“Yod He Vau He …!”
Tracing to the right with his outstretched hand, Falk turned to face the south, west, and north respectively, repeating the outline of the sacred pentagram and charging each one with a different name of power: “Adonai Tzabaoth!” Lord of Hosts. “Eh-Ei-He!” I Am. And finally, “Agla!” a name of great potency formed from the initials of a Hebrew phrase, Aieth Gadol Leolahm Adonai, Thou art mighty forever, O Lord.
When he had again returned to face east, he invoked archangelic protection for their work, declaring each entity’s position relative to their circle and intoning the name:
“Before me, Rafael. Behind me, Gabreel. At my right hand, Meekahel. At my left hand, Awreel. Around me flame the pentagrams. Above me shines the six-rayed star.”
He then repeated the Cabalistic Cross, again intoning the sacred formula: “Ateh, Malkuth, Ve Geburah, Ve Gedulah, Le Olahm.…”
Reverberations seemed to hang on the air long after the final “Amin,” enveloping their working space with potent protection, felt but not seen. A moment Falk stood with head bowed; then he lifted both palms to the east.
“Let us now adore the sacred Names,” he said, “that we may be upheld in our endeavor.
“We adore the Lord of Air: Shaddai El Chai. Almighty and Everliving, be Thy name ever magnified in the Life of all. Amin.”
“Amin,” they repeated, bowing with him to the east over folded hands and turning with him to face south.
“We adore the Lord of Fire: Tetragrammaton Tzabaoth! Blessed be Thou. ‘The Leader of Armies’ is Thy name. Amin.”
Another bow, then turning to face west.
“We adore the Lord of Water: Elohim Tzabaoth! Glory be to the Ruach Elohim, who moved upon the face of the Waters of Creation. Amin.”
Another bow, and a turn at last to the north.
“We adore the Lord of the Earth: Adonai Ha-Aretz, Adonai Melekh. Blessed be Thy Name unto countless ages. Unto Thee be the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, now and forever. Amin.”
When they had saluted the north, again echoing his “Amin,” they turned once again to the east, lifting their faces with his as he said, “In the Name of Yod He Vau He Tzabaoth, I declare this temple open for the purposes we require. Amin. Selah. So be it.”
He gave the sign of a Master Mason before moving back to his chair, confirming that what was to follow came under the same circumspection as more usual work in Lodge. They repeated his sign, sitting as he did in silent contemplation for several minutes, each seeking focus in his or her own way, until at length Falk lifted his head and reached to the pedestal beside him to pick up Angus Murray’s snuffbox. Rising, he came before Arabella and bent to set it in her hands.
“I give you charge of this, that it may be a focus for the work we now set about,” he said. “Have you any questions before we proceed?”
She had none that he could answer. Lifting her chin resolutely, she looked him in the eyes.
“None, Rabbi,” she whispered.
To her surprise a faint smile stirred his lips and he gently touched the flat of his right hand to the top of her head.
“Ruach Elohim shall be thine inspiration,” he whispered.
Before she could react, he was turning away to move the pedestal and incense burner to the center of the circle, taking a position directly behind it and facing her. His expression was composed again, as if nothing had happened, but she sensed a barrier had fallen from between them.
The change of attitude seemed not to have gone unnoticed. Across the circle Andrew was tight-lipped in the manner that told her he was actually doing his best not to smile; beside him, the prince had lifted one hand to a cough that was actually cover for a grin. Only Ramsay appeared unaffected by what had just transpired, brooding and dour as he turned his face toward the Ba’al Shem, who now lifted both hands in the invocation that would begin their serious night’s work.
“Boruch ato Adonai, Elohenu melekh haolam.… Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who hast sanctified Thy great Name and hast revealed it to Thy pious ones to show its power and might in the language, in the working of it, and in the utterance of the mouth.”
He paused to take up a pinch of incense from the bowl beside the brazier, casting it on the glowing charcoal within.
“We offer up this work by Thy holy Names: By Yod He Vau He. Adonai Tzabaoth. Eh-Ei-He. Agla. Adonai Ha-Aretz. Shaddai El Chai. Elohim Tzabaoth. Ruach Elohim. Kadosh.…
He intoned the names, he did not just say them, savoring each syllable in its fullest measure, drawing out the sounds. With each new name he cast another pinch of incense onto the brazier. The scent of frankincense and myrrh filled the air, underlaced with the spicier sweetness of cinnamon, heady and potent.
Arabella could feel the web of energy building upon the drone of words, the swirl of smoke, the focus of all present. In the watery blue light the incense smoke seemed to meander gently upward in a lazy spiral, softly dispersing against an invisible umbrella form that could not be seen save by where the smoke was turned.
Lulled by the drone of his words, she let her vision go unfocused, sensed a skewing of her faculties that at once blurred and sharpened all senses as her mind detached from the sights and sounds and smells around her. Her head grew heavy on her neck, weaving slightly, entranced by the random ebb and flow of the smoke, heady with the air’s sweet scent.
Not only the air was responding to his invocation. In her lap, between her two hands, Angus Murray’s snuffbox seemed to grow colder. As she let her gaze drift toward it, she could see the chill sheen of the silver, felt the damp slick of condensation under her fingers.
“I now send forth my call unto the spirit world,” said the Ba’al Shem, beginning the actual summoning. “I conjure and command thee, O spirit of the man known as Angus Murray, by Him who spake and it was done, by the names Adonai, Elohim, Tzabaoth.” Again he cast incense on the brazier with each of the holy names. “Come at once from wherever thou now dwellest and answer my questions, for thou art conjured by the Name of the Everlasting, Living, and True God.…”
He continued to summon the spirit of Angus Murray, shifting easily between Hebrew and English, his voice growing in intensity, though its volume remained steady. The air now was heavy with incense, all but aglow in the watery blue light, the sweetness of the frankincense and cinnamon tempered by the myrrh, lending counterpoint to the languid, slightly dizzying detachment slowly coming over Arabella.
She was not aware when Falk stopped his chanting; only that silence suddenly enveloped her, close and muffling but somehow comforting as well. Her eyes sought him through the incense haze and found him still standing behind the brazier, but her lids were very heavy. It took a great deal of effort to bring him into focus, more effort to fathom that he was looking beyond her, his lips parted in anticipation. And in her peripheral sight she suddenly realized that the rest of them were staring directly behind and above her. She wanted to turn her head to look, but she could not seem to summon up the will to do so.
“He comes not in body,” Falk breathed, slowly lifting both hands in a gesture both of protection and command. “Fear not, Spirit, for we mean you no harm. Nor will we suffer you to harm any present. There was that which was left unfinished when you departed this sphere. You sought to impart certain knowledge to this man.” He indicated Ramsay, sitting white-faced and rigid beside her.
“The one before you has the gift of tongues and can serve as voice, if you wish to speak,” Falk went on, opening his hands toward Arabella in a gesture of offering. “She is willing, if ye swear by the name of Adonai to do her no harm, and to go when I command it. Is this your intent and true endeavor?”
Arabella could hear and feel nothing behind her save a vague tingling of the air, but Falk’s face seemed to relax a little, as did the others.
“He gives the pass signs of a Master Mason,” Falk murmured. “I take that as a sign that he stands by his previous obligation as our brother. Si
ster, if you are willing to proceed, I bid you offer up what was his.”
She could feel the snuffbox tingling in her closed hands. She closed her eyes. She had known Murray slightly and had no reason to fear him, especially with his Obligation reaffirmed, but she had no idea what to expect in the present circumstance. Trusting that Falk and the others would allow her to come to no harm, she commended her soul to the keeping of The Great Architect and slowly opened her hands to offer up the snuffbox.
A dull buzz began to vibrate at the base of her skull and then to spread throughout her body, along with a lethargy she no longer had any will to resist. After a few seconds her chin lifted slightly of its own volition and her eyelids fluttered and then opened, but she seemed to see through a heavy veil.
“I … am here,” she said, though the whispered words were muffled in her ears, of deeper timbre than her own voice, and some outside agency stirred her lips.
“What is your name?” Falk demanded.
“Murray …,” came the labored answer. “Second … Artillery …”
“It’s him! It’s Angus!” Ramsay murmured, subsiding at Andrew’s sharp glance.
“Do you acknowledge the power of Adonai and affirm in word the oaths you have sworn before His altar in another place?” Falk persisted.
“I do.”
“Then, speak. This vessel is untried, her capacity unknown.”
Arabella felt her face turn slightly toward Ramsay, the words from her mouth coming muffled through her dulled perception. It did not occur to her to worry whether Falk’s comment hinted at some danger to herself.
“James,” the name whispered from her lips. “So much … should have told before.…”
“Then tell me now!” Ramsay dared to blurt. “Angus, we have traveled many weeks to be here and are eager to recover the gold for the King. Where may it be found?”
“New York … two oaken chests.… This way … too difficult.” Arabella felt her head gently turn from side to side. “The coin … must point.…”
“What does he mean, ‘The coin must point’?” Ramsay murmured.
Arabella felt herself draw breath, a dizziness making her reel as she clutched tightly at the snuffbox.
“Murray, the vessel tires,” Falk said, watching her closely. “Is there no way to speed this telling?”
“Aye … but it will seal … the knowledge … to her alone. ’Tis burden … I would spare.… Have you … stronger vessel?”
“There is none available at this time,” Falk replied. “Does the burden offer danger?”
“None. But she must go … with those … who seek out the gold.”
The prince leaned closer, his voice softly interposing. “This is acceptable,” he said. “Seal the knowledge. I believe she would agree. Andrew?”
Vaguely Arabella was aware of their words, of the sense of them, and knew that the prince had spoken her truly. At the same time, she felt her thumbs prying at the lid of the snuffbox, then probing inside to make contact with the gold coin fixed to the bottom.
“Amin, Selah, so be it!” she heard Falk declare.
She closed her eyes as the coin grew suddenly cold beneath her two thumbs, a subtle tingling slowly spreading up her arms and into all her extremities. She set her teeth as the tingling intensified, her head snapping back as power suddenly surged up her spine to fountain at the base of her skull in an exquisite wave of giddiness that overwhelmed all other sensation before it drew her down into sweet oblivion.
She came to her senses with a start, recoiling from the pungent goad of smelling salts that someone was holding under her nose. Her hand lifted to push it away, even as her gaze sought out the person responsible.
“Easy, lass.”
It was Ramsay who ministered to her, Andrew watching from behind and to one side of him. Both looked concerned, but not overly so. As she jerked her head aside again to avoid the smelling salts, wrinkling her nose in distaste, she realized she was back in Dr. Falk’s library, stretched out on a chaise longue. Across the room, at one end of a food-laden hunt table, Falk and the prince were bent over something she could not see. Beyond them, steam wafted upward from a large blue-and-white lidded tureen surrounded by several domed silver covers, the aroma of a rich beef stew reminding Arabella of her fast of the past day.
“Don’t sit up too quickly,” Ramsay said, easing a helping arm behind her and setting a glass of red wine in her hand. “Drink some of this.”
“What is it?”
“Just wine. How do you feel?”
She drank down about half the wine and gave the glass back.
“I’m fine,” she murmured. “I must have fainted.”
Andrew eased Ramsay aside and sat beside her, taking one of her hands in his as Falk and the prince drifted back to gaze down at her.
“How much do you remember?” Andrew asked.
“All, up to the moment I passed out,” she said. “But the details are hazy once Angus Murray began to speak through me.” She swallowed. “Did he—tell what was needed?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the prince said. “Hold out your hand.”
She obeyed without hesitation, blinking as he pressed a small gold coin into her palm. It tingled slightly, and she suddenly knew what it was.
“This came from the snuffbox,” she said, closing it in her hand at his nod of confirmation. “He did something to it, didn’t he?”
Falk handed her the snuffbox as well.
“He was very clever, your Angus Murray,” he said. “He sensed that your link to him was fragile, your being but new to mediumship, so he imbued the coin with—vibrations from its fellows, the other coins in the hoard buried in New York. I can make you the loan of an amulet that will amplify these vibrations.
“But first we must eat,” he said, laying a hand on the prince’s arm and gesturing for Andrew to help Arabella to her feet. “Food and drink will refresh us. We are all lightheaded from fasting.”
Over food they discussed what had happened and what might be expected when they returned to America. Falk disappeared briefly but soon returned bearing a carved wooden box the size of two fists.
“New York was still under British occupation when we left,” the prince was saying, refilling his glass from a crystal decanter. “Until Clinton pulls out, trying to recover the gold will be extremely risky.”
“Well, it does us no good until it is recovered,” Ramsay said. “We may have to risk infiltrating occupied territory.”
“That risk will have to be weighed when we know more about the current situation,” Andrew said. “Moving prematurely could put the gold into the hands of the British—which would not serve any of our interests.”
“You will find nothing without the guidance of the coin,” Falk said pointedly, setting the wooden box on the table before them, “and for that you must take Madame Arabella into whatever danger may prevail. She is not yet strong in reading such guidance, but this should help.”
He opened the wooden box and reached into the folds of a white silk handkerchief inside to extract the end of a substantial chain of dull silvery metal. Dangling from the end of the chain was an iron ring set with an oval lapis lazuli the size of a man’s thumbnail.
“I shall require the return of the talisman when your mission is completed,” Falk said, rolling the end of the chain between thumb and forefinger so that its pendant turned in the candlelight. “I shall devise a mounting for the coin so that it may be suspended on the same chain. Together, the two should provide a powerful indicator to lead you to the gold. As an extra measure, to keep the link as strong as possible, I should also carry the snuffbox on my person, if I were you.”
“But how—?” Arabella began.
“I shall instruct you when you return to collect it; I cannot do the work tonight,” Falk said. “Once the talisman has been keyed to you, and the coin to it, you will find it quite simple to use. Needless to say, it will show nothing in any other’s hands. That assumes, of course, that the
re is something there to show,” he added. “It could well be that others have been there before you.”
A sudden silence fell upon them.
“What do you mean?” Ramsay said.
“Simply that some years have passed since the gold was hidden,” Falk said. “It is conceivable that Murray’s father may have told others of its location. I refrained from mentioning this before the working, lest doubt undermine your focus.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Andrew said, “Then why did you help us?”
Falk shrugged. “Because you asked it for the sake of the poor widow’s son. Because Saint-Germain spoke in your behalf. And in the hope that you might find my assistance worth a modest commission, if the gold is recovered,” he conceded, with a tiny smile. “We shall discuss this further when you return for the talisman and coin. For now, I think we all shall benefit from rest, to let tonight’s work settle in our minds. I shall have my servant summon a carriage.”
They collected the talisman with its pendant coin two days later. Two days after that, they crossed the Channel to Amsterdam, where Andrew and Ramsay set about arranging return transport to America while the prince took horse for Paris, to deliver the last of Eli Levi’s letters. He had hoped to see Lafayette but learned from Franklin that the marquis temporarily had been posted to Le Havre by the King.
“Gilbert views it as a trial,” Franklin told him, “but in fact, it is a measure of his success. As you probably know, there were plans all through the summer and well into the fall for France to attempt an invasion of England. If that had occurred, ’tis said that Lafayette would have been appointed to lead the vanguard.”
“Then he is back in favor,” the prince said.
Franklin allowed himself a grim chuckle as he polished at his spectacles with a clean handkerchief.
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