by P. G. Burns
Moses eyed Isaac for a moment before going into the back room and returning with the good wine.
Over the next few weeks Moses met with Isaac each day, finalising strategy and rates. He received a letter from the Palace offering him a position at the Royal Court. Moses was still cautious but had begun to believe. He thanked God for this miracle, which would drag his family out of poverty. After years of struggle and strife perhaps he was about to be rewarded, and why not? He was a good man who honoured God. Isaac had suggested that he might need to change his surname to avoid any anti-Semitic discrimination. Bauer was a good name but Moses saw the sense in this. As a tribute to his ancestors Moses had always displayed the red shield above his shop. He decided this would be the new family name, Red Shield, or Rothschild as it is in German. After only six weeks Moses and Isaac were trading with the house of Hesse, secretly funding the Spanish and French alliance as well as their opponents, the British and Sardinians in the battle of Villafranca. The issue of whether this was morally right did concern Moses at first but his concern faded as his wealth began to grow. Moses soon learned that in most wars and battles the only true victors were the financiers.
With everything in place and months after their first encounter Isaac met Moses one more time. He handed him a leather-bound book embossed with a symbol that Moses at first mistook for a fleur-de-lis. On further inspection the symbol was closer to a three-leaf clover but even more curious was its title Ledger of transactions written in south-western Yiddish, Moses’ native tongue.
“You read Yiddish?” Moses asked.
“Yes and I wish for all written transactions to be scribed using your dialect, is that acceptable?”
Still none the wiser, Moses simply nodded.
They said their goodbyes and before Isaac left he received an unexpected hug from the money-lender.
“From today I will conduct business through my agent. Her name is Emilie Du Chatelet. She will carry a parchment with this symbol on its seal.” He pointed to the symbol on the book. “You must only use this ledger to record our transactions and always in your south-western dialect. I will return before your son’s bar mitzvah and we will discuss the gift I promised for him. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Moses said but he really didn’t understand; he just thanked God for his good fortune.
The streets of Frankfurt were bare and it was late. After leaving Moses for the last time Isaac headed out of the ghetto and into the main town. He made his way through the dimly lit streets, between the shops, up the cobble streets and past a tavern where a small light indicated some late-night drinking was occurring.
Isaac became aware of a form in the shadows following him. He reached down to his side feeling for the handle of his sword. Ahead he saw a narrow alleyway and decided it would be an ideal place to confront his stalker. Isaac sped up and pulled his sword as soon as he turned into the alley. He waited in the dark, sword in hand, but nobody appeared.
Then a voice from behind startled him.
“Tut tut, Isaac, you are slipping.”
Isaac spun, aiming his sword in the direction of the voice. In front of him a young girl, no more than sixteen years old, stood still, the sword pushed against her throat. With one look at his pursuer Isaac lowered his sword.
“Amitiel.”
“Hello Isaac.”
“I saw the comet last night, I thought that would be one of you Arc Hon.”
He placed his sword back in its sheath. Amitiel pulled her hood down, revealing pale skin and bright-green eyes, her long blond ringlets accentuating her angelic appearance.
“We need to talk, Isaac.” She indicated towards the street. “I noticed a light on in the tavern and I must admit to a thirst, shall we?”
They headed for the tavern and found the door unlocked but the place empty. A large barman looked none too pleased when the two entered his bar.
“We’re closed,” he said as they approached the bar.
“We are two weary travellers in need of a drink,” replied Isaac.
The barman decided he needed to try a less polite approach. “Fuck off and rest your foreign arses somewhere else. I am closed.”
Amitiel stepped out from behind Isaac. “You are very rude fat man. I have travelled far this night and I am in need of a drink. When I am in need of a drink my patience is very limited. So please, two glasses of wine and some wood for the fire.”
The barman laughed at the young slip of a girl. “Over my dead fucking body. Now little girl, g…”
Amitiel’s stiletto blade pierced the man’s Adam’s apple and exited the back of his head, cutting his sentence short. Isaac locked the tavern doors as she dragged the man’s body behind the bar. She then took a bottle of red wine and two glasses and tucked a log for the fire under her arm. They sat at the table nearest the fire. The angelic face showed no remorse as she wiped blood from her blade before replacing it into a sheath tied to her thigh.
“So Isaac, I see you are going into commerce.”
“Haven’t you heard? It’s the future. Anyway, why the interest? I thought Watchers only got involved when there is a breach?”
“I’m curious, just humour me. I have not had an intelligent conversation for some time. Living amongst these saps can be so boring. Come on, what’s the plan?”
“The plan is to rule the world.”
Both laughed.
Isaac raised his glass and Amitiel joined him.
“To world domination.”
“So you think this Jew will help you win?” asked Amitiel.
“Well, I’m tired of nurturing and wet-nursing psychotic warmongers, emperors, and fucking kings who can’t wipe their own arses. Even worse, religious leaders who think they are God’s voice on Earth, for fuck’s sake. So, I am ahead of the game. Reuben was right, this world is too big now. No one will ever rule through fear or retribution. The masses will only really worship one God and that’s the one that feeds their greed: money!”
Amitiel nodded, impressed. “Yes, I believe you have a very cunning strategy there. It’ll be interesting to see how Reuben responds. He is convinced whoever dominates Europe will become the Host.”
“He’s right but I doubt Zeb or Asher would agree. Don’t tell them, will you? The longer they waste their time with the slanty-eyed fuckers, the better. Anyway, we have all night to exchange gossip now that you’ve convinced our landlord to be more hospitable. But my curiosity is getting the better of me… why are you really here, Amitiel?”
“Two reasons: firstly Simeon. We can’t trace him. We think he may have gone native and renewed.”
Isaac was shocked. “He what? Renewed…? Why would he do that? He won’t know who or what he is!”
Amitiel refilled the glasses and sat back. “Simeon has developed some sort of perverted affection for the homo sapiens. He recently returned to Gheisthelm and appealed to the Council. He claims the humans should have their own champion, and that it was always the Demiurge’s plan for mankind to rule the physical world, not Djinn.”
Isaac gulped, nearly choking on his drink. “He has lost it! Tell me they refused.”
“Yes, they declined after a certain amount of deliberation. A little bit too much deliberation if you ask me. Anyway, Simeon was not happy, he threatened to conspire with the saps and mentor a native champion, one who he claims will have the Vril from all thirteen in equal parts.”
“What did he mean?”
“Well, if a human was to have equal Vril from all the thirteen it could give him certain advantages, but it is just a theory and thought to be near impossible, as the proverb goes, like finding a needle in a hay field.”
“Haystack.”
“Field is bigger. Chamuel, however, thinks differently. He has done his calculations and he thinks that by the late twentieth century one such person could exist. This is only a few hundred years away. We need to find Simeon before then and return him to the Corona, just in case Chamuel is right.”
“But like
you said, he may have renewed. If he has then he must have had help… free will and all that. He wouldn’t break that rule. He would have had to find a mother prepared to allow him to possess her unborn child, which even for humans is a difficult exchange. If that is the case then none of us would be able to find him; that really would be like finding a needle in a hundred hayfields, a thousand.”
“Exactly. He must have had human conspirators and he would have needed to reveal at least some of the secrets of the Djinn to them. Although we do not think he has renewed yet, only that he has threatened to do so.”
“Yes, well, that is a mess, but if I’m right, it’s your mess, not mine.”
Isaac finished his wine and stood, ready to leave. He did not want to be dragged into anything that would distract him from the quest.
“Now, I best be off. Bullion to buy, wars to fund, you know how it is.”
Amitiel grabbed his arm, pulling him in towards her with undeniable force. “I haven’t told you the second reason for my visit.”
Isaac relented and, sitting back down, poured out the last of the wine and handed her a glass.
“If you want me to listen to your problems, Angel, you will have to give me an update on the game.”
Amitiel sighed then nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are my main competitors? What are the rest doing?”
Amitiel let a smile escape her lips, took the wine and began. The fire seemed to reignite of its own accord and the two of them settled in again.
“I will tell you what I can.” She looked around cautiously, as if worried that she would be heard in this empty bar.
“Asher and Judd are committed in the Orient. If one of them emerges victorious the rest of you should be worried. Asher is also aiding the whore-empress in Russia while Zeb was deeply involved with the Medici family. Like you, he was convinced the power is in banking here in Europe. Somehow this has all gone wrong for him, but I suspect you already know that.”
A wry smile spread across Isaac’s face.
Amitiel continued. “Levi seems to be using a lot of energy up on the Americas. He took the guise of a French immigrant, calling himself Marin Duvall. He has placed a lot of hope in the continent becoming the power centre of the world.”
Isaac laughed. “It’s just a bunch of savages and pilgrims who will probably kill each other. Anyway, the Europeans own most of the Americas already. What is he thinking? Does he expect to start a revolution?”
“Then there is Reuben, still championing the Holy Roman Empire.”
Isaac snorted. “It is neither Holy, nor Roman, and definitely not an empire.”
Amitiel laughed. “I will share that with a poet I know, if you will allow it?”
“Be my guest.”
“Simeon was flitting between the French and the Spanish.”
“Rather him than me.”
Amitiel nodded. “And as I said, Simeon has gone native, Benjamin is persisting in Persia and then you have decided to finance the whole game.”
Isaac detected a hint of scepticism in Amitiel’s voice. “You don’t think much of my new tactic.”
“On the contrary, I believe it is a game changer. I only worry how Reuben will respond.”
“He will probably invoke the slaughter of as many humans as possible; that seems to be his favourite ploy. I mean, he is slightly predictable. I often wonder if there will be an Earth worth winning.”
“That’s exactly what Simeon said. Now I have told you all I can about the state of play.”
Isaac watched as Amitiel twisted her wine cup nervously. He sighed.
“And so to the second reason you are here?” he said.
“We think someone is murdering Djinn.”
“Murdering Djinn? What do you mean ‘murdering’? That’s not possible. Djinn return, they don’t die!”
“It’s been three thousand years, but since the thirteen arrived here only Daniel has ‘fallen’. And even he admits his return was his own fault.”
Isaac chuckled to himself, remembering the circumstances. Amitiel scoffed and continued.
“So, anyway, Manasseh was disqualified, he ascended back to the Gheisthelm as expected. Nothing strange there.” She went to get another bottle and poured another glass of wine, drinking it in one go as if she needed the courage to continue. “But then over the last sixty-odd years Gad, Naphtali and Ephraim have all ‘fallen’ and none have returned.”
Isaac suddenly began to comprehend the seriousness of this conversation. “Three in so few years… You think they were murdered? Why not just ask them by whom?”
“You’re not listening, Isaac. They haven’t returned! Now Zeb has disappeared too, he was in the physical guise of Gian Gastone de Medici who was murdered. With no heir, his death has ended the dynasty he built over three hundred years. Zeb did not return to Gheisthelm. No explanation can be found.”
Isaac shook his head. “Are you saying someone has removed their Vril? Are you saying they are actually, properly dead?”
Amitiel sat back down. “We believe so. The only way this could have happened is to remove or destroy the Pineal Amulet. Who else would know how to do this? It can only be one of the thirteen.”
“You mean one of the remaining seven; six are gone, remember. I hope I am not a suspect.”
“All of you are suspects and potential targets. Chamuel actually thinks it could be a human but that could only happen with the help of one of the Djinn. No human could know about the Vril or its location in the brain.”
Isaac was not sure if being a suspect or a target was the most worrying.
“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? You just told me Simeon’s gone all native. If he renewed then who knows what else he is capable of. He may have a whole army of followers carrying out his bidding.”
“Maybe, but can you really see Simeon killing one of his own? He is a fucking pacifist, he won’t even kill these saps.”
“Well, it must be Reuben. He kills for fun and no one wants to be the Host more than that bastard.” Isaac thought before he added, “Or have you considered one of the Firsts? Or perhaps even an Arc Hon?”
“We have considered it could be one of the Firsts but we know it cannot be one of us Arc Hon.”
Now it is Isaac’s turn to scoff. Amitiel dismisses this as she adds, “Whoever it is, the Arc Hon will find them. We are all here and we will not leave until the perpetrator is caught. The game has changed Isaac: you are not only playing for this world but for your own lives. It has just got very real.”
Adam Costello’s house, July 2146
“The beauty of this day doesn’t depend on it lasting forever.”
Marty Rubin
The party at Adam’s house is pretty low-key by the standards Ember is used to: a few home-baked cakes, some soft drinks and a bottle of whiskey held tightly by Adam’s Aunt Maud.
“Hey, sorry about this whole lame party thing.”
Adam has just got free of his uncles and aunts and is attempting to rescue Ember from the mob of curious cousins and friends who have hardly ever met an Aryan before, never mind one as famous as the Procurator’s daughter.
“Why sorry? Your family and friends are lovely. It’s so nice to see so many people all related to each other and I don’t mean that in a piss-take way.” Ember looks at Adam with those big eyes, reassuring him she is sincere in her admiration for his family.
“What about Raphael? You sure you’re not disappointed he isn’t here?”
“No, don’t be silly. Anyway, your aunty was entertainment enough.” Ember nods at the now snoring Aunt Maud and they both laugh.
“What time are you expected home?”
Ember looks at her chip. “Well, I suppose I should be making tracks soon. My dad can be a bit over the top if I’m late.”
“Come on then, I will walk you to the loop. I don’t want your dad sending the army out for you.”
After Ember says her goodbyes to Adam’s friends and family, they lea
ve. Walking along the street the two kids feel very comfortable in each other’s company. Ember links arms with Adam as they discuss the party. If she’s honest she never really liked many of the Aryans she hung out with. They were all very superficial and shallow, not that she isn’t a bit of a fiend herself when it comes to shopping and partying, but Ember craves the intelligent and challenging type of conversation she enjoys with Adam. Only her father really had anything interesting to say and there is only so much you can discuss with your daddy.
“So… sex.” She blurts out with no warning.
Adam chokes on the burger he has bought from a street vendor.
“What about it?” Adam looks startled and reminds her they were just talking about the effect of segregation on education.
“Yeah, I’m bored of that now… so back to sex. Are you a virgin and if not who was your first?”
Adam feels his face go red as he tries to look unfazed. “A gentleman doesn’t tell.”
Now he feels even more stupid, thinking to himself, “You are so sad, Costello”. In an attempt to save his own blushes Adam turns the question on her.
“What about you? Surely you haven’t, have you?”
Ember lifts both eyebrows and it seems she is about to confess all when a shuffling noise and the sound of footsteps disturbs them both. She stops talking, turns and finds a dark-haired, tall, tanned man dressed in a bright-blue suit with a bootlace tie and a Teddy boy hairstyle has walked up to them.
“Raphael!” Adam says. “What are you doing here? I was going to call you, but, you know, didn’t know how.” He taps his own wrist to highlight the reason. “Anyway, I got through my first month.”
