan’treallybelievethat’spossible,”Isaid.
“Wecan’ttakethechancethatitmightbe,”theoldmannexttohimanswered.
Justthen,anotherdooropenedup,thistimeonmyleftside,andamandressed likeabutlercamethrough.
“What
’sthemeaningofthis!”theoldmanshouted.“Itoldyoutogiveus absoluteprivacy.”
“I’msorrysir.It’sthepolice.Ihadtoletthemin,”thebutlerreplied.
Behindhim,twometropolitanpoliceinblackuniformscamethrough,followed byAgentParisandAgentChesterfield.ParispointeddirectlyatLeopold.
Thenhegrabbedthebutlerbythecollarangrily.
“Youtoldushewasn’there.”
“Ididn’tlethimin,”thebutlerinsisted.“Hemusthavesneakedinsomehow.”
Helookedaround.“Wella lotofyou didn’tcomethroughthefrontdoor.How’s that?”
“Allright,takehimin,”saidChesterfield.ThepolicehandcuffedLeopoldas Chesterfieldwalkedoverandtookmebythearm.
“Youshouldtakehisvaletintoo,”Itoldhimloudly.“Theybothkidnappedme atgunpointfromtheBritishMuseum.Thentheytookmedowntosomedungeon andkilledabullinfrontofme.”
Everyoneintheroomstoppeddead.Theroomwassilent.Everyonestaredatme.
TheWSBmembersallhadlooksofcompletehorrorontheirfaces.
“Willyou testifytothat?”AgentParisaskedme.Milesstaredmedowncold,and shookhisheadsideways.
“No,”Ianswered.IgrabbedontightlytoChesterfield’sarm.
“ThenjusttakeMr.Weir,”Paristoldthepolicemen.“Therestofyou,getoutof here.Club’sclosedforthenight.”
Theyallbegantofileout.Itriednottolookatanyonedirectlyanymore,and staredatChesterfield’sshoes.
“Let’sgo,”hesaidtome.Igrabbedmylaptopcase,stilllookingdown,and walkedout,lettingChesterfieldleadsothathecouldusherusthroughtheexit line.IcouldfeelLeopold’seyesonmyback,andIwantedtogetoutofhisline ofsightassoonaspossible.
Chapter11:TempleTavern
O,plumpheadwaiterof‘TheCock,’
TowhichImostresort
Howgoesthetime?‘Tisfiveo’clock?
Gofetchapintofport!
—AlfredLloydTennyson, TheCock
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