The Stone of Madness

by Nick Baker

  While he waited, Price reflected on the changes that had taken place since the Council had first convened over fifteen years previously. The venue was the same, but some of the personnel had changed leading to a shift in balance. At the outset, the Council had thought and acted as a united body, but with time, it had become subject to extraneous political influence, and more recently, its decisions had been dogged by internal factions, each with their own ulterior motives that did not always necessarily serve the Council’s best interests.

  Price surveyed the room. Isaacson was sitting at a large round table, looking as aloof as ever. Nicolas Fox was standing behind him deep in conversation with General Ian McKenzie, no doubt discussing military matters as was their wont. McKenzie was the senior military advisor to the Council, and with years of experience, he was a voice of reason and pragmatism. Fox, so aptly named for his wily nature, had managed to hang on to his position as Chief of Internal Security, despite the blunders he had made in the events Price had recently witnessed through the Historoscope. The debacle surrounding that evening had culminated in a review of Internal Security’s jurisdiction, and had, rather perversely, led to a strengthening of Fox’s position and the resources available to him.

  A group of three men was talking animatedly on the opposite side of the room conveniently out of earshot of the others. Abel Strange, alchemist and leading academic, looked uneasy. His bulbous eyes accentuated by the thick lenses of his glasses were flitting back and forth between his co-conspirators, who seemed to be arguing about something. William Olberry, the celebrated architect, builder and entrepreneur, whose visionary skills had left an indelible mark on the cityscape, also looked flustered. Olberry was tall and distinguished, but his face was unnaturally red, a reflection, no doubt, of the vehemence of the conversation he was holding with Sir Robert Lec, erstwhile politician and, more latterly, diplomat. Sir Robert, as usual, wore a haughty, austere expression and did not seem in the least perturbed by whatever they were discussing.

  Price felt his stomach lurch as he looked in Lec’s direction. Although he did not wish to admit it, he realised that the queasy sensation arose from the resemblance Lec shared with his daughter, Natacha, despite the stark contrast in their personalities.

  Lec placed a hand on Olberry’s shoulder in an attempt to diffuse the palpable tension that arose from their discussion, but Olberry was having none of it, and casually brushed the hand away.

  Price made his way into the room, and as he strode towards the table, the sounds of idle chatter dwindled into an unnatural silence, interspersed by his own clipped footsteps. Fox was the first to react and came round the table to greet him.

  ‘Ah, Henry, welcome,’ Fox said, shaking Price’s hand in a cursory manner. ‘Isaacson’s performed miracles in bringing us together at such short notice. I’m sure there must be a good reason …’ he added, his words trailing off but with the implication clear.

  ‘There is indeed, as you’ll see, but we’re still one light, I believe,’ replied Price, scanning the room.

  ‘Mr Fielding will be with us presently,’ Isaacson called out from the opposite side of the table. ‘In the meantime, perhaps I could offer you some refreshment, Professor?’

  Price politely declined and shook hands with McKenzie before crossing the room to greet the other men, who had dispersed from their clique and were making their way towards the table. The room fell once more into a profound silence as the men sat down and waited eagerly for the meeting to start.

  ‘I hear you met with my daughter,’ said Sir Robert, breaking the silence with his assertive voice.

  Price felt a sudden rush of concern before he managed to regain his composure. ‘Yes, and extremely helpful she was too,’ he replied noncommittally, trying to quell the fear that Natacha had shared their conversation with her father.

  ‘What on earth was my dear Natacha helping you with? I can’t imagine what you’d want with her; she’s an artist for goodness sake,’ continued Sir Robert.

  Price inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The question implied that Sir Robert had no idea what their meeting was about; either that or he was playing one of his surreptitious diplomatic games. ‘I needed some historical information, that’s all. I believe Cornelius spoke to you about it,’ he replied evasively.

  ‘So he did,’ boomed Sir Robert, ‘but I’ll be damned if he let on what it was all about. I presume you’re about to enlighten us?’ he continued.

  Before Price could answer, the doors flew open, and Montague Fielding, editor-in-chief and owner of The Daily Sting, entered the room. All eyes turned towards Fielding as he limped painfully across the room carrying a wad of papers. Price could not miss the wince that flitted across his face each time his foot met the ground.

  ‘Damnable gout,’ said Fielding miserably. He sat down, scattering a sheaf of papers on the table in front of him. ‘I do hope this meeting will be worth the effort. It’s taken a hell of a lot of trouble to get here, I’ll have you know. I have a newspaper to run,’ he said irately, looking at Price.

  Price ignored the comment and waited patiently for the meeting to begin.

  ‘Ahem,’ said Isaacson, clearing his voice. ‘Now that we’re all here, perhaps we could start.

  ‘As you’re all aware, this extraordinary meeting was convened at the behest of Professor Price,’ he said, gesturing to Price seated to his left. ‘I thank you for the effort it has taken you to fit this meeting into your schedules. I know time is short so I suggest that I hand over to Professor Price to explain the urgency himself.’

  The room fell into an expectant silence as Isaacson sat down.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Price. ‘I’ll delay you all no longer. I called this meeting after the recent theft of a book I acquired from the Ambrosian Library in Milan many years ago. It is for this reason that I believe we’re facing an imminent threat. I’m afraid I don’t have all the facts at my disposal as yet, but I’m concerned that events may rapidly unfold. I hope you all understand the reasons why I felt the need to brief you at short notice.’

  ‘Please continue,’ said Isaacson.

  After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, Price began with the break-in, focusing on the essential facts as he saw them. He started with an account of the unique locks protecting the house before describing the thief’s brief foray into the building to steal Piotrowski’s manuscript while ignoring the many more powerful and expensive items he could have taken. He also described the petrification spell the thief had cast, explaining that this was something only a handful of powerful alchemists could perform.

  He related what he had learnt of Piotrowski and his links with the Esoteric Brotherhood. He also broached the subject of the second, if slightly different, copy of the manuscript purportedly containing a section written in indecipherable code, and once the subject of Pearly Black’s interest.

  He spoke calmly and logically throughout, relating his train of thought that linked the Order of Eternal Enlightenment with the Esoteric Brotherhood, thus suggesting a possible resurgence of the Order. When he had finished, there was a stunned silence. Price was well aware that he had not revealed everything he had learnt, including the discovery of Bosch’s association with the Brotherhood and the grisly disturbance of Black’s body following his death, but he still anticipated that what he had told them would be sufficient to support his claims. He waited patiently for the inevitable questions that would follow.

  ‘I can see why you’ve reached this conclusion, Henry, but it seems that much of what you’ve just told us is based on conjecture,’ said Fox. ‘What makes you so sure the Order is behind this theft?’

  ‘I’m not, is the simple answer,’ replied Price, regarding Fox evenly, ‘but there are certain facts that we can’t afford to ignore. Cast your mind back to when the Order first appeared. The signs were there then, but they were not heeded, certainly in some quarters. I wouldn’t wish for that to happen again. Are you prepared to take the risk, Nicolas?’

 
‘Are you implying Internal Security was responsible for allowing the Order to flourish all those years ago?’ said Fox, bristling at the perceived affront. ‘It was impossible to predict exactly how the Order’s activities would escalate. Surely you must remember that?’

  ‘I’m suggesting nothing of the sort, Nicolas,’ replied Price, with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘All I’m saying is that we must take this chain of events seriously. Don’t forget, I was right before, and I fear I may be right again. There are far too many coincidences for my liking. Unquestionably, there are gaps in what I’ve told you, but now’s the time for vigilance. We must not turn a blind eye as we did before.’

  McKenzie stirred in his seat. He was an impressive man, particularly when regaled in his military uniform. The gold crown insignia over a star and crossed sabre and baton on his sleeve glistened in the hazy sunlight pouring through a vaulted glass skylight towering over the table. He stroked his pencil-thin moustache thoughtfully, and looked, first at Fox, and then Price, as if weighing up their comments before he responded. ‘I’m prepared to accept your theory thus far, Henry,’ he said, his greyish-blue eyes sparkling intelligently. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to explain why you consider a resurgence of the Order a possibility when their talisman has been dead for so long? I always thought it safe to assume that the Order’s aspirations perished along with their leader.’

  ‘I agree with your logic, General, but when the goal is as significant as I fear, then who knows what the outcome may be—’

  ‘And just what is it you fear, Henry? I’m concerned you’re holding something back,’ interjected McKenzie.

  Price looked the General in the eye. ‘I’ve told you all I know,’ he said in a voice that was unwavering, ‘but in answer to your question, it’s the second copy of this book that worries me most. I acquired my own copy many years ago because of a rumour that a dangerous secret was concealed somewhere inside it, yet no matter how hard I looked or how deeply I probed, I always drew a blank.’

  ‘Surely if you couldn’t find this secret then no one else will,’ said Mackenzie.

  ‘How I wish it were so, General. After years of scrutiny, I decided that the manuscript was just another false trail, but I was wrong. I’d always assumed that Piotrowski’s manuscript was unique, but now I learn of another copy that’s not the same as my own.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘It changes everything. I fear the Brotherhood used a time-honoured ploy favoured by certain cabals that existed at the time to hide a most powerful secret. Imagine two near identical books containing a handful of differences. It raises the possibility that one book holds a key that will enable a code in the other to be deciphered. It’s like having two halves of one whole where the integral parts are of no use, but when held together …’ he said, allowing his voice to trail off.

  ‘You’re not making yourself clear, Price,’ snapped Fielding. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that each copy of the manuscript is useless on its own, but when held in tandem with the other, it may hold the key to a powerful secret. Can we afford to take that risk?’ he added rhetorically.

  ‘Do you have any idea what this book is hiding?’ said Fox.

  Price nodded circumspectly. ‘Perhaps, Nicolas, but remember this is pure speculation.’

  An expectant hush fell inside the room.

  ‘The Brotherhood was a powerful sect rumoured to have made discoveries rivalling some of the great alchemists of earlier ages. Indeed, some have gone as far as to suggest that the Brotherhood was successful in the quest for the fabled living stone, although in what respect or guise, I simply don’t know.’

  ‘Yes, but if the Brotherhood discovered the secret of the living stone, then why did they elect to withhold it? Surely it would bring great fame and wealth to whoever made the discovery?’ said Fielding.

  ‘I have no easy explanation for this, but perhaps the discovery was as much to be feared as it was revered. Maybe the Brotherhood decided to keep it hidden until a time when it could be put to better use.’

  ‘But surely if this secret was so well guarded, then eventually it would have surfaced once the custodians felt the time was right,’ said Olberry, shifting his bulk uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘You may be right,’ agreed Price, ‘but what is unclear is the eventual fate of the Brotherhood. We have no idea if the Brotherhood dwindled out of existence or whether it still continues under some other guise today.’

  ‘Some cataclysm must have befallen the Brotherhood,’ concluded Fox.

  ‘What makes you so certain, Nicolas?’ said Mackenzie.

  ‘If Piotrowski’s manuscript was hiding some unimaginable secret, then it makes no sense for the books to find their way to libraries in Milan or Amsterdam. It also explains why the secret has remained hidden for so long; simply put, there was no one left to pass it on to.’

  ‘That certainly seems to make some sense,’ agreed Sir Robert sombrely, his deep sonorous voice startling Strange and Fielding on either side. ‘Assuming this secret fell from all knowledge, someone somewhere has rediscovered the trail. As you suggest, Henry, Black was interested in this book over ten years ago, hence supporting a link with the Order.’

  ‘Er, yes, but that in itself proves nothing,’ announced Strange suddenly. ‘Just because Pearly was interested in this book doesn’t mean we’re on the verge of a revival of the, er … Order. It’s a leap of faith that’s tenuous at best. Don’t you think you’re being a little premature in your assumptions, Henry?’

  ‘Let me ask you this, Abel. What makes you think that this theft is not connected to Black’s supporters? We know they vanished the moment he died. Who’s to say that they’ve not regrouped at a time when our defences are at their lowest ebb? You’re an alchemist of repute; how can you explain the petrification spell the thief cast?’

  Strange looked queasy. When he replied, he spoke with his bespectacled eyes fixed on the table in front of him. ‘I, er … knew Pearly well,’ he began, his voice quiet and unsteady. ‘Simply put, Pearly was the Order, its, er … raison d’être, if you like. Without him, the Order never was nor ever will be.’

  ‘You speak with a certain amount of assurance if you don’t mind me saying so, Abel,’ said Fox.

  Strange fiddled with his glasses nervously. ‘All I’m, er … suggesting is that, er, even if Pearly’s followers were considering reforming the Order, their chances of success without him to guide them would be, if you ask me, non-existent.’

  ‘But do you think that this theft could be linked with one of Black’s associates?’ said Price.

  ‘Er … possibly,’ Strange replied reticently. ‘I agree that transforming organic into inorganic material could only be performed by a powerful alchemist. Indeed, it’s true that there are a few of Pearly’s allies who could do such a thing, but so could a handful of people not associated with the Order. No, Henry, I still, er, think that you’re making far too many assumptions here.’

  ‘Very well, Abel, but I still don’t believe we can ignore the threat that arises from whatever’s hidden in the manuscript,’ said Price.

  ‘I think we can all see that,’ interjected Fox, noting the assenting nods around the table. ‘So, what would you have us do, Henry?’

  ‘First and foremost, be vigilant. Nicolas, you have your contacts at Internal Security; use them, particularly those on the side of the criminal fraternity. Listen to the gossip and the rumours and see where it leads.

  ‘The same applies to you, Monty. I’m sure you have an extensive network of sources in your pursuit of truth and justice,’ Price continued without irony.

  ‘And the rest of us?’ said Sir Robert.

  ‘You’ve all been in this situation before. You know where your strengths lie and how to put them to good effect. All I ask is for your support. These are dangerous times.’

  ‘And you, Henry. What will you do?’ queried Sir Robert.

  ‘I fe
el somehow responsible in letting Piotrowski’s manuscript slip from my grasp. I must go and see this other copy for myself.’

  ‘How do you, er, think that will help?’ enquired Strange. ‘You’ve already said that each book on its own is useless. Why waste your time on a fruitless journey overseas?’

  ‘I’d have thought that much was obvious, Abel. Even if this second copy yields no more than the first, at least I can ensure that it doesn’t fall into the same hands that procured my own.’

  ‘And how do you hope to, er, achieve that? Surely the curator of this library won’t just hand the book over to you.’

  ‘That I do not know, Abel, but we’ll see. What is certain is that I cannot wait any longer; I intend to leave for Holland the moment this meeting is over. I’ve already delayed for far longer than I’d have liked, but it was imperative the Council met before I went. Now, are there any other pressing matters?’ said Price, eyeing the men circumspectly.

  In the silence that followed, Price mulled over the responses to his news. He seemed to have support in some quarters, but others had received his views with suspicion. Nonetheless, he had planted the seeds in their minds. All he could do now was to wait and see how they reacted; it would tell him a great deal about the Council and how it might function in the future.

  Eventually, Nicolas Fox cleared his throat. ‘I think there’s something I ought to bring to your attention,’ he began nervously. ‘I didn’t think it was relevant until I heard Henry’s news, but now I’m not so sure. The problem is … well … I’m afraid that one of my men has gone missing.’