by Jon F. Merz
Arthur took the high-backed leather chair and shifted accordingly until he felt comfortable. "You have it then?"
Moore leaned back and began filling the pipe resting on the small table beside him. He nodded as he packed the tobacco. "Indeed. The trunk is here."
"How did you come by it?" I asked.
Moore finished packing and struck a long wooden match. He held the flame over the tobacco and inhaled to draw the flame downward across the dried leaves. He repeated the inhalation several times until at last he was settled with the drag. He blew small smoke rings above his head and smiled.
"I was in Syria for some time several months ago, traveling incognito as I usually do."
Arthur looked immediately uncomfortable and leaned forward. "I hadn't mentioned that aspect to our friend here, Jeremiah."
Moore looked me over again. "Well, why not? Doesn't matter much anyhow, since I've retired, this time for good."
Arthur leaned back and nodded. "Caleb, Jeremiah here used to work-"
"For the government," I said completing the sentence.
Moore chuckled. "Picks up things quick, this one, doesn't he?"
Arthur nodded. "He's a writer."
Moore furrowed his brow and smacked on his pipe. "Kilmarnock...ah, yes, the author of those wonderful little spy books. Fun reading those are. Not at all like it happens in real life, but pleasant reading nonetheless. You and I should have lunch some time so we may discuss the realities of my former profession."
"I would find that very enjoyable," I said.
Moore resumed puffing on his pipe and cast his eyes upwards, watching the smoke dissipate on the ceiling. "Anyway, I was in Syria, outside Damascus. The purpose of this trip was to surveil a Syrian commando training camp. In close proximity to this camp, an archaeological dig was underway. It was the perfect cover and I easily managed to gain the trust of the scientists working on the dig. My extensive knowledge of middle eastern history came in handy, as the dig had unearthed the remains of a small trading encampment long ago destroyed during a severe sandstorm.
"The items the diggers were unearthing ranged from the boring to the incredible. Evidently, the encampment had been a tributary to Silk Road, and as such, was laden with jewels and precious metals, and incredible spices. The researchers found evidence of nutmeg and myrrh among the items recovered.
"Also among the items recovered was the chest that now brings you both here. As I was constantly in the researchers' camp, they gradually began to acclimate to my presence. I convinced them over a lot of alcohol one night to part with one item from their discovery, as a token of our friendship. Now, the obvious riches were the jewels and metals, so I discounted those immediately. They seemed quite relieved, in fact, when I chose the trunk. Having spoken with Arthur previously about it, I felt there might be a reasonable chance that this was the very item Arthur has been looking for for some time.
"Convincing my Syrian hosts to allow me to exit the country with the trunk was another matter entirely and when all was said and done, I was forced to convey it via a diplomatic pouch that would be untouchable by the Syrian authorities."
Moore sighed. "And now it is here, in this house, calmly awaiting perusal and authentication."
Arthur cleared his throat. "May we see it now?"
As if driven by some unseen energy, Moore suddenly leapt to his feet, again belying his advanced age. "Absolutely! We shall go to it at once. It's in the library."
He moved to the door then, with Arthur on his heels. I was forced to abandon the warmth of the fire and follow along. Moore strode down the lengthy hallway and turned left at the end. As we cleared the doors, another fire beckoned from the hearth, but Arthur ignored it altogether as he settled his eyes on the trunk that occupied some space in the midst of all those books.
Moore reclined in another chair and seemed content to watch Arthur as he pulled the tome from his pocket and scurried about the trunk.
The trunk, itself, was almost four feet long and two feet high. I would guess that its width was around three feet, although I had no tape measure to be sure. Arthur sprang about it, running his fingers over it, and then consulting various pages in his book.
For my part, I saw nothing outstanding or even peculiar about the trunk. I mentioned its measurements, but the exterior was a rather plain design. Along what I presumed to be the top, were faint engravings that had the appearance of some type of early script. It was these that held Arthur's fascination. Along the sides of the trunk, there were no designs at all, save for several animals that appeared to march in one long, never-ending parade. Otherwise, the sides were plain.
"It doesn't look like much," I said casually.
Arthur looked up. "Exactly! Don't you see? If the king had sent them a beautiful trunk that looked amazing, they would never have been moved to open it. By making it so plain, the invaders would have assumed the treasure was inside and thrown it open. And that is when the trap would have been sprung!"
He bent back to his trunk and made several mumbled comments I could neither hear nor decipher. Moore had resumed his smoking and I was left to gaze about the library.
There appeared to be books on every subject known to man, which only reinforced the opinion I was forming that Moore was an extremely well-read man. It seemed a natural assumption given his past career and the knowledge he commanded in his conversations.
Arthur shouted then, causing me to snap back to reality.
Moore was leaning forward. "Is it?"
"Yes. I believe this is the trunk crafted by Aristhius. Good heavens, I never thought this day would happen. I'm beside myself," he said turning to Moore, "with gratitude for your perseverance. Thank you so much."
Moore shrugged. "I'm truly glad you've found that which you sought. What will you do with it now?"
Arthur smiled. "I imagine I shall leave it in my home as a reminder of what it represents."
"You won't donate it to a museum?"
"No, if I did that, they would be forced to abandon the theories which run opposite to my own. I have no desire to see anyone shamed. Merely owning this trunk is enough. What do I owe you?"
Moore raised an eyebrow. "Not a dime. I wouldn't presume to charge another man for his dream. The trunk is yours. Besides, I have little need for any more money."
Arthur rose and shook his hand solemnly. "Thank you for your kindness. I am truly grateful."
Moore stood and smiled. "I shall have it delivered to your home promptly, would that be all right? If I call now, it should be there some time tonight."
"That would be wonderful. Caleb and I are having dinner tonight at the Four Seasons, won't you join us?"
Moore declined. "I have an old comrade of mine coming into town tonight. I'm afraid I must make him comfortable and then we have much to catch up on. Our conversation would likely bore you both."
"I doubt that," I said smiling. "And I'll remember that invitation you extended."
"Do that," said Moore. "I'm most interested in helping you understand what we call the second oldest profession."
Arthur shook his hand once more as we walked back to the foyer. "Good night, friend. I'll call you soon."
Moore closed the door behind us and Arthur looked at me in the early darkness. "The Trunk of Aristhius, who would have thought?"
"An amazing turn of events for you, Arthur."
"Indeed."
I cleared my throat. "But I haven't eaten in some time. Could we grab some dinner?"
Arthur let out a laugh. "Of course. Let's get going. When we get back to my house later, the trunk will already be there."
We wandered down towards Park Street and then over to Boylston. As we walked, Arthur lowered his voice, as if beholden to some great secret.
"There are many legends surrounding that trunk, my friend."
I stopped as we passed the Transportation Building. "Meaning what? I thought we had already gone over its past. It's been buried for years under the sand, what else could have b
een written about it, if it was not around?"
"The legends I speak of come directly from the dark tome you saw me referring to throughout my examination. They are the memoirs of Aristhius."
"And what do they speak of?"
Arthur stopped talking as we drew abreast of the Four Seasons. We entered and were immediately seated by the maitre'd, a close friend of Arthur's. When our menus had been laid before us, Arthur did not open his, but immediately resumed his speech.
"According to what Aristhius wrote, the trunk was returned to the kingdom and placed in a hallway open to the public. The king's intent, as I said earlier, was for the populace to know what had saved the kingdom."
"A fitting display," I said.
Arthur nodded. "And done with the best intentions, I agree. Aristhius was also of that mind and was the only one the king sought approval from prior to displaying it. Naturally, when Aristhius gave his consent, the king threw a huge party to announce it and from then on it became a favored attraction."
"What was the problem, then?" I asked.
"After a time, the trunk began to appear as though it was breaking apart. No one could explain the fissures that showed on the trunk's surface, and even the craftsmen who had been commissioned to make the trunk were amazed something they had made was falling apart so quickly. Aristhius was summoned and he too, was puzzled. His memoirs are very specific in this regard. He found himself wondering what was destroying the trunk, which had been sealed after the king's men had retrieved it from the desert.
"Eventually, Aristhius concluded that perhaps there was a demon still trapped inside the trunk, who had grown restless with his confines, and desired release. Since the demon's brethren had been sent back to the planes of hell, he was alone.
"Aristhius, knowing the only proper thing to do was to open the trunk and banish the demon properly, informed the king of his theory. The king was terrified that a demon could still be lurking around the trunk. If Aristhius could not control the demon, there was incredible danger to the entire kingdom. Aristhius agreed with the king's assessment, but assured the king that he would be able to control the demon. At last the king gave his assent to the procedure and Aristhius began preparations."
Arthur paused and took a sip of water. "The night before the ritual was to occur, Aristhius made these entries into his book of memoirs. He then lay down to sleep and was besieged by a flurry of strange dreams detailing his life in the afterworld. Aristhius woke in a start and knew that if he opened the trunk, his immortal soul would be claimed by the demon. He also knew if he did not open the trunk as he had promised the king, he would be executed for treason. It left him with little alternative but to flee in the dead of night across the open desert. This is what he did. When the king called for him the next morning, Aristhius was nowhere to be found. The king, not willing to open the trunk without his most trusted mystic, instead had it sealed up in a chamber deep within a huge monument. Eventually, the desert sands covered it and no more was heard from the trunk until Moore chanced upon it."
The waiter arrived and took our orders. I looked at Arthur. "So you're telling me there's a demon in that trunk?"
Arthur smiled. "Legend, my boy, nothing but legend. I highly doubt a demon would allow himself to stay cooped up in some trunk for thousands of years. And that is if one even believes in demons."
I looked at Arthur over the rim of my wine glass. "You asked me here because of my knowledge of the occult. In truth, my experiences have been limited, but nonetheless, I have seen enough to convince me that what we see before us in everyday life is not all there is to our pitiful little universe. There are forces that exist outside our realm vastly powerful and not to be trifled with. I have seen many indications of the after life, and I have no wish to endanger my soul. If asked, I would have to say therefore, that I do believe in demons."
Arthur nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I thought you'd say." He paused as the soup arrived. "But wouldn't it be amazing if it was true. Wouldn't you want to find out?"
"Absolutely not! Didn't you just hear what I said? I am not betting with my soul, Arthur, as good a friend as you are, and as long as we have been comrades, there isn't a chance in hell I'll be around if you decide to break that seal. This has all the makings of another Pandora's Box, or at the very least, the Ark of the Covenant. No chance."
Arthur frowned. "All right, I understand."
"I'm glad. I'd advise you not to attempt to do anything foolish, Arthur. Demons are not to be taken lightly. I've read some of the Sumerian texts on the occult and they detail demons considerably more potent than anything we're accustomed to in the West. Our occult is infantile compared to the archaic powers of the time before Christ."
"But if someone had the memoirs of Aristhius-"
"Arthur! You can't presume to be a master of the supernatural just because you have a diary!"
"But it's his."
"You think! That is not the original document! What if something got lost in the translation? These ceremonies must be performed to the exact letter of instruction, otherwise the magi loses their soul. Is that a chance you really want to take?"
Arthur looked down at his soup. "I don't know," he said finally.
I sighed. "Look, let's stop this talk for now, all right? Our food will be here soon and I'm famished."
Arthur smiled at me as he looked up. "You're right of course, I'm being foolish. I suppose it's enough for me to know that I have the trunk without actually peering into the murky depths of its past."
"Considerably safer, too." I finished my soup. "But Arthur, you must not ever sell that trunk to anyone. They may not be as inclined as we are. They may not bear the wisdom we do and may inadvertently unleash whatever is in that trunk upon the whole of humanity."
Arthur nodded. "Agreed. The whole matter is one of dangerous proportions."
"Tell me something. Does Moore know what you've just told me?"
"No. If he did, he may have felt some inclination to turn the trunk over to his former employers."
"I wasn't aware the government had much interest in the occult."
"Quite the contrary," said Arthur. "According to Moore, our DIA has a keen interest in matters relating to psychic abilities. I believe they would jump at the chance to get their hands on something like this. Regardless, they could do little to control it without the book I have."
"If that is indeed the book of Aristhius."
"I believe it is."
"What became of him after he fled? Was that his last entry?"
Arthur looked uncomfortable. "No. It's not. Aristhius made the trek across the open desert, wandering for much of the time, plagued by nightmares and delusional ramblings. He speaks of demons throughout much of his later entries. Eventually he found himself in what would today be called Israel. He settled for some time, trying his hand at alchemy, and enjoying a certain success with it. But then the dreams that had plagued him during his flight, returned with even greater vigor. Aristhius began to fear he was in mortal danger. He left this book behind, that of his memoirs, and took with him the book he was writing on summoning spirits and demons into the desert along with all the tools of his profession. Once there, he settled himself on a lonely patch of sand and constructed a magical shield that surrounded him as he hastened to complete the book on magic. As he wrote, he became aware of movement of the fringes of his protective dome, and looking up, saw they were demons. The same demons he had summoned years before to drive off the invaders. The same demons he had banished thereafter back to the planes of hell. Now they had returned for him.
"He wrote furiously, trying to convey as much knowledge as possible in the limited time he had left. He knew they would break through the dome given enough time. And Aristhius' spirit was growing weaker. They sensed victory and renewed their attack. Aristhius had almost completed his last work when they broke through. That is where the last entry ends. Presumably, the demons destroyed him."
"Wait a minute," I said. "You said A
risthius left his memoirs book behind. How do you what happened after he left for the desert?"
"I thought that there must be somewhere, a copy of the work he was completing, and Aristhius left very specific clues as to its identity, even naming the work. I searched long and hard, and finally found the book. Its name was changed, or rather, named something other than what Aristhius would have called it, but it is the book nonetheless. It is the only book on the occult I know that ends before it was finished."
"The Necronomicon," I breathed.
Arthur nodded. "Quite."
"Aristhius was the Mad Arab?"
"Yes. Although it was a name he gave himself. It was he who wrote that book, he who saw the demons coming for him, and he who tried to pass on his knowledge."
"A frightening prospect."
"Yes."
We finished our meal in silence. For my part, I was enjoying the meal before me and also relishing the idea of leaving Boston soon. Our adventure on that day had been enjoyable and very educational, but it had also left me feeling a bit unsettled. Playing with demons was not something I intended to make a hobby.
Arthur sat playing with his food. He seemed restless and unsure. At times he looked as though he wanted to pick up our conversation again, but apparently my eager attack on the food barred his attempts.
We parted ways shortly thereafter, Arthur strolling home to his condominium on Newbury Street atop his store, and I to the garage where I had parked my car. I drove quickly and made it to my home in New Hampshire shortly after one in the morning.
The trunk was forgotten for some time as I concentrated my efforts on churning out another novel and a few new short stories. With the space of two weeks, things were forgotten.
But the invitation to have lunch with Moore was not. And I found myself back in Boston some three weeks later having a very eye-opening discourse on matters of espionage. Moore, I soon found, had been a brilliant operative who had been involved in covert affairs for well over half a century. His wit amazed me, and it was only with great reluctance that I left him after lunch and wandered over to Arthur's shop on Newbury Street.