Carolyn Jourdan - Nurse Phoebe 02 - The School for Mysteries

by Carolyn Jourdan

  Chapter 20

  After they’d both scarfed a warm muffin, the monk-chef said, “Arjun will take you to Le Seigneur.”

  Nick visibly flinched when he looked over his shoulder and saw the tall, fierce-looking fellow standing nearby wearing Sikh garb—a large turban in a brilliantly-hued orange and a white robe over loose white pants. Arjun delivered them to their destination in silence. A second chair had appeared in his room during Phoebe’s absence.

  “Come,” he said. “It is a pleasure to have you both here. Quite enlivening, I must say. It can be annoying to have opposition, but it is strengthening as well. Like exercise, it is the way of things here on Earth, is it not?”

  Phoebe and Nick both nodded, too befuddled to speak. There was something about the man that radiated great wisdom and kindness. He was obviously very frail. There were countless tiny lines radiating from around his eyes and mouth. But his large, expressive dark brown eyes had not been touched by age. They were beautiful.

  “You are safe here,” he said, looking at Nick.

  For reasons she would have been hard pressed to articulate, Phoebe relaxed for the first time since she’d met Nick, and when she did, she realized how sore she was from all the unaccustomed sorts of activity and the terrible tension.

  “What is this place?” Nick asked.

  Le Seigneur considered the question. “You might surmise it is a monastery because of the students who come here to study and work, but the days for cloisters are over. No more cowering, or lazing, behind high walls. We must do our work out in the world. In the world, but not of the world, of course.”

  Nick nodded.

  “To be perfectly accurate one should refer to this place as a School for Mysteries,” Le Seigneur said.

  “Mysteries?” Phoebe echoed, “A School for Mysteries?” She had no idea what he meant.

  “Magnum Mysterium. There are those of us who have made it our life’s task to investigate the Great Mystery—God and man, the meaning of life, what happens after we die, those sorts of questions.”

  Phoebe was extremely confused now, sandwiched between the mystery of Nick and the mystery of her new boss.

  “The Mystery Schools of antiquity were conducted in the strictest secrecy. Only recently has it become permissible to work openly. There are many who oppose this lack of secrecy—especially the dark brotherhoods. But we cannot allow ourselves to be deterred by the dark ones. So, here we are, esoteric, what some might call mystical, religious scholars and translators of all stripes, working to answer the big questions.

  “You allow males and females to study together?” Phoebe asked, surprised.

  “Of course. All the real Mystery Schools have always allowed this, encouraged it, even required it. We are sent to earth in two genders for a reason. We must bring both skill sets to all the important questions. It is absurd, it is evil, to do otherwise.”

  Phoebe was starting to really like her new boss.

  “Another feature that identifies a real Mystery School is the working together of mixed faiths, such as Moslems, Christians, and Jews. The mystical branches of all the major world religions agree about the important spiritual truths.”

  Le Seigneur studied their faces. “Here you will find the current embodiment of a line that goes back thousands of years. Rama, Krishna, Hermes, Moses, Orpheus, Pythagoras, Plato, Jesus. There is quite a bit to know, if you are interested.

  “But, of course, that is for another day. For now we have more pressing matters to attend to. I must say, it is very diverting to have the opportunity to intersperse the big questions with the occasional smaller mystery, a parvus mysterium, like yours.”

  Le Seigneur looked at Nick and said, “You, we knew of.” Then he looked back at Phoebe and said, “You, we did not know of, until now.” He smiled his lovely smile, and said, “Tell me how you really met.”

  Phoebe gave him a slightly revised and expanded description of the events of the previous two days. He clapped his hands with glee, looked at Nick, and said, “Cast out of heaven and fallen to earth to make your way down here amongst the rest of us poor rabble. Painful and frightening for you certainly, but what wonderful image. What an entrance!”

  He laughed, which made him look much younger, and added, “Cosmic humor at it’s best.”

  Nick seemed unable to speak.

  “Fear not, as they admonish us so often in the Bible,” he said to Nick. “You have done a magnificent job so far and now we will help you get your work out into the world. I cannot promise they will not eventually succeed in killing you, but I can assure you that now at least you will not have died for nothing.”

  Ouch. That was a smack upside the head. Phoebe reached for Nick’s hand. It was ice cold.

  “We are always much closer to death than we realize. Our existence here is quite precarious. Especially for people like you. Light always calls to Darkness. One of the greatest mysteries of life here on earth is that wherever there is light, there is also shadow. You have reached the critical point in your destiny at which you must step out into the light. And, of course, there will be significant consequences when you do.”

  Nick visibly sagged.

  “Buck up my friend, the great mysteries are not for sissies. Achieving ones destiny requires courage,” he admonished. “Our Lord Jesus Christ demonstrated this at considerable expense for our eternal edification.”

  Nick nodded. Tears seeped slowly out of one eye.

  “Simply staying alive can become quite a challenge at times. We each must find something we value enough to make all the pain and frustration of this place seem worthwhile. It is no good straining at life if we do not have something we love, something we can help with, something that gives all the struggle of this place meaning. And even then, sometimes we can become tired.”

  Le Seigneur leaned over and patted Nick on the knee, “You are not alone any more, my son. You have found your helpers now.”

  Chapter 21

  “I would like to ask a favor of you,” Le Seigneur said to Phoebe. “Would you mind escorting Nicolas to our media people? You’ve done a superb job with him so far. I am confident that he will remain safe in your care. The facility is less than a hundred miles from here.”

  “Media?” Nick asked, nearly as terrified at the idea of being interviewed in front of television cameras as he was of being caught by whoever was chasing him.

  “The only solution to your problem is to get the fruits of your research out to the world. We have friends who can do that for you. You will be quite satisfied with their results, I assure you. Families who own castles are generally extraordinarily savvy about media.”

  Nick and Phoebe both wondered what he meant by that, but didn’t have the courage to ask any more questions because they were afraid of what the answers might be.

  “I have no doubt that the formidable Ms. McFarland will ensure your safe arrival.”

  “Of course,” Phoebe heard herself say, although she didn’t want to do it. This job was turning out to be a lot harder than she’d expected.

  “Please allow me to provide you with fresh clothing,” Le Seigneur said, gesturing that they should accompany Arabella.

  Phoebe saw Nick flinch at the wardrobe possibilities, but she agreed and thanked her boss before Nick could make any wisecracks.

  “May I suggest you avail yourselves of our bathing facilities, as well,” said Ms. Devlin-Forrest, in a tone that allowed for no refusal.

  A Sufi named Hakim brought them fresh clothes. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was wearing the dervish attire of flaring cream-colored robe with cream-colored leggings, a terracotta-colored hat that looked like an inverted flowerpot, and a red sash.

  Nick wasn’t exactly comfortable in the thin scrubs he’d been given by Charlie but he was also reluctant to give them
up. He dreaded having to wear a turban or some other attention-getting headgear. He didn’t think he could pull off a look like that, even under threat of imminent death.

  He was relieved to see that the pile of neatly folded clothes given to him consisted of Calvin Klein undergarments still in their plastic wrappings, jeans in the correct size, an expensive looking black cashmere turtleneck, and a pair of very stylish black tennis shoes.

  The stack of clothing for Phoebe included black leggings, a luscious charcoal gray cashmere tunic, and a pair of black Chanel ballet flats. A hot shower improved Phoebe’s outlook tremendously. Another muffin and a large glass of milk made her feel ready to take on the world.

  Nick was looking a lot better, too, even with his Technicolor black eye. The shiner hadn’t been as obvious in the first few hours, but now it was remarkable with splotches of purple, blue, green, and yellow.

  The clothing they’d been given fit both of them perfectly. It was the best either of them had looked in years.

  Before they left, Nick and Phoebe returned to Le Seigneur’s room and stood beside his bed. “These catastrophic events that upend our lives are not random,” the old man said. “Quite the opposite. The very events we tend to dismiss as accident or coincidence are in fact the most crucial meetings with our destiny that will bring us into contact with the companions necessary in order for us to perform our most significant life tasks.”

  He waved them closer. He took their right hands and said some words over them in a language Phoebe didn’t recognize. “Please bend down,” he said, then he rested his palms on the tops of their heads in blessing.

  Phoebe could feel great warmth, even heat, from his hand. Then he took a deep breath and let them go, giving them a last sweet smile before lying back on his pillows, looking exhausted.

  “Don’t worry,” he said to Phoebe, “you may come back tomorrow morning and resume your nursing duties. This afternoon, however, Nicolas’ predicament must take priority.”

  It would take a few hours, but later Phoebe would wonder at Le Seigneur’s use of the word may. Had he been giving her permission to return, or a warning that she might not live to return?

  “Ms. Devlin-Forrest will give you directions to our Media Division.”

  Arabella escorted them to her office. She handed Nick a hand-drawn map and a sheet of paper with directions neatly typed on it. She handed Phoebe a nylon travel wallet on a long lanyard and told here there was a cell phone inside that she should use instead of her own.

  “If you encounter any difficulties with the Media Division,” Arabella told her, mention the name Archangel and that will smooth your path.”

  Chapter 22

  Nick sat in the passenger seat of Leon’s little truck and scanned the map he’d been given by Arabella. Phoebe got in on the driver’s side. She gave a last glance toward the innocent looking boulders that utterly camouflaged the house, looked out over the spectacular view, and then turned the little truck around and headed down the pea gravel road.

  Phoebe tried not to think at all as she backtracked until they reached the concealed entrance to the Tunnel to Nowhere. “Check this out,” she said.

  Nick was suitably astonished by the mechanism that allowed them to enter. When they emerged from the public end of the tunnel Nick read out the directions that guided them farther across the mountains, deeper into North Carolina, on a route that was so complicated Phoebe doubted she’d be able to remember it.

  They spoke very little. They were both simply overwhelmed. Any conversation about Le Seigneur and the wacky School for Mysteries would be totally speculative and too bizarre to for either of them to stand at this point. After a couple of hours they caught sight a city in the distance. Phoebe guessed they might be somewhere near Asheville. But she was so thoroughly discombobulated by recent events, she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it was Santa Fe.

  It didn’t matter anyway because they weren’t going into the town. The route marked on the map indicated a turn onto an unmarked dirt track that, once it was out of sight of the road, became a well-maintained one-lane road through a dense woods.

  After several miles, the lush vegetation gave way to a more manicured forest, and finally to a woodland that gave the impression of being staged. It was so picturesque, it looked as if each tree had been carefully chosen and placed to its best advantage.

  Phoebe got a creeping sense of where they might be headed mere seconds before they topped a small rise, and she could see their destination. Her guess had been correct. Chateau St. Cloud was unmistakable—a full-size faux Renaissance French castle built in the early 1900s. The house was so large and opulent that its construction had seriously drained the wallet of one of the richest men in the world.

  It was a regional attraction that Phoebe had visited a couple of times, once as a child and then again as a teenager. Neither time had she’d noticed that there was an access road that approached from the back. It was just one more revelation that led her to realize that there were indeed worlds within worlds and that when she’d woken up yesterday morning, she’d innocently stepped out of one and into another. Surprise!

  They followed the road until it dead-ended into the base of the imposing stone wall at the back of the house. The house was what you might call a split level, except it was built on such a grand scale that the ground level on the back of the house was at least fifty feet lower than the front. The front rose at least four stories above the main entrance. So the tallest peaks in the flamboyant roof loomed well over a hundred feet above where they sat in their extremely humble, forty-year old, smoking, Datsun sub-compact pick-up truck.

  Approaching a massive, sheer, blank stone wall was less worrisome now than it would’ve been had Phoebe not already experienced the light at the end of the infamous Tunnel to Nowhere and the fabulous house hidden amongst the boulders. So, Phoebe sat passively at the end of the track and waited.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” Nick asked.

  Phoebe said nothing, then after only a few seconds, a huge door opened. It was made of perhaps ten of the gigantic stones that made up the wall. The opening was irregularly shaped to reflect the joints between the rocks. A man in the costume of an early nineteenth century chauffeur waved them inside.

  “Different theme, “Nick said, “but still with the costumes.”

  Phoebe had to laugh. “All the people who work in the house are dressed up in costumes. The whole place is a historical reenactment.”

  “It’s a castle! Shouldn’t they be mincing around in doublets and hose, with swords?”

  “That would make sense, but no, they’re dressed to reflect the time the house was built, in the Gilded Age. The Titanic niche generates a lot more revenue these days than the French Renaissance.”

  “I can’t take much more of this,” Nick said. “It’s all so crazy, it’s eclipsing my previous neuroses.”

  “Yesterday was hard on both of us,” Phoebe said, “the helicopter, the hospital. And today, it’s not even noon and we’ve already had a secret tunnel, my new job started, a coed nondenominational monastery for mysteries, and now a time-travelling chateau on the wrong continent.”

  Nick snorted.

  “We hardly know each other but, trust me, this hasn’t been my typical week either,” she said. “We’re both doing the best we can. That’s all anybody can do.”

  He sighed and got out of the truck. The chauffeur clicked his heels, bowed, and valet parked the vehicle with as much formality as if it had been a Rolls Royce. In fact he parked it next to a row of half a dozen of them. It looked like a timeline of Rolls Royces, from one that looked brand new, to a slightly older one, then a vintage one, and finally to an antique that had an open-top compartment over the chauffeur that exposed him to the weather while his precious passengers would remain dry.

 
They turned to see a young man coming toward them from the dark recesses of the cavernous garage. He looked like a tourist. He was wearing cargo pants and a t-shirt that said, More Caffeine Please.

  “Ms. McFarland, Mr. … ?”

  “Nick. Just call me Nick.”

  Phoebe stepped forward and said, “Hello, I’m Phoebe. We were told to come here, but I’m afraid we’re pretty confused about what happens next. It’s been … hectic.”

  “Understatement of the year,” murmured Nick.

  “No prob. Stuff happens,” he said. “I’m Xander, but you can call me X. If you’ll come with me, we’ve got a team set up and they’re waiting for you in the conference room.”

  They had a team set up and waiting? Okay.

  X took them to an elevator and they were whisked upwards. The doors opened onto a hall with curved walls that came to together in a point at the top, like a gothic arch. They must be in the attic, Phoebe thought, right up under the peak of the roof.

  The hall itself was dimly lit but there were bright slashes of light coming in from the sides at regular intervals through dormer windows in each room they passed, most of which had the doors left wide open to share the light and the view. Phoebe tried to catch a glance through any of them to help orient her as to where they were, but she could see only sky. Apparently they were very high.

  They continued down the hall until Xander said, “Here we go.”

  This time he opened a door into a room furnished like a comfortable club, complete with leather sofas, easy chairs, and a huge fireplace. The room was double-height and had a mezzanine level with a fabulously ornamented railing that around three sides. The balcony was reachable by way of a metal spiral staircase.