Genuflect

by Tracy R Twyman

  ButnowRosenbergwasmissingfromthetable.Hiswineglasswasalsogone.

  Andtherewasnosettingforhimatthetable.

  “Where’dBlakego?”askedWetzel.HelookedatPhilippine,wholookedupfor thefirsttimeintwentyminutes.Sheshruggedhershoulders.Inoticedthatthe SunwasnowalmosttotallygoneoverthehorizonandtheMoonwasvisible behindPhilippine.Althoughitwasnotquitefull,itloomedlargeandseemedto hangdownverylow.

  “He’sprobablygonetothetoilet,Iimagine,”answeredCrispin.

  “Sowhatarewehavinganyway?”Marciaaskedherson.

  “Idon’tknow,”heresponded.“IletBlaketellthekitchenwhattomake.”

  “Ohright,Blakeorderingourfamily’sservantsaround,asalways,”shesighed.

  Shetookabiteofherbird.Sheswallowedit,butslowly,reluctantly,looking bothdisgustedandsurprised.

  “Ohright,nowthisisgross,”shesaid.“WhattheHellisthis?Ittasteslikean arse.”

  “Nokidding,”saidWetzel,whohadsampledhisaswellandpusheditawayin disgust.“That’sfoul.”Hesnortedalaughathisownjoke.“Getit?Fowl?”

  Iputapieceofitonmyforkandsniffedit.Itsmelledlikespoiledmilkand sulphur.

  IlookedatPhilippine.Shewasdutifullyeatingit,butshudderedasshedidso.

  ThenIlookedatCrispin.Hewaseatinghistoo,withdislike,inverysmallbites.

  Marciaturnedaroundtocomplaintotheservants.Butshefoundnone.Wewere nowaloneinthatvastemptyroom,withnosignoftheguestofhonorwhohad orderedthismysterymeal.

  “MaybeRosenbergwenttogotellthestaffthattheyforgotmyplate,”said Chesterfield.“Althoughitdoesn’tlooklikeI’mmissingoutonanythinggood.”I lookedand,sureenough,hehadnoplate.

  “No,hemustbeinthelavatory,”saidMarcia,angry.Shestumbleddrunkenly overtotheunisextoiletroomandwalkedrightin,callinghisname.Afew secondslater,shecameout.

  “He’snotthereeither,”sheannounced,comingbacktoherseat.

  “Youdon’tlikeyourfood?”

  Rosenberg’svoicecamefromtheothersideofthetable.Hewasstandingnextto hisdaughter,whosatmotionlessstaringatthebonesonherplate,havingeaten everyscrapofthebird’sbitterflesh.Everyonewasstartled.ThenMarciaand Wetzellaughed.

  “Yeah,senditbackandorderapizza,Blake,”answeredMarcia.“Thisisthe worst.”

  “I’vealreadyhadapizzatoday,”hesaid.

  “Notthatkindofpizza,”saidMarcia,snickeringatwhatappearedtobean insidejoke.

  “Don’trejectmyoffering,friends,”saidRosenberg,addressingusall.“True, Crispinkindlyprovidedthechampagne,andletussitatthetableofhisesteemed family’shouse.ButthesebirdsIcaughtmyself,andputmyselfingreatperilto doso.”

  “Seriously?”saidMarcia.“Honestly,Ididn’tknowyoulikedtohunt.Ithought youhatedfirearms.”

  “No,hehatespeasantshavingfirearms,”whisperedWetzel,oblivioustohow weirdthingsweregetting.

  “Ididn’tshootthem!”heresponded.“Ihadtheservantsslaughterthem.”

  Heinhaledsharply.

  “Pleasenourishyourbodieswiththisflesh,”Rosenbergcontinuedtoimplore.

  “Atleastenjoythe sweetlivers.That’sthebestpart.”

  Uponhearingthewords“sweetlivers,”Chesterfieldstiffenedupnexttome.I couldfeelhiseyesuponme.ButRosenbergnowstaredatmeaswell.

  “Comeon,MissAuger,”hesaid.“Eattheliver.It’sthebestpart.”

  “Don’tdoit,Pamela,”saidChesterfield.“Youdon’thaveto.Wecanleave.”

  “Notuntilyou’veeaten!”shoutedRosenberg.Ashesaidthis,heleanedforward, slammedhisfistonthetable,andstaredangrilyatme,hisfacebecomingred.

  Idon’tknowifitwasahallucination,likesomanyofthethingsIwitnessed fromthispointonward.Buttomeitseemedasifhiseyesbegantoglowredas well,ashisstarepiercedmethroughmyskull.Ifeltmyselfswayinginmyseat.

  AsifIhadnowillofmyown,Ipickedupmyforkandknife,torethebirdopen, locatedwhatlookedlikealiver,andstuckitinmymouth.Inmyperipheral vision,IsawMarciaandMarkdoingthesame.

  Atthatmoment,Chesterfieldgotupandranacrosstheroomtotheelevatorwe hadarrivedin.Hepunchedthe“downbutton.”Everybodywaslookingathim, soItooktheopportunitytospitoutmybiteoftheunknownbirdintomy champagneglass,whichIthencoveredwithanapkin.

  “Comeon,followmePamela!”heshouted,beckoningmewithhishand.

  Butthenhelookedattheelevatorbutton,andthedigitaldisplaynexttoit,which wassupposedtotellyouwhatfloortheelevatorwascurrentlyonasitmovedup anddown.However,somethingwaswrong.Hepressedthebuttonfrantically severalmoretimes,shouting“Fuck!Fuck!”Thenhestormedovertothetable again.

  “Tellmewhytheelevator’slocked,”hedemandedofRosenberg.Themanjust sneeredathim.ThenChesterfieldaddressedtheMartinas.

  “Howdowegetoutofhere?”

  “Oh,don’toverreact,”saidMarcia.Shewalkedovertotheelevator.

  “Itshouldbeworking,”shesaid.Whenshesawthatitwasn’t,shetriedpressing anintercombuttonnexttotheelevator.

  “Hello!James?Hello!Teddy?Anybody?”Therewasapparentlynoanswer.

  Shewalkedbacktoherdeskandtookherphoneoutofherpurse.Herbag lookedlikeitcostmorethanmymother’shouse.Butshehadthesamemodel smartphoneasIdid.Itdidn’tdoheranygoodthough.

  “BloodyHell,Ican’tevengetasignal.What’sgoingon?”sheshoutedto Crispin.Heshrugged,thengaveRosenbergapleadinglook.

  “Nobody’sgoinganywhereuntilwe’vealleaten!”Rosenbergshouted.

  “Ithinkwe’redone,”saidWetzel.“We’veallhadabite.Wealltriedit.

  Thankyou,Blake.Maybewe’rejustnothungry.Let’sdosomethingelsenow.”

  Hewastryingtocalmhisfrienddown.

  “I’M not DONE!”Rosenbergcountered.

  “Where’syourplate?”askedCrispin.“ShouldItelltheservants….”

  “I’meatingmine raw!”Rosenberginterrupted.

  Hereacheddownandpickedupsomethingonthefloornexttohisfeet,which hadbeenobscuredfrommyviewbythetable.Itwascoveredinablackcloth.

  Heplaceditinthecenterofthetable.Iheardcoosandaflutterofwings.

  Notagain,Isaidtomyself. Idon’twanttoseeanotheranimaldie.

  ButofcourseIcouldn’tstophim.Herippedthecoveroffthebirdcage,revealing araven,whichhetookoutwithhishand,gently,puttingitonthetabletop.It walkedaroundandflappeditswingshelplessly.Theywereclipped.

  Ithoughttolookaway,butIwasn’tfastenough.Withsuddenferocity, Rosenberggrabbedthebirdandtoreitsheadoffwithhisbarehands,thentipped thenecktowardshismouthandsuckeddownthebloodasitspurtedout.Atthat moment,Iheardasonicboomandfeltsomethinglikeashockwave.Thiswas followedbythesoundofmetalcrunchingandscrapingtogether.Itdidn’tseem tobecomingfromthesky,whichbecamenoticeablydarkerinthatinstant,asif someonehadputalightfilteroverit.Also,theMoondrewdownlowerinthe sky.

  Thecrunchingsoundturnedintoahigh‐pitchedwhine,thenalow,longmoan likeafoghorn.Itsoundedlikeaconcertfromanorchestraof100waterphones.

  “Ahhh,”saidRosenberg,wipinghismouthandgaspinglikehehadjusttakena refreshingdrinkonahotsummerday.“That’sthesoundoftheskybeginningto fallinearnest.NowletuscommencewiththeSupremeRite,tobringaboutthe BaptismofWisdom!”Hethrewthedesiccatedraven’sheadlessbodyintothe middleofthetable,anddroppedtheheadwherehestood.

  Iwasn’toperatingatfullcapacit
y,soIwasn’treactingasInormallywouldto theseabnormaloccurrences.ButIwasn’tasbadoffasmostoftheotherguests.

  Indeed,theyallappearedtobegoingthroughanalmostlycanthropic

  transformationbeforemyeyes.

  Acrossfromme,Marciahadpushedherseatbackfromthetableandnowsat backinherchair,withherblueeveningdresshikeduptohercrotch,whichshe wasnowrubbinglasciviouslythroughherpanties,fullyvisible.Shewasbiting herliphard,andbloodtrickledoutofthecornerofhermouth.Shecackledlikea witch.

  PresentlyCrispinstoodupandkissedRosenbergpassionatelyonthemouth.

  Rosenbergreciprocated,thenviolentlywrenchedtheyoungman’sarmbehind hisback.Hebenthimoverthetableandbegandry‐humpinghisass.

  Next,Mr.Wetzelstoodup,anevilgleamnowinhisbeadyeyes.Hewalkedover behindPhilippine,grabbedherbythehairbunandjerkedherheadup.Hereyes weresolidwhiteswithoutpupils.I’dneverseenanythinglikeitbefore.

  Herjawdroppedopen.Hertonguebegantoflutter.Shestartedtouttersome strangeglossolaliathatIdidn’trecognizeashumanlanguage.ButthenWetzel slammedhisrightfootuponthetableinfrontofher,unzippedhispants,and silencedherwithathrustofhispenis.Herspeechturnedintogaggingand slurping.ThatlastedafewsecondsbeforeRosenbergreachedoutandshoved himawayfromher.

  “Don’tshootyourloadjustyet,”headmonished.“You’llneedallyourpotency fortheritual.”

  Thenheturnedandaddressedthegroup,bellowing:

  “Letusnowdescendtothesacredcaverns!LastweekwastheSpringEquinox, butthisweekendweshallcelebratethetrueEquinoxoftheGods!”

  OverhisshoulderIcaughtsightoftheMoonagain.Thenfrombehindit—I swear—Isawfivebrightlightsemerge,eachadifferenthue,andjusthover there.

  Theylookedlikestars,buttheybehavedlikeUFOs.Icouldtellthattheywere lookingatme—atus.

  Istoodupandstumbledbackward.Chesterfieldgrabbedmefrombehindand steadiedme,immobilizingmewithhisarms.

  “Doyouseethestarsmovingoutside?”Iwhisperedinhisear.

  “Justpretendyou’repossessedandmakeoutwithme,”hewhisperedback.

  Understandinghismeaning,Ikissedhisneckandgrowledlikeadog.Hebegan fondlingmybreasts.

  Rosenbergwalkedovertotheelevatornow,withhisfriendsfollowingbehind himlikeaprocessionofscreamingbanshees.Hehittheintercombutton.

  “Miles,youcancomeupnow,”hesaid.

  Miles? Ithought. HowmanyservantsinEnglandarenamedMiles?That’sso cliché!WhynotJeeves?WhynotMr.Belvedere? Eveninthisinsanecrisis,under theslightinfluenceofwhateverwasintheravenmeatIspitout,mymindwas stillabletocalmitselfbytellingitselfstupidjokes,likeithadsomanytimes before.

  Iwatchedthenumbersonthedisplaychangeastheelevatorclimbeduptoour floorfromthebottom.Whenitgotthere,thedoorsopened,andtherewasMiles, LeopoldBlack’schauffer,withaguninhishandagain,pointedouttowardsus.

  “Hello,Miles,”saidRosenberg.“Wherearetheothers?”

  “They’rewaitingforyouinthetemple,sir,”hereplied.

  Rosenberggesturedtowardsus,andweallpiledintotheelevator.Milespunched acodeonakeypadnexttotheelevator’smainsetofbuttons,andwestarted goingdown.Theotherswereshriekingloudly,stillbusymolestingeachother.

  TherewasenoughnoisethatIcouldsafelywhispersomethingtoMiles,who wasstandingrightnexttome.

  “SoyouandLeopoldandtherestofthebutcherswereinittogetherallalong!”I said.“Nosurprise,Iguess.Nowwhatareyouguysgoingtodous?”

  ButhejuststaredaheadlikeaBeefeateronduty,holdinghisgunwiththebarrel pointedouttowardstheelevatordoor.Meanwhile,theelevatorcontinuedto descend,down,down,down.WewentpastB1andB2,thetwobasement levelslistedonthemainsetofbuttons.Thenwekeptgoing,intowhatseemed

  likeabottomlesspit.

  Chapter21:Taurobolium

  Accordingtooneaccountdatingfromthe1830s,theRothschildsowedtheir fortunetothepossessionofamysterious‘Hebrewtalisman’thatenabledNathan Rothschild,thefounderoftheLondonhouse,tobecome

  ‘theLeviathanofthemoneymarkersofEurope.’

  —NigelFerguson, TheAscentofMoney

  Whentheelevatoropened,wewalkedoutintoahallwaywithstonefloorsand walls.Thewallswerelinedwithtorcheslightingtheway.Attheendofthe corridorwasanopeningleadingofftotheleft,andastatueofHarpocrates,the Egyptiangodofsilence,asanakedyoungboy.Heheldhisindexfingertohis lipsinhissignaturepose,withhisotherhandcoveringhiscrotch.Iknewhewas equatedwithErosinHellenisticsyncretism,andwasboundbyanoathtokeep thesecretsofhismotherAphrodite’smanysexcrimes.Icouldonlyimagine whathispresenceinthishallwaypresaged.Butmyimaginationwasnotextreme enoughtopredictwhatactuallydidhappen.

  Allofuscameoutoftheelevatorexceptforoneperson:Chesterfield.Hetried, butRosenbergpushedhimbackinthere,andtheninstructedMilestoshoothim inthehead.Milespointedthegun,andChesterfieldcringed,bracinghimself.

  ButthenRosenbergchangedhismind,sayingthatChesterfield“mightcomein handylater.”Theelevatordoorwasshut,andthenRosenbergpunchedinacode thatlockeditinplace.PoorChesterfieldwasstuckinthere.

  IwasblindfoldedbyMilesagain,justlikelasttimeIwasinatunnelwithhim.

  Butwasledbyhimarm‐in‐armdownthehall,insteadofbeingforcedtolead.

  Aswewalked,Rosenbergandhisfriendswerehooting,holleringandwhooping likeanimals.Thenwestoppedabruptly.Someone,RosenbergIpresume, grabbedmyarmandputmylefthanduponadoorhandle.ThenRosenberg spoketome.

  “Pamela,myCryphius:tellme:Canyouseeitinyourmind’seyeyet?Whatwill wefindinherewhenweopenthisdoor?”

  Irecognizedtheword“Cryphius”frommyonlinereadingaboutMithras.It literallymeant“occultist,”anditwasnamedbyFranzCumontasthetitleofthe firstdegreeoftheMithraicbrotherhood.However,thiswasbasedonasingle archeologicalfind.Allotherevidenceshowedthatthenameofthefirstdegree was Corax,meaning“raven.”Allegedly,aravenhadplayedtheroleofdivine messenger,Mercury’sjob.ItwassentbythesungodtoMithras,instructinghim tohavethebullslayed.

  Ponderingthis,IthenrealizedthatRosenbergwantedmetousemyinnate clairvoyantabilitiestoplaytheroleofmessengerforhim.Iwastheretodo divinationoncommand,justlikewhatLeopoldandtheButcher’sSocietyhad kidnappedmefor.Thatwasprobablywhyhehadinvitedmetohisparty,and whyhewaskeepingmealive.

  SoIhadbetterfindawaytoperform,Ithought.

  Icouldn’tseeanythinginmy“mind’seye,”butIdidhearamalebutinhuman eldritch‐soundingvoiceinmyhead,anditgavemeamessage.

  TheLion,theWitch,andtheWardrobes.

  IrepeatedthistoRosenberg,andhelaughed.

  “Good,good,you’lldo,”hesaid,takingoffmyblindfold.

  Heopenedthedoor,revealingadimly‐litroomwitholdlightfixtures,andthree wardrobessittingnexttoeachotheronthefarwall.Twowereclosed,andthe oneontherightwasopen.Insidetherewerewhatappearedtobetheater costumes.Andinfrontofthewardrobesstoodtwopeoplealreadyincostume.

  Oneofthesepeoplewaswearingablackrobeandamaskofalion’sface.

  TheotherwasanoldCaucasianwomanwearingawhitegown,aredcape,anda largewhitehatthatresembledachampagnecork.Shehadwhitefoundation cakedonherfacelikeaclown,withthickblackeyemake‐upandbrightred lipstick.Shesmiled.

  “Paternoster!”shesaidtoRosenbergassheheldoutherarmsforhim.

  “Hello MatriDeum,Consivia,planterofthegarden!”he
saidbacktoher.

  Hekissedheronthehand,smilingbackather.

  SothisisConsivia,Isaidtomyself. Andshe’shereasapriestesstonight,but not fortheAnglicanchurch.

  Rosenbergthenturnedtothemaninthelion’smask.

  “IseverythingreadywiththebullandtheButchers?”heasked.

  “Absolutely,Father,”hesaid.Irecognizedthevoice.ItwasLeopold.

  SoeventhepretensethatLeopoldandtheButcherswereworkingagainst Rosenbergwasaruse,justlikeeverythingelseabouthim,Ithought. They’reall in leaguetogether,andthisentirethinghasbeenaset‐upagainstmefromthe beginning.

  Weallgotsuiteduptoo.Eachoneofushadafacecoveringandablackrobe tiedthatopenedinthefront,tiedwithasilvercord.Everybodydressedhimself exceptforme.IgothelpfromConsiviaandMiles.Theygavemeablackbird’s maskliketheoneswehadseenonthe EasterSundayfilm.Crispinworea goldenheadbandthatsuspendedawhitelinenveiloverhisface.MarciaMartina putonRomansoldier’splumedhelmetandaplainwhitemask.Wetzelworea goldensunface.Mostputtheirrobesonovertheirclothes,butPhilippine,her pupilsnowreturnedtothefrontofhereyeballs,somberlystrippedoffher clothesfirst,havingobviouslybeengiveninstructionsaheadoftime.Insteadofa mask,sheworeablacklaceveil.

  RosenbergdonnedhisPhrygianSmurfhatandamaskthatresembledthebustof MithrasfoundattheLondon mithraeum.Healsotookafoot‐longiron harpe(an ancienttypeofsickle)thatwashangingonahookonthebackwallofoneofthe wardrobes.Heholstereditwithhisbelt.ThenMilesopenedthedoortothe hallwayagain,andeveryonefiledout,withRosenbergleadingtheway.

  Justtotherightofthedoorofthewardroberoom,thehallwayended.Thelong darkcorridorwehadcomefromstretchedoutintodarknessonourleftand ended.Righttherewasastonespiralstaircaseleadingup.Rosenbergtooka torchoffthewallwithhisfreehandandstartedgoingup.Everyonefollowed.