Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck

by Anders Rauff-Nielsen

  “You would not be surprised, and I gather not even offended, when I tell you that I think you no more capable of being a gentleman than I think a monkey able to govern. You may be able to play the part, but that is a far cry away from actually being one,” Bahij replied, trying his best to keep a formal tone and distance between them.

  “Indeed, but then again, is it not all a play that we carry out? Each playing our part in the great play that is our life and death? While I may, in fact, not be a gentleman, you are, in fact, not one yourself by the merits and virtues you find it requires. I can see in your eyes that every part of your being seeks to burst out in the most ungentlemanly ways and wishes to rid yourself of my role in our great, intertwined narrative. While I acknowledge the nature of my being, you, on the other hand, deny your nature and seek to use reason to subdue it. Our nature is the same; we each strive to be something we are not. The difference between us lies not in our nature, but in our motives. We are both actors who have merely chosen different roles to play.” He looked at Bahij and saw the tiny thread of doubt that the Earl so enjoyed weaving. “Now while any ungentlemanly behavior on my part would have been carried on outside the realm of prying eyes, there is no reason to debate my merits as a gentleman.”

  “No, but the motives you so cleverly pointed out do indeed merit much debate. Fortunately, while I may not trust your motives nor your ways, I find myself confident that Mistress Ammon is indeed capable of seeing through your act herself.”

  “On that account, dear friend, I think you should be greatly disappointed,” the Earl said with a grin. A slight tremor in Bahij's hand and the tightening of his jaw revealed to the Earl that he was on the verge of pushing Bahij beyond the realm of his so highly valued self control. He knew that with one more sentence, perhaps just the right word, he could make Bahij snap. Yet he refrained from doing so. The Earl now knew that it could be done and that he possessed the means to make it happen. That was enough. Now it was a matter of accessing the right time and place – the right scene, so to speak – and he knew that this was not it. “Now while I know this disappointment is born from a great affection for Mistress Ammon, I have come here today to do that which you think I would not. I wish to declare my intentions, as a gentleman, so that we may both court Mistress Ammon in the open and leave our fate in the matter to her judgment – something which we both seem to believe is immaculate,” the Earl said, knowing that there would be nothing Bahij could do but take up the challenge.

  “If that is indeed your intention, we shall certainly be competing over our lady's favor. Now I shall bid you farewell.” With a slight bow, Bahij turned on his heels and headed down the narrow streets, leaving the Earl behind to savor his own personal victory.

  IV

  Astrid sat on her secondhand sofa, which she referred to as vintage, and looked out over her room at the May 4th dormitory in Aarhus. The dormitory had been built as a monument to the Danish resistance, and Astrid had gotten her room because her Danish grandfather had fought in the resistance against the German occupation during World War II. Her coffee table was covered in photos of Notke's altar, most of which she had taken herself on her visits to the cathedral. She picked up a close-up of the predella painting depicting the Gregor's Mass. As she did, the TV commercial break that was running as an ideal background distraction ended, and Paradise Hotel came on. Astrid thought it was a stupid show that only added to the dumbing down of the nation and the world in general. Yet, despite taking a rational dislike to the program, she had decided that she was impervious to its influence and she was just watching it with half an eye in order to know what she was up against. “Know your enemy,” she thought as she struggled to keep her focus on the medieval artwork rather than on the adventures of scantily clad teens with a formidable ability to seem even more stupid than an average doorknob. She looked at the photo she had taken of the Gregor's Mass painting that had particularly caught her attention when she began writing her thesis. The painting showed Jesus Christ appearing upon the altar during a mass conducted by Pope Gregory I to silence those who doubted the doctrine of transubstantiation – the changing of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. In the background of the painting, a doorway revealed a terrace and garden with the sky gilded rather than painted blue. In the empty garden sat a lone peacock, which Astrid knew was used in medieval artwork to represent the resurrection and eternal life. Although a small detail, Astrid couldn't help feeling that this was somehow significant, she just couldn't figure out how. Sadly, as no immediate conclusion presented itself, the medieval art lost its grip on Astrid's attention and her focus regressed towards the television.

  V

  Bahij was raging as he reached the castle after his run-in with the Earl. He simply could not bring himself to believe that Teresa would show such poor judgment of character that she could fall for a man like the Earl, let alone favor him over Bahij. To him, the Earl seemed an untrained whelp that had been neither broken-in nor house-trained and thus ran around at its own leisure pissing on everything with scant regard for the world around him. Except, of course, that while a young dog could be excused, the Earl could not. As Bahij walked down the corridor and into the grand hall where he had danced with Teresa just a few nights earlier, he felt his right hand tighten as if grasping the hilt of his sword. Oh, how he would enjoy putting the Earl down like the cur he was, but sadly, Bahij knew that it could not be done. Such an act could only be sanctioned by Him, and unrequited love and ungentlemanly behavior was, unfortunately, not enough to merit such sanction. Bahij walked across the hall that now lay silent, just a pale shadow of what it had been on the night of the feast. There were no guests and no decorations, and there was no abundance of food and drink. There was no music and no Teresa. Instead, the majestic room was dominated by the massive long table with the chair belonging to Him at the head. The décor was comprised of only a few select marble statues and tapestries, leaving the stained glass windows room to tell their stories of the origin of the undead. As Bahij started down the corridors towards the private chambers belonging to Him, he ran into Teresa who immediately confirmed his suspicions by keeping a much more formal distance than before. Feeling that it would be too awkward for the two of them to walk past each other without a word of greeting, Teresa stopped.

  “Master Khaleel,” she said, holding out the skirts of her embroidered black silk dress as she curtsied. She kept her gaze on the floor, leaving it for him to decide whether or not he would stop – hoping that he would decide against it. Bahij found that his manners made the decision for him. He stopped and engaged in a conversation from which they both knew that nothing good would come.

  “Mistress Ammon,” Bahij replied as he gave a deep bow, disappointed that she had addressed him as “Master Khaleel.” However, as she had taken a formal tone, he felt compelled to do the same, which added to the growing tension between them.

  “So nice to see you,” she said with a smile that paled in comparison to the smiles Bahij had received from her just days before.

  “Just as is it to lay eyes on you, and for my humble soul to fill with the song of your voice, my lady.” Immediately, Bahij knew that he had overdone it. That which a week before would have seemed endearing and courteous now seemed false and clingy. An unforgiving change, which had taken Bahij – like so many before him – completely by surprise.

  “Are you here to see our lord and master?”

  “Yes, that is indeed my errand . . .” Before Bahij could finish his sentence, Teresa interrupted him, hoping to avoid the unavoidable.

  “I shall announce your arrival and leave you to yours, and then I’ll be on with that which is mine to do this day.” She gave a bow.

  “Teresa, I am sorry to keep you from your business, and I feel even worse on account of the subject of which I need to speak to you. I pray that you have but a moment.” She felt cold and uneasy, but there was nothing for her to do but look to the floor as she replied.

  “Of cours
e.”

  “In truth, I have taken a great liking to you and I was confident that these feelings were mutual. That is until very recently you have grown cold and distant. It is as if we have once again become strangers even though I know we are not, and I fear that there is but one cause for this. Now I pray that you will gainsay this and set both my mind and heart at ease.”

  “And what cause might that be?” Teresa asked, her eyes still avoiding his.

  “I speak, of course, of the Earl who was so full of himself as to declare to me his intentions to court you, and who was also so indiscreet as to insinuate that the battle for both your love and virtue had already been fought and lost by me.” It hurt him to say it. He hated the Earl, and Bahij already felt betrayed before she answered, despite the fact that she had made him no promises. She paused and swallowed before slowly raising her eyes to look at him.

  “Bahij,” she said, half imploring him to stop and half pausing to prepare them both for what followed. “I am sorry if I have led you astray and I will not deny that – for a time, at least – I harbored feelings for you myself, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “But, since last we saw each other, I have been much enlightened. Not to any deficiencies on your behalf, but to the virtue and inner beauty of another man onto whom I have found myself compelled to cast my love.” As Teresa said it out loud, she even surprised herself.

  “The Earl?” Bahij said with disdain.

  “Yes. There is no point in denying this. It will soon become public knowledge, and you and I have no obligations towards each other. Besides, I would much rather that you hear this from me than from idle gossip.” This was the last straw for Bahij, and in a rare lapse of self-control, he let go of himself.

  “Unfortunately, rather than from you, I heard this from the mouth of the uncultivated swine you claim to love, and it was a piece of news he savored much to deliver. I merely refused to believe it out of respect for you, your judgment and your virtue – all things which I seem to have held in too high regard!” Bahij shouted as his feelings got the better of him, resulting in a hard slap across his cheek.

  “You will not speak to me in this way ever again! Not if you wish to harbor any hope for us to part as friends or for you to be welcomed into this house as you have always been.” As she yelled at him, she felt angry tears welling into her eyes. “It is neither my judgment nor my character that is flawed here, but rather your ability to rule your own jealous misconceptions. I know John much better than you do, and you seem content to grant him far less credit and purpose than you would grant the pigs that find joy and fulfillment in rolling in their own filth. And you make this judgment without even taking the effort to acquaint yourself with him. I have chosen to give him my heart because I know that he is a much better man than you would ever dream or know him to be because your unbecoming jealousy clouds your vision and poisons your mind. I am not the one at fault here. You are! And you will come to see this!” Having said what she needed to say, she edged past Bahij who tried to grab her wrist as she moved by.

  “Teresa . . .”

  “You will see this, and when you do, you will apologize. Then we can talk again!” She wrested herself from his grasp and hurried down the hall, never looking back and leaving Bahij to quietly curse his own behavior. How on earth could he let this happen? After all he had lived and died through, all it took was a woman to make him lose control. While he imagined the disappointment Teresa felt at his words, it was nothing compared to the disappointment he felt himself. And the fact that the Earl was proven right was unbearable. But what made it even worse was the fact that he had not lost the fight because his opponent was superior, but because Bahij had failed himself. His own pride and a moment’s weakness had been his ruin. With his inner voice swearing at his misfortune, he headed down the corridors to seek Him in his private chambers.

  Bahij knocked on the heavy oaken door.

  “Come in,” Mr. Ferre said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere. Bahij entered and walked through the antechamber into the study. He sat ready to greet Bahij from behind his desk on which drawings and reproductions of the Voynich and Flamel manuscripts had been laid out. As Bahij entered, He rose from his seat to extend his greetings. “Bahij, my friend.”

  “Sire,” Bahij replied, feeling his master’s eyes boring through him as he bowed down.

  “Pray tell me what troubles you on this fine day when you have been invited into the heart of my house to enjoy the spoils of your own victory.” Bahij wanted to tell Him that it was nothing to be troubled with, yet Bahij knew that Mr. Ferre would not have inquired if He did not harbor a genuine interest in knowing. Not out of concern for Bahij, but because He – more than anyone – knew that knowledge was power.

  “While I do not believe that it is worth your concern, Sire, what ails me pertains to Mistress Ammon and the fondness I have for her,” Bahij started.

  “Yes.”

  “As you well know, I have sought to court her for some time, but now it seems that she has cast her love on the Earl. Now while this in itself tears at my heart, I unfortunately did not handle the news of this as well as I had wished.”

  “So the lovely Teresa has fallen for the Earl, rather than you,” He noted.

  “That is the essence of it. Yes.”

  “I must say that she is more naive than I had credited her,” He said, reverting his gaze to the manuscripts.

  “Whether she is naive or merely a poor judge of character, I will leave for time to judge,” Bahij said, clearly doing no such thing.

  “As a consolation, I will say this,” He started. “Should you still harbor a fondness for her and wish for her to be yours, you will come to stand even stronger when she realizes the mistake she has made. When she returns battered and beaten, you will be given the chance to be her graceful savior, which will atone all else. To a woman, the only man who stands in higher favor than her lover is the man who saves her from herself.” He looked up at Bahij, and when Bahij didn't reply, He moved the conversation along. “Come join me and enjoy the spoils of your victory. Come witness the unveiling of the manuscript you have so long sought to decipher.” Bahij walked to the table, trying to rid his mind of Teresa. “Once again you have done your job impeccably, my dear Bahij, leading me to reach a point where I am afraid that when you disappoint me one day, that fact in itself, rather than the reason, shall serve as the biggest disappointment to me,” He said, offering Bahij a rare glimpse of a smile.

  “Thank you, Sire, but, as always, I shall do my utmost to keep that from becoming a real concern.”

  “This I know. Which is why you are the one I trust in these matters.” With only the gaze of his eyes, He guided Bahij's attention to the papers set out in front of them. “Now first of all, the Flamel manuscript has proven that which we previously only theorized; the Voynich manuscript does indeed hold the secrets to the summoning ritual that will allow me to bring back those lost to the will of that whelp and his predecessors.”

  “I am glad to hear that my studies have not proven fruitless.”

  “Quite the contrary,” He said, turning over the pages of the manuscript. “However, one concern has arisen so far.” Bahij let his eyes follow his master’s finger trailing across the pages. “The Sol Niger alchemists who created the Voynich manuscript were led by their master Bernt Notke, a revered sculptor and artist working out of Lübeck in northern Germany around the year 1500.” Bahij nodded. “Now it seems that Notke, at least to some extent, began to doubt the prudence of the Sol Niger's creation some time during its fashioning. This led him to omit invaluable information from the Voynich manuscript, such as the names of the saints to be called upon during the ritual.” Mr. Ferre looked at Bahij to make sure that he had no questions, and as He expected, Bahij had none.

  “Yes.”

  “Notke hid the information in some of his own works, one of them being the magnificent altar he was commissioned to build for the diocese of Aarhus in the state of
Denmark. Judging from the documents that have been reviewed so far, he positioned the three saints mentioned in the Voynich manuscript in central positions on the altar.”

  “I will look into this immediately,” Bahij said.

  “Please do, but send Vincenzo in case Mr. Beck turns down my offer and decides to show up. I know Vincenzo much desires his revenge and will do his work thoroughly.”

  “Your offer, Sire?” Bahij asked.

  “Yes.” He looked Bahij in the eyes. “While you leave Vincenzo to seek out the altar and its secrets, I want you to seek out Mr. Beck and bring him to me. I have a proposition for him.”

  VI

  After Marie left his house, Blake had fallen asleep in his chair, his soul mimicking the ways of his life. He had drunk the entire bottle of whisky, and while it didn't make him drunk, it still seemed to aid Blake in his escape from reality. He woke late the following day with Marie's words still filling his mind and cutting at his heart. He wandered the house in an aimless stupor for a couple of hours before returning to his leather armchair, for which he had already developed a strong affinity.

  Driving a green Land Rover, Bahij Khaleel pulled up behind Blake's silver Aston Martin just outside the house. The dashboard clock showed that it was 3:00 in the afternoon, which meant that the others should already be there surrounding the house just in case Mr. Beck did not come along voluntarily. Bahij gave them a few more minutes, and then he got out of the car, walked up to the door and rang the bell.