(To download, click on ‘The Sorcery Squad pt 7’ in the tag box on the left to isolate this post. Right click the mouse, or go to Edit and ‘select all’. Copy and paste to a document in your word processor. Call back next week for part 8.)
An Occult Crime Investigation Unit Mystery
#7
The Sorcery Squad
by
Jamie Gregory
Chapter 13
Abe swore and banged the steering wheel. In her hazy numbness Yolanda wondered to herself how many times she had seen this in American movies and cop shows. It was definitely a male thing. A sulky scowl and then hit something, or sweep objects off a table followed by a walking out of the room. To type Abe, without saying a word opened the door and got out. What was the British response when annoyed about something? Her anthropologist persona began to click in. Ahhh! Just what was needed some cool objectivity. Despite the concern about road rage, air rage and all the other new conditions, syndromes and the like that seemed to grace newspaper columns, Yolanda thought that in fact we Brits like to complain and moan best. Doubtless we were picking up new habits and becoming more vociferous however by and large we just get depressed when things go awry. Yolanda felt depressed now, it wasn't just feeling drained, but a real low. The possession had been excruciating. For the first time she had been aware during the trance and discovered how awful it can be to be powerless to control ones own body whilst still conscious. In the voudon sanctuary she had no memory of what she said or did when ridden by the loa. It was taken for granted that anything she did was not herself but the god within her. Although the antics of some could be extreme too the loa were very regular in what they did it always followed a set pattern Ghede walked about with a limp stuffing his face and playing practical jokes, Ezurilie powdered her face, and acted coquettishly to all the men. Even the Petro Loa, who could be more violent in their antics followed a set routine. It was not their aim to be cruel without provocation. What they wanted was proper ritual, offerings, prayers to be given the respect due to deities.. However the Maskim were something else. She could feel their cruelty, their delight in hurting and pain. They kept her conscious so she could witness it and be helpless before it. It was like losing ones temper and saying or doing the things that are known to hurt most to those closest to you. Even when such things come out of ones mouth there is a sense of being appalled and the helplessness of not being able to take them back. Yolanda realised that despite feeling very scared at what such a power could be capable of the towering elemental force felt sublime. It was this thought that sickened her.
Physically she was OK. Some bruising around her wrists and ankles and her neck and shoulders were stiff as if she had wrenched it at the gym. There were seven curious bite marks that had appeared on her legs, a parting gift no doubt. However her real bruising was internal. She had recognised the address Amanda had given Abe and gathered that she was being sent for recuperation and purification. In fact a good shower was top of her list right now but she knew that a door had been opened inside her too and this breach would need attending to quickly. All this time she had taken a purely psychological approach to spirit possession. She had no doubt about its veracity but with all the talk of archetypes and archaic brain sites she had not really worried too much about the objective existence of spirits. As far as she was concerned they were all within the human psychological domain. For the first time Yolanda was beginning to wonder if the Psyche extended beyond the brain. The Maskim were so alien she could not quite believe that such entities were part of the human organism. That meant only one thing they had independent existence.
It was late afternoon and although the sun was still high the day already seemed to be tired of itself. The shadows crept like fingers along the pavements and road before her. She looked toward the shut-up house. The corrugated iron made the house seem autistic. A scream turned in on itself.
She watched Abe standing near a shop doorway talking animatedly on his mobile phone. She had no doubt it was a transatlantic call. This was why the loa put their horses to sleep to avoid guilt.
When Abe returned to the car he didn't say anything and Yolanda did not have the strength right now to initiate a dialogue. Abe started up the car and pulled out onto Cable Street heading west. From the Highway he took the Rotherhithe tunnel under the Thames. The rush hour, which over the years had elongated to at least three, meant that it was stop and start all the way. Once on the other side he took Lower Road and Rotherhithe New Road across the Old Kent Road down toward Peckham High St. Travelling from the North East in a south westerly direction he traversed from the continents of India, Bangladesh to West Africa also taking in the Caribbean. Ghee and madras spices gave way to boiling chickens and yams. The Star of India to Jamaican patty shops. Worming his way around the one-way system he drove along Peckham Rye stopping frequently for pedestrians crossing looking anyway but in the direction of traffic. The pace here was different, once again.
Yolanda let it all pass her by, familiar scenes a people she felt an affinity with but right now she was inside a glass bubble looking out. Her legs began to ache, in fact the strange bite or bruises on her legs more precisely ached. She reached down to rub them.
"Are you OK?" It was the first words he had said to her since they left the house.
She nodded despite the fact that the ache had quickly grown to a burning sensation and was rising from her legs up to her belly. Yolanda turned her head away she did not what Abe to see her hold back a grimace. They had stopped at the junction with Nunhead Lane and a blue Mondeo had pulled up alongside. The young spectacled black woman turned to Yolanda. A look of concern passed momentarily over her face. Yolanda forced a smile onto her lips. At that moment she felt a surge of burning rise up her spine and black light explode in her brain. The smile grew; her lips drew apart to create a skull-like grin. She tried to give Abe a warning but her body was no longer her own. The lights turned green.
As the engine revved Abe took his foot off the brake but there was no movement forward. Cars in the next lane moved off the moment’s detention enough to provoke a horn blast from behind. He turned as a childish chuckle broke from the direction of the passenger seat. His sensitised intuition telling him what would meet his gaze before his eyes recognised the grin the madness staring out at him with one flexing, shaking arm rigid its fingers holding tight onto the handbrake.
Yolanda could see everything and try as she might she could not regain motor control of her body. She could feel the whispering in her skull and that she was sharing her sight with the Seven. So it must have taken them by as much surprise as it did Yolanda when Abe's fist flew towards her chin. She felt the impact and the loud thud as the back of her head made contact with the passenger side window. A welcome unconsciousness took her in its arms.
***
Lyn Cheung had broken off willingly from looking at hour after hour of cctv footage from Kings Cross station, reality TV at its worst! When she caught the occasional cop show on telly it make her seethe whenever within a short time of checking the cameras the detectives found exactly what they were looking for. For a start it took terrific concentration to stay focussed on the pictures flashing on a screen showing essentially the same thing minute-by-minute, hour by hour. The effect was a Warholian sedative of sense numbing tedium. Then there was the constant rewinding when lapses occurred in concentration or in case of ambiguity. A mug shot never looks just like a person in part profile whilst moving. Alertness could be sustained by effort for a time then chemical support became necessary which meant that a quart of coffee was required plus trips to the loo once caffeine processing had taken place. All in all it lacked the sparkle of roof top chases. Even door-to-door enquiries were more enjoyable!
So the break to find out if Dieter Schiller had another property in London came as a welcome break. Lyn's expertise in computer and database enquiries had clinched the deal as far as being picked for OCIU. Much of her work did mean that she was more often than not in the office rather than out on the beat but this did not worry her unduly. In fact her strength had always been information gathering of one sort or another. She was the one at school to find relevant references and photocopy them for friends that had made her very popular in a bookish sort of way. Needs must when the devil drives and her approach had won her more than one boyfriend despite pontificating from her mother that boys don't like clever girls. In fact her general popularity increased again when she had acquired her skills in the I Ching Oracle. She would hold consultations on every matter, lost items, who fancies whom and is he being faithful? Some had turned their noses up at her saying that the I Ching was not for such trivia however Lyn did not agree with this. Firstly, they were questions that were important to the one who asks them and secondly, the oracle had a way of suggesting what ethical stance should be taken in the situation. Naturally, no-one was obliged to take the advice however over time working with the oracle Lyn had found that it managed to raise the query up and link it to a bigger picture. The longer-term view she found was more often than not the first casualty in moments of high drama, anxiety or greed. The oracle always sought to restore this balance. In short her faith in it grew.
It did not take her long to discover that there was no record of any second property attributed to Dieter Schiller. It was quite possible that any second property could be in another name without some clue it was a needle in a EU hay mountain. There was a quicker way to find out. She looked up the case number and took from her drawer a piece of semi-translucent paper. Next to it was a box with a block of black ink, a ceramic dish with several indents in and two Chinese calligraphy brushes. Her deft fingers rubbed some ink into one of the cup indents and she added some water from the dispenser nearby. Wiping her hands on a tissue she picked up a brush. She dipped it into the ink carefully wiped off the excess and held it poised over the paper like a conductor about to start a symphony. Very carefully she began to draw an elaborate design on the paper starting in one corner her hand moved gracefully executing curls and points, lines even in length and spacing, unhurried and yet not dawdling until a small square of three inches had been filled. She drew an outline around the design. She looked at it for a moment, smiled and dialled the number.
The dial tone rang eight times before it was answered. The voice was male and the slightly clipped consonants informed Lyn that she was speaking to Dieter Schiller. She asked if she could speak to Wayne in the broadest Australian accent at a volume most unlike her usual timbre. The reply of no such person and must be a wrong number followed and after a swift apology the call terminated. Well at least he was at home that meant that he could be followed if someone got over there quick. Hopefully, despite being anxious at this stage, Dieter Schiller would not read anything suspicious into a timely wrong number phone call. The character being designed to allay all suspicions of an enemy. And to be honest the accent had taken Lyn quite by surprise when she opened her mouth to speak. She had to admit it sounded quite guileless, something she was not sure she could have faked so easily at will. Her training in interrogation had told her how easily the voice could give away hidden intentions to those who knew how to listen.
Amanda and Reza walked in at that moment and Lyn told them of her results for the search for a second property and that Dieter Schiller was currently at home.
"You'd better take my car he's seen your BMW remember?" Amanda smiled at Reza who rolled his eyes in defeat.
"According to Whitaker the barrier spell wears out at sunset that will be when Schiller will make his move and will need to be ready to perform his ritual."
Lyn was already tapping into the Internet.
"Sunset is seven-twenty-eight this evening."
Amanda turned back to Reza
"Hopefully that gives you just about enough time to get over there before he disappears off to his temple site.
Snatching the keys from Amanda's hand Reza left for his stakeout.
***
Abe climbed back into the car, pulled the door too and rested his hands on the wheel he needed to think. The call to Josh had shaken him badly. It confirmed what the Maskim had told him, and despite their accusations of him causing the cancer he knew that wasn't true but the truth wasn't much less painful. Abe had kept in touch with Josh and with most of his other siblings but only rarely. It was Josh who had said that Abe inherited father's stubbornness and it was true. Abe would not forgive his father for laying down a law that gave him no other choice but to conform to what his father wanted or become an outsider to his family. His father, on the other hand, would not forgive Abe's betrayal. So any reconciliation was never on the cards. Somehow, the very fact that Abe banished any such thought and feeling, apart from cold defiance, toward his father made this second rejection all the more painful.
Josh had been surprised to receive the call, it was still morning in New York, and being caught on the hop he had tried to duck the questions about their father's health. He was also surprised that Abe knew anything.
"Who's talked to you about Dad's health?"
"Josh, just tell me is he OK?"
Abe couldn't understand the hesitation, he knew Josh was keeping something from him but didn't know why?"
"For God's sake Josh I need to know!"
"OK, ok, look, they found a tumour in his bowel, they operate day after tomorrow. There's a chance it might have gone into the liver. Don't say I told you."
"What? What do you mean? What's wrong with telling me for God's sake, I am his son too!"
"Abe, I know, look... It's difficult to say this... When he was diagnosed he gave specific instructions that you were not to be told. I'm sorry Abe he didn't want you to know."
The wind taken out of Abe he didn't remember much else of the call. His brother obviously feeling guilty on several fronts said he would let Abe know the result of the investigative surgery.
Suddenly Abe had an idea. The more he thought about it the more a smile returned to his lips. It might just save the old man's life and be a delicious irony too. It would be perfect to bring him back from the brink. The son would not crawl back in shameful repentance; there would be no deathbed begging for forgiveness. If he could pull it off then it would be a triumph. Naturally, as these things work out they would never know or even believe it had anything to do with Abe, even if he told them. That wasn't the point. The point was he would know. That's what made it so perfect!
They had made many boasts most of them nothing but just that, however their claim to be able to reverse the cancer was plausible. After all the Maskim were old enough and ugly enough to wield a lot of power. Being so elemental and coming from the deepest layers of human consciousness it was very possible that the strings they pulled could be effective. The medical books were full of stories about unexplained 'miracle' interventions. People going into remission after prayers at the tombs of saints. It was very probable that there are deep layers of consciousness that when activated could start or stop devastating illnesses. The intelligences that controlled these levels when personified like the Maskim could be persuaded, but only if the price was right. They had wanted Yolanda that had always been out of the question. Now as he sat in his car outside the Voudon sanctuary, she would be having any spiritual doors firmly locked to unwanted visitors - all to the good. But there was still a way to get into contact with them, they were still not too far away. With that thought in his mind Abe started up the car and headed west.
***
Dieter Schiller looked at his watch it would soon be time to go. The sun was descending in its barque called 'Two Million Years' ferrying the great Egyptian God Ra toward his underworld journey. Each night he faced his deadly foe Apep the serpent that tried to swallow the sun preventing its future arising. Each night he failed and with welcome relief life praised his dawn return. Dieter too now had to make his move and face his foe. All day he had been planning his moves carefully his adversary was strong and would exploit any weakness. Then there was the visit yesterday from the police. Those two detectives, despite the strings he had pulled they had talked their way into hospital to see his wife. What did they know? He had seen the interview with that detective Oliver on TV. It was clear they had made a connection between him and O'Connor but obviously lacked any evidence to haul him in diplomatic immunity not withstanding.
The one thing he had been able to preserve was the whereabouts of his secret temple. It would be the ritual that they would want to stop but whilst they were unaware of its location he had one over on them. But he must be careful. He went over to his desk in the book-lined study and pulled up the dark green leather chair before his laptop. Double clicking on one of the icons the soft whirring of the hard drive coming to life predicated the screen clearing and the program starting up. Purple and scarlet flame lettering on a parchment background announced- Ninth House Astrological Software. Over several seconds the screen flickered adding graphic after graphic before giving its front-end menu. Three chart types were available, natal, progressed and horary. He checked the last option and clicked. The screen disappeared to be replaced by a request for three pieces of information. Under location Dieter left the default, London. He filled in the time to the second when he had looked at his watch for that was when the question he wanted to ask occurred to him. The third field was attached to a drop down menu asking for type of question. He left this blank, as he preferred his own interpretation rather than the attempt by the software to manufacture one from keywords. After all, any divination method was supposed to be an aid to human intuition as such no method was an exact science. He clicked on the button to calculate. Within a couple of seconds the request screen was replaced by a standard circular chart of twelve houses with signs of the zodiac and planet positions calculated and placed in each house. The software did extend to presenting results in the old medieval box horoscope for the real aficionado but it was more difficult to read. By the side of the chart were several buttons one Dieter checked and the next instant the aspects of the chart appeared entangled web lines of blue, red, green, cyan and yellow. With the chart complete he sat back and looked for his answer.
It would be in the twelfth house, the house of secrets, enemies and danger. He scrutinised it carefully. The first thing that jumped out at him was that Uranus in Pisces in the twelfth house did not look good sudden disruption, a shattering of illusions. It could mean that his secret was about to be discovered unless great care was taken. Saturn in Virgo was in opposition. Traditionally Saturn covered both agriculture and the legal profession. Could it be that he was under surveillance by the police? His question had been about the danger of discovery by enemies unseen. Russell Whitaker was well connected too and may have pulled strings. What story would he have told the police? He closed down the programme and shut the laptop. The car was out of the question, too easy to be followed, he would have to go on foot.
***
Reza saw him leave; he tied the Burburry raincoat belt around his waist, despite the fact that it was balmy. Before descending the steps he looked both ways scrutinising the empty street. The street was not empty but Reza had taken the precaution of parking far enough away that Schiller would not see someone sitting at the wheel of a mini cooper. At the bottom of the steps Dieter Schiller turned and walked away from him down the deserted street. Reza waited for the double flash of lights showing a car being unlocked remotely, but when it didn't come he realised to his dismay that he was going there on foot. He swore softly and making a snap decision got out of the car locked it and began to follow on the other side of the road. This would make it more difficult, rush hour was in progress and it would be easy to lose his quarry, but there was no option he could hardly kerb crawl his way to wherever Schiller was heading. Schiller had reached the corner and turned left, that was the signal for Reza to dash to the end of the street before Schiller could make any more turns and so lose his unseen companion on this trip. Schiller's next turn took him onto Gloucester Terrace and down towards the underground station at Lancaster Gate where Reza figured he must be heading. By the time Schiller had made it over the road to the entrance Reza had caught up with him, there was a moment, just before he entered when he looked around. Reza moved fast behind and conveniently placed SUV, tall enough to hide a small elephant. Through the glass Reza saw that Schiller did not seem to have noticed anything turned and went into the station. He was not the best person for this job, having anticipated a car journey and not having any other person available, he realised there was an increasing risk that Schiller would recognise him before he could discover his destination. But what else to do? His mobile would be useless underground but the slimline police radio would work. As he crossed the road he quickly appraised Lyn, back at base, of the situation by the time he entered the ticket hall Schiller must have passed through the barrier, as he was nowhere to be seen. The short rotund female London Underground employee opened the gate for him on sight of his badge. Reza dashed to the top of the escalators and scanned for any sign, he saw Schiller stepping off the bottom and out of view toward the platform. He took the steps two at a time only pausing when a young Italian couple were slow in moving over to the right hand side. There were two platforms, going west and east, Reza's first guess was right Schiller was going east into town where most of the interchanges take place. There were enough people milling around on the platform to lose himself out of sight but he did not want to be too far from Schiller not in this busy environment. The indicator said two minutes until the next central line train was due enough time for Reza to scan the map for the major intersections on this line. The central line cut through all the major underground lines; the Jubilee at Bond Street, Bakerloo and Victoria at Oxford Circus, Northern at Tottenham Court Road and Piccadilly at Holborn and that was before he came to the City. Reza decided the best option was to move through the train using the connecting doors once on board. He stood a better chance of escaping Schiller's notice that way. A breeze and distant rumble announced the coming train; Reza risked a step back to see Schiller peering down the tunnel in the direction of the oncoming train. The crowd moved forward and Schiller was lost from sight.
As soon as the doors closed Reza began to move forward through the carriage, most seats were taken and a few people were now standing. By Marble Arch station the train would be becoming crowded and Reza wanted to be in clear sight of Schiller by then. There had been one carriage between the two of them; once through the connecting carriage he looked through to the next carriage where he hoped Schiller would be. He saw him, about a quarter way down at the first double doors. He was leaning with his back against the glass partition facing away from Reza
"Good" it suited him fine easier to keep an eye on him without risk of being seen. The train slowed as it approached Marble Arch station and juddered to a halt, the platform replete with a throng pressing forward to the doors. They opened and there was the tiniest of movements back whilst passengers disembarked. Reza kept his eye on Schiller who hadn't made a move. This was not his stop. Half a dozen people pushed passed Reza, the last two, in work suits and much the worse for wear from a lunch hour that was clearly still not over, bumped into Reza. The one, less drunk, slurred an apology as he propped his mate up against the opposite door. The doors closed and the train pulled off. Reza chanced a look around and saw that three of the six passengers pulled out the long awaited seventh Harry Potter book. A mere five days since its publication it had made headlines around the world. Never had a fictional character created such a global interest. Firstly it had been a collective sigh of relief that the rumoured demise of its main character had been unfounded. Secondly, that Harry's star had risen in its ascendancy to succeed his spiritual father was seen as quite fitting. The fact that his love life stank only enhanced the public's sympathy for him that no-one, not even a wizard as great as Harry Potter should have a life that is too happy ever after.
As the train pulled into Bond Street station, Reza could see the platform was packed, mainly with tourists and laden shoppers. Schiller did not appear to be making a move, so it was not the intersections here that he could be wanting. The doors opened and a swarm of bags followed by people made their entrance. The drunken pair were having a belching contest which ensured that if not exactly a wide berth was given them then no-one would stand too near. The doors closed and the train pulled off again.
Now a problem appeared, a group of three backpackers had got on just the other side of the carriage door blocking a clear view of Schiller's back. As the train bumped and rocked Schiller came into and out of sight. After less than two minutes the train had snaked its way under Oxford Street and slowed for Oxford Circus. As the train came out of the tunnel it was wall-to-wall bodies pressing forward. Half a dozen people stood up in Schiller's carriage to make their way to the exit completely blocking Reza's view. Reza felt increasing nervous about not seeing Schiller and craned his neck to try and get a view. But he could see nothing. The doors opened and Reza had no choice but to push his way to look out of the door. It was no good he couldn't see past the people coming out of the door next to him to see Schiller's exit. Already passengers behind him, including the two drunks were raising their voices to be let off. Reza pulled back into the carriage and went to the window to the next carriage. As a large woman moved out of his line of sight he immediately saw that Schiller was gone. To faint protest from a middle-aged man who was trying to get on Reza leapt off the train. On tiptoe he caught sight of Schiller's head slow moving forward with the throng. Suddenly, behind him a commotion broke out one of the drunks emptied the contents of his stomach onto the platform and like a shoal of sardines under shark attack passengers parted for the burgundy fountain. After a moment Reza looked forward again only to see Dieter Schiller look right at him. Recognition crossed his face and for a moment it seemed he didn’t know what to do. As if the sound of the doors closing triggered him into action Schiller darted to his left and squeezed through the doors back onto the train. Reza let out a shout and tried to make a move but the crowd had carried him in-between two carriages, he was just too far from a door and never stood a chance. Still shouting the train began to move off, but with the scenario behind, his voice was lost in the general melee. Reza could only stand there as the train moved passed him and watch as a faint smile broke on Schiller’s lips whilst the train and Reza’s hope disappeared into the darkness.
Abe left Victoria embankment and made his way to the Aldwych and up Kingsway to Southampton Row and onward to Euston Road before resuming his westward journey. He didn’t really have a plan just an idea and quite unsure how to bring it off. He wanted to bargain with the Maskim, to see if they could stop the cancer make it go into remission. He felt sure they could. One of the things you learned not the worry about in magic was how an intention might be brought about. Well that wasn’t the whole truth didn’t Edgar Allen Poe write that story The Monkey’s Paw about a couple who thought they could get rich quick when the laid their hands on a wish-giving monkey’s paw amulet? Their first wish was naturally for money, which they got when their son was killed in an accident and the insurance paid up a handsome dividend. He couldn’t remember how it ended but it had been essential reading when he first embarked on his magical career. Maybe a new cancer drug would just happen to come available and his father be picked as a guinea pig. Or it could just mysteriously go into remission; perhaps a pioneering surgical technique in the very hospital where his father would be admitted. Who knows? Magic was all a matter of the butterfly effect, nudging probabilities in the desired direction. What he did need was two things, access to the Maskim that was why he was heading west and a bargaining chip.
***
The platform had begun to clear and Reza found himself standing by the full map of London Underground. He had to think, getting mad with himself was taking him nowhere. Schiller had got off at this station because presumably he wanted to change lines. He was working to a deadline; looking at his watch it was six-twenty, one hour and eight minutes until sundown. By rights Schiller should be fuming, at being prevented from making the connection to wherever he was going but that smile?
Reza looked closely at the map. At Oxford Circus there were two other lines the Bakerloo and the Victoria. Both run north-south diagonally across London. Oxford Circus was the only station these two lines intersected.. And yet he was not perturbed by that fact? The next station that Schiller could get off would be Tottenham Court Road. Here was the intersection with the West End branch of the Northern Line. Abe noticed that this branch intersected with the Victoria Line at two points north at Warren Street and south at Stockwell. It intersected the Bakerloo Line at Charing Cross and Waterloo. He was going to have to make a decision fast about which line to take. If Schiller was on that deadline then he would not be happy to have to make any more line changes than necessary. If anything added time to a journey in London it was having to walk the labyrinthine tunnels from one platform to the next in central London stations. If Schiller had a secret temple then it would be in residential accommodation, probably a house rather than a flat where neighbours on all sides might complain about extraneous or odd noises. Reza was going to chance that it wasn't anywhere as central as Charing Cross or Waterloo. That meant the Victoria Line. He moved off the platform and began to follow the blue arrows. When he came to the two platforms he had to decide north to Warren Street, Euston Road, lots of estates and houses nearby, or Stockwell. Then he remembered something, a memory floated up. He had been taken to Stockwell once by his father not long after their arrival in London he had taken him on a grand alchemical tour of the city pointing out the places where some of the great names of European alchemy lived and worked. Who was it that his father had taken him to see there? It came to him and he made a dash for the southbound train just as it slowed to a stop. Once on board he took out his radio and called into Lyn there was another way to track down where Schiller might be heading.
"Lyn, Can you do another property search, this time for an –‘Ashmole’, initial ‘E’ in the Stockwell area SW8?"
Lyn murmured an assent as she wrote down the details.
"In the meantime ask the DCI to meet me at Stockwell station as soon as she can with back-up. Better tell her I've left her car in Bayswater she can take mine, the keys are in the ignition." Reza smiled as he could almost see Amanda raise her eyebrows and purse her lips.
As Reza moved toward the escalators at Stockwell tube station he looked at the trickle of passengers coming out of the Northern line exit. By rights he should be ahead of Schiller. With this thought in mind and once outside he positioned himself across the road hanging loosely around a bus stop. From this vantage he could see everyone who exited. He felt confident now that they would find the secret temple. A burr of static and Lyn's voice came over the radio.
"Reza here, did you find it"
"Three Ashmoles in SW8 two with the initial E. An E.H. and one plain E."
"It's the plain E for Elias. Isn't that an old name?"
Reza laughed"Yes, it certainly is what's the address?"
Lyn gave him the details
"Tradescant Road” By now Reza's grin was ear-to-ear "Exactly where it should be".
As he signed off Reza looked up and saw Schiller exit the station cross the road and go in the direction his father had taken him all those years ago.
Ten minutes later Amanda turned up in his BMW with an unmarked Armed Response Vehicle and its three occupants in tow.
'Where are we going?" Amanda enquired and Reza gave the address that he also relayed to the ARV.
"Care to tell me how you found it without following Schiller?"
"Believe it or not my father took me there when I was a kid. We did this grand tour of London where he pointed out all the places where famous British alchemists lived and worked. Lambeth was home to more than one but I remembered that one of the most famous was Elias Ashmole, founder of the Ashmolian museum in Oxford but a great alchemist in his own right. He lived here on Tradescant Road where our friend Dieter Schiller bought a property in his name. Reza looked at his watch "Coming up to seven-fifteen, what time will we leave it to?"
"I want him mid-ceremonial but not too far in so that he is able to give the Maskim their instructions. He's going to want to get this moving as soon as he can so if seven-twenty eight is witching hour for him then he will need to be ready to conjure them by that time."
"As soon as we get there then!"
"Yep!"
They parked on the corner of Tradescant Road just round the corner from the property of Mr Ashmole. Reza took a cautious walk on the far side of the road. He was pretty confident that Schiller would be too pre-occupied to be curtain twitching. By now he would be performing his banishing rituals clearing the space making ready for the big conjurations. The lights were on in the hallway of the house that much showed through the small six-inch square stained glass window in the door. The inside light outlined a dove descending, in Holy Spirit fashion. Reza felt a warm surge of satisfaction as he returned to the ARV to confirm their target was home.
The plan was executed simply and effectively. The three armed officers swerved their vehicle in front of the premises banged on the door announcing themselves. After the usual one-point-eight seconds they battered the door down and charged in. Amanda and Reza waited in the BMW listening to the muffled shouts and warnings. By this time one or two neighbours had begun to peer out of window and door. A couple on the other side of the road came and stood in their truncated front garden to watch. Within a couple of minutes a white robed, barefoot and bound Dieter Schiller was hauled out of the front door looking like a heretic on the way to the stake. He twisted and fought, face red shouting incoherently. Amanda and Reza took it as their cue. By the time they crossed over the road and made it to the front door Amanda could see Schiller in the backseat of the ARV,..head in hands crying. Schiller did not see them as they made to enter. The agreement was that Schiller, now under arrest, would be taken back to Brixton station to await interrogation. First they wanted to check out the premises. After all what had taken place here had resulted in two deaths and a pregnant woman in a catatonic state.
The impression that struck Amanda on entering the house was Louis XIV - the Sun King. Dieter Schiller had succeeded in converting a small London terraced house into an unearthly golden palace it was as if Midas himself had walked through the long corridor leading to a kitchen at the rear of the house. To the left the stairs hugged the wall rising to the first floor. The wooden steps and banister rail had been thickly coated in gold paint, at least Amanda assumed it was paint, giving the impression of a cascade running from the first floor down to ground level. The hall floor was dark stained wood that off set the sunlight yellow walls which had been rag rolled with more gold paint. This time flecks of gold leaf were plastered over the walls glinting and winking in the light cast from a crystal chandelier. Apart from a small table (gold naturally with red painted top), at the foot of the stairs there was no other furniture. As they entered Reza noticed a mural painted on the wall just inside to the right of the door. The letters were painted to mimic a Roman stone inscription with mock cracking to give the sign of age. It read:
It is true, without falsehood, and most certain.
What is below is like that which is above; and what is above is like that which is below: to accomplish the miracle of the one thing.
"The opening words of the Emerald Tablet the cornerstone of alchemy."
Amanda moved through the hall pausing at the first of two doors on her right. The door to the room was ajar and the light inside off. The door itself was a standard four panel wooden door stripped of varnish but painted with another mural. The central panel running horizontally across just below half-way was decorated with a garden scene in the centre was a square based fountain with three outlets running water into a basin and presumably a fourth one out of view on the other side. In the two lower panels were pictured a unicorn and a lion. In the two panels above were more quotations in the same script as by the door:
Its father is the Sun,
Its mother the Moon,
She pushed open the door felt for the light switch and as she turned it on went inside. There were two lights suspended from the ceiling towards the front and back of the room. One sheathed in a golden orb shade its sister in a silver mantle. On the far side of the room and above an open fireplace with grate intact was a conjoined sun and moon motif. The room was painted in a light green again rag rolled with a deeper hue to give an impression of foliage. The exception was the wall with the front window that Amanda instantly recognised as the Egyptian sky goddess Nuit stretched arch-like over the windows only her toes and finger tips touching the floor. Her body painted black was bejewelled with stars. The only furniture was a plinth in the centre of the room standing on a painted black and silver checkerboard floor the bottom half painted black and the upper half white. Amanda recognised this too, it was an altar.
As they explored the house they discovered that each room had a different theme. One was painted black and decorated with skulls and sarcophagi, another the walls and ceiling were in scarlet. However each room had the same floor decoration and a black and white altar in the centre.
The cupboard under the stairs contained vestments of varying design and the kitchen had been supplied with cabinet space to contain ceremonial apparatus, cups, wands, daggers and swords, coloured cords and lengths of material and a number of elaborate headdresses, mainly in an ancient Egyptian style.
"What do you make of it?" Amanda turned to Reza who was eying up some of the hanging paintings they had found inside an upstairs room.
"Well it’s a different layout to O'Connor's flat, his was a basic four element system. Here we seem to have each room decorated to represent the seven stages of the alchemical process. My guess is that rituals were carried out in each room in accord with whatever stage they were working with. The whole house is designed to impress on the operator the Great Work in hand. He or she leaves his daytime concerns at the threshold and becomes absorbed in nothing else whilst inside."
Amanda had to admit it worked well; the accumulative effect was a powerful one. It was easy to forget that this was, on the outside, just another house in South Lambeth.
Together they moved through towards the last upstairs room. As they passed by the bathroom they saw Dieter Schiller's daytime clothes neatly piled on a chair by the still damp shower. As Reza bagged them Amanda moved forward into the still lit room. It was different from the rest; to begin with it was plain, in an off-white cream shade. The floor was painted pure black but still an altar in the centre like the others. On two walls facing each other were two further quotations. She read
The Wind carries it in its belly,
Its nurse is the Earth.
The altar contained a replica Roman clay lamp still lit. Reza cane in and went over to it Accompanying the lamp was a small crystal port glass with what appeared to be red wine in it. A small phial containing a dried ochre powder, what looked like a small model coffin in lead with some strands of hair bundled inside and a piece of parchment with an incantation on it. It was the latter that made the blood coarse through him so he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
"You'd better have a look at this M'am".
Amanda was by his side already "There's something wrong here? This isn't set up for summoning spirits, that lead coffin, with her hair in it, this incantation its the same one I recorded from Emily Schiller, this is for binding, a protection rite” She picked up the phial "What's the betting this is menstruum?"
"Oh God! We've been set up!"
They both dashed for the door.
