The Alchemist's Gift

by Martin Rua

  I felt inside my jacket and pulled out the small vial which Riccardo had given me in Prague and which I now always carried with me. I looked at it for a moment. That must be Hašek’s boiled dew. I handed it to Luca, who looked at me in amazement.

  “This is the one you have to use – in the same proportions.”

  With the addition of Hašek’s secret ingredient, we performed all the operations necessary, producing a vitreous paste with a dark red hue. When we had finished we placed part of it in a mould and allowed it to cool.

  I thanked Memmo and Luca for their co-operation, and told them they could go home. I had already taken too much advantage of their kindness. Memmo put his hand on my shoulder. “Lorenzo, you would have done the same, and even more. So don’t thank us, and above all don’t apologise. Call us later to let us know if the stone has turned out well.”

  While the ruby solidified, I concentrated on the last piece of the Peregrino Neapolitano that Carlo had copied. It was another poem, certainly more complex than the one which had taken me to the Sansevero Chapel:

  De’ la bianchezza vincitor sagace,

  Entrare puoi tu ora nel sacello,

  Lì dove di rubedo pietra giace,

  C’Arte nostra mutare fa in ruscello.

  Il Divo attese quaranta primavere,

  Che ’l ser da Clauso clausur facesse.

  Tocare le sue canne è tuo dovere,

  Tal quale l’instrumento per le messe.11

  It seemed evident that the poem followed the one which had led me to the chapel. You could tell from that ‘de’ la bianchezza vincitor sagace’ with which the author – the prince – took it for granted that the initiate had managed to accomplish the ‘whiteness’ – the albedo, the second step of alchemy – with the clue found in the ark beneath the altar. It appeared clear from the reference to rubedo, the third and final passage of the work of alchemy, that the prince was referring to a stone: perhaps the ruby that the initiate – the‘pilgrim’ – should already have made at that point.

  I looked at the cooling gem and thought of Matteo and the wisdom he had shown despite lacking the detailed knowledge contained in the Peregrino Neapolitano. He had guessed – perhaps by reading all of the de Sangro to-Saint-Germain correspondence – the way forward. He had easily identified Notre-Dame de Chartres and had gone even further, tracing the layout on that photo of the floor. I couldn’t understand why he had done it, but I smiled at the thought that perhaps I had surpassed even my master by deciphering the clue which had brought me to the Peregrino Neapolitano. I realised too that even this last poem probably referred to information that neither Matteo nor Vladislav Hašek had been able to obtain, lacking as they did the opportunity to consult the prince’s text.

  But now I had to interpret it, and it didn’t look as though it would be easy. I began re-formulating the various pieces of which it was made up in more modern terms. I wrote:

  You who have found by cunning the clue of the albedo can now enter the shrine… which is in the temple. This temple houses the rubedo stone, a stone obtained alchemically during the third phase of the work. Or perhaps a red stone, rubedo colour.

  I re-read my version and, although it was not yet clear, it seemed convincing. I went on.

  Our art, which might be alchemy, can change this rubedo stone into a stream.

  “What does that mean?” I thought, re-reading my notes. “What can change a stone into a stream?”

  It was certainly symbolic and probably alchemical in meaning. I continued to write down the poetry in simpler terms.

  The Divo waited forty springs, that is forty years. Divo in Latin is divine, holy. It might mean a saint. The saint waited forty years for the Ser – the lord – from Clauso to be cloistered. Tocare… perhaps it means touch… touch his reeds as a tool for the mass/harvest is your duty.

  It was useless – the second part didn’t make sense. Who was this saint who had waited four decades for someone from Clauso to be cloistered? And what instrument with reeds did you have to touch? Perhaps an organ? And where? And anyway, you don’t play an organ by touching the reeds.

  Exhausted, I put my head in my hands, put aside the poetry and, so as not to go crazy, turned my attention back to the ruby. Finally it had cooled. I picked it up gently and held it up to the light of one of the laboratory lamps. It lit up the room with an intense red glow, as though there were an LED inside it, but the beautiful gem with unique physical characteristics cast no light whatsoever on the secret.

  I looked at the time: 19:30. The pressure of that day – which still stretched out long ahead of me – weighed heavily, and I decided that it was time to go home.

  I switched everything off and closed the door, but as I was descending the stairs my phone rang. Unknown number.

  It could only be Asar. Finally.

  11Sagacious victor of the whiteness / You may now enter in the chapel / there where the red stone lies / Our art turns it into a stream / The Divo waited forty springs / for the Ser from Clauso to have himself closed / It is your duty to touch its reeds / which are the same as the instruments for the mass.

  Chapter 37

  Naples, 18th of June, 19:30

  Three days to the summer solstice

  “Mr Aragona, let us try to re-establish our relationship on a more honest footing,” began Asar, in his usual low, husky voice.

  “A more honest footing?” I snapped, “After you’ve killed a poor old man – or rather two at this point, as well as the Bulgarian fished out of the Moldau, perhaps?”

  He sighed audibly at the other end of the line. “I heard of the death of Professor Ricciardi, but I have to disappoint you – we had nothing to do with it, neither with his death nor with the crimes in Prague. My threats remained threats, I have not pulled the trigger. Your friend simply couldn’t take the stress. He died a natural death, believe me.”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because I would have no problem taking responsibility for the crime – in fact, it would suit me, because you are now scared. But I want to play honestly and that’s why I say that we did not kill the professor, nor Hašek, nor the Bulgarian.”

  “Really? Your signature was all over the crime scene.”

  “Use your head, Mr Aragona. Clearly, someone wants to make it look as though we are responsible for all these murders, and perhaps even the theft of Baron Scotto di Fasano’s alchemical watch, the one he always passed off as the work of the Prince of Sansevero.”

  It was perhaps the first time he had mentioned the theft of the alchemical watch and I was surprised by the contemptuous tone in which he referred to the baron and his precious treasure. I was ashamed at the thought of sharing with him the same dislike of the crippled nobleman.

  “So that robbery was nothing to do with you either, then,” I said to provoke him.

  “Why ever would we have stolen it?”

  “There are Egyptian symbols on that watch, so you seemed the obvious suspects.”

  “Mr Aragona, there are Egyptian symbols on the dollar bill, but let us not be so naive as to connect everything to that. What interests us at this time is to discover the secret of the Cathedral of the Nine Mirrors. In his correspondence, which perhaps you have not had the opportunity to examine, there is no mention of a watch or similar mechanism. Once again, we are not involved. And as for Hašek, I would imagine he had some enemies in the world of alchemy – some more ruthless enemies than us, who didn’t limit themselves simply to stealing the old man’s letters, but went much further. The secret of secrets, the fountain of youth, is tempting to many, even to you. Don’t deny it.”

  “Not enough to kill for it.”

  “These are points of view. In any case, don’t relax too much – I can still implement my threat. I have five targets to strike with my Scorpion King, so don’t try and play any more games with me. Firstly you would be wise to persuade your friend Commissioner Franchi to release my assistant.”

  I laughed. “You’re mad, do you rea
lly think I have that much power? I’m an antiques dealer, in case you have forgotten.”

  “I don’t care who or what you are – you have influence with the commissioner and I suggest that you use it. After all, what is my assistant accused of? Hmm? Tell me.”

  I kept silent and he resumed.

  “Don’t play for time and do as I say.” He paused again, then went on. “Anyway, what of your research?”

  “It is progressing. I have created an artificial ruby using the prince’s directions, but you have prevented my brothers from continuing to work on the texts. You’ll slow us down.”

  “We had to take precautions, but now that we understand one another, things will return to as before,” he said calmly. “Tomorrow morning you will find the correspondence and the prince’s book at Palazzo Penne. You will bring the ruby with you and give it to the guard you will find there. Furthermore, I give you my word that no one will die tonight at the expiration of twelve hours as long as I receive news that my man has been freed. Indeed, as soon as I know, I will send you a message to wish you good night. Understood?”

  I was silent for a moment, then – already thinking of what I should say to Oscar – replied in resignation, “All right, I’ll do my best.”

  I hung up and immediately called Oscar.

  “I don’t like being told what to do by this madman,” was his comment. “All right, Lorenzo, we’ll release him, but only because I don’t want to take any more risks. As for us, we can completely ignore their threats.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I had the smartphone of the guy we arrested analysed. The IT department say that the application that’s supposed to activate the release of the poison is nothing more than a kind of video game – it doesn’t send any signal via the internet or radio. It’s just a graphic.”

  “But they could still do it from Asar’s computer or some other device. Perhaps the application on the phone you had analysed is fake, but we can’t be sure they aren’t actually able to do it.”

  “It’s still early to be one hundred percent sure, of course, but what we found in that device fits with the doctors’ initial analysis of Ricciardi’s corpse.”

  “I get it,” I said hopefully. “So you don’t think the threat is real?”

  “I doubt it, but as I said, I don’t want to take any more risks. I’ll release this man, but I swear, it’s just a sidestep – I’ll get them.”

  I returned home exhausted but somewhat heartened. Not that I naively trusted that criminal, but thinking things over calmly, it did seem that Asar was making sense. In particular about the murder of Hašek. I had suspected immediately that it had been too studied. As Lisáček had said, there are some murderers, especially serial killers, who, unconsciously or otherwise, want to be captured and for that reason they leave clues. That did not seem to be the case here, and if the aim of the hoax was to shift the blame onto the Societas Isidis, then who really murdered Hašek?

  *

  At home I found Alex, Andrea and Àrtemis. I greeted the first two and hugged my wife. She looked better – Alex had done a good job of cheering her up. She had even cooked something for dinner. Before sitting down to eat, I brought them up to date about both the phone call with Asar and what Oscar had told me.

  “So we don’t need to lock ourselves up in the bank vault again?” asked Àrtemis, who was understandably none too keen on the prospect.

  “We wait for the message and then decide, together with Oscar,” I said soothingly.

  Andrea thought for a moment. “It all seems to make sense. I don’t know why, but I think he’s telling the truth.”

  “What can I tell you, Andrea? And now another corpse has been fished out in Moldavia, the Bulgarian – have you heard?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t want to mention it because you were already under too much pressure. When you left the police station this afternoon, I received a phone call from Lisáček. He filled me in about everything, including the discovery of the Bulgarian.”

  “It looks like suicide, right?”

  Andrea frowned and shook her head. “That’s what my colleagues in Prague tried to make the public believe. In reality, Bublan is treating it as a murder. From the initial findings of the forensic squad and the medical examiner, it seems that the Bulgarian struggled before dying, as though someone had drowned him. The body was found by the mill between the island of Kampa and Mala Strana. They found a scalpel on him which seems to be the one used to cut up Hašek’s body, but Bublan and Lisáček are both convinced that it’s a set-up.”

  “Another…” I murmured.

  “And that’s not all, because there’s a third set-up too. Bublan and Lisáček managed to make Stefano de Lucia, the baron’s assistant, talk, and they discovered something that changes the whole investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “De Lucia received only a bump during the robbery, and so he was discharged in less than two days. My Czech colleagues questioned him immediately. He contradicted himself several times and in the end, when they pressed him, he admitted that it was all made up. He’d made an agreement with the thief who, obviously, paid a large sum of money into his bank account to obtain his co-operation.”

  “Good heavens – then de Lucia knows him well.”

  “Oh no, the man is sharp. De Lucia has never seen his face, and even on the night of the theft he appeared wearing a mask before hitting him on the head, as he stated, to fool the police.”

  “Another masked man…”

  “Yes. But maybe he made a mistake – he presented himself with a name, which was certainly false but may have some meaning: Jérome Clairmont.”

  “A Frenchman?”

  “No, de Lucia has confirmed several times that it’s an Italian.”

  I shook my head. Another element that added more chaos than order.

  Alex meanwhile helped Àrtemis to bring dinner to the table. As he sat down he sighed before sinking his fork into his food and saying, “Come on, let’s eat something in peace now, and hope that I don’t have to take you back to the bank and leave you to digest your dinner in the vault.”

  We ate almost in silence, and only when we were finishing off with some fruit did we hear my phone make the sound which meant that a message had arrived.

  “Excuse me, this might be important,” I said, getting up to check. The message had no sender and it was impossible to identify who had sent it.

  My man has been released. Sweet dreams, nobody will die tonight. You have two days left now. Asar

  I breathed a sigh of relief and immediately informed Oscar.

  “What should we do? Trust him, or shut ourselves up in the vault?” I asked. There were still a few hours until the deadline of twelve o’clock.

  “Viola and Enzo Amato are staying at home, but you are free to choose otherwise. I am convinced that nothing will happen.”

  Andrea and Àrtemis had moved closer to listen. They exchanged a look and then Àrtemis exclaimed, “To hell with it – I’m staying in my own home!”

  Andrea smiled and patted her shoulder. “Me too.”

  I smiled in turn, and I said, “Oscar, you can thank the manager of the bank, but we’re all staying at home.”

  “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. We’ll speak tomorrow morning, you try to rest.”

  After dinner, that incorrigible womaniser of my brother tried to convince Andrea to go out for a drink with him to unwind in the area around Vico Belledonne a Chiaia, which was full of bars and nightclubs and almost always crowded with young people. And in the end, despite the stressful situation, he managed to persuade the pretty Czech policewoman to go with him.

  Àrtemis took a sleeping pill and went to bed after a while, but I stayed up studying the third poem of the prince of Sansevero. I re-read what seemed to me to be the clearer portions, such as the one referring to a shrine which was almost certainly a church – a specific place in Naples.

  As I re-read the poem line by line, I receiv
ed a message from Carlo Sangiacomo.

  Lorenzo, I hope you’re not still sleeping. I spent all afternoon worrying away at that poem. I think I know what it’s talking about.

  I wasted no time and called him immediately. “Tell me you can shed a little light in this darkness, brother.”

  “Only if you will admit that it is with God’s help that this can happen,” he replied.

  “Certainly – if you have found the solution, I will admit the importance of God, the saints, of Mohammed and the Tooth Fairy! But before you continue I have something important to tell you too.”

  I told him what I had found in the Sansevero Chapel by interpreting the second poem. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Well, that sounds like it fits perfectly. Follow my reasoning. The first two lines simply tell us that it was clever of us to discover the secret of the albedo, i.e. the sequence that you found under the lid of the box. With this secret we can now enter the chapel where the rubedo stone can be turned into a stream by our art.”

  “That’s right, the shrine could be a church – but what about this stone becoming a stream?”

  “It’s not a church, but a chapel,” Carlo corrected me, “the most famous chapel in the whole city.”

  I thought for a moment. “But he can’t want to take us to the same place twice.”

  “You think like a Mason and an alchemist – you think that the chapel in question is the Pietatella, the Sansevero Chapel,” scolded Carlo. “Try thinking like a classic God-fearing Neapolitan. What is the chapel, the most important chapel of the city, where a red stone becomes a stream?”

  I felt a shiver down my spine as I understood his words.

  “My God, you’re right – the Chapel of the Treasure of San Gennaro!”