Lisa Emmer Historical Thrillers Vol. 1-2 (Lisa Emmer Historical Thriller Series)

by Rob Swigart

  Marianne shook her head. “There have been many men with that job description, Dr. Emmer.”

  Steve interrupted. “Raimond Foix was assassinated in his apartment early yesterday morning.”

  Ted nodded slowly. “Yes, it would be something like that. We hope at least the Rossignol managed to let Dr. Emmer know about the Alberti disk before his mishap.”

  “Disk?” Lisa said.

  Steve said, “Mishap?” at the same moment.

  “Oh, dear,” Ted scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well, no matter. It’s not difficult to reconstruct…”

  “Excuse me,” Lisa interrupted. “I don’t want to be rude, but the last day and a half has been pretty strange. First of all, please call me Lisa. Dr. Emmer sounds silly. And second, I know nothing about a disk. What I do know is that the police seem to think I had something to do with Raimond’s death. Whoever killed him is after me, too. So, if you don’t mind, who are you people and why are we here?”

  “Ah, of course, we’re being rude. Please forgive us.” Ted touched his forehead with the tip of his finger as if pushing something through the bone. “Librarians. We’re librarians. We keep records, do such research as may be needed.”

  “That’s right, Ted,” Marianne said. “We’re librarians.”

  Lisa leaned forward. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Records of what? Research for whom?”

  The couple looked at Steve, who lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know any more than she does, so perhaps you could explain to both of us. Now M. Rossignol is… gone, it appears I’m responsible to Miss Emmer.”

  Ted nodded. “Right, right, of course. In fact, we are all responsible to Dr. Emmer, and we will of course continue to do our best, though this particular transition is unusual. Not unheard of, though. No, not unheard of. There was the matter of Giordano Bruno, for instance.”

  “Please,” Lisa interrupted. “Start from the beginning.”

  “Of course. Well, Miss Emmer – Lisa – we work for the Pythos. Well, for the Delphi Agenda, which for all practical purposes is the Pythos, who for the past forty-two years has been Raimond Foix. Of course we haven’t been the librarians all that time, no, no. We’re not that old.” He chuckled. “However, twenty six years ago…”

  “Twenty-seven,” Marianne said primly.

  “Yes, of course, of course, I stand corrected, it’s June now, isn’t it? So, twenty-seven years ago, just a bit over, we answered an ad. It was that simple, really. Two librarians needed, and there we were, young graduates in library science looking for jobs. Hired us together, he did, he being the Rossignol. We never met Dr. Foix, only the Rossignol. We believe for security reasons we shouldn’t have known the name of the Pythos. What if the Order captured us? But in our business it’s difficult to avoid knowing things. Librarians are simply curious, you see, and when the information comes along, as it does, well, it’s awfully hard to avoid.”

  “Why do you keep calling him the Rossignol?” Lisa demanded.

  Ted was taken aback. “Well, my dear, that’s what he is, isn’t he? The Rossignol, the one who sings, and oh, he had a lovely voice, didn’t he, Marianne? Lovely. He passes along the responses.”

  “Responses?”

  Ted massaged the puzzled crease between his eyebrows with his thumb. “Well, it’s like this, they ask, you see, and sometimes the Pythos answers. It’s been that way for three thousand years. When the Pythos does answer, it’s the Rossignol who sings. In the old days the Rossignol would have been a priest attending to Apollo. You see, don’t you, it couldn’t be the Pythos himself who speaks, certainly not. It wouldn’t do, no one can know who he is. Or she, though then she would be a Pythia as you said, Lisa, but no matter, the Rossignol sings, like a telegram, I suppose you could say, though I don’t suppose they have those any more, do they, Marianne?”

  “No, Ted, some specialty companies do still offer singing telegrams, but it isn’t easy and they are quite expensive.”

  “I see. Thank you, Marianne.”

  “These people who ask, they’re clients? Who are they, exactly?” Lisa persisted.

  “Ah, well, we can’t tell you that, only the Pythos knows, and, of course, the Rossignol, and they are both dead. We guess they are governments, corporations, social movements, but not ordinary people, who want to know the future, and don’t we all? They get to ask because they’re important and can afford it. It wasn’t like that before the Oracle was closed. Then anyone could go, pay the fee and ask a question.”

  “Pythos. You’re really talking about the Oracle of Delphi?”

  Ted laughed. “Well, it’s not quite the same, of course, but essentially yes, the Pythos is the heir to that institution.”

  “I find this hard to swallow,” she said slowly. “But Raimond did leave a lot of clues. The books, the riddles.” She sighed. “All right, go on, there has to be a way to uncover what this is all about… No, wait: gnothi seauton, ‘know thyself,’ was inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi! He was telling me this was about the Oracle, and I didn’t see it. I’m a fool.”

  “Well, now, don’t blame yourself. With the Opposition it’s all much more difficult and the Pythos must be cautious.”

  “Opposition?”

  “The Order of Theodosius.”

  “Theodosius the First? The Roman emperor who closed the pagan temples for good?”

  “So it would seem. In 392, yes, the last of both Eastern and Western Empires, and a Christian. The struggle has been going on ever since. But the Oracle had already been around a thousand years by then, and an institution like that doesn’t just vanish. Today it’s hidden, this conflict between the Church and the so-called pagan ways, and doesn’t make it into the history books or the news. Sometimes it’s come close to being public, as with Hypatia and Bruno, but it’s been called heresy and dismissed. The secret remains a secret.”

  “Why?” Steve asked.

  “It’s about power, isn’t it?” Ted said grimly. “The Oracle had power because it could give people – the clients, as you say – foresight, hints of what was likely to happen. Often the answers came in the form of a riddle or an ambiguity. This does not mean the Pythia, or Pythos, could not see the future. It’s clear that there was a powerful method behind what they did, combined with deep knowledge and analytical skills. But knowing the future changes it, so the Oracle would have to know what giving that knowledge to others would do to the future.”

  “That could give anyone a headache,” Steve laughed, but Lisa was frowning thoughtfully.

  Ted continued, “There have been other oracles, like the Sphinx, but they weren’t really reliable, were they. Which may explain why if you didn’t solve the Sphinx’s riddle she killed you. The Pythos never did that.” He gave a short laugh. “Didn’t have to. Those who misinterpreted usually did that to themselves.”

  “That may explain why he put out his copy of the Histoire de Théodose le Grand, but what does all this have to do with me?” Lisa wondered, though her expression revealed that deep down she knew the answer.

  Ted stared at her. “Why, my dear, don’t you know? You’re the Pythia now.”

  23.

  The gray van pulled up in front of the Cathedral of St. Maurice in Mirepoix. The sign on the side read: La Lutte Contre La Pauvreté in muted orange letters, just another Catholic charity parking in front of the church.

  “Wait here,” Defago said.

  The driver, staring straight ahead, tipped his cropped gray head; his chin disappeared into the collar of his shirt. Without looking at Defago he lit a cigarette and exhaled a long streamer at the windshield.

  No one paid attention to a monk walking slowly beside a nun, eyes glittering behind the yellow-tinted glasses. Defago’s hand rested on her shoulder protectively. Tourists flowed around them, as if they were rocks in a stream. They made two circuits of the square under the arcade in this manner.

  “Where are they?” Teresa muttere
d, more to herself than her companion. She spoke in Latin. “Dupond said they were here. He was following them. He heard them hire the taxi. He was supposed to call. Where is he? Where did they go? We should have gotten here earlier.”

  Defago patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t fret so, my dove. We broke all speed records. Don’t worry, we’re close, I can smell them. We have the van and its equipment, we have our driver, and Dupond is here somewhere. Brother Cedric will be here soon. When we track them down we’ll solve this once and for all. Then we will be free to follow up on Rossignol’s confession. We’re doing fine.”

  “We’re not doing that fine,” she complained, glancing up at him. “The Prior General’s impatient. He’s going to chase off to Istanbul and if he fails he’s going to be angry. On whom do you think his anger will fall, my priest?”

  “Let me worry about him,” Defago snapped. The old needle of fear stabbed through him and though he tried he couldn’t conceal his irritation.

  They saw Dupond approaching and the nun squeezed his hand.

  * * *

  “The evidence is inconclusive,” Hugo was saying irritably. “So we’re tentatively listing Rossignol’s death as accidental.”

  He put down the phone and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them Mathieu was standing before him. “What do you want?”

  “Does that seem likely, sir?”

  “Likely? Rossignol? Of course not! I don’t like it, but what am I going to tell the Prefect? It feels like the whole government is breathing down my neck. They want results. Rossignol was kidnapped, but we have no real leads except the van and so far that’s nothing. I’m just trying to buy us some time. True, the body was so badly burned we don’t know for sure it was foul play, not yet, anyway. Médico-Légal is still working. Anything about the wheelchair tracks?”

  “You were right, it’s very high tech, weighs over a hundred and thirty kilograms plus the weight of the occupant, enough to make those tracks in the carpet,” Mathieu added with some satisfaction. “We’ve asked Interpol and the manufacturer to help collect a list of owners, but it’s Saturday and will take some time. We should know more by early next week. They do say it takes an assistant to get it up stairs, which means there were at least two other people in the apartment besides Foix.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant, we may make some progress after all. Now, what of Mademoiselle Emmer?”

  Mathieu looked sheepish. “Not much, but Viginaire is helping her.”

  “Then she could have been the second killer after all. It’s more critical than ever that we find her.”

  “SNCF security spotted her and Viginaire early this morning approaching Gare Montparnasse. There was a big traffic jam because of the Gay Pride parade. This may imply they took a train, but his car is missing, so we can’t say for sure. They may have driven somewhere.”

  Hugo massaged his temple. “Viginaire! I’d like to ask him about Rossignol, too.”

  “Of course. We’re looking for the car and questioning employees at the station.”

  “What of Dupond?”

  Mathieu shifted uneasily. “He doesn’t answer his phone and we’re not sure where he is.”

  Hugo leaned back and placed his palms on the surface of his desk. “We’re not sure?”

  “He said something about going south.”

  “South?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where south?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He just said south.”

  Hugo sighed. “Very well, Lieutenant, but we don’t have much time before our superiors at the Interior Ministry start asking why we haven’t made more progress. It would be best if we make some significant advancements by this time tomorrow.”

  24.

  “Pythia?” Lisa repeated. “Me? What are you saying? That’s absurd, I’m a papyrologist; I study old documents, household accounts or legal tracts. I don’t predict the future.”

  Marianne shook her head. “You’re the Pythia, dear, there’s no doubt about that. It’s in the protocols. You were to get the disk from the Rossignol, therefore you were chosen.”

  “By Raimond? All those years, the experiments, the discussions about consciousness, that’s what it was about, making me his successor? What if I refuse?”

  Ted cleared his throat. “I suppose you could, but no one ever has that we know of, isn’t that right, Marianne?”

  “That’s right, we don’t know of anyone, Ted.”

  “But of course it must be possible,” the librarian continued soothingly. “Reliable information’s rather spotty between four hundred and fifteen hundred of the Common Era. Or even later, for that matter. From the beginning more legend than fact gathered around the Pythos, and the beginning certainly goes much farther back than the historical records would lead us to believe. If some refused we might not hear about them. We can only tell you about a very few of those who accepted. And we have some idea how they are chosen, but it’s a rather complicated story and some other things are more pressing, so now, I believe, is not the time. You are only required to hear us out. Then you can decide.”

  “I’m not required to do anything,” Lisa declared. “I didn’t ask for this and want no part of it. It’s all a game or a joke, if not something worse. The Oracle was closed and that was the end of it. The world changed; Classical Greece is gone. I don’t want to be a Pythia! Not at all! I’m a papyrologist, damn it! I read old documents, I sit in a library, I transcribe, translate, file. People want to kill me, the police suspect me of murder, and frankly all I want is to find out who killed Raimond and why, and see them brought to justice so I can get back to my meeting at the Fondation Roulot and my old dusty documents.”

  “Of course, of course,” Ted said soothingly. “But there may be… difficulties.”

  “Finding out who they are or bringing them to justice?”

  “We know who they are, in a general sort way.”

  “This Order of Theodosius, I know, you said. But specifically, who are they?”

  Ted almost smiled. “That is precisely the challenge. Perhaps not impossible to discover, but difficult. We believe they represent a small faction, or some kind of spin-off of the Inquisition.”

  “Yes,” Marianne added primly. “The Inquisition.”

  “What Inquisition? Witch hunters?”

  Ted gave a thin smile. “That one, yes. Of course they don’t call themselves that any more, not at all, and never did. Now it’s the Order…”

  “Of Theodosius,” Lisa finished.

  “Precisely. They were certainly once Dominicans, an Order formed in 1216. Though Bernard Gui referred to St. Dominic as ‘the first Inquisitor,’ the actual Inquisition was in fact founded after his death in 1236. Although the struggle had been going on since the fourth century, the Inquisition did not formally create the secret Order of Theodosius until some time during the sixteenth century, so we believe, possibly to combat Giordano Bruno, who was, certainly, a thorn in their side. While the Inquisition was dedicated to rooting out the lingering heresies of the Gnostics, Bogomils, Waldensians, Cathars and others, the Order’s purpose was, and remains, to eradicate the Pythos.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Well,” Ted swept his hand in a circle, taking in the house and walled garden. “Let us suppose there are two kinds of people…”

  “No jokes, please.”

  “This is no joke, I assure you. For the sake of argument, let us say that some people see the world in terms of the past, and some see it in terms of the future. To the people who look back, the past was the golden age, and things today are steadily getting worse. To the others the world is improving. It doesn’t matter what you call them – conservative or liberal, hawk or dove, communist or fascist, Apollonian or Dionysian, Classical or Romantic, intuitive or rational – these two groups see the world in completely different ways, as if they speak different languages. The problem is they both believe it’s the same language because the words are the same. But even the words mean differ
ent things to different people at different times. The major problem is they both think they’re right. Let us say, even, that they both are right.”

  “Very well, for the sake of argument.”

  “The Inquisition hunted heretics. The Order and its predecessors have always had a narrow mandate, to hunt down only the Pythos, perceived as a far more dangerous adversary than mere heretics. They believed – still believe – the Pythos, through some kind of secret technique or technology, really can see into the patterns of events. The Church has always depended on people’s belief it knows what happens after death and can offer the secret to eternal life. If the Pythos really can see through time, the Church would lose its monopoly, imagined as it may be, considering all the other religions that offer the same thing. It would lose its most important reason to exist! The Pythos has always exposed the Church’s failings, covertly, of course, since the Pythos is not supposed to exist. If the Pythos really can see, and it gets out, the result would be devastating for the Church, which is now fighting for its life.” He spread his hands. “They believe the ends justify the means. Eliminating heresy, suppressing pagan thought, and above all protecting the institution, is ordained by God and represents His true glory. They’re convinced the Pythos threatens the Church because it says that men, and women, of course, can know the future without the intercession of the clergy. What they fear most is that the Delphi Agenda will give the world this gift.” He sat back with a laugh. “If it is a gift.”

  He went on. “What sets the Pythos apart is that he or she looks equally toward past and future, through knowledge, intelligence and insight, among other things. But the opposition, they’re true believers, obdurate in their certainty. You cannot argue with them. They don’t believe in gnothi seauton, they believe in obedience to the commands of God. That means destroying or seizing for themselves the technologies of the Pythos.”

  “This is the twenty-first century, Ted, not the sixteenth. Why should it be so hard to stop them?”