The Ancient Nine

by Ian K. Smith, M. D.

  No sooner had I rested the phone on the cradle than it began ringing again. It was Thaddeus Claybrooke, chairman of the Delphic punch.

  “I know it’s short notice,” he said. “But I’m calling to see if you can make dinner this Thursday at nine o’clock.”

  “Sure, I can make it,” I said.

  “Nine o’clock in New York City.”

  “Did you say New York City?”

  “Yup. We’re inviting three punchees to be our guests at a New York dinner. We’ll fly everyone down, spend the night, then fly back first thing the next morning. The club takes care of everything.”

  I almost dropped the phone. I couldn’t believe that they were going to fly three of us to New York just for dinner.

  “We’re planning on leaving at seven, but if that’s cutting it too close, Delta has a seven-thirty shuttle.”

  “The later one would be better for me. I’ll come right after practice.”

  “We’ll meet in front of the clubhouse at six fifteen. Remember to wear a blazer and tie, but bring something to change into. We’re definitely going out afterwards. You ever been to New York City?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you’re in for the night of your life.”

  * * *

  IT WAS A CLEAR, crisp Cambridge night, and small packs of students huddled in front of their entryways, taking smoking breaks. Others trudged back from the libraries, heavy backpacks slung over their shoulders, their faces long and exhausted. I grabbed a hot Sicilian slice and a can of fruit punch from Pinocchio’s, then headed toward the river. Dalton sat on the steps of the Newell Boathouse when I arrived.

  “Let’s walk and talk,” he said, rising to his feet. “The wind coming off the water is whipping the hell out of me.”

  We headed out east along the river, the lights of downtown Boston beaming in the distance. We walked down Storrow and past the immaculate Georgian brick buildings of the business school.

  “I started working on the first line of the poem,” he said. “Waldorf is a tiny rural village in the southwest part of Germany. It’s in a shallow valley about six miles west of the Rhine River. There’s nothing special about the village except it’s been around since the mid 600s A.D. That’s about all I could find. There’s not much written about it. The population isn’t even a thousand people.”

  “Maybe somewhere there’s a listing of all the graduates by their hometowns,” I said. “We can see if any lived there.”

  “Already tried that,” Dalton said. “I went to the alumni office to check their records. They only have the graduates listed by class or last name.”

  We crossed the street and started along the winding path behind the dark courtyards of the river houses. We passed underneath the shadows of the new Leverett Towers, then the sprawling buildings of old Leverett. Dalton slowed down when we neared the long, immaculate house that bore his family’s name.

  “Why is all this stuff about the Ancient Nine so important to you?” I asked.

  He walked closer to the Winthrop courtyard and clasped his hands around the locked wrought-iron fence.

  “I’ve been fascinated by rumors of the Ancient Nine for a long time. When I was about thirteen, I saw something else I wasn’t supposed to see. I saw Uncle Randolph kiss another man.”

  “As in his lover?”

  “Not that way. One summer I was upstairs at Wild Winds, sitting in that same window that you were in the other day,” Dalton said. “I was looking at the boats coming down the river, when I saw Uncle Randolph and another man sitting in the rock garden. They were talking for a while, then when the man got up to leave, Uncle Randolph kissed the man on both cheeks, then kissed him on the forehead.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “I didn’t say anything for almost two years, then one night Aunt Teddy flew up here for some art auction and stayed with us at the house. When she and I were alone, I told her what I had seen. That’s when she explained everything to me. Well, at least everything that she understood at the time. He never told her all the details.”

  “Why didn’t you join the club yourself?” I said. “With your name and connections, they would’ve let you in easily.”

  “They would’ve let me join the club, but I never would’ve been inducted into the Ancient Nine. There’s supposed to be a rule that the bloodline to the Ancient Nine must be pure. I was Uncle Randolph’s great-nephew, not his son or grandson. I’ve always known that my best chance of cracking their brotherhood would be from the outside with some help from a partner on the inside.”

  “And I’m that partner,” I said.

  Dalton turned, put his hand on my shoulder, and looked me in the eyes. “Only if we can get you behind that big blue door on Linden Street.”

  * * *

  THE WALK BACK to Lowell House was dark and cold. Windows in the river houses had steamed up against the chilled air. The few souls willing to brave the frozen temperatures walked briskly and with determination. My conversation with Dalton and the prospect of attending the Delphic’s New York dinner had my head spinning. I remained hopeful that Campbell would figure out the meaning of the creed, another big piece of the puzzle.

  The Lowell entryway was empty. Not even the smokers who normally gathered there for study breaks were willing to fight the chill. I was eager to get back to the room to see if Ashley might’ve left a message. It had been days since we last spoke, and I ached to see her again. I turned down the stone path and descended the steps into the east courtyard. I was only feet away from my entryway when someone stepped in front of me, so close that I could smell his cologne—seasoned wood and aged tobacco leaves.

  “Good evening, Mr. Collins,” the man said.

  He was at least six-foot-five and dressed in a ski jacket. When I saw the tight baseball cap, I knew it was the same guy who had followed me to the Crimson. His hands were jammed deep in his pockets.

  “Who are you?” I said, keeping my eyes on his hands.

  “Milton Brathwaite,” he said. “Attorney for Mr. Randolph Winthrop.”

  “Mr. Winthrop is dead,” I said.

  “Yes, but his affairs are still a matter of my concern,” Brathwaite said. “And obviously to others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Dalton seem to have a special interest in Mr. Winthrop’s private matters.”

  “I don’t know anything about Mr. Winthrop’s personal business,” I said.

  “Really?” Brathwaite said, his right hand moving in his pocket. “What were the two of you doing at Wild Winds the day Mr. Winthrop died? You both were in his bedroom, then you went into town.”

  “Dalton and I were just visiting his uncle,” I said. “They were very close.”

  He moved in front of me and blocked my passage. I looked around him to see if anyone else might be coming. Witnesses. My chest tightened.

  “What did you take?” he asked.

  “I didn’t take anything,” I said.

  “So, it was Dalton?”

  “He didn’t take anything either. What do you want from me?”

  “Whatever you took from Mr. Winthrop.”

  “I’ve already told you that I didn’t take anything.”

  “And I don’t believe that.”

  I heard voices entering the courtyard. Two guys laughing. This was my opportunity. I took a quick step to pass him, and then quickly walked toward my entryway door. He didn’t move.

  “Be careful, Mr. Collins,” he called after me. “You’ve already been warned nicely.”

  I fumbled with my keys in the darkness and finally got the entryway door open. Not until I had made it into my room and double-locked the door did I realize that I was breathing again.

  21

  “BRATHWAITE WAS HERE!” I said.

  My hand was still trembling as I held the phone.

  “Where?” Dalton said.

  “Inside the east courtyard here at Lowell. He stopped me as I was heading to my room.”

>   “Holy shit! What did he say?”

  “He knows the two of us were talking to your uncle just before he died. He knows we went into town. He knows we have the book.”

  “No, he thinks we have the book,” Dalton said.

  I explained my exchange with Brathwaite.

  “What are we gonna do?” I asked.

  “Move faster to keep ahead of them. Keep trying to figure out what happened to Abbott and find out the meaning of that creed. The fact that he showed up is proof how important the book is.”

  “If he tells the Delphic members that we have the book, they’ll cut me from the punch.”

  “He’ll never tell them about the book,” Dalton said.

  “Why?”

  “Because then he’d be signaling to the undergrad members that the Ancient Nine exist.”

  * * *

  FOR MOST OF THURSDAY, I felt like a kid watching the second hand of the clock on Christmas Eve. Time dragged. When I wasn’t thinking about the Delphic, I was thinking about Ashley Garrett, and it was killing me that she hadn’t returned my calls. The upperclassmen had always told us our greatest pickup line for the next four years would be the address of the Harvard house we lived in and our graduating class number behind our names. But they never told us what to do if our Harvard standing had the opposite effect. Dinner and a movie on my best behavior, and just like that, she disappeared from my life. It was over a week since I’d talked to her, and it finally settled in that it was very likely I’d never hear from her again. Besides that, I had too much pride to keep chasing her. So, shock is a mild description of what I truly felt when I ran into her on the first floor of our entryway seated on a small chair we kept outside our door. She was casually turning the pages of a small book.

  “Ashley!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Happy to see you too,” she said, closing the book and standing. “I was trying to get some work done.”

  “Yeah, but here?”

  “I’m working over at Quincy House today, and my shift doesn’t start for another hour. I didn’t have anywhere else to study, and this seat was empty.”

  “I called you twice last week, and you never returned my calls.”

  “I’ve been really busy with work and classes.” She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “A quick callback still would’ve been nice,” I said.

  “Are we gonna stand out in this hallway all day, Harvard, and have this conversation, or are you gonna open the door?”

  I reached down and unlocked the door. She followed me inside, but took only a couple of steps before stopping.

  “Not what I expected,” she said.

  “Come in and have a seat,” I said. “I don’t bite.”

  She sat on the far couch, making it clear she would maintain her physical distance. “Your taste isn’t too bad,” she said. “Did you do the decorating or a previous girlfriend?”

  The truth was that one of Percy’s maids had come up and arranged everything the first week we moved in. The only thing I was responsible for was the candlestick on the mantelpiece that my high school science teacher and her husband had given to me as a graduation gift.

  “I take offense to the question and implication,” I protested. “Some of the greatest interior designers have been men, thank you.”

  “Sure, and they were raised on the South Side of Chicago, played basketball, and got a Harvard degree to learn how to match color swatches,” Ashley said. “Nice try, but I don’t think so. This is definitely a woman’s touch.”

  “It’s a mistake to underestimate my decorating talents.” I smiled.

  “Difficult to underestimate something that doesn’t even exist,” she said. “Anyway, I came over to see if you had any plans for Saturday night.”

  “I’m completely free.”

  “I have two tickets to the New Edition concert in the Garden. It’s their ‘Heart Break Tour.’ I thought if you weren’t busy, you wouldn’t mind meeting me there.”

  “Will this qualify as a date?”

  “No, it’s a meeting.”

  “Okay, fine. Then I’m not going.”

  Neither of us spoke, and I pretended to be looking for something in the bookcase. She looked at me and tapped her foot. After some time, she said, “Well, I don’t want to throw this extra ticket away.”

  “That would be a terrible waste,” I agreed.

  Finally, she said, “I have to warn you in advance that these aren’t the greatest tickets in the world, but they’re the best I could do. The seating is probably a lot different from what you’re used to.”

  “I’ve never even been to a concert there before,” I said. “I’m happy just getting into the arena. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d be willing to sit on the damn roof just to be next to her at a concert.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “And just because this is a date, it doesn’t mean you can take liberties.”

  “Me take liberties?” I said, throwing up my hands. “Thought never crossed my mind.”

  * * *

  I DIDN’T WANT to raise any suspicions from my teammates that anything out of the ordinary was happening, so instead of taking a shower once I got back to my room, I took it with the team, changed into a pair of jeans, then rode the hell outta my bike back to Lowell to get changed for the night. On my bed, I had already laid out Dalton’s blazer, a shirt that I ironed that morning, and one of Percy’s ties that I found in the back of his closet. It was a wide dark-blue silk tie with small yellow and silver paisleys that gave it a little pop. It was active, but not too loud. I had played in state championship games in front of fifteen thousand screaming fans and sunk two game-winning free throws with three seconds left on the clock. I’d given my high school valedictorian speech while being filmed by one of the local news stations. But never before had I been so nervous and excited as I was now, getting ready for the trip to New York City. Before I was dressed and out the door, I was sweating so badly, I applied a couple of more swipes of deodorant, changed into a second undershirt and retied my necktie five times until the dimples in the knot were perfectly centered and the end just grazed the top of my belt. I grabbed my overnight bag and ran out the door.

  As I shot across Mt. Auburn and up Linden, I noticed a black stretch limousine parked across the street with its hazards on. The driver stood outside with his hands folded behind his back. I spotted three blue blazers huddled in front of the Delphic mansion. I recognized the lone punchee, a short, muscle-bound varsity wrestler whom everyone called Buzz. He was in the Army ROTC, a program that had been so controversial during the Vietnam War years, it was banned from campus. Harvard undergrads were still allowed to enroll, but they fulfilled their cadet duties a mile down the river on MIT’s campus.

  A large Delphic member standing closest to the door stepped forward and extended his meaty hand toward me. He had that uncomfortable look most big guys have when they have to comb their hair and dress up. “Hutch,” he said. “Welcome to the New York trip. Hope you’re ready for a good time.” Hutch must’ve been running six foot four, 250 pounds, all shoulders and chest with an infectious smile as big as he was wide. You could easily imagine him comfortably planted in front of a big-screen TV with a six-pack, watching a football game. He looked like he’d already had plenty of adventures in his young years.

  As introductions were being made all around, I felt a pull on my shoulder and turned to find the limousine driver reaching for my bag. With a slight bow, he took my bag, hurried back across the street, and loaded my gear into the limo. So, this was how these guys rolled.

  “You ever been to New York before?” Hutch asked.

  “My first time,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “You’re from the Windy City, right?”

  “Born and raised.”

  “Chicago’s a great city,” Hutch said. “I have cousins out there. But New York is a completely different beast.”

  “Are
the women as pretty as everyone says they are?” Buzz asked.

  “Prettier,” Hutch said, wiping his forehead. The temperature hovered around freezing, yet he was sweating like he had stepped into a sauna. “Don’t get me wrong, you can find beautiful women everywhere. But there’s just something about a New York woman that’s hard to explain. Besides, and all the top modeling agencies are there, so it’s crawling with stunners.”

  The blue door to the clubhouse opened, and out walked a kid straight from the pages of an L.L.Bean catalog. He wore a madras blazer and a navy blue Delphic bow tie covered with gold torches. His vintage wool gabardine pants were cuffed half an inch too short with pleats deep enough to hide a roll of quarters. He didn’t wear any socks with his rustic burgundy penny loafers, the heads side of the pennies showing in the slits. It had to be Thaddeus Claybrooke III, proud descendant of a Mayflower family, and every bit the pompous rich kid Dalton had described. He had the look of a person accustomed to being in charge.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Clay. Where’s Carderro?”

  We all looked around.

  “He’s not here yet,” Hutch said. “He was supposed to be coming right over from tennis practice.”

  Claybrooke looked down at his watch and announced, “He has three minutes and thirty seconds to get here or we roll without him. We have important activities waiting for us in the great city of New York, gentlemen.”