The Sixth Key

by Adriana Koulias

  ‘Does he have something to do with this Le Serpent Rouge?’

  ‘Some years ago there was a rumour circulating about it. Apparently, a man in possession of the grimoire came to Paris looking for a buyer. Monti was intrigued and made some inquiries that came to nothing. Whoever it was, he had come and gone, perhaps he sold the text privately and then disappeared again. Years later Aleister Crowley hired Monti to find it. He told Monti he knew someone who would pay any amount for information. Any amount, do you understand?’

  ‘Who’s Aleister Crowley?’

  ‘Aleister Crowley? Mon Dieu! He is the head of OTO – Ordo Templi Orientis, a conventicle of magicians. Everybody knows who he is!’

  Rahn smiled coolly. ‘You said he wasn’t buying it for himself?’

  ‘Oh no! In those days he was bankrupt, living off the good graces of his followers. No, he wanted it for someone else.’

  ‘A collector of books?’

  ‘A collector, yes, but not of books. You see, Monsieur Rahn . . .’ Plantard paused. ‘There are certain people in this world who collect secrets. Such people invariably need others, who are brokers of secrets, to supply them with what they crave. Monti was such a man, a trader of secrets, and he performed this task for Aleister Crowley and for others. To do this job, he had to belong to a number of groups; some might say he was a serial joiner of esoteric societies. Anyway, as you can imagine, these groups compete intensely for the really good secrets – those that can lure the most distinguished members. That is why he could do as he wished. To put it simply, Monti was good at his job and in high demand. Over the years, he devised ways of learning what other men knew and also ways of knowing what other men knew about what he knew. Despite his cleverness, however, he could not uncover any information about Le Serpent Rouge. So he decided to take a gamble – he whispered into the right ears that he had met the owner and that the man was willing to sell it. He was hoping to flush the real owner out of his hiding spot, for owners of things like that are always on the lookout for copies. Perhaps they are afraid that the copy they have is not the original and they must test it by comparison, or they may just be interested in buying the copy to increase the value of the original.’

  ‘But in doing that he would also have flushed out those who wanted the book at all costs?’ Rahn said.

  ‘Yes, a difficult situation, as you can appreciate, considering Monti did not have the book, nor did he even know for certain that it existed.’

  ‘And you think this led to his murder?’

  ‘Officially, no. Unofficially, who could know?’

  ‘And so, does it exist?’

  ‘The truth is, it is no longer relevant, Monsieur Rahn. A man has been murdered for it and this has made the idea, the dream that it exists, a commodité. Even now, a dozen groups have circulated that they have knowledge of it. Some purport to have part of it, others to own the entire manuscript.’

  ‘So why did De Mengel send me to you? Didn’t he know about Monti’s game?’

  ‘De Mengel? Of course not! De Mengel and Monti may have been behind Alpha Galates but they walked in different circles. Monti was a man of many faces and gave his loyalty to no group, while De Mengel was, and still is, a member of the Société Alchimique in France and this society is closely affiliated with a sister society in England called the Society for the Study of Alchemy and Early Chemistry. You see, Monsieur Rahn, De Mengel, one could say, is working with those English Lodges who are in no way desirous to have anything to do with Aleister Crowley. They see themselves as legitimate scientists, while they see men like Aleister Crowley as cheap magicians – Satanists. No, De Mengel did not know anything about what Monti was doing.’

  Rahn was surprised that De Mengel had English connections and he wondered if Weisthor knew.

  ‘So how much did De Mengel know about Le Serpent Rouge?’

  ‘De Mengel only knew what I told him,’ Plantard said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It is complicated, monsieur. Monti knew of your book Crusade Against the Grail. You see, he wrote your name in a notebook he kept with him always. After his death, I found the notebook and when I saw that he had written your name in it I had to contact you. You can’t imagine my surprise when I found out you’re a member of the SS! After that I spoke to De Mengel. I knew he was having dealings with your superiors and so I told him about Le Serpent Rouge and suggested that he ask for you.’

  ‘And you’re not afraid of winding up like Monti?’

  He smiled. ‘I am nobody. Who would expect that an eighteenyear-old errand boy would know anything?’

  ‘But here I am, because of an errand boy, one who wants me to find Le Serpent Rouge. My question to you is why?’

  ‘Look, De Mengel is my superior but I don’t have to like what he’s doing!’ Plantard said, sitting forwards.

  ‘What is he doing exactly?’

  ‘He is working for the English Lodges and using the Nazis, you see? But I am of a different mind, monsieur.’

  ‘A different mind?’

  ‘One could say I am sympathetic to the aims of the Nazis. One could say that I understand that the unification of our two countries under one national socialist government would be something mutually beneficial.’ He motioned for Rahn to lean in. ‘I have heard about Hitler from the occult circles that I frequent. I know that those who groomed him recognise in him the reincarnation of a powerful magician. So you see, if this grimoire does exist, then only such a man as Hitler can use it to its fullest potential.’ He smiled wetly and his little eyes gleamed. ‘You will tell him this when you see him – that I recognise his genius? He may be interested to know that I am of the lineage of Saint-Clair, and therefore, of Merovingian descent. He will understand that this is the lineage of magicians and the rightful heirs to the throne of France. You will tell him this also?’

  ‘At the earliest opportunity,’ Rahn lied, feeling an intense dislike for the impertinent and conceited youth.

  Plantard nodded, stupidly satisfied, Rahn thought, and searched under the myriad of papers on his desk. ‘If you want to hide something it is best to leave it in plain view, don’t you agree? Here it is!’ He brandished a small book covered in a dark leather binding. The cover was embossed with a gold sigil, or magic symbol: a pentagram inside a heptagon inside a six-pointed star inside another heptagon inside a circle.

  ‘In the notebook,’ Plantard said, ‘Monti has written down some references to Le Serpent Rouge. Also, he writes that the grimoire was not complete, that there was something missing – a key. Do you know much about grimoires, Monsieur Rahn?’

  ‘A little. In a grimoire, keys are really formulas one uses to summon demons. The formulas can be in the form of a word, or a sign or sigil.’

  ‘That’s right, and you see, Monti seemed to think there was one very important key missing from all the grimoires. It looks like he thought you would know where to find it because he has your name in his notebook and a page number from one of your books in reference to it. Monsieur Rahn, one word of advice,’ Plantard said, before handing the notebook to Rahn. ‘Should you decide to go after this Le Serpent Rouge, I would urge you to beware not only physical enemies but also metaphysical ones.’

  Rahn laughed. ‘What do you mean, ghosts?’

  The man closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘If that were all . . . No. Shortly before Monti died, he took a trip to a small town in Languedoc to see a priest. You will see it says something in the notebook about an abbé, but there is no name. I don’t know where he went exactly but he was gone only a few days. When he returned he was afraid for his soul.’ His lips pulled at the cigarette and he let the smoke out with his words. ‘Whatever the dangers associated with this book, they must be horrible.’

  Rahn longed to be gone from the apartment; underlying the smell of sardines and burnt toast was the burgeoning stench of death and decay. He took the notebook and, after some cordial words, saw himself out, feeling intensely disconcerted. In the corridor
, pausing to wipe his brow, he noticed a cheap print of a woodcut by Dürer. He had not seen it before because it had been obscured by the door. It was the Apocalyptic Angel, holding the key to the bottomless pit. Rahn paused. Was the Angel in the woodcut banishing a demon to the bowels of Hell or was he setting it loose on humanity? Rahn felt a crawling shiver and left quickly.

  He returned to his hotel with Pierre Plantard’s words weighing on his mind. He packed his bags, paid his bill and left by the back entrance to take a taxi to the station where he was due to meet La Dame. As the taxi passed the front of the hotel, Rahn saw a man standing on the pavement smoking a cigarette and looking out at the street. He couldn’t tell if he was the same man he had seen at the café the day before, but something about him looked familiar: he was just an average man, average height, average build.

  He found La Dame waiting for him in Le Train Bleu restaurant at Gare de Lyon station, wearing a bored expression. After a moment’s complaint for the lateness of the hour he ordered Rahn a drink and sat back smoking his Cuban cigar with a tense impassivity.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ La Dame said finally.

  Rahn realised that La Dame knew almost everything now. What would it hurt for him to know a little more? ‘Apparently Monti was a broker of secrets and he was working to find out something about Le Serpent Rouge for a man called Aleister Crowley—’

  ‘The beast himself? Surely you know who he is?’ He smiled from ear to ear. ‘He is the notorious magician! A terrible dresser but charismatic – they say he signs all his correspondence with the numbers six-six-six!’

  Rahn took a sip. ‘Well, apparently Monti wasn’t getting anywhere in his search for the grimoire and so he decided to mention it discreetly, here and there, hoping to flush out anyone who knew anything about it.’

  ‘Not discreetly enough, by the sound of it.’

  ‘So it seems. Anyway, this Pierre Plantard says that Monti made a visit to a town in Languedoc to hunt around and while he was there he met with an abbé. Whatever the abbé told him, it must have caused him to draw the conclusion that the grimoire was incomplete.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Apparently there is a key missing.’

  ‘A key?’

  ‘A formula.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Apparently Monti thought this key could be found in Languedoc.’

  ‘Where did he get that idea?’

  ‘From me, so it seems.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, from Crusade Against the Grail. Did you ever read it?’

  ‘Of course!’ La Dame said, seemingly indignant at the accusatory tone in Rahn’s voice.

  Rahn put down the brandy to look at him.

  A hangdog grin spread over La Dame’s bearded face. ‘To be honest, I only managed the acknowledgements. I wanted to see if you’d mentioned my name – you can’t imagine my disappointment!’

  ‘I was mindful of your reputation,’ Rahn said.

  ‘But I haven’t got one.’

  ‘You illustrate my point quite exactly, dear La Dame!’

  La Dame gave him a laconic eye. ‘And what would you say if I told you you’re an opportunist?’

  ‘I rarely give anyone the opportunity to say such things, except for you, of course, and now that you have, I will respond by saying that I find myself in esteemed and august company!’ He raised his glass.

  There was a nod from La Dame, to acknowledge the acknowledgement.

  ‘So, what happened, did Monti find anything?’ he said.

  ‘No. After returning from Languedoc he grew afraid. Not long after that he was found dead, and you know the rest, but Plantard isn’t certain who is responsible: rivals; the owner of the manuscript; or perhaps some metaphysical force.’

  ‘Metaphysical! You mean like a curse?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly.’

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He said De Mengel is working for the English Lodges.’

  ‘English Masons! A nasty lot! Watch out for them, Rahn.’ He grew thoughtful. ‘So, that is why De Mengel wants you to find this Le Serpent Rouge – so he can deliver it to the English? The scoundrel!’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’

  ‘And what does Plantard say?’

  ‘Plantard is the one who told De Mengel about me. It seems he is a fan of Hitler and used De Mengel to get me here so I could find it for him. The thing is, Monti never did set his eyes on the grimoire. For all I know, it may not even exist!’

  He took out the notebook and gave it to La Dame.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It belonged to Monti. It’s full of bits and pieces: appointments; notes to remember; this and that; a list of addresses; the usual sort of thing. But what interests me is what Monti’s written towards the back – my name and references to the grimoire.’

  Rahn watched La Dame’s face change from frown to deeper frown.

  * 17th January

  Reference, Magic ceremonial.

  The Grimorium Verum once reprinted in the French language. Based on the Keys of Solomon. Of the Italian version there have been two modern editions, both poorly produced.

  The book of True Black Magic is known only by the edition of 1750. The Grand Grimoire reappeared at Nismes in 1823 and is, moreover, in all respects identical with the work entitled the Red Dragon or Le Dragon Rouge, of which there are several examples.

  The Grimoire of Pope Honorius is exceedingly rare in the original, but is better known by the reprints of 1660 and 1670, though these also are scarce. There is an edition dated 1760, and this commands a high price among collectors (known as Le Serpent Rouge?).

  Abbé d’Artigny was presented with an MS. copy of this grimoire, which was much more complete in all its keys than the printed editions. Possibly it represented the transition of the Sworn Book of the Theban Honorius into the Spurious Papal Constitution, which certainly reproduces the motive and moves in the atmosphere of its prototype.

  But all are incomplete (the last key still missing).

  Otto Rahn, Crusade Against the Grail, page 93 — a skeleton key —

  *Abbé knows!

  La Dame raised his brows. ‘So which one of these are you looking for, the Grimorium Verum, the Grimoire of Pope Honorius, or this Sworn Book? And look at the cover of this notebook, Rahn! Positively diabolical!’ He gave it back, appearing glad to be rid of it. ‘As Sancho would say, I have been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of these adventures that your worship seeks – in other words, I don’t see why you have to always find yourself mixed up in these things, but this time you’ve gone too far! Doesn’t it bother you at all that your name is in a book owned by a man who was murdered looking for the same thing that you’re hunting? If Sancho were here he’d suggest you follow your idea of finding a place to hide in the mountains!’

  ‘But as Don Quixote would say, it is requisite to roam the world, as it were, on probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name and fame may be acquired – until today I would have agreed with you, but you’ve managed to miss the most important point.’

  ‘What point? I didn’t know there was a point!’

  ‘There is always a point!’ Rahn observed. ‘When I mentioned a skeleton key in my book, it was in reference to the treasure of the Cathars.’

  ‘You mean the Apocalypse of Saint John, or the Grail?’

  ‘Both, but to be completely truthful, I was speaking metaphorically – it was a literary device. And now, because of it, Monti has linked Le Serpent Rouge to the Cathar treasure.’

  ‘And how would it be linked, do you have a clue?’

  ‘Not a one!’

  ‘Well, you’ve done it,’ La Dame said.

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘You’ve always wanted fame and grandeur! To have every man cry out the instant they saw you: “This is the Knight of the Serpent, who vanquished in single combat the gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength!” Y
ou’ve become notorious.’

  ‘One mention in a notebook hardly makes one notorious. And anyway, I think you’re talking about yourself. Sancho Panza was the one who wanted material gain. Don Quixote didn’t go into battles and adventures for opportunities and fame but for a higher gain – something Sancho Panza never understood.’

  ‘That’s because he always bore the brunt of those ill-fated adventures, being the only sane one of the two,’ La Dame retorted.

  ‘At any rate,’ Rahn ignored him, ‘I think Deodat will shed more light on it, considering his library has practically every heretical text known to mankind.’ Rahn looked at his pocket watch. ‘Time to go.’

  He wanted to be away and was glad when they found the appropriate platform and a porter to take his bags.

  ‘Give my regards to Deodat,’ La Dame said, following the train’s slow shuffle. ‘Keep me posted and if you need anything, just call . . . and remember: a clear escape is better than a good man’s prayers!’

  Rahn watched his friend until he had disappeared from sight. A sense of freedom swept over him. Hopefully he had left the ordinary man behind, or for that matter anyone else who may have been following him. He nodded at this thought and went to find his carriage.

  ISLAND OF THE DEAD

  10

  One Man’s Grave is Another Man’s Bed

  ‘You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?’said he.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Aye, there’s the genius and the wonder of the thing!’ he cried.

  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ‘The Final Problem’

  Venice, 2012

  The Writer of Letters paused and I realised that it was late. He insisted that I stay the night and soon I was being led to a frugal but not uncomfortable guestroom. I didn’t sleep well and woke early, just before dawn, lying awake for some time thinking. It was quite ludicrous that I didn’t know anything about my host – a man with no name who lived in a cemetery in the middle of a lagoon. Moreover, I had no clue why he’d asked me here or what he wanted with me. I fancied that he was an admirer of Otto Rahn, perhaps even a distant relative, who needed a ghost writer to tell the adventurer’s side of the story – as a form of literary redemption. But all this didn’t explain the uncanny help he had given me over the years or the strange game he was playing with me now.