The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

Stori, remember the man who threw the TV out the window. The man who loved you and believed in all your goodness. Not the man who blamed you, ignored you, made you feel alone. It was not your fault, Stori, what happened to me. Forgive me, Stori. Forgive me. The guilt is too hard to bear.

  Smyrna moves in a all her cruel elegance to where I am shackled. “Are you surprised they haven’t killed you yet?”

  “I am.”

  “It’s only because I wanted to speak to you. How did you get past the tigers?”

  “They were sleeping,” I lie.

  But she’s not a fool. “You lie. You spoke to them didn’t you?”

  “What if I did?”

  “You are a Brave. The blood of Babylon runs through your veins.”

  “So it does.”

  “It is written that a Brave, a young girl from this city is the one to find the crown. Could it be one of your daughters?”

  “You stay away from my daughters,” I snarl. “My daughters know nothing of their lineage. I’ve made sure of that.”

  “From what I’ve heard you don’t lie about this. The eldest one likes hurting people.”

  “I saw to that. And I’ll see to the younger one when the time comes.”

  “Who are the others? Where is this girl they call the Daughter of Shinar?”

  “Torture me if you want. I don’t know. My guess is that she’s dead. My guess is that I’m one of the last Braves living.”

  “Very well. You’ve chosen your fate then.”

  As she turns to walk away I tell her. “I am not afraid to die.”

  She looks back and says,” Everyone is afraid to die, Frances. Don’t fool yourself.”

  “You know not of the wonders my soul has looked upon. For I have chosen the path of light. I have glimpsed the great beyond in my dreams and it is magnificent. But you…you have chosen darkness and corruption. You, who have kept a corpse alive by sucking out the innocence of the young—you are going to a black abyss after this life. And you know it. You fear death more than anything you have ever feared in your life.”

  “I’ll be back. I want to think long and hard on just how I’m going to kill you.”

  Oh, Stori. Whatever you do, you must not be careless with time. Make haste and get yourself to the crown. The crown will take you far from this time into another.

  For this world, this cursed age of forgetfulness is not a safe one. It does not have the things you will need. But the past will provide it. The days long gone. And you can get to them. You can find them. And you will. You are not to hold your head held low anymore. Rise it up. Up up up, young lady. Search for the angels you once spoke to—the magic that is out there speaking to you. And you will complete this prophecy. And I promise you, when you come to the end of your journey, when the last breath of life falls over your lovely lips, I will be standing there. I will be standing there, my daughter, waiting for you. And then, I will set every wrong against you right. I will tell you what you have always longed to hear.

  24: Sweeper

  I think I’m dead. Why else would they have summoned me to their private chambers?

  I go willingly. My wife and son are dead. I am not afraid to die anymore.

  Two Black Boots lead me through the tunnels, west of Cosimo’s quarters.

  I can try to make a run for it. Through the months I’ve made several mental notes on avenues of escape. There’s no surveillance in the undercity. I know it’s hard to believe in this day and age; you would think the place would be swarming with techno-intelligence. (Seeing how they control all the corporations who produce that stuff.)

  But they don’t call themselves the masters of the universe for nothing. Surveillance is a double-edged sword and the greatest kept secrets are only kept that way by plain old fashion privacy. Cell phones, cameras, computers are not allowed past the checkpoints. Black Boots are the eyes and ears of this place.

  The door is solid stone. The Black Boot hits a buzzer. A few moments pass and then we are ushered in by a slouching, malnourished man with a napkin draped over his shoulder.

  This chamber is furnished with only the necessities. Table, chairs, a single door leading into what appears to be a bathroom, a buffet table featuring cold cured meats and an array of glistening fruit. And a crystal chandelier above our heads, in the abstract form of Jupiter.

  There are five men at the round table.

  Who are these men, you must be wondering. Dear companion, if you are going to come along on this ride with me, you’re going to have to suspend disbelief—even if you tell yourself it’s for the sake of entertainment. What I’m about to tell you is going to sound absurd—so just get ready.

  These are the five men who control the world. They control everything. Banks, government, organized religion, education, agriculture, media, sports, Hollywood, hospitals, the fashion, entertainment and car industries, real estate and property management, travel, advertisement, literary publishing, pharmaceuticals, science, space travel, technology, energy, museums, archeology, the antiquity trade—everything.

  How do they do it, you wonder?

  Why through plain knowledge. All of the ancient texts that are missing from the Coptic canon they hold. Great words of wisdom and keys of truth that speak to the true destiny and power of man.

  All forgotten and suppressed knowledge. Forbidden knowledge. The missing philosophies and ancient prophecy texts that are some of the most powerful literary weapons that exist in this known world.

  Mystic truth hidden away in the darkness. The light of the world, kept buried under a bushel. Much that is good and pure they possess.

  I’m one of the only Hounds who have taken an interest. I listen to the whispers, I gather my knowledge in pieces, and the more I spend in this undercity the more I realize that these men are evil. They seem to be human, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were dark angels working for Satan himself.

  They are all white, varied in age, but none are younger than forty-five I would say. They speak English and I assume they are Americans, but one can’t be certain.

  When they see me they indicate a chair that is placed opposite a large man with a nose of steel. I call him Iron Nose and I try not to stare, for fear I might offend him. Is he deformed somehow? Or is it part of the mask he wears. Yes. They all wear masks so I cannot see their faces. And they are covered in robes of assorted colors.

  Iron Nose speaks with a solid voice that booms. “As our guest you are welcome. Bow your head in prayer.”

  I bow my head and slit my eyes, keeping them open just enough to sneak furtive glances at them as they bow their heads and recite in unison, “Assassins of the truth seekers, killers of the people’s joy, sons of the fathers and forefathers of the keepers of wisdom and divine knowledge. We pledge our honor to the brotherhood, the unbroken silence. Our temple is one created by our own hands, where the mysteries of the world are kept. Amen.”

  “Amen,” I come in a few milliseconds behind them. The prayer was said hurriedly and I’m still processing the meaning, but impressively it’s managed to frighten me.

  Iron Nose speaks again. “It has come to our attention that you let a girl go recently.”

  “I did not let her go, my Lord.”

  “Don’t call me that. Call me brother.”

  “Yes, brother. I did not let her go.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was seen. By another girl. I could have taken her too. But she was hot with something. I couldn’t get near her.”

  They exchange glances. “The Mistress Smyrna has requested a private council with you?”

  “Oh?”

  “You will be taken to Pilgrim’s Island where she lives.”

  “Whatever you like me to do.”

  “It’s not what I like you to do,” he says sharply. “It’s what she wants.”

  “Am I to go, your…brother?”

  “Yes. But listen here. You aren’t to tell her we called for you. But you are to do this. Report back everything sh
e says.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “As you know you’re in a precarious situation. We’re aware you still remember.”

  “If I could only explain—”

  “—Explain it to her. She has special sights and will be able to see if you’re lying. She’s magical, so beware. If she weren’t magical we would have gotten rid of her already.”

  “I will explain it to her.”

  “She will report back to us, her findings. We will then decide if you live. But you will also be reporting back to us. Find out anything.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “That’s not your concern. Just bring back everything she does and says. Got it?”

  “Yes, brother.”

  “Now be gone.”

  East of Casino Strive is the sound that leads out to the Atlantic Ocean. But in a small inlet a quarter mile off shore lives an island maybe 100 square yards around. Upon this island is a stone mansion fit for a queen. And that is where I’m headed.

  We go by rowboat, a Black Boot at the rickety helm.

  At the pier we get out and cross over a drawbridge that leads us onto gravel and then dry land.

  Servants swarm the foyer and down a marble staircase comes a woman both beautiful and ugly all at once.

  Am I to bow?

  I glance at the Black Boot who remains stone faced so I do the same.

  “Good evening,” she calls in a dark, sultry voice.

  “Samuel the Sweeper. So pleased to finally meet you.”

  Her eyes flash to the Black Boot. “Leave us.”

  He turns and goes and Mistress Smyrna leads me into a large study just off the foyer.

  She takes a seat on a blush pink chaise and a bowl of fresh strawberries are placed beside her.

  I take a seat on the couch across from her.

  It seems like an eternity passes as she nibbles her red meat, all the while observing me intently. Finally she breaks the silence. “Do you know who I am, Samuel?”

  “Mistress Smyrna.”

  “I am the woman who will judge if you are to live or die.”

  “I’m not afraid to die,” I challenge, suddenly feeling brave. For some reason this woman makes me angry. What right does a woman have, to be in such power? I will not grovel before her the way I did with Iron Nose.

  “You don’t like a woman being in charge,” she observes wryly.

  “Women are made for other things.”

  “Like what? Making biscuits? Making babies?”

  “Yes.”

  She throws her head back and laughter so ancient comes out of her mouth I almost shudder. “Babies I have made, but biscuits I’ll leave to another.”

  “I know you’re powerful.”

  “Oh? Who told you that?”

  “No one. I can see it. You must be some kind of witch.”

  “Isn’t that like every man to assume a woman who doesn’t give a fuck and lives her life her own way is somehow possessed.”

  “So you don’t have powers? Then maybe I’ll just walk over to you now and snap your neck.”

  “No,” she straightens. “I have powers. But I’m not a witch, so watch it.” She can’t help but hiss her warning and I recollect myself.

  This woman chooses whether I live or die.

  I bow my head in repentance. “It is only because I fear you’re gonna kill me. Just tell me you won’t and I’ll be good.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t promise you.”

  “But why?”

  “I’ve heard of your work in the Valley. And I must say I’m impressed.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase. I know you’re not loyal. It has proved evident by your reports. The potion only takes your memories away for a short while. You seem to be immune to the drug.”

  “What can I say?”

  “As you know, that makes you a wild card. You could flip. Go back to the good side.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I was there already. And I was helping. I was a psychoanalyst. After I met Gracie I went back and got my diploma. My job was helping people find their biggest and best truths. Their best selves. And do you know what I learned?”

  “What is that?”

  “They aren’t capable.”

  If I’m not mistaken she almost looks disappointed, like I’ve confirmed a hidden fear. “Interesting.”

  “We’re killing each other every day, the animals, the earth. What is there left for us to do to prove that we are all heathens?”

  “Perhaps make amends. Return to justice.”

  “It will never happen.”

  “You hate everyone. Not just the poor and the weak, because they remind you of yourself. But you hate the oppressors and the rich. You hate Cosimo. And the Brotherhood, and the people of this town. And even me.”

  “I am an equal opportunist when it comes to my hatred.”

  “Tell me why. And then I will decide if I can trust you.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you why. I often ponder how feared Christ was. What was he doing that made him such a threat that Pilate would go out of his way to see him killed? He wasn’t claiming a crown, even though it was offered to him by the people. He wasn’t asking for his face to be placed upon the emperor’s coin. He was simply saving people’s lives, healing people who were hurt and speaking about love. Why should any man have to die for that?”

  “We know that kindness is always blotted out in the cruel world. The world we live in is not kind to kindness.”

  “Not just that, though Smyrna. It is deathly afraid of it. We weren’t good enough to be saved. Not then, and definitely not now. When I look at the totality of humanity from beginning to present I see a world where all of the good things are crushed down and beaten. I see a vain and Godless world that doesn’t deserve redemption, but deserves death. Once I really had a grip on just how far this world will go to blot out and ignore all the good things in it, a world that could rip a child out of its mothers arms and…”

  She must know about my boy. But witch or not, she realizes mentioning him will send me over the moon.

  “…I decided to come and work for the dark side. I decided to work as fast as I can in making even more evil so to bring on the coming judgment that much sooner. Smyrna. I want to look at their stupid faces when it comes. I want to see them swallowed up by tsunamis, ripped to shreds by hurricane winds. And I’ll be there laughing. And finally, before I’m swallowed up myself, I’ll get to say to them, See how stupid you were. You had the chance to do the right thing. Now you will pay. And everyone you love will pay. And I will watch you as you scream.

  “I hate this world, Smyrna, and everyone in it. That’s why I steal their children. Not because I want to be rich and famous like the other Hounds. I could care less for any of that. I do it because they don’t deserve anything as precious as a child. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to know I have taken away from them what was never rightfully theirs. And I am too fucking smart to forget. So don’t ask me anymore why I still remember.”

  “They asked you to watch me, didn’t they?”

  She’s as wise as I am; I don’t have to answer the question. Wise people know how to speak without words. I walk over to her chaise and sit at the edge, reach over and pluck a strawberry from her plate. I place it between my teeth and smile.

  She smiles back by a glint in her eye and by these two insignificant gestures we have become friends. (Or at least interested in each other enough to see where our relationship might lead us.)

  I already know her story from the gossiping minxes. From what I’ve gleaned, she’s in love with the Corpse. Whispers tell me she was once his slave, but he fell in love with her and she bore him a child. His death was sudden, maybe he was killed—I’m not sure—and she was able to use some magical book to keep him alive. Some say the book is written in ancient tongue and since she is of a line of t
he sorcerers who had something to do with making the book indestructible, she has the powers to read the ancient language. I’m assuming the hidden knowledge that the brotherhood possesses is mostly in this book and because she is the only one who can read it, they have to keep her alive. She has been blessed with eternal youth—that part I haven’t figured out yet—and she also has the power to keep Cosimo Medici alive. Apparently the Brotherhood wants him back, because he was the greatest ruler to ever live and they will use him when the time comes to take over the world. He will be what they call the Final Emperor and they will be his council. But apparently they need some kind of crown. I haven’t mentioned it yet, because I don’t think anyone is supposed to know. For now, I’ll keep it a secret.

  She puts the plate down and leans back on her chaise. The way she leans her head back makes her unbecoming but also stirs my loins. She blows through her mouth like a horse, her pursed lips purring. “I hate the fucking waiting game.”

  25: Soldier Sonny

  One of the laughing girls tosses a magazine at me. Maxim. A girl is on the front and I hate it already. I throw it back at her. “I don’t look at those things. I don’t look at magazines anymore. Sometimes I like to go to the library downtown and sit where it’s warm. I used to love reading the magazines, but I can’t even look at them anymore. They’re mean to everyone. To everyone who looks at them. The women pasted to the front, in their bras and underwear. It sickens me, what they do to women.

  “That’s not what a woman is. Someone just to make your thoughts go low. Down to the dungeon. She’s not just something to take to bed, put nasty thoughts inside your head. She’s someone to pull a chair out for and place a homemade meal in front of. A meal you cooked for her special.

  “She’s someone to put thoughts of children inside your head. Children reading books with flashlights under the covers and running into your room during a thunderstorm.

  “A woman is supposed to make you have higher intentions. Want to be better. To love more, to cry more, to help more. That’s what a woman is. That’s her purpose on this earth. Looking upon the vision of a woman, it’s a sacred thing. A thing from God. A thing to bring you to your knees and make you pray.