by Lucy Banks
Mike yawned. “Well,” he began, looking yearningly back at his desk. “The Thelemite phrases are pretty clear, aren’t they?”
“What are the Thelemite phrases?” Kester asked.
“You were told to read up on the Thelemites, Kester,” Miss Wellbeloved reprimanded from her desk without looking up from her computer screen. “If you had done so, you would have known this important information already.”
Pamela gave him a wink. “It’s all pretty straightforward,” she explained, and pointed at two sections of the letter. “Do what you will is a famous tenet of Thelema. So is love is the law.”
Kester scratched his head. “Yep, that still doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Oh lordy, lordy,” Serena groaned from across the room. “Kester, do you need literally everything explained to you? It’s like working with a toddler.”
“You’re the one who has the tantrums,” Kester muttered as he delivered her the most piercing glare he could muster. “Not to mention the one who uses horrible playground tactics when we’re in important meetings.”
“Oh, don’t start wittering on about your girlfriend again,” Serena drawled, clearly hitting her stride. “I only said that she’d been caught up with the Thelemites, which is true . . .”
“Let’s just focus on this letter for now, shall we?” Pamela interrupted. “Okay, Kester. Crash course in Thelema. Are you ready?”
“Probably not,” Kester said, still glowering across the room. Serena smiled smugly and resumed tapping on her keyboard.
“Everyone thinks Aleister Crowley invented Thelema in the 1900s,” Pamela began. “Have you heard of Aleister Crowley?”
Kester pondered. “Wasn’t he a devil-worshipper or something?”
He heard the sound of Miss Wellbeloved slapping her forehead in horror, and he didn’t dare look in her direction.
Pamela chuckled. “No, not really. Aleister Crowley was a bit of a show-off, and he brought Thelema to public attention. But he didn’t invent it. Actually, the Thelemites have been around for centuries. No-one knows how long. They were a secret society, and they believed in true will.”
“True will?” Kester frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Not just following desires and whims,” Pamela carried on, rapping an emphatic fist on the table. “They believed that everyone had a calling or goal in life. That was the true will. So ‘do what you will’ refers to that. Refusing to stray from the path of your true destiny, if that makes sense.”
“Sort of,” Kester replied. He already felt a little confused. “So, what does ‘love is the law’ mean?”
“That’s what they’re governed by,” Mike said. “They believe that love of all creatures, human and spirit, should guide us in our actions.”
Kester pondered. “That sounds quite nice,” he concluded with a glance across at Miss Wellbeloved, whose expression remained inscrutable.
“Yes, but they believe that love should govern our approach to the spirit world,” Pamela clarified. “They’ve never liked the idea of controlling spirit access, and, in the past, many Thelemites have voiced disapproval about the government deporting spirits.”
“I should also like to add,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted wryly, “that many were not disapproving—many understood the need for spirit migration control. Remember, my own father and grandfather were both members of the Thelemites.”
“Yeah, and your dad chose to leave because he felt they were getting a bit too heavy,” Mike reminded her.
Miss Wellbeloved tutted and returned to her computer screen.
“What do you think it means about the ‘reign in the sun’?” Kester asked, re-reading the letter. “Is that something meaningful too?”
“Probably something to do with Nuit,” Serena chimed in.
Mike sighed. “Look smart-arse, if you’re so keen to show off your knowledge, why don’t you just come over here and join in?”
“Well, if you’re struggling already, of course I’d be happy to help,” she replied and started to drag her chair across the room. Mike slumped against on the desk, causing the legs to buckle. Fortunately, Kester just managed to catch it before the entire thing collapsed to the floor again.
Serena peered over the letter, then she placed it back on the table with a deliberate nod. “As I was saying,” she continued, “Nuit is the Ancient Egyptian goddess of the sky; particularly the night, as she’s often depicted as being covered in stars. She’s very important to the Thelemites.”
“How do you know all this?” Mike asked suspiciously.
“Because I listened to the teachers at the SSFE, rather than wasting my education seeing how many private parts I could doodle on the textbooks,” she replied with a sneer.
“So, you think that this is their way of saying ‘night is coming,’ then?” Pamela suggested, scratching her head with a pencil and dislodging most of her bun in the process.
Serena shrugged. “Could be. It’s definitely a seriously-worded warning, I’d say.”
“Or it could be about sun-worship,” Miss Wellbeloved added. “Remember, the sun used to play an integral role in opening permanent spirit-doors, if the old myths are to be believed.”
“Which they’re probably not,” Serena replied.
“What other unpleasant warnings are in there, then?” Mike scooped up the letter, peering anxiously at the words.
“The bit about the door opening is fairly obvious,” Serena continued. “It’s a threat to open a spirit door and let all the spirits roam free.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t give any clues about how they’re planning to open it, does it?” Pamela pointed out.
“It’s got to be the door at Infinite Enterprises,” Serena said. “After all, why else would they break in there? Why else would they send this letter?”
“It does make sense,” Kester said dubiously. “But isn’t it a bit obvious?”
“What do you mean?” Serena snapped.
“Well, it’s a bit unsubtle, isn’t it? It’s almost like that’s what they want everyone to think.”
Serena laughed. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”
“What about this bit, then?” Pamela said as she circled a section of the letter. “‘Them, elites and sceptics alike’? That’s a weird phrase, if ever I heard one.”
“Yes, it is a bit,” Serena admitted with a frown.
Kester pondered. “Is it referring to elite people who run the spirit agencies, perhaps?”
Pamela rested her head in her hands. “That doesn’t sound right.” She picked up the letter and frowned. “Why those words? They seem clunky, given the style of the rest of the letter. ‘Them, elites and sceptics alike.’ It’s very inelegant, isn’t it?”
Mike suddenly clicked his fingers, drawing all eyes to him. “Say that again,” he commanded.
Pamela looked baffled. “Which bit? About it being inelegant?”
“No, no.” Mike perused the letter quickly, then stabbed the paper hard. “That bit. ‘Them, elites and sceptics.’ That’s it!” He looked up at the others, eyes shining. “I knew it sounded wrong!”
“What are you wittering on about?” Serena asked with a look of irritation and amusement.
“‘Them, elites of truth’!” Mike shouted. He prodded Kester hard on the arm. “Come on, mate, you know it! ‘Them, elites of truth’!”
Kester withdrew his arm to prevent another barrage of jabs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mike grunted with frustration, then clicked his fingers in the direction of Kester’s laptop. “Here, pass me that. I’ll show you.”
“Oh lord, what’s he up to now?” Serena muttered.
Mike opened the internet browser and clicked through to YouTube. “You’ll see,” he said with a wink.
<
br /> As usual, the internet was painfully slow to load. Kester watched with interest as Mike typed in “Billy Dagger,” followed by “Open Your Eyes.”
“I know that song,” he said. “That’s one of his biggest hits, isn’t it?”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.” The video appeared on the screen, and he grinned with satisfaction. “Right, you lot. Listen to this.”
He clicked on the play button. Instantly, the room was filled with pounding rock guitars and manic drumming, which made Miss Wellbeloved wince and bury herself even further into her seat.
“What are we listening for?” Serena asked, her sarcasm giving way to curiosity.
Billy Dagger started to sing, and Mike held a finger to his lips, nodding at the screen.
Hold out your hand, little boy.
Touch the great unknown, little boy.
I confess, I spit Maria,
I spurn your church,
I prefer them, elites of truth.
“Oh!” Pamela squealed, nearly falling off her seat in excitement. “I heard it!”
Mike pressed pause and nodded with satisfaction. “Bit of a coincidence, eh?” He beamed at the others. “I knew there was something about that letter that was bugging me.”
Kester smiled. “Nice one, Mike. So we’ve got a connection to Billy Dagger. ‘Them, elites.’”
“I’m still not sure what the relevance is, though,” Pamela said. “Hey, Jennifer, did you hear that?”
Miss Wellbeloved grimaced. “I couldn’t not hear it,” she said. “It’s rather loud, isn’t it?” She caught the expressions on the others’ faces and laughed. “I know, you’re referring to the lyrics. That’s an interesting connection. Are there any others in the letter?”
The rest of the team hastily looked down and scanned the words. Kester and Mike spotted it at the same time.
“‘Repeat into nothing,’” they both whispered, looking at each other with wide eyes.
Pamela grinned. “Another Billy Dagger lyric?”
“It was in his last song, wasn’t it?” Kester said, feeling rather breathless.
Mike nodded. “It certainly was. It’s even in the last line, isn’t it? Where he sings ‘repeat into, repeat into, repeat into,’ before finishing with the word ‘chaos’?”
Serena stuck her fingers in her ears. “Please don’t sing again, Mike. You sound like someone being throttled.”
“But this proves it, doesn’t it?” Pamela said, flapping her hands with excitement, like an oversized duck attempting to take off. “This letter is obviously trying to tell us that Billy Dagger is heavily involved or that he wrote it himself.”
“You mean Hrschni,” Miss Wellbeloved corrected. “Let’s not forget, he’s not a rock-star anymore.”
Kester rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What are they really trying to tell us, though? That’s the big question.”
“What do you mean?” Mike replied. “It’s their coded, pompous way of announcing that they’ve got Billy Dagger working with them, that’s all.” He glanced at Miss Wellbeloved. “Sorry, Hrschni. I’ll remember eventually, I promise.”
Kester frowned. Is it? he thought. He personally disagreed, especially as the Thelemites had already told the world that Hrschni had joined their ranks. Why would they bother to announce it again, especially in such a cryptic way? He strongly suspected that they were missing something.
“I’m not convinced,” he said eventually. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. You have a habit of doing that, mate.”
Miss Wellbeloved shrugged. “He also has a habit of being correct, though, doesn’t he?”
“What about the meaning of the words themselves?” Kester asked. “‘Repeat into nothing.’ Why put that in the letter? It must mean something, doesn’t it? What are they planning to repeat?”
“It’s just the lyrics to the song,” Mike insisted. “I don’t think there’s anything more to it.” He gestured to the phone. “Shall we give the others a call, let them know what we’ve found out?”
“I’ll do it later,” Miss Wellbeloved said, smothering a yawn behind her hand. “I’ve got to provide them with an update today, anyway.” She clicked her fingers in Kester’s direction. “That reminds me. Curtis Philpot was asking about Anya again, and when she’d be happy to attend a formal interview.” She caught sight of Kester’s expression and flinched. “I know you don’t want to, but Infinite Enterprises can’t let go of inside information like this.”
Kester folded his arms. “I’m not going to ask her. It’s not right.”
Mike let out a low whistle. “Your funeral, mate. Don’t fancy being in your shoes when that gets back to Bernard Nutcombe.”
“Yeah, he’ll get really angry,” Serena added, looking anxious.
“I really don’t care,” Kester said. “It’s not right, so I’m not asking her.” He looked up and noticed his father leaning against his office door, watching with interest.
“I thought you would say that,” Ribero said. He puckered his lips around his cigarette holder and inhaled deeply. “You are a boy with integrity, and I respect this, yes?”
Kester beamed. “Thank you! I’m glad someone understands. There’s no way I’m going to—”
“—which is why I called the young lady and asked her myself,” Ribero concluded with a wolfish grin.
“What?” Kester slammed his hand on the desk, which completely buckled, trapping four pairs of knees between its plastic sides. The others bellowed with pain, then glared at Kester, who completely ignored them.
“What do you mean, you called her?” Kester pushed his chair back, letting the desk flop to the floor with a crash. “You don’t even have her number!”
“I found it on your phone yesterday,” Ribero replied with a wink. “You left it on your desk when you went to buy a sandwich.”
“You nosed through my phone?” Kester could feel his face getting redder.
Ribero waved his cigarette dismissively in the air. “Ah, I didn’t read your messages,” he said. “So, any naughty business between you and your woman is still a secret.”
Serena visibly shuddered.
“You had absolutely no right to snoop through my—”
“What did she say?” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted.
Ribero scratched his ear. “Well,” he began slowly, eyes raised to the ceiling, “to begin with, she was not so happy. But then, when I explained, she accepted that it was the right thing to do. She is quite a strange girl, yes? Odd to talk to.”
Kester stood up. Normally, he was a placid person. It took a lot to make him angry. However, the thought of his father trawling gleefully through his phone whilst he was out, not to mention phoning Anya and forcing her to do this risky interview, was more than he could bear. Blinking with rage, he stormed across the room and jabbed a finger directly into Ribero’s chest.
“How dare you?” he shouted, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That was totally unacceptable, and you’ve placed Anya in real danger.”
Ribero frowned. “I don’t think that is the case at all. Infinite Enterprises have said they will take all measures to keep her safe . . .”
Kester shook his head. “You know as well as I do that we’re dealing with a very old, very powerful daemon here. If Hrschni can break into Infinite Enterprises, he can sure as hell break into Anya’s house. Christ, even a blind person could break in; it wouldn’t be difficult. There’s only a rusty, old lock on the door.”
“Okay, okay,” Ribero said placatingly as he placed a hand on Kester’s shoulder. “I understand why you are cross. But you see how important it is to the case? She can give us valuable information!”
“It wasn’t your place to ask her!”
“And it is not your place to stand in the way of our
work!”
“I’d rather stop your work than have my girlfriend murdered!”
Miss Wellbeloved clapped her hands. “Please! Calm down, both of you!”
Kester glared at them all, stormed to the door, and grabbed his jacket. “I’m leaving,” he snapped. “It’s nearly home-time anyway, but if you want to dock it from my pay, feel free.”
Ribero paced after him. “Look, Kester, do not go off sulking. It is not the right way to—”
Sulking? Kester thought, feeling even angrier than before. Sulking?! He scurried to his collapsed desk and scooped his laptop and phone from the floor. “Just in case you were thinking of looking through my private things again,” he growled, stuffing them into his satchel. The others stared in horror as he yanked open the door and stalked out.
It was only when he was out in the car-park, shivering with cold and indignation, that he started to feel slightly ridiculous. Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to deal with it, he thought, glancing back up at the darkened windows of the office. It was most unlike him to explode like that, but then, his father had done something completely unacceptable. Finally, he pulled out his phone, hoping a chat with Anya might settle him.
Thankfully, she answered after a few rings.
“Hello?”
Kester sighed, nimbly skipping around an icy puddle and down the narrow alleyway. “I’m so sorry, Anya. My dad just told me what he’d done. You must be furious with me.”
A soft chuckle tickled his ear. “No, I’m not angry with you, Kester. Your father told me that you had nothing to do with it. He was very nice about you.”
Kester felt vaguely mollified. He pulled his collar up around his neck and strode on to the high street, making sure to give the street performers a wide berth. The nearest man, dressed as a Christmas elf, threw a set of rings into the air, juggling until they became a blur. The audience cheered, moving aside to let Kester through.
“What else did my dad say?” he continued once the noise of the crowd had subsided.
“He explained why it is so important.” She paused. “I understand, Kester.”
“Well, I bloody don’t!” he spluttered. “I’m fuming about it, actually. Dad had no right to ask you to do it, especially as it puts you in danger.”