by Неизвестный
That is all.
Come, follow me.
England, 1605:
Ophiuchus
Don Webb
Winter had come early to Manchester. Dr. Dee and his daughter Katherine felt achingly cold in the warden’s home. It was the first of October. For the past few nights—nay, the past few weeks after Mary’s death—little had been said by father or daughter. Dee was seventy-seven. His wife had been eighteen years his junior. He had not foreseen being a widower. For the best astrologer in the British Isles, he had failed to see the shipwreck his life had become. He was going to drink a little brandy and go off to his cold bed and his terrible dreams, when the knock came. A knock at night meant either the fellows of the college had come around trying to trick him out of money or send him on some fool’s errand—like the night they had told him of the seven demon-possessed children—or it was a creditor. There were many creditors. Blonde-haired Katherine sat very still by the dwindling fire, hoping the rapping would cease. But a little of the old fire shone in the old man’s eyes, and he went to the door. Katherine gritted her teeth; father often did things that were unwise.
Dee flung open the door. He was a slender man with a long beard, white as snow. He wore a robe like an artist’s robe. He walked without a cane, saw without spectacles. The door was filled by a tall man in a fine black velvet cloak holding a lantern. The man’s fierce features made Katherine think of the Devil, but she knew the Devil at least was scared of her father. The man doffed his black hat.
“Good evening, fine sir. Do I have the great good fortune of addressing Dr. John Dee, advisor to her late Majesty Elizabeth?”
“I am Dr. Dee and few would say that meeting me is an honor,” said Dee.
“I am aware of the ill favor King James and the Archbishop of Canterbury hold for you. But does not history tell us that the city fathers of Athens had such disregard for Socrates?” The man had a large black sack tied to his waist, and his buttons and buckles shone silver.
“And history tells us of Socrates’s pleasant end,” observed Dee.
“If I am successful in the matter which brings me here tonight, such a fate shall not be yours. I think there are places where your genius would be better regarded than here, and if I may speak frankly, sir, I know that the only thing standing between you and Germany is lack of gold.”
“You have some scheme for making gold? I lost many years of my life in that vain pursuit.”
“No,” the traveler in black said. “I have a scheme for employing a honest scholar of certain rare talents. I have the plan of spending my own gold, not seeking the philosopher’s stone. Perhaps I can discuss this hobby horse of mine by your fire?”
Dr. Dee motioned him in.
“Katherine, bring some candles that our guest may see the fine abode of the warden of Manchester College.”
Candles were brought and brandy served, and the biting cold seemed banished.
“So, what is your scheme?” asked Dee.
“I read your introduction to Euclid years ago. You opened a new world to me. I have acquired a book partially of geometry written in the Greek tongue, which I acquired during a visit to Italy. My Greek is poor. Do you know the remark from Shakespeare’s play that Cicero spoke Greek, and others nodded their heads, but t’was but Greek to me?”
“I no longer frequent the theater, young sir. I am a serious man.”
“Oh sir, the theater is a great extension of the mind, wherein ideas can be made visible without occult means. Next month, Shakespeare is opening a new play called The Moor of Venice, I believe. Perhaps I can take you and your daughter to London to see it.”
Dee would have none of it. This man was beginning to remind him of Edward Kelley; he talked too well and said too little. “What book do you wish me to translate?”
“It is called the Necronomicon. It is a treatise on a new source of mathematics that is at variance with Euclid’s fifth postulate. It also contains a history of the world from before the coming of man and has certain prophecies of the world’s fate. Its last section seems to be a series of calls for contacting strange spirits and demons that haunt these strange angles. I lack both the mathematical understanding nor the Greek to render the book into English.”
“Now we see why you are here. Like King James, you believe me a black magician and assume that I would translate your blasphemous tome. If it varies from the Bible, it is an accursed thing, and despite what you may have heard said of me, I do not traffic with the Devil’s business. You may leave.”
“Sir, I know that you are a pious man, but I know that you are a man of science. This book contains great wonders of mathematics and astronomy. It would empower humankind if I could but make it more accessible.”
“Begone!”
“Sir, I can prove the book’s worth. Today is October first of the year of our Lord 1604, is it not?”
“So, your book is a calendar? I am sad to tell you calendars are not repositories of rare knowledge.”
The traveler smiled, “Sir, according to this book, on October ninth a new star will blaze forth in the constellation of Ophiucus. You know this constellation, I assume?”
“Yes, I have read Ptolemy. I recognize the Serpent Bearer; it is an evil constellation. But new stars seldom appear.”
“Nevertheless, it shall. And the world will be affected by its radiation. The author of this book, a poet of Araby, claims that the star has already blazed some twenty thousand years ago and that its light will reach us eight days hence. He claims that it will plant certain ideas in men and that much power may be had from this moment wherein the stars are right.”
“Now I know you to be mad. Creation is scarcely four thousand years old and light travels instantly.”
“The book claims the star will blaze brighter than Venus.”
“Well, sir, take your leave. If your mystery star appears, I will consider translating your Necronomicon. But as this marvel shall not arise, I trust you will never again darken my doorstep.”
“Excellent. Look to the skies. I will see you in eight days.”
After the man had left, Katherine began frugally blowing out the candles. As her father slowly walked toward his bed, she asked him, “What is Ophiuchus?”
Dee smiled at his daughter’s curiosity. “You’ll find it just northwest of the center of the Milky Way. The Greeks thought him a man carrying a snake. The man’s body divides the snake into two parts: the head of the serpent and the tail of the serpent. Those signs are used in certain black magic resurrection cults. But the Babylonians knew the constellation as Nirah, a god-man hybrid with snakes for legs. Nirah’s cult mated human women with mighty demons of the outer spaces. These hybrids had great power and were aligned with forces not of this world—or so the Babylonians thought.”
“So, it is an evil constellation?”
“It was. But the knowledge of such cults has long been exorcised from the earth by Christ’s Majesty.”
Papa took his pious self to bed. Katherine sat by a single candle, knowing the rest of her life would grow colder and darker and lonelier. In a strange and bitter fashion, she prayed after midnight. It would be hard to say to whom her orisons went.
Dee’s old friend, Kepler, who was lucky enough to have found favor in Prague, is credited with having first noted the supernova. It became known as Kepler’s Star, but it was to Dee’s Manchester home, not to Prague, that the triumphant traveler returned.
“As you can see, Dr. Dee,” said the traveler, “it blazeth in brilliance outshining fair Venus. I trust you are interested in my book now?”
Dr. Dee bade him enter.
“Who are you and how came you by this book?”
“I am a trader. My name is Lemuel Whateley. I buy and sell diverse goods, often books. In Naples, I encountered this volume.”
He pulled a tome bound in golden leather, which bore the Greek title Necronomicon, and the name of its author, Abdul Alhazred, and its translator, Theodorus Philetas.
&n
bsp; “I bought it for a very low price from an elderly man who seemed rather glad to be rid of it. As luck would have it, I tried to sell it a few times and found no buyers. The title, which I translate into English as Image or Ikon of the Laws of the Dead, does not seem to promise a night’s entertainment, nor a day’s practical matters. I looked through the book and found this.”
A picture of the constellation Ophiuchus showed tonight’s supernova. Someone had translated the date into Italian in a marginal note.
“Its mystery called to me. With my limited Greek, I read a few pages. There is a formula for mating a human woman with a god to produce a new and terrible sort of king. It appears that this monarch will rule vast kingdoms on this world and others. Having laid aside some wealth, I thought to secure such power for my line.”
“Does it not occur to you that such an abomination would have its father’s intent more so than your own?”
“Many dangers occur to me, which is why I want the book translated by a scholar who is familiar with otherworldly matters. I did not build a fortune by being either foolish or timid.”
“So, you found a man with little to lose in the way of reputation, accustomed to being the favorite of kings and queens, and of advanced age,” said Dee.
Lemuel Whateley answered, “Crudely put, but quite correct. I pride myself on finding the best workers, paying them fairly. It has secured my fortune and reputation.”
“Well, I will read the book and offer my services. As you know, I am paid but a pittance to be the warden of this college, and I fear daily that King James will put me to the stake. I have made inquires to certain German princes. None have offered to pay my way into their realm, but some have offered me asylum in exchange for my skills at cryptography. What will you pay me?”
“Ten pounds in advance and ten pounds when the translation is finished. In addition, I will require that you show me how to perform some of the milder operations so that I will know you have translated the words in a manner both faithful and skillful.”
“I would need to see this money.”
“Of course.” The traveler took his purse and counted ten golden coins. Katherine gasped.
“You should leave the room, my dear daughter,” said Dee. “This is a matter for men.”
She curtsied to Whateley and left the room—to put her ear against the door.
Dee said, “I heard of this volume years ago, and I sought in my travels to obtain it. I was a braver man then, but I suppose that changing the contents of your mind can cause nothing.”
“You are wrong, sir. The art of magic is simply changing the mind—changing it in such a forceful fashion as to change the perceivable world. Art, music, even writing may produce this effect.”
“So, are you telling me, Mr. Whateley, that merely reading this Necronomicon will itself change me?”
“Reading what I have read has changed me,” said Whateley.
“In what manner?” demanded Dee.
“For example, I can feel the intelligences that live near or behind certain stars. I can see your daughter eavesdropping beyond that door.”
Katherine gasped again.
“It does not take magical powers to know that women destroy themselves by curiosity; you can learn this by reading either the first book of the Bible or the tale of Pandora. Can you offer me something more substantial than knowledge all men gain if they live long enough?”
Whateley smiled. “Miss Katherine, will you remain where you are?”
He crossed to the dark wooden door. From a pocket in his black velvet breeches, he drew out a piece of crimson chalk. He drew vertical parallel lines some three inches apart on the soot-blackened door. He muttered something and the lines began to extend. Suddenly and unexpectedly, they converged at some point far beyond the door. At that instance, Whateley reached though—or around?—the door and took Katherine’s cross from her neck. A second later, everything was normal and sane again. He handed the cross to an astonished Dee.
“The Old Ones walk in the spaces between ours. If we wish to have their wisdom, we need to see the worlds as they see them. Are you interested now, Dr. Dee?”
Dee reviewed everything he knew of stage illusion—a passion of his youth. No, he could not understand the trick. Here was the knowledge he had sought. If only he had found it in his youth, when his reputation was intact.
“I will translate your book. It is lengthy and I am slow. I make no promises of a date it will be done by.”
Lemuel Whateley bowed. “I will see you soon. After the new star has fled the heavens, I have a treat for you and your daughter.”
On Hallowmass Day, Lemuel Whateley took the Dees to the opening night of Othello, the Moor of Venice. Katherine was drunk with excitement. She had never been to the theater. She was equally surprised to discover that in his youth, her father had designed stage illusions. Had it not been for her father’s explanations, she would have believed that the moor had strangled his wife for true. Whateley had rented a fine room for them, and she was content to sit and listen to their chatter late into the night.
“I have a great idea,” said Dee. “Have you seen the new book, the Table Alphabetical? It has the novel notion of listing English words in an alphabetical order. I was thinking what use a book listing English and Greek words in the same manner might prove to translators.”
Whateley replied, “I could use such a book for English and Latin. It would make business letters much easier to write. How is your translation coming?”
“I am working on the cosmological and historical section. I was quite disturbed by the content until I realized it was but allegory.”
“Allegory?”
“Certainly. Oh, I am sure that superstitious people could be led astray, much as they are by terms in alchemical books, such as the black crow or the citrine king. The account of creation and the history of the universe that the poet Abdul learns in the ruins of Babylon and the Irem of the Pillars are meant as allegory. For example, Azathoth is a stand-in for the old Greek notion of chaos.”
“What do you make of Yog-Sothoth?”
“He is the symbol of the mind. He orders the planes and angles of existence. This sounds very much like what the angels told me in the Third Call.”
“So, you think this book comes from the angels?”
“Of course not. Maybe from the watchers spoken of in the Book of Enoch. The buzzing spirits that spoke to the poet are no friend of man or God.”
“What do you think of the Cult of Nirah?”
“Miscegenation between man and god is well known in myth. Were not Hercules and Dionysius the offspring of Zeus and human women? Does not the Bible speak of the giants in the earth?”
“But the notion of creating and using such hybrids—does this not inspire you? Think of how many stupid men have held thrones. Surely, King James is a great example. What if men like gods again ruled the earth, stripping it clean of the worst aspects of mankind, letting us see the world as the Old Ones see it?”
“This is allegory. It is like Plato’s fable of the cave.”
“When will you have finished with the magical portions of the book?”
“I will have Englished the calls by Candlemass.”
“And you will have a demonstration so that I know your translation is faithful?”
“I will perform the ritual called the Manifestation of Images exactly as written by the poet, but I warn you, magic seldom produces results visible.”
“I have paid this inn to lodge and feed you and your daughter for two days. I know you still have friends in London. A carriage will call for you. I will see you on Candlemass.”
It was Katherine’s two most exciting days. She caught a glimpse of the gold coach of the king, and she dreamed of a life not caring for man, who would merely die and leave her alone.
Spring came early in 1605. Snow retreated. Blossoms of all kinds appeared weeks before their time. Dr. Dee looked haggard. His eyes were stormy and had bags, his skin slightl
y yellowish. As February approached, he had become sleepless. He would translate the book by day and then throw the pages into the fire by night. Katherine wondered that if, like Penelope, he sought to delay consummation with suitors. Their table was well furnished. There was good wine and meat served, but Father seemed distant. On February second, Lemuel Whateley again knocked on their door. This night, he wore breeches of red-and-yellow velvet and a fine white shirt. He sported a matching red velvet cape. He was all smiles, and he greeted her father with a strange greeting.
Dr. Dee replied, “In this house, we shall continue to call this night Candlemass.”
“Ah, I see you have read the section on the festivals, but you disapprove.”
“There are those who say the worms of the earth knew how to walk as men in the British Isles, even in the time of the Romans. That the mad poet sings of a Festival of Green Fire to mock Christmas is deplorable.”
“So, you have begun to see the book as something more than mere allegory?”
“I have. I would say that it is the Devil’s work, but I see it speaks of worlds older than the Devil.”
“Older perhaps than God?”
“Its blasphemy does corrupt me so deeply.”
“You have begun to experiment, have you not?”
“I was tempted. I have gained dreams of other realms, and I have sent nightmares to some of the more irritating young fellows of this college.”
Katherine shuddered to overhear this. Thomas Sitwell, a young fellow who had cheated her father of money, had recently hung himself.
“You can perform the Manifestation of Images?”
“I believe it possible. We are under the Sign of the Water Carrier, whom the poet calls Ida-Yaah, so we can call forth an image of Cthulhu. If we work by the sea and the mad poet’s words be true. He learned this call in the nameless city.”
“From a man?”
“From something.”
Katherine did not journey with them, despite her desire to see some magic. Dee brought only a sheet of parchment with him, as he feared the operation might destroy the book. He cautioned Whateley to copy any passages he might need, so that the forces involved would not destroy the book by fire or water.