by Nick Baker
The Stone
of Madness
Nick Baker
Published by Wessex OMFS Ltd 2018
www.stoneofmadness.co.uk
Copyright © Nick Baker 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
eISBN 978-1-9999762-1-7
Cover art design by Franzi Haase
For Nicola
Contents
1. The Piotrowski Manuscript
2. A Subterranean Reunion
3. The Stone Statue
4. The Comet and the Star
5. The Nautilus Shell
6. The Historoscope
7. Number 34, Curiosity Street
8. The Vigenère Cipher
9. Perca Fluviatilis
10. Death and the Miser
11. The Humpback of Notre Dame
12. The Spindlewick Street Siege
13. Atropos
14. The Gates of Delirium
15. Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica
16. Poison or Antidote?
17. Styx’s Legacy
18. Wren’s Cache
19. Acta Neurochirurgica
20. Here Comes the Flood
21. Through the Glass
22. A Question of Parentage
23. Na Cruacha Dubha
24. The Baobab Tree
25. The Shaman
26. Mickey Finn
27. Disturbing News
28. Ælfric’s Folly
29. Alone
30. Pearly Black
31. The Mysterious Zoë Tsing
32. The Vault
Everything good is the transmutation of something evil
Friedrich Nietzsche
1
THE STONE OF MADNESS
The Piotrowski Manuscript
PROFESSOR HENRY PRICE SAT in his customary armchair next to a dwindling open fire quietly contemplating. He rubbed his arm absent-mindedly, a succour to the incessant nagging pain of a childhood injury. He had tied his straight, shoulder-length hair neatly back, but his grooming could not mask the worry lines etched across his face. He felt a great sense of foreboding wash over him as he stared at the glowing embers in the grate, lost in thought.
He was exhausted following a recent trip abroad, but his sense of fatigue went beyond mere physical tiredness. He had returned to the four-storey Victorian house that he shared with his daughter, Lily, late in the afternoon, and had immediately realised something was amiss.
While the theft of a single book would not ordinarily arouse his suspicion, he found it deeply disconcerting that someone would choose a book that had always kindled his interest for reasons he had never been able to reconcile. He shook his head; he suspected the book harboured something that he must have missed. Evidently, someone else felt the same way too, and the manner in which the thief had acquired the book suggested that they had an expertise in alchemy to rival his own.
He shook his head, unsure of what it all meant. The new millennium was just over a decade away, and with the emergence of so many astonishing scientific discoveries, he sometimes wondered whether alchemy would survive at all.
No matter, he supposed. There was little else he could do that he had not done already, and if, as he suspected, the theft of this book was somehow linked to past events, he seriously wondered whether he alone and the few resources left at his disposal would be sufficient to meet the challenge.
Price did not rouse at the sound of the double doors opening behind him. His manservant, Albright, ushered a tall, dishevelled-looking man into the room, then coughed, a signal for Price to get to his feet and greet the visitor. The man looked lost, fidgeting uncomfortably behind Price’s servant. He searched inside his jacket for a cloth to wipe his glasses, which had steamed up the moment he entered the room. Giving up the fruitless search, the man removed his glasses, rubbing them briefly on a sleeve before replacing them as Albright left the room.
‘Ah, Isaacson, forgive me, please come in,’ said Price, greeting his guest with a perfunctory handshake. ‘I’m sorry, I’d completely lost track of the time.’
Price regarded the man circumspectly. Isaacson held a pivotal position in the functioning of the Council for Home Affairs, bridging the uneasy gap that existed between the Council—a select body tasked with matters pertaining to national security—and his true political masters in Whitehall. Isaacson was Cabinet Secretary to the Prime Minister and held the dubious honour of being the government’s representative on the Council, charged with the task of reporting back to Downing Street on all Council business.
‘Good evening, Isaacson. Please, come and sit down.’
Isaacson nodded. He looked anxious as he stood facing the founder of the Council. ‘Good evening, Professor. I’m sorry for the delay. The traffic, you understand.’
‘London never stops,’ Price agreed.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. There was a snarl-up on the bridge on the way out of Westminster. It’s taken almost an hour to cross the city.’
‘Well, you’re here now,’ said Price calmly, doing his best to alleviate Isaacson’s conspicuous agitation.
Price ushered Isaacson towards an armchair conveniently placed next to his own. He bent over a small table and picked up a decanter sitting next to two tulip-shaped glasses. He raised the decanter in Isaacson’s direction. ‘Smith Woodhouse 1927. Would you care to join me?’
Isaacson nodded and took a sip before settling back in his chair. The men sat in silence, enjoying the heat radiating from the open wood fire and the soporific effect of the sweet fortified wine.
‘I’ve relayed news of this regrettable event to the Council as you requested but I don’t understand the urgency. I realise the theft of a book is alarming but is it that important?’
Price gave the man a rueful smile. ‘Perhaps, Isaacson, perhaps. I’m still not sure of the book’s significance, but how the thief acquired it is certainly worthy of our consideration.’
‘Very well, Professor, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me what’s been going on?’
‘I’ve been away on Council business, but when I returned today, I immediately realised a book was missing from the library.’
‘As I surmised from your message, Professor. Was there any sign of a break-in?’
‘No, although Albright thought he heard footsteps last night coming from the passage that runs along the side of the house.’
‘Did he see anything?’ Isaacson asked.
Price shook his head. ‘No. He went outside to investigate but the grounds were deserted. I also quizzed Lily, but she hasn’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary in all the time I’ve been away. Apart from Albright and the housekeeper, Lily’s tutors are the only other people to have come and gone in that time.’
Isaacson took a sip of port while he waited patiently for Price to elaborate.
‘The house is extremely well protected. The doors and windows have locking mechanisms well beyond all but the most knowledgeable thief or alchemist.’<
br />
‘What’s so special about the locks?’ said Isaacson, frowning.
‘They work on the same principle as standard locks but they can’t be opened with simple keys. The tumblers have to be aligned utilising energy raised by alchemical means.’
Isaacson looked perplexed. ‘Professor, may I politely remind you that I’m a civil servant and not a scientist. While I know better than to question you on the complex alchemical devices at your disposal, perhaps you might care to explain.’
Price sighed. He disliked dealing with politicians and civil servants, but on this occasion, he had no choice. He needed Isaacson onside if he were to garner the Council’s support. ‘They’re simple wards, but only an adept alchemist would appreciate the complexity of such a mechanism, let alone have the recondite skill to operate them. When a hand is placed in contact with a metal plate located on the door, alchemically induced energy is conducted through the plate, generating an internal resonance in each of three parallel locks. The plugs will only rotate and release an overarching lock when the correct combination of resonances is used. The possible permutations are virtually limitless. Only Lily and I know how to turn the locks.’
A look of apprehension appeared on Isaacson’s face. ‘Is it possible, Professor, that one of the staff—?’
‘Never,’ interrupted Price. ‘I’ve no reason to question their loyalty. They’ve been with me for years and I trust them implicitly.’
‘But surely there must be a simple explanation.’
Price paused for a moment before offering his response. ‘The only explanation is that an individual with knowledge of alchemical lore breached the doors. If the tumblers are not activated with the exact resonance frequency in each of the three locks, and in the correct order, a bolt of energy is discharged from the mechanism. The intruder bypassed a door at the back of the house, and from there, they negotiated most of the ground floor to reach the library. If Albright’s timing is right, Lily was in her classroom upstairs with one of her tutors at the time. The door was open but she never heard a sound.’
‘You said the locks discharge energy if they’re not activated correctly.’
Price nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Isaacson,’ he said in response to the look of alarm on Isaacson’s face. ‘It’s just my way of protecting the house. The locking mechanisms, if breached, merely discharge a bolt of electricity that will temporarily incapacitate the intruder, while alerting those inside to their presence.’
‘Is that sort of thing, er, legal?’ said Isaacson.
‘Whether it’s legal or not is of little concern to me,’ Price retorted. ‘You of all people should appreciate the undesirables I’ve had dealings with in the past, not to mention the items at my disposal that would be of considerable interest to my enemies. I’ll continue to take whatever precautions are necessary to protect my family and my belongings,’ he said dismissively.
Isaacson nodded. ‘Yes, of course, Professor.’ He paused for a moment and scratched his nose self-consciously. ‘So, I take it that whoever broke in was able to bypass these sophisticated locks of yours without raising the alarm.’
‘Exactly, Isaacson. The alchemical locks are fitted on all main doors leading into the property, and there’s a similar mechanism protecting the library. The thief was able to open the doors while anticipating and absorbing the insults without consequence. When the thief left, they even attempted to hide the fact that they’d tampered with the locks.’
‘How did you discover the theft?’
Price gave Isaacson a wry smile. ‘It would be impossible for anyone to open the locks without my knowledge. If you’ve learnt anything of alchemy from your association with the Council, you’ll know that energy raised by alchemical means leaves a unique trace.’
‘Does that mean you might know the perpetrator?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not that easy, but if I ever encounter the individual again, there’s a good chance I’ll recognise their alchemical signature. As it is, I already have my suspicions.’
‘Who—?’
Price held up a hand. ‘I’d rather not speculate. I intend to make further enquiries and I’ll report back to the Council as soon as I know more.’
Isaacson frowned. ‘And only one book was taken?’ he said, sounding incredulous. ‘Is it important?’
‘I’m not sure, but it must be for someone to risk stealing it from here. I acquired the document from the Ambrosian Library in Milan. It’s a unique manuscript, purportedly written in the early part of the sixteenth century by a Dutch alchemist, Alfons Piotrowski,’ replied Price.
‘What could be so important about an alchemical manuscript written over four hundred years ago?’
A flash of disapproval passed across Price’s face. ‘You’re beginning to sound like those politicians you work with, Isaacson. While many of your colleagues consider alchemy an area no longer worthy of consideration, you of all people should know better. Have you learnt nothing from your position on the Council?’ Price chided.
Isaacson nodded. ‘Yes … yes, of course, Professor,’ he replied, sounding contrite.
‘Alchemy in its purest sense is still a valuable area of study, despite the dwindling resources it currently affords. Alchemy remains fundamental to the purer sciences, but in many people’s eyes, its association with darker, more dangerous research has tainted what was once a great tradition. For that, we must thank Pearly Black,’ Price spat.
‘Black died ten years ago,’ stated Isaacson.
‘So he did, Isaacson, yet his tainted influence still pervades the way alchemy is perceived.’
‘But why this particular book? Surely you have any number of valuable items a thief would wish to acquire?’ he suggested, surveying the grandeur of the artwork adorning the walls.
‘I agree. Why would a thief take an obscure manuscript when they might have taken so much more? This in itself concerns me. I studied the manuscript for some considerable time after I acquired it, yet I can’t help thinking that I must have missed something. What you must remember, Isaacson, is that when Piotrowski wrote this manuscript, alchemy was held in great esteem, unlike today. Don’t forget, there have been many distinguished alchemists in this country’s illustrious past. Take one of the greatest scientists the world has ever known, yet who primarily considered himself an alchemist.’
‘I, er …?’ said Isaacson, looking nonplussed.
Price shook his head. ‘I’m talking about Sir Isaac Newton,’ Price snapped. ‘During Newton’s time, many of the greatest thinkers of the age were alchemists. These men were the forefathers of modern science.’
Isaacson raised his eyebrows. ‘And what do you know of Piotrowski?’ he said eventually.
‘A little, but not as much as I’d like. Remember, not all alchemists were like Newton. There were those who pursued more esoteric and metaphysical aspects of the science, studying the darker arts that, to some, verged on necromancy. I believe Piotrowski was aligned to such a group.’
‘What do you know of this group?’
‘They were a cult known as the Esoteric Brotherhood that thrived during an age of great religious and scientific upheaval, a period that became known as the Dutch Revolt. It was an important era in the creation of the Netherlands as an independent republic.’
Isaacson smiled, looking relaxed for the first time since his arrival. ‘You forget that I have a first in history. My area of expertise also happens to be the Reformation.’
Price nodded, vaguely recalling that Isaacson had been an Oxford scholar.
‘You’re referring to a time of perpetual turmoil when the Seventeen Provinces of the Netherlands were vying for control of the land with their mighty Spanish overlords, the Habsburgs,’ Isaacson said.
‘Indeed. The northern part of the Netherlands was slowly evolving into a powerful and wealthy state, largely from the thriving trade that was developing there. The dispute occurred during the Reformation when various religious groups were attempting to reform the Catholic
Church in Western Europe.’
‘Yes, but there were several facets to the war. It was fought, not only as a battle for independence, but also as a struggle between Calvinism, the evolving Protestant tradition of the time, and the might of the Spanish Catholic nobility. The Spanish had already declared it their duty to fight Protestantism as heresy, and any expression of thought, if it didn’t accord with their Catholic doctrine, was punishable by death.’
‘Exactly! Piotrowski alludes to some of the darker arts studied by the Esoteric Brotherhood in his manuscript. Although the information is not specific, it was not well received. The authorities considered the Brotherhood to be a bunch of dangerous fanatics, and although the manuscript only makes veiled references to their necromancy, there’s no doubt they engaged in it. It was the Brotherhood’s intention to keep the contents of the book secret, yet somehow it surfaced. Not surprisingly, given the volatile circumstances of the age, it was considered blasphemous. Piotrowski mysteriously vanished soon after he’d written it, and although it was widely assumed that he was assassinated by religious zealots, this was never corroborated as he simply disappeared.’
Isaacson looked baffled. ‘What makes this manuscript suddenly so important?’
Price reflected for a moment. ‘I’m not sure, Isaacson. The combination of how the thief broke in and the nature of the stolen document leaves me feeling distinctly uneasy. I’m convinced that the Council should give this matter its urgent attention, which is why I propose a meeting early next week. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to organise the formalities?’
‘Of course, Professor, leave it with me.’
‘In the meantime, I’ll do some research on Alfons Piotrowski. I should have more information for the Council when we meet.’
The men sat in silence until Isaacson eventually stirred. He rose and drained the dregs from his glass. Price ushered him towards the exit, surreptitiously pressing a button adjacent to the door as he passed.
Price opened the double doors and followed Isaacson into the hall where they were immediately joined by Albright.
