The Alchemist's Gift

by Martin Rua

  The female form with the name of Àrtemis next to it began turning red, starting from the feet. I had a sinking feeling.

  “What are you doing, what does that mean?”

  “It means that I still have ten seconds left to stop my Scorpion King from injecting a deadly poison into your wife’s body. One… two… three…”

  “Stop! Stop, please, for God’s sake!”

  “Four… will you co-operate? Five… six.”

  I had no idea what that lunatic had in mind, but in a flash, the image of Hasek’s corpse – his battered body, the deadly wound – appeared before my eyes.

  “Seven… the clock is ticking.”

  The shape representing Àrtemis had become almost completely red, only the head was green. My throat had become dry and in a desperate move I rushed towards the computer. Two arms restrained me.

  “Nine…”

  “All right!” I shouted desperately.

  Asar stopped his diabolical game.

  “Very brave,” that masked monster remarked with a chuckle, “but I wouldn’t wait that long next time if I were you – I might not be so fast.”

  “What… what were you doing?” I asked, as breathless as if I had just been for a run.

  “The Scorpion King is a tiny, deadly device which transmits a signal from a great distance. You see, all of you tonight have swallowed a secret ingredient which was mixed into the excellent food served at dinner. To make sure, we added dozens of microscopic receivers which evade the immune system and hide in the body, remaining dormant for thirty days before being expelled without consequences. That is if I do not activate them. They are containers in which there is enough poison to kill you in a few minutes, a mix of neurotoxins extracted from the most poisonous scorpions of north Africa. I wouldn’t want that substance to be introduced into my body if I were you.”

  I was released and I sagged like a wet rag.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked in a faint voice.

  “It’s very simple. If you collaborate, the venom is not injected, these silhouettes remain green and we are all happy. Misbehave and… Well, in that case the virtual trigger installed in my computer and that of other members of our phratry will send a signal to the receiver-containers and they will release the Scorpion Kings’ poison. You will die, one after another, slowly and agonisingly. And in that case you will have every right to call us murderers.”

  I was having difficulty not collapsing to the floor, so I tried to compose myself. “What do I have to do exactly?”

  “According to the contents of the de Sangro to Saint-Germain correspondence, or the Hašek manuscript if you prefer, you must be in the Cathedral of the Nine Mirrors at noon on the summer solstice with a series of tools,” said Asar, closing the laptop. “Today is the sixteenth of June. There are only five days left, Mr Aragona – five days to crack the code and figure out what we should take with us. Five days to save your life and the lives of the people who were at the table with you tonight. I must warn you in advance that it is perfectly useless to have CAT scans, blood tests or whatever. The capsules you have ingested are undetectable and when the work has been done will be expelled from your body without consequences.”

  I hid my face in my hands for a moment and then frenziedly loosened my tie.

  “You damn…”

  “You are already wasting time. Do not linger to insult me, or I might decide to speed things up…”

  At that moment there was a knock at the door. The Thoth in a tuxedo walked over and opened it, listened to something and then closed it again.

  “We have to go,” he said in the same deep voice with which he had welcomed me.

  Asar nodded, took the Hašek codex, passed the laptop to another of the figures in the room and along with the others, headed for a door hidden in the shadows, that I hadn’t noticed before. He turned to me one last time, raising the correspondence.

  “It is time for the Silver Shadow Lodge to do something useful, Mr Aragona. You have until twelve o’clock tomorrow morning to rally your confrères – you will need their help to crack the code. At noon go to the historic café in Piazza San Domenico Maggiore and ask if somebody has paid for a cup of coffee in your name. You will find it good – and enlightening.”

  Chapter 21

  Naples, 17th of June, 00:04

  Four Days to the summer solstice

  An instant after the masked men left the room, Kominkova, Amato and Viola Brancato rushed in, guns at the ready.

  “What happened?” Andrea asked breathlessly. “We lost the audio signal right after you left the reception room.”

  I replied sharply with a question.

  “How is my wife?”

  Andrea looked at me in surprise. “She’s fine – we left her with Professor Ricciardi.”

  “I’m going back to her. Those criminals came from there,” I said, pointing to the door to the right of the desk where Asar had been sitting until a few moments ago. “But I would avoid using force – we could all be in grave danger.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Andrea.

  “Kominkova, you stay with Mr Aragona, Brancato and I will try to pursue them.” Amato said, opening the door that I had indicated previously.

  “Please Amato, don’t use force!” I pleaded, thinking of the poison we all had in our bodies.

  “Don’t worry,” snapped the burly vice commissioner, as he left the room with Viola.

  Andrea and I returned to the reception room and as we walked through the maze of corridors in the Royal Palace, the Interpol inspector put her gun in her bag and asked me what had happened.

  “You wouldn’t believe it, Andrea – the situation is more serious than we imagined. And above all, by coming here tonight we have all fallen into their trap.”

  “What do you mean by ‘all’?”

  “Everyone. You, me, my wife, your colleagues, everyone! I have just met the people who almost certainly killed Hašek, or at least ordered him to be murdered. These people are out of their minds. They were dressed in black cloaks and Egyptian headdresses and masks, and their leader – a certain Asar – gave me a demented speech about the antiquity of their brotherhood and things like that. They have the manuscript which I told you about – the one stolen from Hašek – and they want me to help them decipher it. In five days. Otherwise they will kill all those sitting at the table with me tonight.”

  Andrea stopped short and stared at me in disbelief. “What are you talking about? How could they do that?”

  I sighed.

  “He said that they had given us all a mixture of poisons which were in the food we ate. The release of this substance is controlled by a program installed on computers belonging to this gang of lunatics.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Andrea, you saw with your own eyes what these people are capable of!” I blurted out when we were only a few metres from the dining room. “Wasn’t the murder of Hašek enough? Let’s imagine that this Asar is bluffing – would you dare risk it?”

  Andrea simply frowned.

  The gala was over but the hall was still quite busy. As soon as Àrtemis, who was standing next to the dessert table along with Michele de Sangro and Professor Ricciardi, saw me, she shot me a confused, worried look.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  I gave a sigh of relief that the little ‘experiment’ of Asar’s had not harmed her, and without thinking twice I pulled her towards me.

  “Hey, what's the matter?” she asked, returning the embrace, but surprised by my reaction.

  “You’re all right, thank God,” I said composing myself but clenching my fists in anger. “I knew I shouldn’t have brought you here, I knew it! We’re in danger,” I whispered, seriously. “We have fallen into a trap.”

  While Andrea exchanged a word with Professor Ricciardi, I looked around, scrutinising the guests for a particular face. Michele de Sangro approached me looking concerned. “Lorenzo, are you okay? What’s wrong? Y
ou seem worried.”

  “Michele, where is Mario Cassan?” I asked. My friend shrugged.

  “I don’t know, he was here a little while ago.”

  An idea that had begun to form in my head right from the moment he appeared on stage at the San Carlo was gradually becoming more defined, and the fact that I couldn’t see him in the hall did nothing to dispel my suspicions. I was convinced that Cassan was Asar. It was just a hunch dictated by my sixth sense, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I peered nervously around the room for a few moments and then the French-Italian re-appeared, as smiling and polite as ever and still surrounded by a bevy of young women like a fishing boat besieged by screaming gulls.

  I watched his movements and tried to work out if the mask and cloak of Asar could have concealed the young conductor, but if I was honest with myself I couldn’t be sure. The room where I had met the Isidei was dimly lit and the black cloaks had prevented me from seeing any detail.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened instead of just getting yourself all worked up?” said Àrtemis, who seemed alarmed by my bizarre behaviour.

  “He can tell all of us, Àrtemis,” Andrea intervened, approaching with a bewildered Professor Ricciardi.

  Meanwhile, the two policemen who had gone to look for Asar had returned. They joined us, looking pensive.

  “We lost them.” Brancato said, “Behind that door there is a service corridor which leads directly into the San Carlo. We heard noises in the stage area so we climbed to the top of the catwalk and from there we saw shadows slipping away from the stage. It was very dark, so after a moment we completely lost sight of them.”

  “Either these people know the San Carlo very well or they’re very good at making us run around in circles after them like idiots,” commented Amato bitterly.

  “They know it very well,” I said, “and the fact supports my hypothesis.”

  “What hypothesis? Can you tell us what the hell happened, Mr Aragona?” Amato asked again, this time sounding slightly irritated.

  “I think first of all you should arrest Mr Cassan, if he is still here,” I ventured, noticing that the conductor was about to leave the room.

  Amato turned to look at him and then back at me. “Why, what has he done?”

  Keeping my eyes on Cassan, I quickly put everyone in the picture about the meeting with the Isidei, and the more I went on with the story, the more amazed and frightened they looked. When I had finished we sat in silence for a few seconds. Àrtemis put her hand on her stomach and sank into a chair, shaking her head, while Ricciardi, looking bewildered, kept repeating “I have a heart condition, for heaven’s sake!”

  Amato thought for a second and, without another word, pulled out his cell phone and called a number from his list of contacts. “Oscar, where are you?” he asked. “Give us ten minutes and we’ll be there.” He put his phone away and looked at each of us, lingering on Professor Ricciardi. “Professor, it’s nothing serious so don’t worry about your safety, but I’m afraid you will have to come with us to the police station. We won’t detain you longer than is necessary.”

  The professor tried to pull himself together, he smiled awkwardly and said, “Very well, I’m at your disposal, Mr Amato.”

  “And what about Cassan?” I asked, with surprise.

  “Mr Aragona, we have no reason to arrest him for now, especially not in the presence of the mayor and other authorities,” snapped Amato, almost biting my head off. “If by chance your assumptions are wrong… well, we’d be better off packing our bags and moving to another city!”

  Part Two

  God’s Music

  Chapter 22

  Naples, 17th of June, 12:00

  summer solstice

  “Good morning. Two coffees, please, and there should be another one which has been paid for in my name – Lorenzo Aragona.”

  On hearing this, the young cashier, who had welcomed me with a smile, suddenly became serious and nodded several times as he gave me a receipt for the coffee – the one that had already been paid for and the other two – together with a small sealed envelope.

  “Here you are.”

  A bald man of average height with a clean-shaven face walked towards me, accompanied by a taller man with a thick shock of white hair and an intense manner.

  “So, what’s it all about then?” asked Carlo Sangiacomo while Oscar approached the counter to collect the coffee.

  “We’re about to find out,” I said opening the envelope.

  Oscar and I were tired. The previous evening, after the gala dinner at the Royal Palace and my meeting with Asar, we had all spent a good hour at the police station taking stock of the situation. At half past twelve, after a medical examination had ruled out any imminent danger, a driver had taken an exhausted Professor Ricciardi home. Oscar, concerned about the stress he had suffered, had told the professor to rest and to call him immediately if he noticed any strange symptoms. Though trying to remain calm, the professor looked tense and tired, and I felt guilty for having been, in part, the cause of his involvement in the affair.

  From the meeting at the police station we realised that although we had no proof that Asar’s evil threat was real, it would be unwise to ignore it or consider it a bluff, so Oscar had decided that we should go along with him. In the morning I had contacted all the members of my lodge, explained the situation and obtained their support. That same evening I met some of them at the temple for a special session to share our information and try to interpret the Hašek code. The following morning, Carlo Sangiacomo, Senior Warden of the lodge, had come along to give me moral support. It was only four days to the deadline set by Asar. I needed all the help I could get.

  Before our meeting at the café in Piazza San Domenico Maggiore, Oscar had personally gone to the San Carlo to meet Mario Cassan. Having agreed with Amato that it would not have been wise to make an arrest the previous night, he wanted to have a chat with the conductor who was preparing for another performance of The Magic Flute. Oscar had been vague with him, relying on his gut feeling to figure out whether the French-Italian really was hiding something, but Cassan, as friendly and cheerful as when I had met him the night before, had given Oscar the impression of having nothing to do with Asar and his gang.

  “He just seemed a bit of a character,” Oscar had commented a few minutes earlier, when we had met in the square. “Of course, he might also be a very good con man, but I would need more time to establish whether or not he’s lying.”

  While our coffee was being prepared, I pulled the card out from the envelope.

  “‘Palazzo Penne, ring for IPSI. No police or the green turns to red.’ That’s the message.” I said, drinking the coffee which tasted too bitter despite the sugar in it.

  “The green turns to red… That must mean the poison” said Carlo, who had been briefed with the other brothers.

  “Evidently,” I answered in a strained voice.

  “Palazzo Penne is nearby, in Largo Banchi Nuovi,” said Oscar. “The message says no police, so they will hold nothing against you if Carlo goes with you. I’ll be in the area. I’ve got to go to the police station because I have an appointment with Kominkova. Go and see what they want – and be careful.”

  Carlo and I walked along Spaccanapoli for a few metres in the direction of Piazza del Gesù Nuovo, then turned left and descended rapidly towards the lower part of the city along Vico San Geronimo. At the height of the main campus of the Oriental University we turned right and a minute later we found ourselves in Largo Banchi Nuovi, where the beautiful Palazzo Penne, a small Renaissance gem with a rusticated façade, was.

  According to legend, the palace had been built with the help of the devil, and for his pains, Satan had demanded the soul of the original owner, Antonio Penne, the secretary of Ladislas di Durazzo, but it was said that Penne had managed to trick him, causing him to fall, horns, hooves and all, into the well in the yard which is still visible to this day.

  “The devil’s palace,” c
ommented Carlo, as he pressed the buzzer on the intercom under the word IPSI. “They certainly love being theatrical.”

  We were welcomed into a second floor apartment, or, to be precise, a large room which was almost completely bare apart from a round table upon which there was a lamp and around which were ten chairs. There was little light, only what managed to filter in through the old, half-closed shutters. But then there was not much to see.

  “Good morning, Mr Aragona,” said the man with a black hood who had opened the door for us. I did not recognize his voice, it didn’t seem to be Asar.

  “Good morning.” I answered hesitantly.

  “And good morning to you, Mr Sangiacomo.”

  Carlo and I exchanged glances.

  “We know all the members of your lodge,” said the hooded man, anticipating our question. “Please, come in.”

  On the table in the centre of the room was the Hašek codex. The hooded man approached the manuscript. “From this moment, you have four days to consult the letters. You may do so only here, and they are available only to you and the other members of the Silver Shadow Lodge. This apartment will be available to you day and night, and there will always be someone here until midnight on the fourth day.”

  “The note said no police, but Commissioner Franchi is a member of the lodge. Would he be allowed to help us?” I asked.

  “Commissioner Franchi may come, but alone. There is nothing here which might interest him and attempts to get information out of me or the other guardians would only worsen your situation.” He pulled out a smartphone and showed me the screen, where I saw the same pattern with six figures I had seen on Asar’s computer. “We can strike any time.”

  Chapter 23

  Naples Police Headquarters, 17th of June, 13:00

  Four days to the summer solstice

  Oscar continued to pace back and forth, pausing occasionally to look out of the window at the traffic in via Medina. It was a sunny, hot, cloudless day, but there was a storm looming over our heads and it seemed that the only way to address it was to dive in.