Writ in Water

by Natasha Mostert

  The project—or game, as they referred to it in an attempt to make the enterprise seem less daunting—would eventually consume the women and become the driving force in their life. To seal their pact, they adopted John Dee’s Monas Hieroglyphica as their personal sigil. It was the perfect symbol for the game.

  Sibling rivalry was set aside. Each brought to the game her own special talent. Minnaloushe contributed a prodigious intelligence and a creativity that was genius. Morrighan’s input was her knowledge of the occult. Eventually they would also draw on her talent as a remote viewer.

  Together the two sisters aimed for the ultimate prize: anima mundi. A moment of blinding illumination when they would understand the great secrets of the universe.

  The way to achieve it was by building a house of a million doors.

  In the course of her studies Minnaloushe had come across the work of such memory artists as Giordano Bruno, Giulio Camillo, Ramon Lull and others. The ingenuity, the erudition and the mind-blowing occult philosophy that lay at the heart of their memory systems took Minnaloushe’s breath away. If man’s mind truly was an incomplete reflection of the sacred mind, then these men’s minds were approaching the divine.

  It was a state of mind actively sought by the sisters themselves.

  And so, over a period of twenty-two years, they built a memory palace the like of which had never been seen before. Minnaloushe was the architect and the gatherer of information. Her mathematical skills were crucial to the design of the system. But Morrighan was the one who brought magic into play. Using occult rules, she turned the memory images inside the palace into potent talismans.

  Brick by brick, door by door, object by object, the two sisters attempted to create an information system encapsulated within the grey-white grooves of the brain alone: a system as wide as the universe, as deep as the human spirit.

  They called it The Promethean Key.

  But then something went wrong.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ‘Robbie.’ Minnaloushe paused.

  Here it comes, Gabriel thought. Finally.

  ‘We should never have allowed him to play the game.’

  ‘You deliberately targeted that boy.’ Gabriel knew his voice was harsh but he couldn’t help it. Robbie must have been such an easy touch for the women. He could imagine the boy being dazzled by the sisters, dazzled by their world.

  ‘Gabriel, I want you to understand that we did not seduce him.’ Minnaloushe’s voice was urgent. ‘Unlike you, Robbie was already a searcher.’

  ‘You must have known he was not up to the task; that he would fail.’

  She shook her head violently. ‘Failing or succeeding is not the point. Playing the game is like striking at a block of granite the size of the universe, releasing sparks of divine fire. Simply catching sight of the sparks is prize enough. Robbie understood that. He knew he could never hope to achieve the level of mastery of which Morrighan and I are capable. Except…’

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘About a year after Robbie started working on the Art, Morrighan had an epiphany.’ Minnaloushe’s voice was taut. ‘And she changed the game. She decided to transfer bits and pieces of the memory palace from her own mind into Robert’s consciousness using her remote viewing skills. So what would normally take years would be accomplished within a matter of minutes. With every information transfer, Robbie’s memory would expand exponentially. A quantum leap forward every time.’

  ‘And it worked?’

  ‘Yes. At first it worked brilliantly. We had some doubts in the beginning, you know. Transformation isn’t fast food. You can’t just order it like a burger.’ She gave a ghostly laugh. ‘Just plonking the palace into Robbie’s mind without effort on his part would have defeated the object, to say the least. And it would have been dangerous in the extreme. His mind could have collapsed like a heap of rubble. So at first, Morrighan transferred only fragments—only a very few rooms at a time—and then Robbie had to work out the order of places, the order of things himself. To put it very simply, he would have to fill in the blanks on his own; connect the dots without assistance. As I say, at first it worked brilliantly. It was as though the process fed on itself. With every transfer, the size of the subsequent data package that could be carried over increased enormously. More and more knowledge could be transferred at a time. It was fantastic. After every transfer, Robbie’s memory skills increased exponentially.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘The burden became too heavy. Robbie couldn’t filter any longer. He was like a constantly absorbing sponge, but the fibres were starting to unravel. There were clear signs. He was turning into an insomniac. And when he did sleep, he had dreadful nightmares.’

  ‘Why didn’t he stop?’

  ‘Robbie was addicted. Despite the side-effects, he craved the rush.’

  ‘Why did you allow it to continue? Weren’t you concerned?’

  ‘Of course I was. I told Morrighan to slow down the data transfer. But without my knowledge, she actually speeded up the process. Robbie was all for it. And because they knew I wouldn’t approve, he and Morrighan kept the whole thing a secret from me.’

  ‘Things got out of hand.’

  ‘Things got badly out of hand. But, Gabriel, until very recently I had no idea how badly. I knew Robbie was having problems. But I also thought he was beginning to have doubts about the game itself. I was always concerned that he wouldn’t have the kind of mental toughness required for the Art. I knew that if we slowed down the data transfer, there was a real chance he might become frustrated and drop out. Of course, I didn’t realise the data transfers had increased and were feeding his addiction.

  ‘Robbie disappeared while I was on a business trip to Ghana. When I got back and found him gone, I believed Morrighan when she said he had given up on the game. I was devastated that he had simply left without saying goodbye, but it fitted. Robbie has a history of taking off without leaving word if things don’t work out for him. Even his father acknowledged that. So I accepted Morrighan’s explanation without question.’

  ‘So what really happened?’

  For a few moments she was silent. When she spoke again her voice was hardly audible. ‘Morrighan decided to take Robbie into the portal of the memory palace. That should never have happened. Robbie was still an initiate of the first level, Air. He was still studying only the preliminary secrets. He was not yet a zelator. Only zelators are permitted to approach the fire. By taking him into the portal, Morrighan broke the rules. For Robbie, it was catastrophic. Entering the portal led to a massive overload of data. His brain crashed.’

  ‘He had a stroke.’

  ‘It seems likely.’

  ‘But that’s not what killed him.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Her fingers gripped the sheet so tightly, the knuckles stood out white.

  ‘He drowned. Why was he in the pool?’

  ‘Robbie loved water. We discovered his mind was at its most receptive when he was swimming. Especially at night. I don’t know why—something about the rhythm of the exercise, the dark water—whatever it was, it was conducive to the interfacing of his mind with Morrighan’s.’

  ‘So she interfaced with him while he was swimming. Overloaded his brain. But I still don’t understand why she had to drown him, for God’s sake. He was still alive.’

  ‘The overload wasn’t deliberate, Gabriel, I’m sure of it. Morrighan didn’t want to hurt Robbie, but she miscalculated. She pushed too hard. And when Robbie suffered the stroke, she was petrified that I would find out and terminate the game.’

  ‘Are you saying she deliberately drowned that boy to keep his stroke a secret from you? So you wouldn’t stop building the palace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the body?’

  ‘She buried it. She won’t tell me where.’

  He stared at her in horror. ‘When did she tell you all this?’

  ‘Earlier today. When she was drunk.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Morrighan d
rink more than a single glass of wine.’

  ‘A single glass of wine with a little bit of added something can pack a punch. And Morrighan isn’t the only one who can mix a potion, you know.’

  For a moment Gabriel was quiet. Then he leaned over and switched on the table lamp. He wanted to see her expression clearly.

  ‘The two of you gave me a potion the night of your birthday. I know that.’

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Morrighan insisted on it. You see, she found the missing photograph of Robbie when she snooped around in your apartment. Around the same time, we also discovered you had hacked into our computer. When Morrighan found the picture she was extremely upset. I couldn’t quite understand why, but now it makes sense: she was worried that you were suspicious about Robbie’s death. She wanted to know what you were up to. She had tried to scan you before, but you always managed to block her, so the potion was necessary to get past your defences. I now realise she wanted to find out exactly how much you knew about Robbie’s murder. As for me, I simply wanted to know why you were interested in the diary.’

  He looked at her profile: a cameo of the greatest delicacy. ‘It was your diary that made me fall in love with you.’

  She smiled, kissed the palm of his hand. ‘Yes.’

  ‘My recollection of the night of your birthday is rather… jumbled. Did we actually…’ He paused, feeling suddenly foolish. ‘You know, did we make love? And was Morrighan involved as well?’ The words came out in a rush.

  She blushed. He could see the red creeping up her neck.

  ‘Gabriel—’

  The phone rang stridently, the jangling sound making his nerves jump. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘Let me talk to Minnaloushe.’

  The voice was cool as silk. Morrighan. In his mind’s eye, Gabriel saw the beautiful heart-shaped face. The blue-black hair. Azure eyes.

  ‘Morrighan—’

  ‘Just do it, Gabriel. Let me talk to my sister.’

  Without another word, he gave the receiver to Minnaloushe, who was already reaching for it.

  The conversation was short. On Minnaloushe’s side it consisted of five words only. ‘Yes.’ A few moments of silence. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

  She replaced the receiver slowly. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘No.’ He pushed himself upright, alarmed. ‘It’s not safe for you.’

  ‘Gabriel, I can’t hide. And remember, I’m immune to a mind attack.’

  He relaxed a little. That was true, he supposed. There was no way the architect of the memory palace could be in danger of an information overload herself. But still…

  ‘Morrighan says she wants to talk.’

  ‘Talk?’ His voice rose. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. She’s a killer. She killed three people—one of them my closest friend. She needs to be brought to justice.’

  ‘And how do you plan on doing that? Turn her over to the police? Do you really think they’re going to believe all this stuff about memory palaces and information transfer? And where is Robbie’s body buried? Forget about justice, Gabriel. All I’m interested in is getting Morrighan to stop the mind attacks against you. And I don’t want her to recruit someone else to play with. She’s already talking about looking for someone new. A new disciple.’

  Minnaloushe paused. The expression in her eyes was despairing. ‘She thinks this is why she was blessed with remote viewing powers. That God wants her to introduce Gnostic disciples to the palace through mind-to-mind transfer. She’s obsessed.’

  ‘And what if she doesn’t want to listen to reason?’

  ‘She has to. Otherwise…’

  ‘Otherwise what?’

  ‘She shook her head and slid out of the bed, the sheets falling away from her. ‘The fact that she wants to talk is a positive sign.’

  He watched as she picked up her clothes from the floor and pulled her black sweater over her head, shaking her hair loose. Despite the jeans and the jumper, she looked more than ever as though she had stepped from a Pre-Raphaelite painting. A pale-skinned, fiery-haired heroine from a Rossetti narrative. Mysterious. Powerful. Deeply sensual.

  She reached into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Here, I wanted to return this. It belongs to you.’

  It was the locket with the entwined hair, cool against his palm.

  ‘When we gave it to you, you said you would treasure it always. Remember?’

  ‘I remember.’ He noticed the silver linked chain was still broken where he had torn it off his neck the day after her birthday. The day everything started going wrong.

  A feeling of dread took hold of him. ‘Don’t go, Minnaloushe. She’s dangerous.’

  ‘She can’t hurt me.’

  ‘I don’t care what you say. I don’t trust her.’

  ‘Morrighan is sick, Gabriel, but how can I hate her? And you and she are so alike. Your remote viewing powers make you both so incredibly special. I look at the two of you and I see the future.’

  ‘Stay with me. Please, please stay with me.’

  ‘Shh.’ She leaned forward and placed her lips against his. For a moment he resisted, then he lifted his arms and placed them around her shoulders. He wanted this moment to last forever, with the soft, heavy weight of her body in his arms. But even as he kissed her, Gabriel felt lonely.

  He pulled away and placed his hands on either side of her head, looking into her long-lidded eyes. What lay behind those eyes? Sensations and images and worlds he could only guess at. He loved her. He had read her diary and had immersed himself in her most private thoughts. But even if he lived with her until the day of his death, she would remain an enigma. Ultimately unknowable. Her adventures of the mind too vast for him to share.

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘I will.’ She nodded. ‘Stay by the phone.’

  His eyes followed her as she walked to the door. ‘Minnaloushe.’

  She hesitated, stopped.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Slowly she turned round to face him.

  ‘I love you.’

  Her face lit up and she gave him a smile of such sweetness, his heart ached. And he knew he would never forget this moment. The night pressing dark against the window. The glow of the table lamp throwing shadows against the wall. The woman in the door with her luminous hair and pale face looking like an angel.

  ‘And I you.’ Another smile and she was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The phone was ringing.

  Gabriel jerked awake. Outside his window it was day, but the sky was miserably grey. How long had he slept for?

  He grabbed the receiver. ‘Minnaloushe?’

  For a moment there was silence. Then Frankie’s voice came on the line. ‘No. But it looks as though we won’t have to worry about that bitch any more, Gabriel.’

  As he drew in his breath in protest, he suddenly realised Frankie knew nothing of what had happened between him and Minnaloushe the night before. She still thought Minnaloushe was the killer.

  He pushed himself up on one elbow, tried to focus on her words.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean she’s dead.’

  The breath left his body in an explosive gasp. The room tilted and actual physical pain gripped his chest. He tried to speak but the words refused to come.

  ‘Yes,’ Frankie continued happily. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I opened the paper. Read it for yourself! It’s in the early edition of the Evening Standard. Apparently she fell down the stairs at her house and broke her neck. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say? Gabriel, are you there?’

  He did not bother getting dressed. He threw on his coat and pulled his boots over his bare feet. His hands were shaking so badly, he was unable to tie the laces and in the end he simply pushed the ends into the ankle flaps. As he ran down the stairs, he found himself silently saying one word over and over again. No. No. No. Maybe Frankie had it wrong. Maybe Minnaloushe had only been injured. No. No.

  The teenager behind the counter
at the newsagent stared at him as he snatched the paper and dropped a five-pound note on the counter. He left the shop without waiting for change.

  The report was at the bottom of page 12 in the Londoner’s Diary section and consisted of two paragraphs only.

  FATAL ACCIDENT TAKES LIFE OF WOMAN

  Minnaloushe Monk (36) died instantly in the early hours of this morning when she suffered sudden loss of respiratory function after falling down the staircase of her house in Chelsea and fracturing her neck. Ms Monk was well known for her contributions to various philanthropic concerns. Her sister, the adventure sportswoman Morrighan Monk, witnessed the accident and is being treated for shock.

  Every day about 1,000 falls take place on stairs or steps in the United Kingdom. Three or four of these will be fatal. There are many reasons why falls happen, but the main contributing factors are thought to be poor eyesight, poor lighting or the use of alcohol.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The sky was grey with intermittent rain.

  He was shivering violently and his face felt raw from the cold. He had been standing on the street corner for almost an hour. But the thought of leaving did not cross his mind. All his attention was focused on the big red-brick house on the other side of the road.

  It was five o’clock in the afternoon and dusk was well advanced. Most of the houses in the street showed lighted windows but the rooms in Monk House were dark. On the porch, the big tubs filled with hydrangeas appeared neglected, as though no one was around to pay attention. The shallow steps, usually swept clean of leaves and debris, were dirty. A chocolate wrapper was trapped in the wrought ironwork of the front gate, which was half-open. The house seemed deserted.