“All right, all right, Mellman, I’m coming to it.” Greydin glared at his colleague.
“Setopholes was a wizard who passed on his wisdom to the priest, by the use of a spell, and the knowledge was revealed to the priest in his dreams.”
Unable to restrain himself, Mellman interrupted, “But the best part of this fantastic tale is that the things the priest learnt from these spell-sent dreams happened on another world.”
Greydin again glared at the archaeologist.
“Isn’t that the most outrageous thing you’ve ever heard, Tony?” Mellman laughed. “No, wait a minute, what’s more outrageous is that anyone would believe such a thing could possibly be true.”
Unwilling to offend either professor, the student remained quiet.
As did a scowling Greydin.
“But of course it’s all a hoax,” said Mellman.
“So, just what is the origin of this book, then?”
“There are references to it in a Victorian book called Mysteries of Dark Wisdom; you have a copy haven’t you, Julius?”
“Of course I have,” Greydin replied. “Would you like to see it?” he asked Danziger.
“Yes, Professor, I would.”
As Professor Greydin went to retrieve it from one of the many bookcases contained in the room, Mellman went on, “It claims that there were translations and copies of The Book of Setopholes made through the ages, among them Greek and Latin, and even some medieval copies. Unfortunately for Julius, this Victorian book is universally considered – not to put too fine a point on it – a load of old tosh.” Mellman laughed again.
Greydin grunted. “Huh! That’s what you think.” The anthropologist had taken the book to his desk.
“Not just me, old boy.” Mellman remained where he sat, but Danziger went to take a look.
“This is Charles Roland’s, Mysteries of Dark Wisdom, published in eighteen ninety,” Greydin said, pride evident in his voice. “Not many copies survive.”
“Charles Roland? I’ve never heard of him,” admitted Danziger.
“Few have,” Greydin conceded. “And to be honest, little is known about the man himself. He was born in eighteen forty-three and died, or at least, was last seen in nineteen o seven. But what is certain, is that he was an expert on the occult.”
Professor Mellman snorted again. “Hah! He was a charlatan and a crank.”
“Few men have dared delve as deeply into such matters as Roland,” contended Professor Greydin.
“This book is a compendium of sorcery and the occult, but its primary interest is the information it provides upon The Book of Setopholes,” Greydin explained.
“So, apart from Atlantis being on another world, what else is in The Book of Setopholes?” Danziger turned the pages of the Victorian book carefully.
“It’s a collection of magical spells and rituals, information on gods and demons, and records of the history and events of Setopholes’s world.”
Professor Greydin ignored Mellman’s snort. “Roland intended to publish a translation of The Book of Setopholes, and a more detailed book about it and its contents. Alas neither was to appear.”
“Bloody good job if you ask me.” Professor Mellman’s opinion was scathing, “Roland was no more than a mere writer of fiction, and not very good fiction at that.”
“Well, I for one would like to read it,” said Danziger. “May I borrow this please, Professor?”
Greydin was pleased that the student was showing such an interest. “Yes, but please be careful with it.”
“I will; don’t worry.”
Mellman groaned, “Oh, for goodness sake, Tony, you don’t want to be wasting your time reading that.”
The clock struck the hour – ten o’clock.
The student smiled. “Speaking of time, it’s time I was off.”
“Yes, me too, Julius. Thanks for the brandy, excellent as always. I will see you tomorrow.”
“It’s been an interesting evening, Professor Greydin. Thank you. And don’t worry about your book, I’ll return it in a couple of days, if that’s okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine. And I may have something very important to tell you then.”
“Oh?” Mellman’s curiosity was aroused. “And what might that be?”
But despite Mellman’s enquiry, Greydin would say no more on the matter and wished his guests goodnight.
Student and professor shared the same route for part of their journey to their respective homes.
“Well, what do you suppose that was all about, Professor?”
Professor Mellman smiled. “Can’t you guess?”
“I’ve really no idea.”
“You know; Julius has never been married?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” admitted Danziger. “Do you mean he intends to announce his engagement?”
Mellman shook his head. “It’s rare for Julius to let someone borrow one of his precious books.”
Professor Mellman’s apparent change of subject had Danziger puzzled.
“He likes you, young Tony.”
“You mean …?” Danziger was dumfounded, momentarily lost for words. “Just what are you suggesting, Professor?”
“Suggesting? Was I suggesting something? Ah, I have to go this way now, and much as I’d like to continue our conversation, it’s much too chilly for me to hang around here. I’m off home, young Tony. No, I’m none the wiser than you. We’ll just have to wait and see what revelation Julius has to make.”
A couple of days later an uncomfortable Tony Danziger was back in Julius Greydin’s study. He had only intended returning the professor’s book, but Greydin had insisted he come in. Professor Mellman was again sitting by the fire.
“Well, Julius what’s this all about?” Mellman asked, once Danziger had joined them.
“I told you last time you were here, that I might have an important announcement to make.”
Danziger looked worried. He had assumed that with Professor Mellman present there would be no embarrassing declaration by Professor Greydin. Surely, the professor was not going to reveal that he was in love with him in front of his colleague.
Greydin spoke, “As Mellman knows, I have been searching for many years, for what I suppose you could call my heart’s desire. It has proved to be a most elusive search; one that I feared would never find fulfilment. But now, and I can scarcely believe it, my quest has come to an end.”
Danziger glanced at Professor Mellman. Mellman smiled back.
“After all this time I have finally found it.” Professor Greydin paused dramatically, before announcing, “Gentlemen, I have The Book of Setopholes.”
The student breathed a sigh of relief; he thought he saw Mellman wink at him. The old devil had been kidding him all along!
Mellman was saying, “Really, Julius, you don’t expect us to believe you’ve managed to locate a copy of that damned book, do you?”
“Not just found, Mellman. I have it. Well, don’t just sit there come and see; you too, Danziger,” urged Greydin, unlocking one of his desk’s drawers.
From the drawer he carefully removed a large book, and gently laid it upon the desk. The other men gathered round. The ironbound book was easily identifiable of being of great antiquity.
“My God!” Mellman gasped.
Greydin opened the book turning to the title page. “This is what you have refused to believe in for more years than I care to remember, Mellman. This is probably the only surviving copy of the only printed edition of the legendary Book of Setopholes,” he announced, his tone reverential.
For once Mellman was speechless. It was left to Danziger to ask, “Where on earth did you get it, Professor?”
Greydin was reluctant to reveal how he had come by the book, “A dealer in antiquities and antiquarian books that I know located it for me. But that’s not important, what is important is that the book exists,” was all he would say.
Danziger had read all about the different editions of The Book of Setopholes, but
he had never expected to see one. Especially not the printed version of 1510.
The book was nearly five hundred years old, and had been included on the Index of Forbidden Books by Pope Paul IV in 1559. Quite naturally, it was not in good condition, but it was a miracle it had survived at all.
Neither Mellman nor Danziger pressed Greydin for further information on his acquisition of the book; they were too eager to see what was printed on its fabled pages.
At first, Mellman was convinced the book was a fake, but reluctantly he had to admit, “Well, Julius it appears to be genuine. Though of course it will have to be analysed to prove whether it is or not.”
Although Danziger did not know much Latin, especially that of Renaissance Italy, the three men studied the ancient tome late into the night. The student having to content himself with the translations made by the other men, and the grotesque woodcuts that illustrated the book.
“The book may date to the sixteenth century, but that doesn’t mean that there’s any truth to what’s written in it,” Mellman pointed out.
“Ever the sceptic, Mellman.”
“Of course, my dear fellow. But just because the book exists, it doesn’t mean that this story of Atlantis being on another world has any validity.”
Mellman paused a moment in thought, and his grin grew broader. “What if we were to put some of this arcane knowledge to the test?”
“What do you mean?” Greydin asked.
“Why, a spell of course, Julius. It won’t prove anything about Atlantis ever having existed on another planet, but there’s no reason why we couldn’t attempt one of these so-called magical rituals from this book of yours.”
“Well, I’m not sure we should—” Professor Greydin began.
Mellman interrupted, “Come now, Julius, think of it as an experiment.”
“But these things should not just be gone into lightly,” protested Greydin.
“Quit stalling, Julius. Anyone would think you were afraid your book is about to be exposed as the usual hotchpotch of unworkable nonsense that all these grimoires invariably are. What say you, Tony?”
“Well …”
Not giving the student time to finish speaking, Professor Mellman continued, “Have you so little faith after all in your book of marvellous magics, Julius?”
“I really don’t think—”
Mellman interrupted again, “Yes, you’re right, of course, we’d only be wasting our time.”
Greydin sighed. “Very well,” he reluctantly agreed.
“Splendid! Then if we reconvene here tomorrow evening about nine? That will give you plenty of time to select one of the rituals, and make whatever preparations are necessary.”
“Very well, that suits me.”
Mellman looked at the student. “Well, how about you, Tony?”
“Me?” Danziger had not expected to be included.
“Yes, of course you’ll join us,” Professor Greydin insisted.
“Then in that case, yes, I’ll be here.”
It was approaching nine o’clock when Tony Danziger arrived at Professor Greydin’s house. He had thought about backing out and instead asking Michelle Chalmers – one of his fellow students – out on a date. But he was hoping to go on one of Professor Mellman’s archaeological expeditions, and so he thought he had better appear keen – even though Mellman was not Danziger’s favourite person right now.
He had to admit that he was curious about what would happen when they tried one of the so-called spells from that mouldy old book – probably nothing, but wouldn’t it be something if it did.
The student smiled – perhaps there would be a spell he could cast on Professor Mellman – a day or two as a frog might do the professor some good.
Just as Danziger reached the top of the steps to Greydin’s front door, it started to rain. Danziger reached out and rapped on the door with the gargoyle-shaped knocker. He did not have to wait long for the door to open.
As usual, Professor Mellman had arrived first. “Tony, at last! What kept you? I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about joining us.” He handed the student a glass of brandy. “Julius refused to reveal what tonight’s act of necromancy is, until you arrived.”
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” the student apologised, although he was not late, and he felt that if anyone should be offering apologies it was Professor Mellman.
However, Mellman was oblivious of the student’s mood.
“Really, Mellman, I have no intention of indulging in necromancy.” Greydin paused dramatically, then said, “At least not yet.”
Mellman was taken aback. “You’re not serious?”
Professor Greydin smiled.
Danziger laughed. “You should have seen your face, Professor.”
“Well, yes, I knew you were joking really,” the archaeologist blustered.
Greydin’s smile had quickly vanished. “Enough levity. We must be about our business.”
“And just what is our business, Julius? What dark rite have you in mind to perform tonight?” enquired Professor Mellman.
“A summoning,” was the reply.
“A summoning? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“That’s only about one step removed from necromancy, isn’t it?”
“Demonology, my dear Mellman.”
“Well, I’m surprised you’ve chosen such an ambitious venture, old man. I would have thought you would have chosen something a bit simpler. Something like a love spell for instance. What do you think, Tony?”
Danziger frowned, “I’m sure Professor Greydin knows what he’s doing.”
“Will you stop prattling, Mellman?”
“Prattle? Do I prattle?”
“Mellman!”
“Oh, very well, old boy. Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”
Mellman and Danziger finished their drinks and followed Greydin out of the room. He led them along the oak-panelled hallway towards the rear of the house. “I thought we would make use of the basement,” Greydin explained as he opened a door. “More room, and it seemed more appropriate.”
The three men descended into a large cellar.
The centre of the room had been cleared, boxes and crates lined the walls; another door led out of the room.
“Behold the lair of the sorcerer,” Mellman declared in a stentorian voice.
On the floor a pentagram had been drawn in red and purple chalk, a lectern stood outside the pentagram between two points of the star.
“Is that where you keep your wine?” Mellman pointed at the other door.
“Never mind that, Mellman, you’ve had enough to drink already,” Greydin snapped.
Outside thunder rumbled ominously. “Ho, a portentous omen.” Mellman laughed.
Danziger asked, “What exactly are you planning to do in this experiment, Professor Greydin?”
“Apart from make a fool of yourself,” Mellman whispered to Danziger.
The student could not help smiling at Mellman’s comment.
“I have chosen a ritual that will prove The Book of Setopholes is a genuine work of magical knowledge.”
“And what ritual is that?”
“Really, Tony, I sometimes think you go around with cotton wool stuffed in your ears. Julius already told us he plans to summon a demon, no less.”
“It’s entitled ‘How to Summon a Flesh-Eating Demon’,” Professor Greydin announced, opening the book that lay upon the lectern.
“Is there any other kind, old man? Have you ever heard of a vegetarian-demon, Tony?”
“Er, no.” Danziger was beginning to feel foolish.
“If we do summon anything, I insist on checking it out to make sure you haven’t got one of your students to dress up to play the part. I’m sure you could get that fool Brown to do that.”
Danziger felt that, of the two professors, only Mellman would resort to such an act.
Professor Greydin was becoming irritated by his colleague’s
comments, “Will you take this seriously, Mellman?”
Danziger did not know why the two men spent so much of their time together, Mellman was continually trying to provoke Professor Greydin, and he usually succeeded.
“Right you are. Well then, Aleister Crowley, let’s get on with it,” urged Mellman, eager to complete the ritual and thus have Greydin fail.
“What do we have to do, Professor?” Danziger was also eager to get things over with.
“Stand at the points of the star.” Professor Greydin pointed in turn to the points to the left and right of him, “Stay outside the pentagram, don’t walk through it,” he commanded.
From the lectern, Greydin took two pieces of paper and handed one to each of the men.
The student puzzled over what was written on the paper. “What’s this, Professor?”
“It’s your part in the ceremony. When I give the signal the pair of you chant the incantation written there.”
“Chant it?” Mellman looked doubtful. “I can’t even understand it. It’s just gibberish.”
“Probably the Atlantean equivalent of abracadabra.” Danziger grinned.
“Hocus-pocus,” muttered Mellman. “What’s the betting Julius fails to even conjure up a white rabbit?”
Ignoring Mellman, Greydin turned to the other door, opened it and went through.
“Where are you going now?” Mellman wanted to know.
Greydin did not answer.
“Of course, the wine cellar! A bottle of your finest vintage, Julius.”
Greydin returned, carrying a small crate. He opened it, and pulled out a black chicken.
Mellman asked, “What on earth are you doing with that thing?”
“It’s the sacrifice of course,” answered Greydin.
“You’re not serious, are you, Professor?” Danziger was shocked.
“Of course I am. Now let’s begin shall we?”
“Yes,” Mellman concurred. “Let the ceremony begin.”
Professor Greydin picked up a knife that lay beside the book. He held the struggling chicken above the centre of the pentagram.
“My God, man!” Mellman cried, as Greydin deftly wielded the knife, and allowed the chicken’s blood to spill onto the floor. Mellman and Danziger watched in distaste.
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