Valnor turned around to find thirteen men decked out in the latest London fashion. Men of their stature still wore waistcoats and breeches, but the fabrics used were no longer the embroidered silks and velvets. The new enthusiasm for outdoor sports and country pursuits gave way to carefully tailored woolen garments. The more casual style reflected an image of nonchalance with a goal to look as fashionable as possible with seemingly little effort.
The men may not have sported frilly garments or white wigs any more, but they still stood out in this crowd like a white unicorn surrounded by working mules. Members of the Edinburgh lodge still wore their field clothes from the day’s labor. The contrast was stark, as was the stern demeanor on their faces and in the brisk cadence of their pace marching toward Valnor with every man clasping his hands behind his back.
As the esteemed group approached, Valnor struggled to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. These were not simply high-ranking members of the Freemasons, like Henry’s father, Admiral Clinton. If he trusted the artistic renderings of the portraits he had memorized of each man, these were THE ranking members of the secret society from all across Europe, and they were marching straight at him.
The individual leading the charge was none other than Robert Walpole, the recently deposed Prime Minister of England who served that post for the last twenty-one years. The man’s force of will and outright guile were legendary in political circles. That made his slight bow of the neck when he reached Valnor all the more impactful.
“Grand Master, I hope you don’t mind us taking the liberty of using the upstairs meeting hall of your lodge prior to your arrival,” Minister Walpole began with an apologetic tone.
Their actions were indeed presumptuous and could be taken as an insult, but given the august company, Valnor opted for the high road in his reply. “The room belongs to all Freemasons, not just the leader of this lodge. No offense taken, gentlemen. That said, it is out of the ordinary, as is the attendance of so many from so far. May I ask, what is the occasion?”
“If you’ll accompany us upstairs, you will have your question answered along with many more.” Without another word, Minister Walpole and his gaggle of esteemed men turned about and proceeded up the steps without a glance behind. They assumed Valnor would follow, and they were correct.
Chapter 2: No More Secrets
halfway up the steps, Valnor stole one last look across the lower level to see if anyone took notice of his departure. The formal portion of the evening would not commence for another hour, which left every man tending to their drinking and singing rather than the parade of men quietly walking up the stairs. The only set of eyes looking his direction belonged to Henry, and they conveyed a sense of concern rather than curiosity.
That look put Valnor in a guarded state of mind as he ascended the final step into the main meeting hall. Two burly men who definitely knew how to handle themselves in a scrap flanked either side of the steps to turn back any uninvited attendees.
Valnor was allowed to pass and found the room reconfigured from its usual state. He did not see three rows of tables and benches stretching the length of the room toward a head table turned perpendicular to the room. Instead, he saw a clutter of tables and benches crammed into one corner to make way for a pair of tables set up in a V-shape. Solid oak chairs lined the outer edge of each table with one chair seated at the tip, and another placed in the widening gap between the two tables.
The visitors each found their chairs along the outer edges of the V-shape, with Minister Walpole assuming his seat at the tip. This left Valnor little doubt as to which seat was designated his. He stepped forward without a word, came to a stop in front of the chair set up for scrutiny, and sat down only once all the others had done so already.
Valnor forced an outward expression of calm and indifference, but inside his mind was in a frenzy trying to anticipate what would follow. He had either done something very good, or extremely bad. In this intimidating moment, he could not recall which might be the case.
An oppressive silence hung over the room until Minister Walpole spoke in a formal voice, “Grand Master, how familiar are you with the history of our shared fraternity?”
“Quite familiar considering it all began right here in this room,” Valnor answered with pride and used his left hand to gesture toward a corner of the room where an open book rested on a narrow display podium. “The original meeting minutes are in the log book over there.”
“Yes,” Minister Walpole acknowledged with hardly a glance paid toward the book. “The first entry is dated December 28, 1598, and we publicly acknowledge that date as the founding of the Freemasons.”
“And privately?” Valnor prompted with skepticism lacing his words.
Minister Walpole cracked a sly grin upon hearing the leading question, “I have been told that you’ve always known how to read between the lines. For over twenty years now, all of us in this room have heard about the difficulties of parrying your next-level questions.”
“I’ve meant no disrespect,” Valnor jumped in, and internally began considering if his investigative questioning over the many years had been too obvious. One inquiry every few years surely was nothing to draw undue attention he concluded and attempted to add to his defense, “It’s just…”
“You’ve felt there was more going on behind the public façade,” Minister Walpole finished for him, detecting Valnor’s sudden unease. “Relax Grand Master, it is that keen mind and your knack for detecting subtlety that draws us all here today. We are inviting you to join us in the next degree of the Freemasons.”
“What next degree?” Valnor asked with a puzzled brow. “I was promoted to the 33rd rank years ago. There is no higher degree, is there?”
“There is a 34th degree, one which only a few others outside this chamber are aware exists,” Minister Walpole instructed. “As I feel you already suspected, Freemasonry is a fraternity within a fraternity. It is an outer organization concealing an inner brotherhood of the elect, the outer visible, the other invisible.
“The visible society is a splendid camaraderie of free and accepted men enjoined to devote themselves to ethical, educational, fraternal, patriotic, and humanitarian concerns,” Minster Walpole went on, but was interrupted by a particularly loud rendition from the chorus of Danny Boy from the level below. “…and some fun and drink along the way of course.”
“Naturally,” Valnor demurred. “My fellow brothers downstairs and I take great pride in that ‘outer charter.’ What is this inner brotherhood you speak of then?” he asked.
“In each generation only a few are accepted into the inner sanctuary of the 34th degree to progress our true doctrine,” Minister Walpole explained. “Your log book over there puts the founding of the Freemasons in 1598. Would it surprise you to learn that our origins are nearly a hundred years older than that?”
“It would indeed,” Valnor answered while crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair to strike an unmistakably dismissive posture. This was of course in complete contrast to Valnor’s inner self who was reaching for a mental paper and quill to take detailed notes. This is what Captain Hastelloy was after; the man missed nothing. Even inner circles housed within already secretive organizations could not avoid his attentive eye.
“Show him,” Minister Walpole instructed Admiral Clinton, who promptly produced a wooden box and stepped over to place it in Valnor’s hands. “Open it.”
Inside he found a shattered glass vile with a leather reed tied around the neck to serve as an amulet about the wearer’s neck. Valnor swallowed his gasp of surprise. He knew exactly what this was, but allowed Minister Walpole the explanation.
“What you hold in your hands dates back to a battle in the new world between two Spanish conquistadores: our founding father Juan Ponce de León, and the demon creature Hernán Cortés. De León’s forces outnumbered those of Cortés four to one, yet he lost the engagement and was never heard from or seen again.”
“The history texts t
ell a different story,” Valnor pointed out. “They say Juan Ponce de León died in Florida looking for the Fountain of Youth I do believe.”
“History is written by the victor,” Minister Walpole cautioned. “Our founder pursued Cortés, a creature who already possessed the gift of perpetual healing and eternal youth. That is how his army could overcome such a numerical disadvantage. His soldiers could not die.”
“How do you know this?” Valnor demanded. “Why do you trust it so much that you set up and now perpetuate this inner circle of yours?”
Minister Walpole nodded his head in complete understanding of Valnor’s doubt. “Before leaving for the new world in his pursuit of the demon, Master de León built a network of agents throughout the continent of Europe. All of these men witnessed firsthand the witchcraft of Cortés. They wrote detailed accounts of what they saw and the research they put forth over their lifetimes to discover the secret of Cortés’ power.
“That network of agents was reassembled in 1521 when de León’s most trusted man, Captain Vasco, returned from the new world following the battle. The Fraternal Order of the Freemasons was established that day as an entity to combat that demon. From one generation to the next, our knowledge about the creature and how to combat him and his minions grows. It is the only way to fight an undying enemy.”
“You can’t possibly expect me to accept that,” Valnor challenged. “As much as I trust your word and the written accounts of those long since lost to the very nature of our mortal existence, this is in the realm of magic and witchcraft. I can’t accept it.”
“Maybe not, but you will believe what you see with your own eyes.” Then before Valnor had time to process the words in his mind, Admiral Clinton, still standing over Valnor, grabbed a piece of the broken glass and used it to carve a bloody scratch down the length of Valnor’s arm.
Valnor bit his lower lip to suppress an agonizing scream, but did spring to his feet and shoved his attacker to the floor. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, but you may lose yours when you see what happens next,” Minister Walpole said in a disarming voice. “Please have a seat; the healing will start any moment now.”
True to his word, no sooner had Valnor’s backside touched polished oak, the scratch on his arm began to tingle. He forced a look of shock and awe to his face as the wound mended itself into a narrow line of rejuvenated pink flesh.
The glass still had traces of Tonwen’s stem cell serum, and that promoted Captain Vasco’s account of events in the New World from the stuff of legend to a proven reality. Hastelloy’s worst fears were realized. Now that Valnor was accepted into this inner circle, it was time for him to play his part and learn all he could about what these people knew of the Lazarus crew.
“You have my undivided attention and belief,” Valnor finally said from his seat. “What happens now?”
“Now your real work and purpose with the Freemasons begins,” Minister Walpole answered.
Chapter 3: Playing the Part
Valnor returned from the evening’s Freemasonry meeting with his cheeks aching from the effort of holding a forced smile across his face all night. When the feeling of joy was genuine, the act of smiling was effortless. However, when every muscle was attempting to pull that grin down into a scowl it made for a painful experience.
Each derogatory term the 34th degree Masons used to describe Captain Hastelloy, a man Valor regarded as a mentor and father figure, added another five-pound weight to the corners of his mouth. By the end of the hour-long informative session, Valnor was ready to explode.
Though painful and frustrating, the evening did prove to be an espionage mother lode. At times, the Masons were spot on in their suspicions of the crew’s involvement in European politics over the centuries. They even had it narrowed down to specific individuals they knew were the demon or his minions.
Other times it was almost comical how far off their theories were. It seemed that Hastelloy and the Lazarus crew had taken on the form of a boogeyman for these people. Wars of succession in various nations, the rise of Protestantism, new weapons of war, and the list went on. Anytime something tragic or out of the ordinary occurred, the ‘demons’ were the cause according to the Mason’s inner circle.
Over the centuries, though, the only confirmed interaction was still the original conflict with Captain Hastelloy as Cortés. That was the good news. The bad news was that the Masons had a list of individuals under suspicion, and Tonwen was one of them. He was their prime suspect in fact. Valnor had to get word to his colleague in London immediately.
He also needed to relay this information to the rest of his crew that the Masons did indeed pose a threat to their mission. The Mason’s extensive knowledge base and the reach of their resources and political influence made them a formidable foe. To that end, Valnor sat down at the small table near the fireplace in his single room apartment and began composing two letters.
The first was bound directly to Tonwen’s address in London, and the second would go through a series of locations that would eventually reach a tiny village on the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt. The crew owned a prosperous farming settlement there that served as cover to an underground tunnel leading to the Nexus chamber hidden inside the Great Sphinx. It was the true source of the crew’s longevity, not this Fountain of Youth that the Freemasons continued searching for in Northern Africa and the New World.
A half hour into Valnor’s authorial duties, there came a soft knock at his door. It was past ten o’clock at night, and well beyond the socially accepted time to pay somebody a visit. This put Valnor on guard as he rose to his feet. He paid a glance toward the table alongside his bed where he kept a loaded flintlock pistol.
He concluded against retrieving the weapon since it had only one shot. If there was trouble accompanying that quiet knock at his door, then it likely brought with it more than one perpetrator. Moreover, opening his front door armed would certainly prompt questions from his visitor that Valnor did not feel like answering at the moment.
“Who is it?” Valnor asked through the closed oak door.
“Henry.” A familiar voice answered from the other side of the barrier.
That disarmed the situation considerably for Valnor as he unfastened the deadbolt lock and cracked the door open just wide enough for his head to poke through and have a look. He saw only his friend standing in the dimly lit stairwell, so he opened the door all the way. “Come inside. You’re lucky I’m still awake.”
“Sorry to come calling at this late hour, but the way you left the meeting tonight gave me cause to worry,” Henry said on his way past Valnor into the apartment.
“How did I leave the meeting?” Valnor asked in genuine confusion.
“Well, you spent over an hour with my father and the other big wigs upstairs before the rest of us were asked to join for our regular meeting. You looked a bit distracted the rest of the night, so I wanted to make sure everything was all right. What did so many great men want with you, it seemed a bit unusual?” Henry asked as he took a seat at the table with Valnor’s letters resting next to an inkwell and quill.
His visitor paid the letters a cursory glance, but this did not concern Valnor in the least since he was composing them in the Novi language. Henry had no prayer in translating even a single word.
“I assume a pun was intended there since several of them are members of the ruling Whig political party in London,” Valnor joked to keep the mood of this oddly timed discussion light. A playful nod informed him that was the intent and prompted him to continue.
“They were in town for official Freemason business. I’m afraid you’ll have to accumulate a few more degrees under your belt before I can talk about it with you,” Valnor answered.
“Oh not you too? I get the same non-answer from my father when I ask him deeper questions about the Masons. You’re my sponsor into the organization for Christ’s sake. You’re telling me there is nothing you can share with me?” Henry asked in disbelief.
“You are a great friend, but no, I can’t tell you anything about it,” Valnor concluded with a clear finality to his words.
Henry acknowledged the declaration with an understanding nod before lowering an index finger to point at one of the pages resting on the tabletop. “So who are you intending to tell about it then?”
In that combustible instant, Valnor was struck by how fragile moments could be. Initially, the conversation between Henry and Valnor consisted of friendly banter. A few words and a single gesture later, everything had changed between them. The hardened lines around Henry’s eyes accentuated the fact that they were no longer on friendly terms, borderline enemies in fact.
“The meeting ran long tonight, and I do have other affairs to manage outside of the Freemasons,” Valnor answered while glancing about the room using only his eyes to assess his tactical situation.
There were only two ways in and out of his apartment: the door leading to a long flight of steps, and the window with a four-story drop to the street below. The confident look in Henry’s eyes informed Valnor that the door probably had several armed men waiting behind it. That left the window.
At a nonchalant pace, Valnor got to his feet and began moving toward his pistol’s hiding place. One shot was all he needed now, but Henry was no fool. He sprung to his feet and brandished a pistol of his own from a holster hidden behind his back. “Not so fast my friend.”
“A friend doesn’t point a loaded weapon at the other now does he?” Valnor asked while still taking even strides toward the side table.
“A friend doesn’t betray the men he’s called his brothers for over twenty years either,” Henry observed. “I don’t know what you did to anger them, my father wouldn’t say, but they sent me here to take you into custody.”
“Custody? That is a legal term for lawfully detaining someone. This would be kidnapping and false imprisonment. That is the work of vigilantes, not Freemasons,” Valnor insisted.
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