Thoth, the Atlantean

by Brendan Carroll

  “Perhaps he is not the hero you think.” Jozsef laughed. “There are many skeletons in his closet, but no skulls! His preoccupation with women has led him into serious trouble in the past. Now he has a very special friend. Perhaps she would be willing to make a trade for him. She knows much.”

  “Ahh. Yes, perhaps so, but what of Ramsay? He would not allow such a thing even if the Italian were lost completely to him.”

  “Ramsay is not in control of this particular piece of work, Abaddon. We don’t need the skull. We only need to know who has it and exactly where it is. I know that it is where it belongs, but I am not sure where that is. It is very far from here, I can tell you that, but we know where Dambretti is and we know that this woman is on her way to see him. Perhaps you can use a bit of persuasive intervention to learn something useful.”

  “Perhaps I could.” The general smiled at him.

  Chapter Ten of Twenty

  There is a sore evil which I have seen under the sun

  “No, Oriel, it is all right. I’m fine.” Louis waved his wife away as she hovered about him in the small kitchen of their apartment at the Villa.

  He sat at the dining table with a blanket thrown over his hulking figure, looking very much like he was suffering from a terrible case of the flu. His face was flushed, his eyes were too bright as if he had a fever and there were dark circles under them. Impossible. Louis could not be sick! Oriel thought she understood what was wrong with her husband. The death of Guy de Lyons had terrified all of them. Louis was no exception and the ordeal of Guy’s illness and final demise had taken a toll on Oriel’s nerves as well. Her husband was very ancient and though he did not look it, she knew that he was probably as old as Ramsay or thereabouts. She did not want to lose him. Not now… not ever.

  “But you must eat, Louis.” She leaned down to look in his face. His complexion was very pale and his hair was sticking up, damp from perspiration though his skin was cool to the touch. “You can’t let Thaddeus see you like this. He will be frightened to death! He has already asked me several times if I thought that you could die like Sir de Lyons. All the students are devastated by his loss. Think of your son, Louis. You have been sitting here all night and half the day. He will be here for lunch and he will think the worst.”

  “I’m sorry,” Louis apologized and stood up wearily. “Perhaps a shower would make me feel better.”

  Oriel followed him to the bedroom and helped him find fresh clothes. She had never seen him in such disarray. Louis was very meticulous and organized. He did not like change. Everywhere they went, he arranged his clothes the same way. Each thing had its proper place. Every morning had its proper schedule to be followed like clockwork, no matter where they were living or what the circumstances. If Louis could manage it, very little changed in his daily routine. She had heard him speaking on the phone the night before. She knew he had received a call from her father, but she did not know they had talked about.

  “What did my father have to say? How are things going in Scotland?” she asked him, trying to get his mind off of Guy. He had told her nothing, spoken of nothing but his fears and his regrets and his worry that he might leave her and Thaddeus alone to fend for themselves. She had tried to console him by reminding him that she had a very large family and that she would not be alone even if something did happen to him, God forbid!

  “He is well,” Louis told her vaguely. “Things are going as usual.”

  “That bad?” She laughed lightly and tried for a bit of levity.

  “Aye.” He nodded his head as she herded him toward the bath. “And worse.”

  “You are hiding something from me, Louis Champlain!” she fussed at him. “I am a member of the Order. I am an initiated apprentice in good standing. If there is something amiss with my father, you would tell me, would you not?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” He dropped the blanket on the floor of the bathroom and shivered.

  “Then tell me what is wrong, Louis.” She took his face between her small hands, stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose. “Maybe I can help you. I know you’re not sick. This is all in your mind. You are making yourself sick with worry!”

  “It is a spiritual matter, Orri,” he said her as she helped him out of his crumpled shirt. “It is something I must work out with God.”

  “Oh.” She was somewhat relieved to hear this. It was more than she had gotten from him in several hours. At least he was moving and speaking again. The buzzer at their front door sounded. “Now go on and get your shower. We’ll talk later… before Thaddeus comes, if that is not him already.”

  She hurried from the bedroom to the front door and pulled it open. The sight of Barry of Sussex in the hall and the look on his face made her heart leap into her throat. The Seneschal had never come here since they had moved back from Scotland. Not to their apartment. She had seen him down the way a few times, checking out one of the empty apartments where he and Rachel would be living after their wedding, but Barry was not much on paying social calls, especially since he had taken over running the Order for her grandfather.

  “Oriel,” he greeted her curtly.

  “Master Barry.” She stood blinking up at him. “What can I do for you?”

  “Where is your husband?”

  “In the shower.”

  “Tell him I am here.” Barry stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He stood near the door of the living room and looked about nervously.

  “Would you like some tea or coffee while you wait?” She frowned at him, but he failed to meet her gaze, preferring to look anywhere but her face.

  “Tea would be nice,” he told her shortly.

  Something was terribly wrong! She was sure of it now and Barry’s visit was proof enough. She put the kettle on the stove and hurried away to the bathroom. Barry was still standing by the door when she returned a few minutes later bearing the tea service on a pretty tray painted with angels.

  “Please… sit down, Sir.” She directed him to the table.

  Barry walked as if in a dream. The apartment was full of light. White and gold furnishing of French design. Perfectly matched to the mistress of the house. She had her father’s gentle nature and his soft blue eyes. Barry finally looked at her face when he took a seat at the table and he thought perhaps he had made a mistake coming here so rashly. He watched her as she returned to the cabinet to fetch honey for him and then brought the kettle to the table. He was suddenly very jealous of Louis. At least he had some time with his wife. Barry wondered if he would ever finally marry Rachel and have any sort of happiness before the next terrible event would tear them apart. The wedding was set for next month and next month now seemed ages away.

  “Do you think we could move the wedding?” he asked and Oriel almost spilled the hot water on the table.

  “Why? Where? Where do you want to have it?” She regained her composure and sat down facing him while he placed the little pyramid of tea and herbs in the water. The scent of oranges and cinnamon filled the air.

  “Not the place, the time. Do you think we could move it up a bit? I have no patience, Oriel,” he told her abruptly, almost rudely. “All of this…” He waved one hand about in frustration “… all of this jumping about and hair pulling does not suit me. I just want it over and done. I don’t want to make it a spectacle.”

  “But, Barry!” Oriel was appalled at his attitude. She imagined him with a great club, banging little Rachel over the head and dragging her off to a cave. “Rachel deserves a nice wedding. She is looking forward to it with great excitement.” Barry would soon be her brother-in-law. She did not want any trouble with the Knight of the Baldric when he was about to become an actual part of the family.

  “I know that, but it seems so pointless! I mean what is the sense of it? The outcome will be the same.”

  “The same as what?” Oriel asked him as the image continued. Barry with a dead deer slung over his shoulder. Rachel dressed in a bear skin, sitting on a rock in front of a cave, making
leather shoes for half a dozen children with a fishbone needle.

  “Marriage.”

  He shrugged and waved one hand in dismissal before picking up the delicate china cup with remarkable dexterity. He sipped the hot tea and smiled at her for the first time. The caveman image disappeared.

  “We will be married either way.”

  “You are not making sense.” She smiled slightly. “Weddings have always meant more to the brides than the bridegroom. It is simply a way of showing the world that you and she are making a great commitment to each other. The grander the ceremony, the longer the image will last.”

  “The marriage will last until I breathe no more, Oriel. We could be married in a cave dressed in bearskins and that would not change. I am simply saying that I don’t understand why we have to put it off for so long.”

  Oriel giggled and blushed and Barry frowned. She wondered if he could read her mind.

  “It has not been so long. Only a few months.”

  “But look what can happen to us in a few days. A few hours! Only God, himself, knows where we will be in a few months. I want some time with her. I want to be left alone. I want just a bit of happiness. Is that too much to ask?” His outburst shocked her. The tone was almost desperate as if he expected to be struck dead on the spot.

  “Sir… Barry.” She placed one cool hand on his. “You are upset by the death of Sir de Lyons. We all are upset. Until we know what happened to him, we will all wonder and worry, but we must leave these things to God. We cannot change the Will of God. If God wills that you and Rachel be married then nothing can stop it. You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

  “We already know what happened to Brother Guy,” Barry told her point blank.

  “What?!” She sat up straighter in the chair.

  “Lavon de Bleu has figured it all out. That is why I came to see your husband. I must speak with him!”

  “Is he in danger?!” She stood up. “What is it?!”

  “No, no. He is not in danger.” Barry realized that he had upset her unnecessarily. She would soon be his sister-in-law and it would never do to upset her now. “I’m sorry, Oriel. I didn’t mean to sound so… so…”

  “Just tell me! Louis has been sitting up all night. There is something going on here, Barry and it concerns my family. I want to know what it is. It is my right!”

  “Please… sit down, Oriel.” Barry looked about in alarm. “I had not intended to discuss this with you, but you may be right. You are directly involved. All of you. Simon. All his sons. You and Rachel. Louis. All the French Knights.”

  “Why the French Knights?” She sat down slowly and narrowed her eyes.

  Barry began to tell her what Lavon had told him. She sat listening to him as if in shock. When he had finished, there were many more questions than answers.

  “But what about the phone calls?”

  “What phone calls?” Barry frowned and looked into the empty cup.

  “The phone calls that Louis made last night. A woman called him and left a message or some such. He called the Master in Scotland and then my father called him back.”

  “I have no knowledge of this exchange.” Barry’s expression changed.

  “Here.” She got up and rummaged through a small basket on the counter near the phone. She brought back a little notebook and laid it in front of him. “There. The name and the number. I have looked at it several times. Louis will tell me nothing of this! Who is this woman? Catharine de Goth. Why would she be trying to reach my father? How does she know my husband? What does she want?”

  “Saints preserve us!” Barry muttered as he squinted at the name scribbled on the paper. He stood up and then looked at Louis in shock as the Frankish Knight emerged from the hallway, drying his hair on a green-striped bath towel.

  “Brother.” Louis frowned at him as his eyes fell on the notebook.

  Barry closed the notebook and cleared his throat nervously.

  “What are you doing, Oriel?” he asked slowly.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Mark Andrew walked down the stairs slowly. His black bag was slung over his shoulder and he wore a dazed look. He did not want to go on this mission. He had thought about it and he should not have done that. He’d never thought about his missions before. He didn’t understand why he was thinking about this one in a new light. Perhaps it was because every time he left on a mission during the past hundred years or so with the exception of one, they had led to greater and greater disasters. The encounter with Aristoni on his last mission and what had occurred between Lucio and Melodia had been just another in a long line of disappointments. He had learned more than he had wanted to know.

  Things had been much better in the old days when he rarely ever knew or even cared about the underlying motivations of the little errands he had been sent on from time to time. He had always been the envoy of destruction. Always he had done his master’s bidding. It was almost as if he had been programmed like one of Christopher’s computers. Go here. Destroy this. Go there. Destroy that.

  He’d always said that too much thinking led to trouble. Worse yet, he had become the inventor of his own missions these days. This one, for instance, was his own idea. The Grand Master had agreed with him entirely that the Emerald Tablets should be recovered and added to the Templar treasures, but his underlying reasons for going after them, he had kept to himself. Levi’s unexpected arrival and subsequent request had put the proverbial icing on the cake as far as gaining the Master’s full support for the mission and the further justification that d’Brouchart had demanded had been lost in the mix. God moved in mysterious ways.

  Mark needed to learn the Word. The One Word that continued to elude Lucio’s understanding of the Hermetic Mysteries. The Word that refused to come into focus. The Word that he knew would be included somewhere in the original book. The actual tablets inscribed by Thoth, the Atlantean.

  What Lucio knew, he knew from the writings of Hermes Trismegestis, the third incarnation of Thoth, the great god once worshipped by the Egyptians. Apparently, Hermes had stopped short of including the Word in his volume of Arcana relating to the Emerald Tablets. He simply had to have the Word in order to continue his fight against the creature that had destroyed his grandson and would no doubt be back to wreak more havoc upon the unsuspecting world if he were not dealt with in a decisive manner. Even the Mighty Hunter, Adar, could not stand against him without a powerful weapon. Marduk had been unable to stand against him. Marduk and Nergal combined could not stop him. Marduk, Nergal and Ereshkigal together could not stop him. Mark had no illusions of what the creature was capable. All eight Lords and Ladies of the Abyss could have combined everything at their disposal, but they would not have been able to destroy him. He was of the Ancient Ones beyond the Abyss. The gods whom man had forgotten.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and turned to look back up the staircase. Konrad and Levi should have been down here already. He glanced at his watch and heard a door close softly upstairs and then footsteps. As he waited, he became aware of voices in the library, speaking softly and rapidly. He set his bag on the floor quietly and crossed the foyer to the doors. He opened the doors slowly and stood looking at the two Knights sitting in front of the computer. They seemed to be arguing in a very animated fashion, yet they were almost whispering.

  Simon perceived his presence first and stood up abruptly.

  “Brother!” he said and smiled at Mark. “Is it time then?”

  If ever a cat had eaten the canary, it had been named Simon d’Ornan.

  Lucio swiveled the chair in which he sat to look at him with his usual bright innocence. They had been caught. Mark knew that his two brothers felt that they had been caught, but caught at what?

  “Aye.” Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked toward the computer. Lucio clicked the mouse and the screen went dark. “It’s time.”

  “Good!” Lucio stood up and stretched his arms over his head, yawning loudly.

>   Almost three in the afternoon and still, he had not gone to bed. Still… Simon had not gone to bed after their long night in the woods. Mark Andrew had been the first to come down. Only the old cook, Gil, had been about, bringing them coffee and sandwiches as they talked long and hard in the library about the dilemma concerning Catharine de Goth.

  Simon’s father had not come back to the house. He had apparently stayed in the apprentice quarters and when he had not returned, Simon had gone out looking for him, but had found no sign of him. Lucio had been waging one of the most terrible battles he’d ever fought in his own head. He had the overpowering urge to confess his indiscretions with Melodia to her son and be done with it. But, on the other hand, his better judgment, or so he thought, told him not to do it. To wait and see, wait and see. It could not be undone at any rate.

  “Any news?” Mark Andrew asked as he frowned at the darkened computer screen and then raised both eyebrows at them.

  “Of what?” the two answered simultaneously.

  “Oll roighty then.” Mark Andrew smiled ruefully at them and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wot th’ divvil air ye up ta?”

  “Nothing.” Came the answer in dual voices.

  Mark nodded his head slowly.

  “Family matters,” Simon told him. “We were discussing our sons...”

  “Oh.” Mark did not believe this. Simon was a poor liar.

  “Actually, we were discussing Brother Barry’s upcoming wedding,” Lucio lied much better. “We were wondering if you would be back in Italy in time to attend. You know that he will be hurt if you are not there and we know how you dislike going to the Villa and…”

  “And?” Mark Andrew raised both eyebrows as he felt someone else enter the room behind him.

  “And we were wondering if you were planning to come!” Simon told him with finality.