by Samuel Fort
Chapter 9 - Her Father’s Ring
Ben had spent most of the afternoon asleep in his new quarters, which were ridiculously opulent. The bathroom alone was larger than his apartment, with a bathtub the size of a small pool. On a marble shelf he had found nine varieties of soap to choose from. Half came from Europe or Asia and contained herbal ingredients he had never heard of.
The bed was over-the-top, spanning two zip codes. Who could possibly need a bed that big? Yet the mattress was magical. He had lain down on it with the intent of resting his eyes and had instead been sucked into the land of dreams.
He had slept for three hours, only waking when a servant appeared at his door with a menu, inquiring as to whether Ben would like a late lunch brought to his room. Not recognizing most of the items on the menu, he’d asked for a hamburger and Coke, and damned if it wasn’t the best hamburger he’d eaten in his entire life. The Coke was the Mexican variety made with real sugar and served in a frosty glass bottle.
Now it was nearing five o’clock and Ben stood next to one of the fireplaces in the Great Hall sipping from a green bottle of mineral water. He wore the new suit that Lilian had provided him, which consisted of a black coat and pants, a gray pinstriped shirt, and black tie. The fit was perfect. The shoes were Italian and as comfortable as a broken-in pair of sneakers. He felt like a million bucks and wondered if that had been the investment made in his outfit for the night.
Lilian walked into the room. She had changed into a magnificent little black dress that faithfully transferred every underlying curve to the surface. Ben tried to avoid ogling her but could see she knew the impression she made.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“That is what is called a rhetorical question, Lilian.”
“I am pleased to hear you say so.”
“So,” he said, “what exactly is required for me to join this club of yours? Ridley said that you and Fiela would sponsor me but I’m not sure what that means.”
Lilian moved toward him and stopped an arm’s length away. Around her neck was a platinum bib necklace riddled with rubies and emeralds. Her slightest movement set off a fireworks display.
“Ah,” she said. “That is rather tricky, so I’ll need you to humor me.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “I hope there’s no paddling involved.”
“Nothing like that,” she said with an unsteady smile.
Seconds passed.
“Just tell me, Lilian.”
The woman put a palm on his chest and twiddled her fingers. “We need to get married.” Before that could register, she added hurriedly, “A purely ceremonial marriage, Ben.”
Picking his jaw up from the floor, the man said, “Meaning what?”
“Meaning, there will be no priests, judges or justices-of-the peace involved. The marriage will not be recognized by any state or nation. No paperwork will be filed at any courthouse. We will be like two actors exchanging vows in a play.”
Skeptical, the linguist said, “It remains an odd requirement.”
“Yes, but you see, there are only two ways one can enter the Nisirtu. The first is to be born into the society and the second is to marry into it. There are no guest passes. If you agree to become my Nisirtu husband, my mutu, you will have the same rights as me. You can study the tablets and read all the musty secret books in Ridley’s library and go with me to the Ziggurat.”
Ben’s ears perked up at musty secret books. He imagined Ridley had an enviable collection of such books. “What does this ‘purely ceremonial’ marriage entail?”
“A dowry. A gift from the bride’s father to the groom.”
“That’s rather antiquarian.”
Lilian looked mildly offended. “Is it, really? When a father of a bride pays for a wedding, he is essentially paying a dowry. The Nisirtu have the same custom, except that the dowry comes in the form of a gift.”
“We’re not talking money, I hope.”
“Oh, no. Never. Ben, the Nisirtu do not use money. We do not even talk about it unless dealing with non-members. It is considered extraordinarily rude to mention money in polite company.”
Ben laughed in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m wearing a suit that probably costs more than a new car and we’re flying to dinner in a helicopter but you don’t use money? I can’t even imagine what that means!”
“That is something I can explain to you on the way to the Ziggurat.”
“But what kind of dowry can there be, other than money?”
“It must be a right or authority. That is the stock and trade of the Nisirtu. My father must grant you a right or authority.”
“You told me you were an orphan. Your father is...”
“Dead,” she said quickly. “Yes, which would normally be a problem.” She raised a single finger into the air. “However, I have a solution.”
“Of course you do,” said Ben matter-of-factly, but by then Lilian was walking out of the room.
“I’ll be right back,” she said over one shoulder.
Ben fell into a nearby chair. A purely ceremonial marriage? Things were moving far too fast. He hadn’t had sufficient time to analyze any of what he had seen or heard in the past thirty-six hours. Despite evidence to the contrary, he still half expected to see a camera lens poking through the room’s curtains, proof that he was a victim of some reality show hoax.
The ten million dollars in his bank account was real enough, though. Or was it thirty-five million, now?
A few minutes later Lilian returned holding in both hands an ivory chest encrusted with a rainbow of precious stones. It was the size of small music box. The edges were lined with gold but the hinges and clasp appeared to be iron. She sat it down on the coffee table in front of Ben with something like reverence. Then she stepped out of her shoes and knelt down at the end of the table, at the foot of Ben’s chair, and pivoted the box so that the clasp was facing him.
“This belonged to my father but was left in my care when he…when he died.” There was a slight tremor in Lilian’s voice. She cleared her throat, smiled apologetically, and reached over and opened the chest. Inside was a faded blue velvet cushion and on top of that an enormous ring.
“It was his signet ring,” Lilian said in a low voice. “His was the last hand to ever touch it.”
“It’s stunning,” Ben said under his breath, leaning forward. The golden loop was a half-inch thick and heavily inscribed with Cuneiform-like symbols so small and intricate that he would need a magnifying glass to make any sense of them. The bezel, which seemed to be made of a harder metal, was the size of a quarter and bore rows of additional symbols and characters. Ben marveled at the superb craftsmanship and the ring’s imposing character.
“This must be ancient,” he said.
“The bezel is not but the ring is quite ancient,” said Lilian, “and I am giving it to you.”
Ben was taken aback. Looking at her, he said, “Lilian, no. This should be in a museum.”
“No, it is the ring of a Nisirtu. It cannot be put on display.”
“But it must be worth a fortune.”
“Not to me, Ben. I cannot sell it, and would not. I cannot trade it, and would not. Do not focus on the ring’s antiquity or historical significance. Those qualities are unimportant.”
“Maybe to you, Lilian, but to someone like me those qualities are very important. Besides, isn’t giving me a valuable ring the same thing as giving me money? It seems rather hypocritical to say the Nisirtu don’t use money but then to give away items that are worth a fortune.”
Lilian shook her head. “No, Ben. It is not the ring’s monetary value that is important. It is the inscriptions that matter. Though the ring is ancient, my father added the bezel with the inscriptions. He had it added for a son that was to succeed him. An anticipated son that was, sadly, stillborn. The inscriptions grant the bearer of this ring my father’s authorities.”
Ben hesitated. “What authorities? I mean, what authoriti
es can a dead man have? I’m sorry to be so frank, but-.”
“No, you’re right, in most ways. Yet this ring does give you one authority, and a notably appropriate one. It gives you the authority to act in his stead to approve my marriage.” She raised her eyebrows. “That is a pleasant coincidence, don’t you think? My father gives you his authority, through this ring, to approve my marriage, and thus the dowry is paid, and we may marry. We kill two birds with one stone.”
Ben meditated on her words. “You mean, if I accept this ring, I am both accepting a dowry and giving myself permission to...well, anyway, that’s a tangled web, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but perfectly legal. You must keep in mind, Ben, that we are speaking only of a ritual relationship. Nothing more. Members of other orders, ones you are more familiar with, address one another as ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ without any fear that the government might construe such titles as legally binding.”
Grimacing, the man said, “True, but ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ are very different from ‘husband’ and ‘wife.’ Anyway, putting that issue aside for now, I have another concern”
“What?”
“The Delphic Order of the Nisirtu appears to be very exclusive, and given how you erased last night’s events from history, very influential. Even if I accept the ring, I find it difficult to believe that you could bring me, a stranger, into that kind of society. I could be a spy. I could reveal everything I learn to the press. Why would others in your organization take that chance?”
“You’re right, Ben. It’s unusual for a marriage to a non-Nisirtu to be approved. Detailed background checks are necessary. It is not unlike being screened for a top level security clearance in Government.”
“Well, there you go.”
Lilian regarded him, pursed her lips, and looked away. She tapped the coffee table with her manicured nails.
Then he knew. “You’ve already had me screened.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “You passed with flying colors. Congratulations. You’re quite trustworthy.”
“This was planned, then.”
Lilian looked at him intently. “Everything in my life is planned. There is no time for trial and error.”
“I still don’t understand the urgency.”
“You will.” But not this very moment, her expression told him.
“Okay, what about Fiela? Ridley said I need you both to sponsor me.”
“She’s to be your guardian – and mine.”
“She’s agreed to this?”
“Oh yes, in advance, though she didn’t know it was to you she’d be attached, specifically. Ridley has in his possession what amounts to a general power of attorney for his niece. He can authorize the…” She seemed at a loss for words.
“Sponsorship?” suggested Ben.
“Yes, thank you. Sponsorship,” parroted Lilian, looking relieved and embarrassed.
The man said, “I realize this is only ceremonial but I still think she should okay this personally.”
“Ben, she already has.”
“Yeah, but this is getting a little weird. Weirder, I mean.”
“A little weirdness seems a small price to pay to study Ridley’s tablets and to become wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.”
She had a point. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and thought for a long moment. “Okay, fine. I will accept the ring. Temporarily. I’ll return it to you when my study of the tablets is complete.”
He reached into the box on the table and touched the ring experimentally, as if it might shock him, but it was simply a cold piece of metal. He exchanged a last look with Lilian before pulling the ring from the box and placing it on his finger in a quick, fluid motion.
“Done,” he said victoriously, as if he’d successfully ripped a bandage from his skin without screaming. He inspected the ring. “Huh. A perfect fit.”
Lilian touched the ring delicately. “Do you approve the marriage?” she asked.
Ben was momentarily at a loss. “Oh, right. Yes, I approve the marriage.”
A warm breeze swept through the room and a door somewhere above them slammed shut.
“Then I welcome you to the Nisirtu,” Lilian said, smiling, but as she remembered her father her smile fell away, and she trembled.