by Nick Baker
‘Then w-why are we here in this detestable place? And, er, why did a black pearl pitch up at the Academy for me?’
‘I thought it would make you feel nostalgic, Abel. It must have piqued your interest, otherwise you’d not be here.’
‘Why imitate the way Pearly always sent messages to us?’
‘I never thought about it, Abel.’
‘Pah!’ Aurelia scoffed. ‘You know as well as I do that Pearly only ever hid his most important messages in a black pearl bound by his unique alchemical talents.’
‘Yes, and, er, whoever he sent the pearl to could only unlock it by uttering a keyword they shared with Pearly that, in combination with their touch, would act as a, er, catalyst to initiate the transubstantiation that would release the message hidden inside,’ said Strange, emboldened by Aurelia’s words.
Aurelia nodded. ‘It seems, Josef, that by sending invitations bound by the same keyword we only ever shared with Pearly, you have somehow gained access to secrets I always assumed had perished with him,’ she said.
Frankl smiled enigmatically, exposing rows of imbricated, stained teeth.
‘You have much to explain, Josef,’ said Aurelia, losing no time to find a natural enclosure in the bedrock as far away from Frankl as possible. She sat down and looked disinterestedly at her black nail varnish, steadfastly ignoring the disconcerting stare Frankl was directing at her. Strange also seemed to be in no mood for further conversation and moved quickly to join her.
The cavern remained frighteningly silent until a sudden blur of movement at the entrance signalled the arrival of a man known as Liquid Lex. All eyes turned towards the dishevelled-looking man as he made his way into the throng. He was wearing a long khaki trench coat and combat trousers that were frayed and torn, and shabby, wet walking boots that squelched noisily with every step. A mass of hair sprawled riotously from beneath a beret that sat at such an improbable angle it defied the laws of gravitational physics.
Lex smiled boyishly, revealing a multitude of telltale crow’s feet around his eyes. ‘The tide’s coming in,’ he said, making a show of his wet boots.
Aurelia was the first to get up and greet him, and moments later, Strange and Frankl rose to join them. ‘Lex!’ she said, delighted.
Lex beamed back at her. ‘Aurelia. It’s so good to see you. It must be the best part of ten years,’ he said, and after greeting her with a kiss on each cheek, he shook hands a little less amiably with the men.
‘I’m so glad you’re here, Lex,’ Frankl said, despite the cool reception he had received.
As Lex moved away with Aurelia, Frankl looked appraisingly at a man who had always been a great asset to the Order but also something of an enigma. Liquid Lex was not his real name, of course, but stemmed from a childhood bereft of parents and a life forever on the wrong side of the law. He had always been known as Lex to his friends, but had acquired the nickname as a result of a penchant for using a variety of noxious fluids, mostly of his own concoction, in his role as a cat burglar, bank robber, housebreaker, safe-breaker and all the other villainous activities that occupied his time.
It had always struck Frankl as ironic that Lex considered his activities as an aesthete would his art. Lex had never thought of himself as a rogue and genuinely believed that he lived his life in an honourable way with his own set of standards that would have been considered principled in any other profession. On one occasion, when the police had leaked erroneous details of his criminal methods to the press, an incensed Lex had not hesitated in breaking into the police headquarters in the middle of the night with the sole intention of finding his file and amending it. It took him several hours to track down the records, but once located, he rewrote them to the best of his satisfaction before replacing the file and leaving without further ado.
The following day, the police commissioner was baffled to learn of a break-in, yet with no sign that anything had been taken. The mystery remained unsolved until Lex’s records were subsequently pulled following a heist possibly linked to the Order. When the commissioner was presented with Lex’s, by now, amended records, he finally came to understand what had happened.
Lex’s previous description that described him as, ‘An unprincipled lifetime offender who should be considered extremely dangerous at all times’, had been crudely scrawled out, and underneath, in Lex’s characteristic handwriting, replaced with the words, ‘Lives for the challenge of outwitting the dunderheads who call themselves the police and are oh so corrupt and inept. Oh, and incidentally, he wouldn’t hurt a flea’.
The red-faced commissioner could not live it down, and once the details of his ineptitude were published in the press, early retirement was a foregone conclusion.
Despite his shabby appearance, Lex was an affable, lighthearted man, who prided himself on having never worked a single day in his life, yet effortlessly acquiring wads of cash through unlawful means before proceeding to fritter it away on the two great loves of his life—alcohol and gambling.
None of this was lost on Black, who recruited Lex to the Order to raise funds by whatever means he saw fit, thus creating a match made in heaven. For single-handedly masterminding the Order’s nefarious activities, Lex was rewarded with an almost mystical protection from the law that somehow seemed allied to working for Black, but in reality, was a consequence of the Order’s illicit deposits made into the offshore bank accounts of the land’s most senior custodians of the law.
‘I presume this meeting’s going to be brief, Josef?’ Lex enquired, addressing Frankl with a disarming smile. ‘It won’t be long before we’re trapped in here, judging by the state of the tide.’
‘We’re still awaiting the arrival of one final guest before we start. I suggest we all sit down quietly and wait,’ Frankl declared.
The ensuing silence was only punctuated by the distant sound of the sea growing imperceptibly louder with each passing moment, but it was not long before a pale, gaunt young man appeared at the entranceway to the cavern.
The man clambered ungainly through the gap, his eyes darting uneasily from one face to another as he steadfastly sought to avoid the searching gazes that fell upon him while wringing his hands and hopping nervously from one foot to another. Like Lex, his boots were wet, a legacy of the sea that was inexorably making its way into the cave.
The man spoke methodically with a staccato rhythm without addressing anyone in particular. ‘We’ll soon be cut off in here at the rate the tide’s coming in. Surely you’re not planning to stay …’
‘You’re worrying unnecessarily,’ said Frankl dismissively, getting to his feet and making his way to the centre of the natural stone arena. ‘Although you’re right, of course, Michael. The water’s heading our way and I’m sure you all saw the tidemark before entering the cave, but it won’t be lost on you that the height of this chamber is well above tide level,’ he said, gesturing expansively with his arms. ‘The water will fill the channel but cannot reach us in here. We may have to wait some hours, but once the tide recedes, we can retrace our steps. In the meantime, we can conduct our meeting without interruption and in complete secrecy.’
‘You surpass yourself, Josef,’ said Aurelia with a shake of her head. ‘I’m sure you could have chosen any number of suitable places for this meeting without the need for all of this grandeur. Whatever you are, Josef, you’re not Pearly.’
Frankl smiled but passed no comment. He raised a finger and pointed at the newly arrived man. ‘Let me introduce Michael Styx. I doubt you’ve had the pleasure of Michael’s company before, but I’m delighted he’s agreed to meet with us this evening. He’s the bearer of some rather crucial information.’
A look of loathing passed across the young man’s face and he shuffled uneasily under Frankl’s scrutiny.
‘Let’s just hope it’s worth it,’ spat Aurelia. ‘Reaching your venue is one thing, Josef, but I for one would rather not have to swim from here. Incidentally, am I alone in supposing there’ll be enough oxygen for us in he
re once the tide cuts us off?’
Frankl was unfazed. ‘I don’t know, Aurelia. You should have your answer in a few hours. I was going to add, “if you’re prepared to wait”, but it looks as if the water’s already upon us,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the entranceway that was now occluded with water. ‘Maybe Abel could do some calculations with that prodigious brain of his and tell us whether we’re going to suffocate.’
‘Er, quite so,’ said Strange, turning his head slowly from one individual to another as if considering the problem while sitting at his desk at the Academy. In the dim candlelight, he looked like a fish out of water, the thick round lenses of his spectacles magnifying bulbous eyes that appeared far too large for his small face and wiry frame. He removed his handkerchief to wipe his glasses, more from habit than need, as he contemplated the challenge Frankl had set for him.
It was some minutes before Strange finally spoke. ‘Based on the dimensions of the cavern, I’ve, er, estimated the amount of oxygen that is available to us, assuming a normal composition of air, of course. I’ve made, er, a few assumptions relating to each individual’s size, allowing an approximation of their basal metabolic rate, and extrapolating from this, their oxygen consumption.’
‘What are your conclusions?’ asked Frankl, sounding as if he hardly cared for the answer even before Strange had voiced it.
‘I believe we have a maximum of three hours before the oxygen runs out,’ Strange said matter-of-factly.
Strange’s words were met with a stunned silence as the audience absorbed the implications of the prediction until Frankl calmly declared, ‘It’ll be high tide shortly. In a couple of hours, the tide will recede and allow air back into the cavern. Let’s just hope your calculations are accurate, Abel. Now, I suggest we begin. Once we’re done, we can all sit quietly and not expend any more energy than is necessary.’
‘Get on with it then,’ said Aurelia.
‘Very well, Aurelia, although a little more courtesy would not go amiss,’ replied Frankl.
‘By now, most of you will have realised that this meeting relates to the Order, despite its abrupt end with the unfortunate demise of our former great leader, Pearly Black, almost ten years ago—’
‘Oh, come now, Josef, we all know what happened. What is this, a history lesson?’ interrupted Aurelia.
‘Not quite, Aurelia. You forget that not all of us were part of the Order,’ retorted Frankl, inclining his head in the direction of Styx. ‘I suspect our friend, Michael, here, was still in shorts when Pearly was in his prime. I think it’s only appropriate to provide him with some background, don’t you?
‘Now, Michael, have you ever heard of the Order of Eternal Enlightenment?’
A slight shake of his head was the only sign that Styx gave to suggest he had heard the question before Frankl continued.
‘When Pearly first assembled the Order, it was an ultra-secretive organisation made up of little more than those of us gathered here tonight,’ he began, noting the uneasy exchange of glances between Aurelia and Lex. ‘Inevitably, as word of the Order’s activities spread, support developed in areas that we had not foreseen. We were fortunate that Pearly had the ear of many influential people, particularly Dionysus Bing, the editor of The Morning Comet.’
‘Er, yes,’ said Strange. ‘With Bing in Pearly’s pocket, it was easy for the press to romanticise the Order’s activities, even if, er, Pearly’s ultimate goals were closed to us.’
‘Perhaps, but our faith in him always ensured that we would follow him in whatever direction he saw fit,’ said Lex.
‘Or accept the consequences if we did not,’ sneered Aurelia.
‘We all knew about his obscure alchemical research, and we did whatever he asked of us to achieve his aims,’ said Frankl, ignoring Aurelia’s slur. ‘For this, he needed money,’ he added, looking at Lex.
‘Yes, and with small time criminal activities perpetrated in many and varied ways, the Order began to grow,’ Lex responded. ‘Pearly’s random killing of an adversary or an innocent bystander was lost by subtle manipulations of the media. Equally, acts of kindness purportedly carried out by the Order were cynically orchestrated and publicised. Little by little, the name of Pearly Black became synonymous with good.
‘As his popularity grew, he began to exert influence in the highest echelons of the land, allowing the Order to subtly undermine the undisturbed balance of power the country had enjoyed for so long.’
‘Until Price and his beloved Council began to flex their muscles and it all started to go wrong,’ said Frankl bitterly. He paused and looked at the group as if sizing them up through eyes lost beneath pendulous folds of flesh that hung from his brow.
‘To the majority of you,’ Frankl continued, ‘it should be evident that the reason you were invited here this evening is because of your previous involvement with the Order. The fact that all three of you are here,’ he said, looking at Abel, Aurelia and Lex in turn, ‘tells me that you were intrigued enough by the means in which you were contacted to learn more.’
Frankl smiled, revealing teeth that made him look like a bulldog. ‘The black pearl was more than just a means of communication. It kindled your interest in a possible re-emergence of the Order. After a break of some years, your willingness to meet here confirms that.’
Aurelia showed no emotion while a smile flickered across Lex’s lips.
Strange looked even more unnerved than when he had first arrived. When he spoke, his voice quavered unnaturally, betraying a great sense of unease. ‘How … how possibly could we have not responded? The black pearl was Pearly’s method of contacting us. Well … that is until now …’ he said as he reached for his handkerchief once more and mopped his brow. ‘I just thought that Pearly …’ he began before his voice suddenly trailed off.
‘You thought what?’ demanded Frankl. ‘That Pearly had sent the message himself? For such an analytical mind, Abel, you sometimes reach devastatingly ridiculous conclusions. Let me tell you why you all came: the black pearl stirred something in you and reminded you of your responsibilities.’
Aurelia gave a hollow laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Josef. Who are you to speak of responsibilities?’
Frankl held up a hand. ‘Don’t be so judgmental, Aurelia. Just hear me out and perhaps you’ll show a little more decorum than your demeanour implies.’
Aurelia shrugged her shoulders. ‘Get on with it then, although it’s not as if there’s anywhere else for us to go,’ she added sarcastically.
Frankl glared at her. ‘With Pearly’s death, the Order was finished. Those who had pledged their allegiance to the Order crawled back into the woodwork, only concerned for themselves. It was as if support for the Order had never existed, leaving a handful of Pearly’s loyal advocates isolated and alone, doing all they could to avoid the recriminations that followed.
‘That was many years ago, but for those of us here tonight, the Order has never been forgotten. I, for one, have worked tirelessly these past years, trying to unravel Pearly’s plans. Now, my friends, the time approaches. At last, I have something tangible to bring back all that was lost …’
With these words, Frankl reached inside his coat to reveal an old, beautifully inscribed book that, just a few days earlier, had been gathering dust in the library of the Order’s greatest adversary, Henry Price.
3
THE STONE OF MADNESS
The Stone Statue
LILY CRAWLED FROM BED after a fitful night’s sleep. She had dreamt of being in her classroom conjugating Latin verbs under the doleful scrutiny of her tutor when she heard a noise downstairs. Much to her tutor’s astonishment, she leapt from her chair and shot from the room to investigate. She tiptoed into the hall, but as she searched for the source of the sound, she was grabbed from behind. She thrashed out in her desperation to escape, but a slight teenage girl was no match for the powerful arms squeezing the air from her lungs. Despite her attempts to scream, no sound escaped from her mouth, and as her ter
ror mounted, she awoke with a jolt, drenched in a cold sweat and a pounding in her chest that took a considerable time to slacken. She spent the next few hours staring into the impenetrable corners of the bedroom imagining all manner of unspeakable thoughts before finally slipping back into a restless sleep.
When she awoke, a further wave of apprehension washed over her. Following her father’s return, he had barely spoken to her before informing her that the house had been burgled. Despite her shock, he told her little else, and although she repeatedly quizzed him, he brushed over the details as if they were unimportant. It was no surprise that the thought of an intruder filled her with terror, particularly as her father had been away at the time, and this, combined with the elaborate measures he had taken to protect the house only compounded her sense of unease.
She got up and drew back the curtains, wiping away the condensation that had formed on the window. She leant forwards and peered across the road towards the common. The grass was coated with a heavy frost and a low mist lingered over the rooftops, despite the early morning sunshine. The sight caused Lily to recall the childhood walks she had shared with her mother, Saskia, on mornings such as this, strolling hand in hand across the common to the river. They had stood side by side, captivated by the sunlight sparkling on the water’s surface while the labourers toiled on the construction of a new bridge, losing all track of time as they marvelled at the ingenuity of the engineers and the daring of the workers as the structure took shape.
Lily smiled to herself before the happy thought was blotted out by the memory of her mother’s death. She was six years old when her mother died, and ever since, the completed bridge had become a reminder of the all too brief time they had shared together before she had been brutally snatched away.
Now, standing on tiptoe looking out of the window into the dispersing mist, she could just make out the zenith of the bridge rising above the trees in the distance. Whenever she felt unhappy, she would look towards the bridge from the house or walk down to the river, enjoying the tangible connection this forged with her mother. With her lesson looming, she would not have time to visit the river, but the distant view of the bridge had gone some way towards settling her unease.
