Strangeness and Charm cotf-3

by Mike Shevdon

  We turned through huge iron gates that sang with a discordant note that made me pass as far from each of them as I could. Blackbird ignored them and we walked through to a huge courtyard in front of a monolithic block building that looked like a modernised version of a 1930s movie set. A huge clock adorned the frontage.

  "Is that it?" I asked.

  "The British Library," said Blackbird, "or at least the bit you can see."

  "Where's the rest of it?" I asked.

  "You're standing on it."

  I looked at the paving that stretched away around the building. "Below this is just books?"

  "Not just books, no. Manuscripts, maps, documents, scrolls. This is a palace dedicated to the written word. Beneath our feet are rows and rows of shelves, and beneath that, the same, and below that more and so on, downwards. You should come and walk around the galleries one day. The public exhibits are worth seeing."

  "Let's find Gregor and see what he wants to show us," I said.

  He was waiting for us on the upper floor, where he rushed over to greet us as we stepped off the escalator.

  "Veronica, it is simply wonderful to see you again. Is it not a truly marvellous building; such architecture, such vision."

  He gestured around us, then grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. "You must be so proud to be a part of a nation that builds such wonders, yes?"

  "I suppose?" I said.

  "Ah, always the citizens do not see the wonders around them. You take them for granted until they are taken from you. Only then do you discover what you have lost." His moustache wobbled from side to side in disapproval.

  "And what have we lost?" asked Blackbird.

  "Come," he said. "I wish you meet Julian. He will tell you the story, just as he told it to me."

  He asked each of us to wear yellow Visitor badges and then led the way through to the back of the building, through a door into offices away from the public space. We got a few suspicious glances, but Gregor flashed an orange badge at them and we were allowed to pass. We came to a small office. Inside a thin man in a grey shirt with a black tie looked up at our approach.

  "Julian, this is Veronica and her friend, Niall. They are interested in the book I asked you about."

  "We are?" I said.

  "I am," said Blackbird, extending her hand. "Veronica Delemere, formerly in Medieval History at Birkbeck."

  He took the outstretched hand and smiled. "I think we have one or two of your books here, Dr. Delemere."

  "Really? How charming," she said. They all smiled, ignoring me. I was just a friend, apparently, and not worthy of attention.

  "The book, Julian. Tell them," said Gregor.

  He looked up at Gregor. "Ah yes. Well, a bit of an embarrassment, really. We're not used to this kind of thing."

  "What kind of thing?" asked Blackbird.

  "It seems that someone has borrowed it," he explained.

  "You see," I said. "They do lend books out."

  "What Julian is saying," said Gregor, "is that the book has been stolen."

  "Is that possible?" asked Blackbird.

  "Ordinarily, no," Julian confirmed. "We have inserts in every book that will set off detectors at any exit. You can't even walk out with one by accident. In addition, the staff are spot-checked randomly to discourage anyone with ideas of taking anything; a necessary evil."

  "That seems a lot of security for a load of old books," I said.

  He glanced at Blackbird and Gregor. "You have no idea. We have the first draft manuscript of Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles here. There are copies here of the Lindisfarne Gospels."

  "If they're only copies then surely they are not worth much?" I knew I was flaunting my ignorance, but the snooty attitude was annoying. I wanted to rattle his cage a little and butt into the conversation.

  "Well, if you consider that they were copied by hand in the year 687, you might revise your opinion," he said.

  "How much?" I asked, rubbing my finger and thumb together.

  "Priceless," Gregor said, "and completely irreplaceable."

  "Priceless generally has a price, though, doesn't it?"

  "They are not for sale," said Julian, "but a stolen copy would be worth millions to a private collector. Of course, when such a work is so readily identifiable, the collector could never show it to anyone, but then such people rarely have any interest in other people. And that's just one work. The library has many such items."

  "So your security is set up accordingly?" I asked.

  "There have been attempted thefts before," said Gregor, "and though some have escaped with their liberty, they have left empty-handed."

  "Not this time, though," said Julian, "though the work that's missing isn't one of the high security items. It was kept in the general vault, though even that's not exactly accessible."

  "What is it?" asked Blackbird.

  "An oddity," Julian remarked. "Unique in that it was annotated, but we have other copies."

  He opened his desk drawer and extracted a bundle wrapped in black fabric. Pulling on a set of white cotton gloves he unfolded the cloth, revealing a brown leather book. The cover was plain brown leather, unadorned, burnished through handling. I was momentarily filled with the desire to ask Julian to wrap it up and put it away again. It was an odd sensation, as if there was something in the book that should not be revealed. I shook myself.

  "Ah, you feel it too?" said Gregor, "Good, you are sensitive for a philistine."

  "Who are you calling a philistine?" I challenged.

  "A man who asks the price of a hand-copied Gospel?"

  "Hmm, fair cop," I said. "What's the book about?"

  "It is a journal, of sorts," said Gregor. "I read it many years ago, but then I received Veronica's call on the telephone and she is telling me that your thieves have stolen a silver arrow along with the other things, yes?"

  "We think so," I agreed.

  "This is the journal of Aleister Crowley, or a copy of a copy, in fact. I read it many years ago, but the mention of the arrow along with the other things set me thinking and I came to the library to consult the work directly."

  Julian explained. "When we went to retrieve the book concerned it had gone. There's no record of it being taken out recently, and no movement record indicating it had been archived or moved to secure storage."

  "Perhaps it has simply been misfiled?" Blackbird asked him.

  "You don't understand," said Julian. "Each shelf contains many thousands of books. We can't possibly manage them all manually. There is a robotic system which tracks along the shelves, registering the tags for the books. Essentially, the system registers all the books before we hand any out, and then registers them all back in again. We would know if one was not returned, and if it was misfiled it would show up somewhere else and the system would throw up an alert that tells us where it is and where it should be."

  "So how did it leave the library?" she asked.

  In response, he opened the drawer and placed a page on the desk. "This was left in place."

  "It's the tag?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Someone has removed it from the book, which probably means they damaged it to take it out." He made it sound like an accusation of rape.

  "So someone did take it," said Blackbird.

  "Someone who got past the security staff, opened the door to the vault, found the book amid the myriad of other works stored down there, took out the tag and then left, also without setting of an alarm or leaving any trace," said Julian. "The management are convinced it's an inside job and anyone in the vault that day is under investigation. Thankfully I was off sick that day or the investigation would have included me."

  "Unless that was a useful alibi?" I suggested.

  He scowled at me. "Don't make suggestions like that around here. It isn't funny any more."

  "Sorry," I said.

  "Show them the diagram," said Gregor. "This is what I brought you here to see until we encountered this… setback."


  Julian carefully opened the book at a bookmark. "Bear in mind that this is a copy. There were several made and this is one of the less valuable ones because it has some variations that were not in the original but have been added by the copyist as their own contribution, though that in itself makes it interesting."

  He opened the book at a page with a diagram that was overlaid on a complex geometric pattern covered in the sort of symbols that I'd last seen on Gregor's wave energy demonstrator. Around it were six symbols, and in the centre a seventh. I recognised them immediately from Angela's vision, but was careful not to react in case they thought it was me who had somehow stolen the book.

  "What are these symbols?" I asked, expecting Gregor to answer.

  Instead, Julian spoke. "They are an arcane notation used by members of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn — for them it was a kind of shorthand for universal forces, or mystical invocation."

  "The order of what?" I asked. "Hang on, I've come across that name before." I racked my brain trying to think of where I had seen it. The only thing I could think of was the library at the courts which was full of all manner of strange books.

  "They are a group of people dedicated to acquiring knowledge of the universe through arcane means," said Julian. "They've been around for along time. Aleister Crowley was a member, as was Alfred Watkins whose book The Old Straight Track started the nonsense about ley lines."

  "They're just called leys," said Blackbird, "not ley lines, and Watkins didn't invent them. He just pointed out that some things were remarkably well-aligned."

  "Don't tell me you're a believer," said Julian.

  "Like Gregor, I have an interest in all manner of things," she said, "but no, I don't believe in ley lines."

  I glanced at her and there was the tiniest smile on her lips.

  "So what do the symbols mean?" I asked.

  "Gregor thinks…" Julian started, but then ceded to Gregor to explain.

  "Like many symbols they represent different things on different levels, but they are all symbols of opening, one way or another. At the same time they can also represent physical objects, talismans or tokens."

  "Like what?" I asked.

  "These symbols on the left could be said to be a sceptre, a key and a feather, while these on the right could be represented by a cross, an arrow and a scourge."

  "I don't understand," I said. "What language is this?"

  "My dear friend," said Gregor, "language is the wrong word. It is an interpretation of a symbol written in a codex that has no words. Would you speak mathematical symbols? Or musical ones? This is not a translation, it is an interpretation, but given what you have told me…"

  I looked at Blackbird.

  "You said they were symbols of opening," she said to Gregor.

  "Indeed," said Gregor, "and interesting for that alone. The sceptre is the symbol for the opening of the mind, the key is for revealing secrets. The feather is a symbol of opening of the heart, while the cross is an opening of the spirit."

  "The cross is a Christian symbol," I pointed out.

  "The cross was adopted by Christianity because of the crucifixion, party because of this connotation, but this predates Christian symbology," said Gregor.

  "It's a symbol of a cross," pointed out Blackbird. "Rather than a representation. They're not going to be crucifying anyone." Then she looked at Gregor. "Are they?"

  "Unlikely. As you say, it is symbolic. The arrow will not be shot by a bow, the scourge will not be used to whip anyone. They are tokens."

  "What do they mean?" I asked.

  "The scourge is symbolic of self-flagellation like the monks of old, and symbolises opening the body, while the arrow is symbolic of opening distance, or space. All together they are a powerful configuration of opening and would represent a key of significant power."

  "Like the key that was stolen?" I asked.

  "What key?" asked Julian. He was ignored by all of us.

  "No," said Gregor. "That key is only a component of a larger key comprising all the components, which would be used to open something else."

  "What?" said Blackbird.

  Gregor smiled apologetically. "I can't tell you that. The four lobes of this central symbol indicate something, but it is not part of the symbology around it." He indicated the central symbol which expended in four rounded lobes from a central point.

  "Then we are no better off," I said.

  "Oh, we are," said Gregor, "because while I can't tell you what, I can tell you where."

  "You can?" said Blackbird.

  "Oh yes." Gregor grinned. "Show them Julian."

  Julian turned the pages to reveal an engraving of a church.

  "There," said Gregor.

  "Where is it?" said Blackbird.

  "It is a church in Herefordshire."

  "A church," I said. "Then it is connected with Christianity."

  "Not everything done in the name of the church is religious. They had immense wealth and significant power. The nature of this could as easily be secular as sacred," Gregor pointed out. "This was built by the Normans in the twelfth century, along with adjacent fortifications. It predates Crowley and the Hermetic Order by several centuries."

  I looked at Blackbird. She was obviously thinking the same thing. If this was twelfth century and post Norman invasion then it would have been from around the same time as the Quit Rents Ceremony.

  "Very well," said Blackbird. "Where is it?"

  "I will come with you, of course," Gregor said.

  Blackbird and I looked at each other. If we went without Gregor we could use the Ways and be there in minutes. If we went with Gregor it would take much longer.

  "What?" he said. "I am as curious about this as you. Do I not deserve to share the discovery? Have I not given you the vital clue to unlocking the mystery?"

  "It's not as simple as…" said Blackbird.

  "Simple? This is simple. He closed the book in Julian's hands and wrapped it back into the black cover, giving it back to Julian. "Replace this copy in your vault, my friend. There is one fewer now, so this one is even more precious. Do not let it stray."

  We watched as Julian replaced the book in his drawer and locked it.

  Gregor broke into a huge grin. "Now, when are we setting off?"

  EIGHTEEN

  "You know what you have to do?" said Eve.

  Alex stared at the ground, sullen and unresponsive.

  Eve folded her arms. "How long are you going to carry on sulking? It was just a ring, for God's sake. It wasn't even pure silver."

  "I'm not sulking," said Alex.

  "Well you could have fooled me," said Eve. "This is your chance. This is your opportunity to make your mark, and what are you doing? Staring at your shoes. I swear I've never met anyone so self-centred. It's not the end of the world, Alex."

  There was something in that sentence that made Alex look up. What had Eve given up to do this? She never talked about her background or where she'd been before Porton Down. Maybe she did understand what it was like to lose everything.

  Eve watched Alex intensely, willing her to get herself together.

  Alex sighed. "The ring was the only thing I had left."

  "In that case, you're well rid of it. We don't need their gifts, their ties, their tokens. They bind us to an emotional attachment that's only there to perpetuate their control, and we don't want to be controlled. We won't be told where to go and how to live, not anymore. We're free of all that, understand?"

  Alex lifted her chin but didn't say anything. Eve smiled and put her hands on her shoulders, shaking them gently back and forth.

  "You can do this, and when it's finished you'll have done as much as any of us. You'll be part of it."

  Alex's lips twitched in what might have been the echo of a smile.

  "OK. Just look like you ought to be there. Use your glamour and no one will question your presence. Take the rod and come straight back out. It's a doddle," Eve said.

  Alex looked acr
oss the open square to the Houses of Parliament. There were armed police and camera's all over the square, but she knew none of them would see her. "OK." She walked away, glancing back to where Eve waited only to find she'd already vanished.

  She reached the road and merged with a group that was crossing. Her glamour gave her a smart skirt suit, low heels, minimal make-up. The tattoos were hidden and her hair was a mousey brown in an unfashionable style that would draw no one's eye. She carried a bag that was half handbag and half briefcase. Eve had said they would expect her to carry something, and she'd put some of Eve's less valuable books in there so it would have the right weight and heft.

  The plan was simple. The office of the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod was at the south end of the palace of Westminster, as he was nominally in charge of security in The Lords, though the police did the actual work.

  All she had to do was walk in with someone and slipstream into the building. People were closely scrutinised on the way in, just in case they were carrying a bomb or a weapon, but on the way out they were only watched as they left. The rod was half Alex's height and would normally be difficult to conceal, but with glamour that wouldn't be a problem. She could just walk out with it and no one would be the wiser.

  Alex lingered near the external security gate until someone came along that looked as though they were entering. She selected a man with grey hair and grey suit, a civil servant maybe. Adjusting her glamour so that she was noticeable but unremarkable, she let herself be pulled along in his wake. Everyone assumed she was with the bloke she followed, though he never knew she was there. She smiled at the police as she walked through the barriers. They noticed her, but ignored her.

  I'm just part of the furniture, thought Alex. Nothing to see, no cause for alarm.

  She followed the man up to the building and then into the entrance. Inside there were scanners like in the airport with armed police holding stubby sub-machine guns, angled to the floor. She could feel the adrenaline building in her system as she watched the civil servant put his keys and phone into a tray so they could go through the scanner. She waited politely and then did the same with her own phone and put the bag on the belt for the scanner.