1

Spymaster-General: The Shakespeaian Cyphers

J.A. Singemann

All nature is merely a cipher and a secret writing. The great name and essence of God and His wonders -the very deeds, projects, words, actions, and demeanour of mankind -- what are they, for the most part, but a cipher?
Blaise De Vigenre (1523-1596)

Knowledge is never too dear.

Sir Francis Walsingham (1532 1590)

Your monument shall be my gentle verse Which eyes not yet created shall oer read And tongues to be your being shall inhearse When all the breathers of this world are dead

Sonnet 81, lines 9-12.

"Omnia in numeris sita sunt"

Everything lies veiled in numbers.

Prologue:
February 1563.
(High above the mountain passes of North Wales in the hidden Eglwyseg Valley, at the furthermost part called Worlds End, is Crag-y-cythral, The Devils Crag, where lies the manor house of ancient times named Plas Uchaf , The Seat of the Kings.)

The force of the wind drove the rain into his face. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he watched the rider and his horse navigate the steep incline that lead to the wide valley below. He knew the doctor would not be long now. Turning on his heels, he closed the heavy wooden gates and trudged back across the muddy courtyard, towards the lamplight flickering softly through the diamond-shaped leaded windows of the ancient manor house.

Doctor Edmund Fry awoke to the sound of loud and insistent hammering on his bedchamber door. Dragging himself from his warm bed, he made his way across the freezing room, threw back the doors weighty bolt, and confronted the intruder. Hold fast you coxcomb, Im here, Im here. Stop that infernal racket! he commanded. It is I, Doctor, John Shakespeare, said a sodden apparition, holding his lantern aloft. Fry raised his hand in front of his face. Dont blind me with that thing Shakespeare, you dullard! Put the blasted light on the table, so that I might dress. Brushing past the doctor, Shakespeare placed the oil lamp on a rough wooden table that sat in the centre of the room. And try not to drench me as you do so, man! Collecting up his clothes, Fry hastily dressed himself, and still tugging at his riding boots, followed Shakespeare into the night, where two horses stood tethered to the sticking-post. Mounting the waiting steeds, the pair rode out into the wind and rain. Galloping across the brow of a hill, Fry was blinded by a flash of intense light. Reining his terrified horse, he rubbed at his eyes as a piercing clap of thunder rent the air. When his vision had returned, he was alone. Wiping the rain from his face, he slowly turned his head and scanned the horizon. Some distance ahead, he spotted two dark shapes and spurring his reluctant mount, he trotted towards them. As he approached, the smaller shape began to coalesce into the distinguishable outline of a man, presumably Shakespeare, lying face down in the mud. Strangely, the other, much larger, shape seemed to be emitting a thin stream of smoke. Getting closer Fry began to distinguish more detail until, to his horror, the mound revealed itself to be the smouldering remains of Shakespeares horse, its sleek muscular body now scorched and

5 broken by the impact of the lightnings deadly lance. A few feet to the left of the creatures mangled remains, Shakespeare himself began to stir. Fry cupped his hand around his mouth. Are you still in one piece man? he bellowed above the noise of the rain. Shakespeare rolled onto his back and rubbed a mud stained hand across his brow. I fear my brain may have been broiled in my skull, he called back amiably, and my ears now resonate to the cacophonous threnody of two separate angelic choirs, otherwise, I am quite well. How fares yourself good doctor? Fry yanked at his horses reins and the animal reared on it hind legs spouting steam from its nostrils. For a moment, Shakespeare thought the doctor meant to dash his brains out, but at the last minute, Fry wheeled his horse towards the road and galloped off into the storm. Shakespeare shrugged. He was alone with a dead horse on his backside in the mud. It wasnt the first time. Half a mile ahead, Fry had gained the relatively level ground of an open-plain that lead to the foot of a large hill. Reaching the hill, he followed a rough track as it snaked its way up the steep incline towards a well-fortified manor house that dominated the horizon. As he approached the manor house, its wooden gates parted, their ancient hinges groaning in protest. When they were fully open, a lone middle-aged man stood framed in the entranceway. Around five feet eight inches tall, he caste an imposing figure clad in a heavy black-velvet surcoat and black britches, his feet protected from the elements by a pair of stout knee-length black leather boots. Taut rather than skinny his lined and sun-weathered face suggested an outdoorsman, a hunter. Spare not one moment of tarry with the steed, doctor, there is no time, he commanded with a brisk wave of his hand. Fry quickly dismounted and followed the man in black across the muddy courtyard. Reaching the manor house, his host turned and offered a thin smile.

6 As you are aware, doctor, he said, Plas U Chaf has been neglected these past years. It is but a shell of its former glory. No matter, its deep seclusion provides a boon that overrides its many discomforts. He opened the front doors, and bid the doctor to enter with a sweep of his arm. Frys nostrils quivered at the overpowering smell of damp and decay that suddenly assailed them, it was as if the man in black had opened the gates to an ancient mausoleum. He shuddered. He understood, perhaps more than anyone, the matter was of the utmost urgency, but why this god forsaken place? The conclusion of his ministries this night would decide his fate. This Fry knew in his soul. His life was in the balance. The thought made his heart sink. What of his wife and son, what would they do if he were never to return? No, that simply would not stand. He was certain of his abilities, yet he knew, in the end, the final outcome rested upon the broad shoulders of The Almighty and try as he might, he found little comfort in the notion. With all the enthusiasm of a man making his way to the gallows, Fry swallowed hard and stepped into the manor house. Brushing past him, the man in black plucked an oil lamp from a table and adjusted the flame. I

shall lead the way, he said, but stick close doctor, for believe me this building has many ghosts, and you would do well not to get lost. Fry followed closely in his hosts footsteps as he led them through a bewildering labyrinth of empty corridors and abandoned rooms. What traces of life that remained, a dusty wooden table, a single high-backed chair, its horsehair stuffing spilling from its worn cushions, merely added to the unnatural atmosphere. Fry thought of some vast crewless galleon left to drift the high seas, a ghost ship. Turning a corner, he caught a glimpse of something, a fleeting shadow that darted

7 away even as he looked at it. He shivered. He had never liked this house. Seat of the Ancient Welsh kings it might have once been, but to his mind it was a cursed place. Devils Crag indeed, the name made him mutter a prayer under his breath. As he prayed, he studied his host. Strangely, the man in black seemed oblivious to the buildings dark aspect, and he strode confidently through the place undaunted by its winding corridors and benighted shadows. Finally, they arrived at a large doorway, its entrance barred by a set of rivet-studded doors. The man in black stopped in his tracks and turned around. Needless to say, my good doctor, he said, whatever happens within the confines of this ladys chamber, no report travels further than these four walls am I clear? We are a long way from civilization and in this wild and inhospitable place, the capricious hand of Fate might strike at any time, and at any one. As a physician, you are cognisant of the fact, I am sure, that an individuals life can be over in no more time than it takes to say One. He paused. You would do well to remember that phenomenon, if anything were to befall mlady. The words seemed to siphon the very air from the corridor. Fry swallowed and cleared his throat. I am a vessel of the Lord, Sir, he stated with firm conviction. I shall tend to mlady with all the knowledge and skill I possess, I can do no other. The man in black stepped closer. No, doctor, you are quite wrong, he hissed. For you see, you can do other. You must pledge both your heart and your mind, for without this pledge, this solemn oath, neither you nor I may stand in any surety; we have nothing. I am not a man prone to melodrama, that I leave to the poets and wordsmiths, but believe me when I state the very fate of our nation rests upon the events that take place within this rude chamber. You have served Mlady well over the years, of this there is no denying; you have offered sage advice and proved your discretion in numerous delicate matters. For your loyalty you are now offered a unique

8 opportunity. The man in black offered the briefest of smiles, no more than a shimmer, a muscular tic, all the while his gaze remained firmly locked onto the doctors, trapping him like a rabbit that waits, spellbound, for the Hawk to strike. Yet strangely, Fry could feel his breathing slowing, and his heart no longer threatening to barrel its way up his throat and out of his mouth. It was if his companions blue-green eyes, combined with his sibilant whisper, were somehow lulling him to sleep. Soon he began to sway gently from side-to-side. Observing this, the man in black reached out and tapped the doctor on each shoulder with the forefinger of his left hand. The contact, although brief and delicate, seemed to galvanise the physician and he shook his head as if to clear some inner fog. Do forgive me my Lord he hesitated, unsure where to begin. I seem to have suffered some kind of soporific Ague; although I must confess I now feel much refreshed. Indeed Tis most strange, but I feel as ifreborn. Fry smiled, unable to hide his discomfort at his choice of words. If I at first appeared a little apprehensive, let me pledge my disposition is now much improved and you have my solemn oath I will give myself, body and soul to the task, freely and in the face of God. The man in black nodded, and his lips curled for a second in what might have been a smile The very weight of History falls upon your shoulders, Doctor Fry; future generations will stand or fall because of the outcome of your ministry, it pleases me you have now found the resolve to undertake such a task. In exchange for your fealty, discretion, and brotherhood I shall entrust upon you, The Word. The man in black put his mouth to Frys right ear and whispered into its shell-like interior. Taking a step back, he reached out and struck the doctor on the temple with his open palm. Fry staggered back a step under the unexpected blow. The man in blacks eyes became dark slits. Now you have received the Mark, I will know if you attempt to break our eternal bond. Remember The Word, doctor. Never forget, for I spare not.

9 The man in black turned around and removed a large iron key from within the folds of his blackvelvet surcoat. Placing it into the rusty lock, he turned it clockwise and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Fry swallowed hard and looked at his companion. The man in blacks eyes softened and he touched the doctors arm. Fear not, my friend, he said gently. Fry relaxed a little. He knew his companion well; this man was the godfather to his own son, a son Fry had named in his honour, some afternoons they would play chess, or go hawking together. This man was not a monster. Clutching his bag to his chest, Fry nodded once and stepped into the room. The man in black closed the doors and replaced the key in his pocket. His part in the nights proceedings was at an end for the moment. He took a seat on a dusty chair opposite the chamber and sighed. He was perhaps the most powerful man in the country and he had done everything within his earthly power to ensure the best possible outcome, but he was not God. The irony such a blessing could also be such a curse. All that now remained was to wait. He smiled grimly to himself, and getting to his feet, began pacing the draughty hallway like a caged animal. His long vigil ended when the chamber doors swung open and Dr. Fry stepped from the room, a beaming smile on his face. M lady has been blessed with a son, he proudly announced. M lady has been blessed with a son!

10

17th March, 2002. Crouch End, North London, United Kingdom.

here-http://boards.tiscali.ancestry.co.uk/surnames.sadler/230.255/mb.ashx Classification: Surnames: Have discovered that Hamnet Sadler was born in Solihull (1561) not Stratford and worked as a spy for the crown through recusant deer hunter Thomas Lucy and was partially responsible for Shakespeare's banishment from Stratford. His name on Shakespeare's will was forged for an interesting range of reasons. Still looking for his connections (genealogical), to Sir Ralph Sadler, who helped Mary Queen of Scots to her death Also, seek to know how and when his descendants came to America. [01:21:01] Authorities will/have dispute my contention that Sadler's signature was forged. As soon as a document arrives from London, I should be able to confirm once and for all. Another contact (no longer available, alas) confirmed the Virginia Sadlers' early arrivals and land holdings through a Capt. Barker, I believe. This previous source was convinced that Hamnet may well have been the author of Shakespeare's plays, but evidence reveals that he was too busy making babies and spying

11 for the crown or Thomas Lucy, Shakespeare's nemesis. I have little other substantive information on Hamnet. The rest would be regarded as wildly theoretical. Good luck in your searchings. Health problems have kept me from keeping up on this and other projects. This month tells the tale (2000) He read the words on the computer screen with growing amazement. Youre not going to believe what Ive just found! he called to his companion in the next room. Seriously, you are not going to fucking believe this! Its like a gift from Godand its going to make us very, very rich. He double-clicked the print icon and sat back in his chair. A few seconds later, he was holding a copy of the text in his hand. Getting to his feet, he began to do a merry jig around the room. Were gonna be rich, were gonna be rich, ee-aye-ad-i-o, were gonna be rich! He stopped dancing and shook his head. Putting the sheet of paper to his lips, he kissed the freshly printed words.

12

Chapter One

15th December, 2007: Burbank California, United States of America.

History is more or less bunk.

Henry Ford

Doctor Simon Fry awoke to the incessant beeping of an electronic pager that sat on a table next to his bed. Beside him, his wife Anne, well used to the interruption, sighed, rolled-over and went back to sleep. Reaching out his hand, he grabbed the black plastic rectangle and launched it across the room, where it hit the wall and then fell behind an armchair. Listening to its subdued cacophony for a full thirty seconds, he pulled back the duvet and reluctantly left his bed. Retrieving the offending item, he padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Stepping over to the toilet, he dropped the pager into the blue-tinged water and slammed the lid shut.

13

Forty-minutes later, Simon was striding down the busy corridors of the Cedars-Sinai Hospital, a small, dark-skinned female nurse jogging a few paces behind him. Ms. Rene has been in labour for over sixteen-hours doctor, and the baby is facing the wrong direction, she explained. Were prepped and ready for an emergency Caesarean. Simon ground to a sudden halt. Do her notes indicate she has a history of fibroids? No, doctor... A bi-cornuate uterus or a low-lying placenta? Chouthi rapidly scanned the patients case history file. No, doctor, she said. Simon smiled gently. Then lets take a look first shall we nurse, before slicing her open? He continued on his way. Is there anything else I need to know? he asked. Shes a single mother, whose partner left her some months ago. Parents...? Both deceased. Simon nodded. So, shes alone in pain and very, very scared. She is extremely concerned about the use of a Caesarean section. Do you blame her? Chouthi offered a slight frown. But it is an extremely safe procedure, doctor. Safe and convenient nurse, and often the latter outweighs the former, in my opinion, so well do all we can to avoid the method.

14 Walking into the bright, antiseptic, delivery room, Simon smiled and introduced himself to his patient, a pretty young woman with auburn hair and a round face. She was lying on a bed with her legs tucked under her swollen stomach, her hair matted with sweat. Obviously, in considerable pain she managed a weak smile. Hello again, Elisabeth, Im doctor Fry, he said pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her bed. But you can call me Simon, Reaching out he took Elisabeths hand. I dont know if you remember me, but we met at one of your pre-natal classes. It seems youre having some problems, huh? Unfortunately, youre having whats termed a breech birth. About three in ten babies are breech, which means the babys bottom is closer to the cervix instead of the head. He smiled reassuringly. Its nothing to get upset about Elisabeth, Ive dealt with this sort of thing before believe me youre in good hands. I completely understand your reticence concerning a Caesarean section, so, if I have your permission, Id like to attempt to turn your baby using ultra-sound and a little massage, its called External Cephalic Version or E.C.V. What do you say? Elisabeth bit her lip and grimaced as another wave of pain wracked her body. Breathing in and out, she rode the contractions. Eventually her breathing returned to normal and she answered Simons question. Id like that very much, doctor, thank you, she said. Taking a shiny, kidney-shaped dish from nurse Chouthi, Simon removed a small hypodermic needle. First Ill give you a shot of Brethine to relax your uterus, he explained. Then well use the ultra-sound to show us exactly where your babys at. Walking to a grey monitor across the room, he wheeled the large piece of equipment back to his patient. Taking a plastic tube, he began to smear her swollen stomach with a translucent gel. This may feel a little cold, he warned. Moving the hand piece slowly across her abdomen, he eventually produced an image of Elisabeths baby on the monitors screen. So, there are the buttocks and theres a leg, he said

15 pointing at the screen, and as you can see theyre facing the wrong way. Giving the hand piece to nurse Chouthi, Simon began to massage Elisabeths stomach, his fingers working in small, delicate circles. He smiled. Dont worry, Im just going to move your baby by pressing my hands on your abdomen; you might feel some discomfort, but Ill be as gentle as I can. The knack is to try and relax as much as possible and use the breathing exercises you learned at your pre-natal classes. Elisabeth clutched at the mattress and shrieked in pain. Simon could feel movement beneath his fingertips as the baby attempted to reposition itself and he continued to knead Elisabeths abdomen. Keep breathing honey, youre doing fine, I can feel your baby moving, he encouraged. Youre doing greatany time now just keep breathing. 14 minutes later, at precisely 8:47 and 23 seconds, on the morning of December 15, 2007, Elisabeth Mary Rene became the proud mother of a healthy baby boy, whom she named, Simon.

Later that evening, Simon was checking his e-mail. Among the usual spam, enquiring whether he was completely satisfied with the size of his penis, or if he would consider furnishing his bank account details to a high ranking member of the Nigerian government, was a message from his Uncle Nicolas.

16 Dear boy, I know it is a trifle late, but I am sending this in the hope you will be able to visit Harry and I for the festive season. Yes, I know you are a busy man, but before you decline, let me inform you Paul and his wife Ivy will be attending, as will your Uncle Sebastians daughter, Penny, so you see it will be something of a family reunion. Please say you will join us, for, aside from our delight in seeing you again after all these years, I have something of great import to tell you concerning our family. Suffice to say, I do not wish to explain via e-mail, but trust me when I assure you it will be well worth the journey. The invitation obviously extends to you both, as there is ample room at Standon Lordship for all, as I am sure you remember. Harry and I eagerly await your reply and hope to see you both soon. Your loving uncle Nicolas (Still of Castle Fry)

Nicolas and Harriet have invited us, and Paul and Ivy, and Uncle Sebastians daughter, Penny. Simon was sitting across the dining table opposite his wife, Anne, who was sipping a glass of

17 white wine. He paused. Weve never even met her, he reflected. And we havent seen Paul and Ivy since our wedding. Cmon, Beth, what do you say? Lets go away; just the two of us Spend Christmas in England and then, who knows? Maybe we could go ski ing in Italy, or yknow something. Simon swallowed, determined not to lose his temper. Jesus, we havent been on vacation for over three years and Christmas is only a couple of weeks away. Anne sighed. Im aware of the date, Simon, but you know Ben and I have been working on this Bridgemont thing, if we dont complete the deal, theyll sue for breach of contract. I cant just drop everything and go on vacation, Im not asking you to drop everything; Im just suggesting we might go to England for Christmas, not trek across the goddam Himalayas. I thought it might be pleasant to spend some time together is all. Anne reached out and touched Simons hand. Oh, darling, it would, but Ben and I have spent weeks on this, pouring over the details and making the whole thing air-tight. I simply cant drop out now and leave Ben in the lurch. Simons eyes suddenly flashed with fury. Fuck Ben! he growled, no longer able to contain his anger. Anne pulled her hand away and reached for her glass. For gods sake, cant we have one conversation without having to deal with your ugly and irrational hatred for a work colleague of mine? Simon sat back in his chair. Sorry sweetie, but I find little to commend the man who is banging my wife. He paused and offered a mordant grin. Unless you want to furnish me with a few juicy details of your love lifewhats he like? He laughed bitterly. He must be doing something right, because, I swear, sometimes its like screwing a corpse. Anne fell silent, her face a mask of withering contempt. Simon folded his arms across his chest. He was almost tempted to laugh.

18 Anne smiled and taking her wineglass launched the contents into his smug face. Simon let the liquid drip from his chin, as Anne stormed from the room. Wiping his face with his hand, Simon shrugged. So, Ill tell Nicolas to expect us both shall I, Honey? he said, his sarcasm piercing only the empty space between them.

19

Chapter Two
This only is denied to God: the power to undo the past.

Agathon (448400 BC)

Simon sat in his seat and looked out the window at the brilliant sunshine and the fluffy white clouds. He could remember when flying was still glamorous, when stewardesses were called stewardesses and not flight attendants, when it was all linen napkins and complimentary champagne. Now you were more likely to be downtrodden than upgraded. Three hour check-in times, no hand luggage, no plastic bottles, men with automatic weapons checking your shoes, intrusive body searches, and that unique frisson of fear when the passenger next to you has a beard and dark glasses. One distraction from the tedium was the attentions of a mildly flirtatious flight attendant. Simon had no problem it was a male flight attendant, it still meant he got extra drinks. This allowed him to slip into something of a coma for much of the journey and thus avoid a conversation with the suspicious looking individual with the beard and dark glasses sitting next to him. Nine hours later, they landed safely at Heathrow, the aeroplane somehow avoiding the everpresent threat it might be high jacked and then flown into a major London landmark. Simon even managed to get through customs without having to remove every item from his luggage and watch a group of dour faced officials examine with suspicion every stain on his boxer shorts. All in all, it had been a pleasant journey. Wheeling his baggage trolley through the main terminal, a bespectacled, more elderly man in a

20 tweed jacket stepped out of the crowd and embraced Simon in an enthusiastic bear hug. When the long embrace had ended, the elderly gentleman stepped back. By thunder its good to see you again, Simon, he beamed. Let me take a good look at you. It had been over ten years and the figure standing in front of Simon had lost most of his hair, the tufts that did remain now white as snow. His face was a little leaner, but that just accentuated his strong chin and sharp cheekbones. He was dressed in his usual combination of green corduroy trousers, white shirt and black tie hidden beneath a blue tank top and a thick tweed jacket. He had shaved his beard since Simon had last seen him and the thin lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth now extended across his face. He was older, but he looked healthy. He was Uncle Nicolas. By thunder its good to see you, he repeated. But where, may I enquire, is Anne? Simon shrugged. Shes bogged down at work with a contract, Uncle Nicolas, so I decided to come alone, he explained. Nicolas shook his head sadly. Ah, that is a shame; Harry would have so liked to see her again after all these years, perhaps another time...Still, no matter, we shall both enjoy your company nevertheless, and you can regale her with your adventures upon your return. I take it this is your trolley, old boy? Before Simon could reply, Nicolas seized Simons baggage cart by its handle and began threading his way through the crowds, towards the main exit. Simon stood and watched as his Uncle steered the cart into a collection of suitcases, before narrowly avoiding the foot of a minicab driver holding a piece of cardboard with Mrs. Peel written on it in red Biro. The cab driver shook his head and scowled as Nicolas continued merrily on his way. Five or six yards ahead of him were a group of small children playing a game of tag as they waited with their parents.

21 Simon shut his eyes and waited for the screams. Eventually, both men were standing outside the terminal building, its cosy heated interior a sharp contrast to the bitter winter weather that now assailed them. Simon buttoned his overcoat and donned his leather gloves against the icy rain. Nicolas nodded. Course, the weathers abominable, but what else do you expect? he remarked with a wry grin. Fortunately for us, my Land Rover is not too far away. Forty minutes later, having conducted an exhaustive search of the labyrinth of car parks and vehicles that surround the airport, they arrived back where they had started. Nicolas scratched his head. I just cant understand it, he muttered. I distinctly remember I parked her next to a large blue sign. He shrugged. Simon scanned the area. Fifty yards to his left was a series of parking bays reserved for ambulances and other emergency vehicles. Occupying the middle bay was a battered green Landrover its cracked and peeling paintwork speckled with blooms of rust. On the pavement next to the Landrover was a large blue sign emblazoned with the legend: NO PARKING EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY. Simon nodded. I didnt know you were a paramedic, Uncle, he said. Nicolas looked confused. Im not, sure I understand, Simon. Its just, if youre not, why did you park in the ambulance bay? Simon pointed to the Landrover. Ah, there she is! Nicolas exclaimed with a triumphant smile. He laughed. I must apologise dear boy, I really should pay more attention, but my mind was preoccupied with meeting you, and sundry other distractions. Simon looked dubiously at the Landrover. Lets just hope she starts. Nicolas seized the baggage cart. Dont worry, he said, striding towards the forlorn-looking vehicle, she may seem battered and bruised, but shes not let me down yet. On the journey, the conversation soon turned to the epoch changing nature of Nicholas latest

22 discoveries. Simon smiled, happy to just sit back and listen. Turning his head, he gazed out of the window at the once-familiar English countryside. Late December and the trees were bare, their spiny, leafless limbs now clutching tendrils that seemed to rake the slate grey clouds. Beyond a hedgerow, in a small field, a herd of cows congregated in intimate huddles, wisps of steam rising from their chequered hides, while far in the distance a lone horse and its rider skirted the brow of a muddy hill. After an hour of dull motorway driving, they found their exit and began to navigate the smaller country roads that led to the village of Standon and Lordship Manor. Turning a bend, a large bird swooped down ahead of the Landrover and landed in the middle of the road. Lowering its head, it started to peck at some road-kill. After a few seconds, it spread its silver-grey wings, and with a hop, soared back into the air a strip of red flesh hanging from its black beak. Nicolas pointed excitedly beyond the windscreen. Did you see that? he exclaimed. My word, that was our friend Falco Peregrines the Peregrine Falcon, magnificent creature, simply magnificent. The fastest animal on the planet, dont you find that incredible? Scientists have captured one, using radar I believe, swooping at 114mph after a dive of over 1000 feet! Good lord, Simon, can you imagine the feeling that would induce? That is to say nothing of its remarkable visual acuity. Eight times more powerful than our own, it utilises a kind of telephoto effect to change focus from long to short distance when closing in on its prey, truly one of natures masterpieces. That looked like a female to me as it was quite large, a commonplace in the family Falconidae, in that the female is usually much bigger, and therefore much more deadly, than the male. That sounds familiar, said Simon. Nicholas frowned. I dont think I follow. Simon shook his head. Its nothing Uncle, just a private joke, he said shrugging the moment off.

23 Eventually, they arrived at the small village of Standon. At the end of the High Street, they came to a large Church, the grass rise leading to its entrance dotted with ancient gravestones. Nicolas smiled. Ah, dear old Standon Village and our very own precious stone, St Marys the Virgin, one day both Harry and I will be interred in the family vault, alongside five generations of the Fry family, including your Uncle Peter and Uncle Sebastian. Simon frowned. Jesus, Uncle, thats a little morbid dontcha think? Not at all, there is great comfort in knowing where one will spend eternity. Do you not agree? Personally, I havent given it much thought. But surely Anne and your good self will eventually lie alongside us? I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle, but hopefully we wont be taking up residence anytime soon. No, no, I didnt mean to suggestforgive me, Simon, I am no longer a young man, and at my age thoughts of ones own mortality begin to loom large on the horizon. You look fine to me, and judging by the way you wielded that baggage cart back at the airport, you still have your strength. Nicolas smiled ruefully. Apart from a few arthritic joints, he said massaging his knee. Unfortunately Simon, he sighed, age is a matter of tiny increments, day, by day, the water washes the stone away. Nonsense, you and Harriet have years left. Trust me, Im a doctor. Fifteen minutes later, they turned off the main road and made their way down a narrow private lane. Arriving at a pair of large wrought iron gates that spanned a high wall, Nicolas reached into the glove compartment and began to rummage through its cluttered interior. Now, where is the blasted thing, he muttered. I know its in here somewhere. Ah, here it is! He showed Simon the object in his hand, a slim, rectangular piece of black plastic that resembled a television remote control. I think youll like this, he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. Winding down the window, he put out his hand and pointed the remote control at the gates. Pressing a button, he waited.

24 After a few seconds, he tried again. Shaking his head, he began to punch at the remote with his thumb while thrusting the device at the inactive gates. Eventually he gave up and turned to Simon. Not quite the spectacle I had hoped, he said with chagrin. It seems I will have to resort to more traditional methods. Nicolas reached over to the back seat and grabbed a stout looking walking stick. Opening the door, he got out of the Landrover and made his way to an innocuous-looking metal box mounted on one of the gates. Pointing the remote control at the box, he pushed a button, and then shook his head. Putting the handset back into his pocket, he grasped the walking stick firmly in both hands, raised it high above his head, and bought it down onto the metal box with savage force. After four or five well-aimed blows, it fell to the ground in a shower of sparks and the gates began to open. Clambering back into the vehicle, Nicolas offered Simon a raise of his eyebrows and gently replaced the walking stick on the back seat. Simon smiled. Youve still got your knack with technology I see, Uncle, he said not hiding his amusement. Nicolas sighed and then laughed aloud. Yes, its all about finding the right approach, I find, he chuckled. And in your case that would consist of a large piece of wood. Indeed, Nicolas said earnestly. I find my interactions with technology rely heavily upon the frequent and often vigorous employment of a large piece of wood. As if to prove his point, he put the Landrover in gear and drove through the now open gates. As they made their way along a narrow gravel road that led to the Manor house, they passed a coppice of trees on their right, and Nicolas pointed to two small redbrick cottages that nestled between the trunks. Ah, there they are Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee, he said. Who would have thought that

25 two such innocuous looking structures might contain such stuff as dreams are made of? No pyramids these, nor sacred temples, but the riches that might lie within, they would be of a value, a value-beyond all the gold in the world! He shrugged. However, that is for tomorrow; as for tonight, I fear your Aunt Harry intends to spoil you something rotten. The old girl has been positively beaming over your visit. Arriving at the manor house, Nicolas parked the Landrover and they made their way across a gravel path towards a large wooden door, its sturdy black oak festively adorned with a wreath of fresh holly. Before Nicolas could find his key, the door swung open to reveal a rotund elderlylady, whose plump face broke into a radiant smile. Reaching to kiss Simon, she forced him to bend his knees in order to receive her slobbery benediction. Oh, Simon, my darling, its so good to see you, she coo-ed in delight. Nicolas laughed. Dont smother the boy, Harry, old stick, hes been soaked through enough already by the weather, he doesnt need another dowsing. He touched Simons arm. Dont stand on ceremony, dear boy, you know the way. Stepping across the threshold, Simon stood transfixed; his olfactory senses permeated with a subtle, yet intoxicating, infusion of wood polish, old books and freshly baked bread. Closing his eyes, he found himself transported back to his childhood and the many happy days he had spent in this magnificent old house. Often his parents would accompany him, but on occasion he would be left alone with his Aunt and Uncle, and these were the times he treasured most. One long, hot magical summer, after reading Ivanhoe together, Nicolas had helped him construct a medieval castle, complete with a portcullis and a working drawbridge. This was no cardboard-box fashioned toy, however, for the structure stood over fifteen-feet high, the second floor ramparts accessed by a wooden ramp. Nicolas taught him how to use a small chainsaw to fell the saplings they employed in the construction of Castle Fry, and the thrill of the powerful machine in his hands still remained a vivid memory. Simons father, however, far from admiring their handiwork, had been furious upon discovering

26 his eleven-year-old sons use of hazardous power tools. Even his mother, departing from her usual defense of Nicolas, had commented upon the slightly dangerous nature of the exercise. Nevertheless, Nicolas remained unrepentant, patiently explaining how Inuit children learned to use an ice axe by the age of six, and how Native American braves mastered the use bows and arrows by the time they were ten. Simons father had replied, rather tersely, that his son was not an Inuit, or a Native American brave, but an eleven year-old schoolboy from Tufnell Park; for whom the blooded experience of the ice-axe and bows and arrows would be of limited use, not to mention, bloody chainsaws! Nicolas and Patrick two brothers, yet poles apart. Simons father had been a practical man, almost to the point of obsession, a man who compiled lists and kept timetables. A man who was never, ever, under any circumstances, late. Uncle Nicolas, on the other hand, would often lose his glasses because they were perched upon his head, was late for everything, and seemed perpetually enveloped in a fog of benign anarchy from which things would eventually be resolved. For the young Simon, much to his fathers consternation, his Uncles laissez-faire attitude towards life instantly appealed. Sadly, the incident with the chainsaw was to be the last occasion his father had allowed him to visit Lordship Manor unaccompanied. Within a few months, Simons mother had died and he and his father had immigrated to America. The noisy chime of the front door bell interrupted Simons reverie, and placing a paternal hand on his shoulder, Nicolas moved him gently to one side and opened the front door. Paul, Ivy, he beamed, its so good to see you. Come in, come in. Something wrong with the gates, Uncle? said Paul a wiry man in his mid forties wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket. Nicolas nodded. Ah, yes, they are in need of repair. I attempted to fix them myself, but to no avail.

27 Paul laughed. Oh, right, you tried to fix them that would explain it. He paused. Wait a minute, is that? I dont believe it, it is youSimon! You actually made it. Hi Paul, long time no see, said Simon. Yeah, Christ it must nearly fifteen years, how are you mate? Im doing good. How are you? Oh, you know, still bumbling along. Paul indicated to the attractive woman standing next to him. You remember Ivy? Simon smiled. Of course, how are you Ivy? Ivy smiled. Not as good as you, obviously, she said shaking her head, I cant believe how well you look. Dont let the Californian tan fool you, underneath Im pure cholesterol. Nicolas laughed. I know it has been sometime, he chuckled, but perhaps we should not confine our reunion to this draughty hallway.

28

Chapter Three
History, a distillation of rumour

Thomas Carlyle

Later that evening the reunited family gathered around a long oak table that formed the centerpiece of the Manors grand dining room. After Nicolas had ushered them to their seats, Simon began to scrutinize the familiar collection of portraits that hung on the paneled walls. His eye was drawn to one particular gentleman clad in a gleaming suit of armour sitting proudly astride a beautiful white horse. Shifting his gaze, he studied his neighbour, a serious looking man dressed from head to toe in black, a large falcon perched on his gloved arm. Amazing to consider, any one of those faces actually sat at this table, laughing and joking with their friends and family. All those lives, all that drama, all that history, somehow contained within this ancient building. Turning his head to the opposite wall, he scrutinised the impressive collection of mounted weaponry he had admired as a child. Immediately in front of him hung a pair of weathered battleaxes, flanked by two enormous broadswords. To their right, two full-length Pikestaffs formed a cross, which framed a collection of shorter swords and a pair of polished rapiers. He smiled, as if acknowledging the presence of long-lost friends. Watching his Nicolas fuss over his Aunt, he realized how much he had missed them both. Life, he reflected, had a bad habit of catching up on you when you werent looking. He looked up at the latticework of oak beams that supported the roof, each one as thick as his body. Suspended from the centre beam hung an immense wrought-iron chandelier, adapted

29 during the nineteenth-century to an artful addition of light bulbs instead of candles. Staring at the enormous contraption, he remembered the many times he had refused to sit underneath it for fear it would suddenly tear itself from its moorings and come crashing down on his head. He nodded. Some things never change. He paused. Something was missing; dimly, he remembered the chimes of a large grandfather clock that dominated one corner of the room, its peel somber and menacing. In its place stood an over-sized Christmas tree, its heavy branches festooned with glass baubles and brightly coloured fairy lights, their tiny bulbs blinking a nonsensical semaphore. Perhaps Nicolas mounted the clock on top of the tree, its big enough. He glanced upwards. Nope, just the usual large gold star. The crackle of logs burning in the stone fireplace roundly completed the traditional festive atmosphere. He smiled. They always did know how to spend Christmas. Sliding Harriets chair under the table, an animated Uncle Nicolas reached for a bottle of wine. Ah, Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, he said examining the bottles label. Not the 82 vintage Im afraid, but this is still a magnificent tipple. He opened the wine and poured a measure into a glass. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Im getting high notes and low notes, strawberries and hazelnutswith perhaps subtle undertones of Swarfega. He drained the liquid in three hungry gulps and beamed like a Cheshire cat. And now for the piece-de-resistance! he announced. Placing his glass on the table, he strode from the room, leaving his guests to puzzle over his enigmatic announcement. He returned some moments later with a dome-covered silver platter. Placing it on the table, he slowly lifted the polished dome to reveal a plump roast-pheasant, bordered by a cornucopia of roasted vegetables, and his delighted guests burst into fulsome

30 applause. As the meal progressed, a ripple of easy conversation filled the room. So, you work in the city now, Paul, said Simon. God, yeah, its been over ten years, not that I like it much. Cmon, youve been at it for ten years, it cant be all bad. Dont get me wrong, Simon, the mooh-lahs great, Jesus, me and Ivy wouldnt have the lifestyle we do if it wasnt for my job. Paul took a sip of his wine. But, I dont know, its not my first choice of occupation, lets put it that way. And what would be your first choice? Ivy threw her husband a glance. Lead guitarist in Motorhead, she said. Paul laughed. Not necessarily. Ive always fancied playing with Natalie Imbruglia, he smirked. As the feast progressed, the sharp rapping of Nicolas dessertspoon on the dining table called the house to order. Having achieved a semblance of decorum from his slightly tipsy guests, he cleared his throat and began. As you are all aware, I invited you here for more than a simple family reunion, however delightful that might be. As I mentioned in my invitations, I have made some remarkable discoveries that involve our ancestors. Indeed, I believe them to be perhaps the most significant historical revelations for the past 400 years. Nicolas sipped his wine; his gaze searching the table to make sure every eye was upon him. Might I enquire if any of you have ever heard of a sixteenth-century Tudor courtier and statesman, called Sir Ralph Sadlier? he said casually. Note I pronounce his name, Sadlier as in hotelier for he was also known by a more anglicised version, Sadler, without the I and its French-sounding inflection. I mention this straightaway, but you may take it that Sadlier was the name under which people at the royal court would know him. For the public at large, and certain of his potential enemies, however, Sadler rang truer to the English sensibility and ear. He bit a chunk of roast potato from the end of his fork, and began to chew contentedly. Receiving nothing but a polite silence from his guests, he continued :

31 His contemporaries refer to him as, a man famed for so many and great employments of the state and a knight famous for his valour. The foreword to Lloyds: Worthies states of Sir Ralph that, little was his body, but great his soul, his qualities were discipline and intelligence. The venerable Sir Walter Scott called him, rich, both in possessions and lineage. He paused. Most assuredly, he was rich in possessions, for at the time of his death Sir Ralph owned twentyeight separate manor houses, not to mention great chunks of land in Yorkshire, Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, Warwickshire, Buckinghamshire and Herefordshire, among others. He took another sip of his wine and indicated around the room. One of those twenty-eight properties was this Hertforshire property, our Lordship Manor house. Sadliers original dwelling. Standon Lordships, as Lordship Manor was previously called, was destroyed in an unexplained fierce house fire at the end of the sixteenth-century. All that remains is the Great Hall, the Great Kitchen and a small section of corridor. What you see around you, is largely the result of the extensive re-building and re-structuring commissioned by Duke of Wellington in the 1850s, who modelled the building to accommodate the original sixteenth-century Great Hall. However, the story of how the house came to - Nicolas suddenly fell silent and turned to Harriet. The old woman was deathly pale and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead. He cleared his throat. Are you alright Harry, old stick? he asked. Harriet looked at Nicolas as if awoken from a deep sleep Oh, do forgive me everyone I suddenly feel rather faint. If you will excuse me, I think I might perhaps go to bed. She offered her guests a wan smile Nicolas got up swiftly from his chair and helped her to her feet. Paul nodded. Hope it wasnt the crab-pate, Aunty, or well all end up spending Christmas on the bogOw! He rubbed at his shin and turned to Ivy. What was that all about? She sighed and offered a slow shake of her head that answered the question with devastating eloquence. Suppressing his laughter, Simon left the table. He caught up with his Aunt and Uncle at the

32 bottom of the main stairs and asked Harriet what was wrong. The old woman took his hand and smiled. Its nothing Simon dear, she assured him. Its just a bad cold thats got the better of me. Simon studied his Aunt. Despite her cold hands, her brow was dotted with beads of sweat and her usual ruddy complexion was now a chalky pallor that accentuated the dark shadows beneath her eyes. You look very pale, Aunty; it wouldnt take long for me to examine you, he gently insisted. Harriet smiled and kissed Simon on the cheek. Honestly darling I shall be fine, please dont fuss. A good nights rest is all I need and in the morning I shall make you all a traditional English breakfast. Nicolas nodded vigorously. Thats it old stick, youll be right as rain come the morning, he encouraged. Simon felt uneasy. Couldnt his Uncle see how ill Harriet was? Well, if youre sure, he said reluctantly. Quite sure dear, quite sure, you return to your meal and I shall see you tomorrow. Nicolas offered his arm. Okay old stick, its up the wooden hill. Harriet smiled. You see, Simon, I have my Knight in shining armour to protect me. Simon watched them climb the staircase until they had reached the safety of the first floor balcony before heading back to the dining room. Five minutes later, Nicolas returned. Dont worry everyone the old girl just needs a good nights sleep, he assured his worried looking guests. Refilling their wineglasses, he took his place at the head of the table and looked at his wristwatch. Well, it seems as if Penny has been delayed, he remarked. Although it is unlike her not to ring and say everything is all right. If it was anyone other than Penny I would be more concerned, but she is a remarkably able young women. I must confess, over these last few years, she has become invaluable to meActually, if you will excuse me, I think I shall call her on the telephone. He

33 slid back his chair and once again left the room. Nicolas returned a few minutes later unable to hide his concern. Most peculiar, shes not answering her mobile telephone; I do hope she will be safe driving in this abominable weather. Shes probably got no signal, offered Paul. You know what its like out here in the Sticks; or maybe the batteries gone? Nicolas nodded absently. Yes Im sure its something trivial of that nature, just as you say, he said, not sounding convinced. You seem worried Uncle, said Simon. Is there anything wrong? Wrong? No, no, not at all Nicolas smiled. Do forgive me, Ive become something of a worry-wart in my old age and the thought of anything happening to dear Penny, is...well, more than I can bear to consider. Im sorry, first its your Aunt Harry, and now Penny. Im sure shes fine, Pauls probably right and her cell phone is out of action. And I have left a recorded message with her answering serviceyes, Im sure you are correct, Simon, and she is making her way along the motorway even as we speak. After a few moments, Nicolas clapped his hands. So, where was I in our little Christmas lecture? he said, his face now bright and animated. Sitting back in his chair, he spread his fingertips into a pyramid and began to tap his thumbs together. Ah, yes, the redoubtable Sir Ralph Sadlier. He smiled, as if recalling the memory of a long-lost acquaintance. Diplomat, orator, lawyer, Spymaster-General, intellectual and warrior-poet, Sadlier plays a crucial role in the story of our relative, Doctor Edmund Fry, so let us learn a little more of him. Nicolas paused and reached for his wine glass. Born the son of Henri Sadlier, a simple Warwickshire yeoman, Ralph attained the position of Knight-Bannerett and Principal Secretary of all England, holding a seat on the Privy Councill for over fifty years, to end his days the wealthiest commoner in the country. Sir Ralph Sadlier, the man who shook the spear at the monarchs foes on the bloody battlefield of Pinkie Cleugh. Paul laughed. Pinkie Cleugh, I remember him, used to play for Arsenal in the 70s, he said,

34 rubbing his chin thoughtfully. No, wait a minute, Im wrong; he was the bass player in Mott the Hoople, right? Nicolas cast a baleful eye over his nephew : From my gleanings of playing Trivial Pusuits, a Mr. Overend Watts was the bass-player for Mott the Hoople, Im believe Im correct in saying, whereas Pinkie Cleugh, he intoned solemnly, was one of the singlemost and bloodiest conflicts ever to take place on British soil, young man. Lowering his voice, he continued. It was in the early morning mists of that Black Saturday the 10th of September, 1547 that eighteen-thousand troops under an English banner, three thousand of whom were foreign mercenaries and carried the most sophisticated firearms of their day, lay in wait in the low-lying hills, centered around the tallest peak, Pinkie Cleugh. Cleugh is derived from the Gaelic for a narrow-glen or gorge. The battlefield followed the line of the River Esk, along the Edmonston Edge, inbetween Musselburgh and Inveresk. To the left lay the Firth of Forth, to the right an area of extensive marsh. Before them, the ground sloped away, with the Esk flowing along the base of the ridge. Here the Scottish clans had gathered, some twenty-six thousand men, lured by propaganda distributed by Sadlier during the preceding twelve months of an easy victory over the weak and outnumbered English. Indeed, Scottish forces are described as carding before the Battle for English uniforms, with six-pence offered for a white uniform, while only a measly two Groats for a red one. Unfortunately for them, Sadlier had reconnoitered the area and subsequently allowed a rumor to spread that the marshland around Pinkie Cleugh was dried-out, thus close-quarter combat would be on open, firm ground. Nicolas paused, his eyes skipping from face to face. And so it was, a Scottish expeditionary force of some seven-thousand men marched towards Pinkie Cleugh. As they advanced, they discovered that the marshes were not dry at all, and as the first men onto the ground found themselves bogged down and trapped, each had a friend, or more, who then tried to pull them out of their muddy grave. At which moment, carefully

35 positioned behind a ditch, phalanxes of harquebusers-riflemen, or hackbutters, sprang up, each wielding an harquebus rifle, or hackbutter as the English referred to them, crude one-shot rifles imported from the continent of Europe ; and they opened fire at point-blank range. Still the Scottish advanced, their ranks now densely packed, but their canons were slow and unorganized, allowing Sadlier to complete a flanking maneuver. In flew the mounted-horsemen, the so called Gentlemen Pensioners and the Bullerners of Boulogne. Paul could not stifle a smile at the names. Nicolas returned his nephews smile. Do not allow their somewhat quaint nomenclature to fool you; these men were all heavily armoured knights, highly-trained men carrying lances, swords and maces, and each mounted on powerful destriers or war-horses. En-masse, their combined might would be the equivalent of a phalanx of Chieftain battletanks. William Patten, secretary to the English commander, wrote an eyewitness account of the battle in his The Expedition into Scotland, 1547. In it he provides us with this description of the charge: Here waxed it very hot, with pitiful cries, horrible roar, and terrible thundering of guns besideseach man was stricken with a dreadful feardeath to fly and danger to fight. Patten reports how the Scots in the front ranks dared the English to come on, shaking their pike points and crying, Nicolas raised his fist in the air, Come here, lounds! Come here, tykes! Come here, heretics! He paused and offered a sly smile. However, while the cavalry threw themselves onto the massed ranks of the Scottish pike men, the English were able to draw up their canon, and as the cavalry retreated, the heavy ordnance began to tear at the Scottish flanks. Now the Scottish faced the heavier English canon, both on the ground and onboard the flotilla of 80 ships that had accompanied the expedition. These ships, positioned in the firth of forth, were effectively huge floating gun platforms, and the combination of devastating firepower caused the Scottish to rout. It was then Sadlier directed the English forces to march. Over the next six hours, they hunted the final clansmen down, in a rout that extended to the outskirts of Edinburgh. Scottish losses were in excess of six thousand men killed and some three thousand taken as prisoners, while English losses amounted to some five

36 hundred. A slaughter only surpassed by Culloden itself. For his part, Sadlier fought incredibly bravely, at one point riding out into the melee of the battle to rescue a party of men carrying the English flag. Sadlier aided their escape and continued onwards finally taking the Red Lion of Scotland from the Scottish standard-bearer, an act of bravery for which he was awarded the title Knight Bannerette. Nicolas drained his wineglass and placed it on the table. Ralph Sadlier was a cunning fox, a man well able to weather the many slings and arrows of outrageous fortune life can inflict. A trusted counsellor, consort and advisor, he was a member of the Privy Councill for fifty years, from the reign of Henry VII to that of Elizabeth I. And here we come to the heart of the matter, for I believe Elizabeth produced an illegitimate-child, an heir to her throne. This child was sired by none other than Ralph Sadlier, and the doctor who delivered the baby was a direct blood relative of our family, Doctor Edmund Fry. It is my belief that Edmund delivered the queens child, and for his loyalty and discretion rewarded with a title and this exquisite manor house, built by Sadlier himself. But one can only imagine this as something of a poisoned chalice, for as a royal court physician the good doctor would be only too familiar with the terrible fate meted out to those found guilty of High Treas- Nicolas found himself interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Pauls laughter, and he rounded angrily on his nephew. I fail to see what you find so amusing young man, he barked. Ivy gave her husbands hand a gentle squeeze, but unperturbed he continued. Im sorry, Uncle, but this is nonsense, he dismissed. I just dont believe the most famous monarch this country ever had was able to sire an illegitimate sprog without anyone discovering the fact for the last five hundred years. Weve all got used to your flights of fantasy by now; I seem to remember you were convinced the Man in the Iron Mask was the fourth Musketeer, imprisoned because he knew the real lineage of Louis XIV, what happened to that particular earth shattering revelation? Nicholas sighed. We have numerous documents that refer to Elizabeth falling pregnant and having a child, he explained carefully, in many instances these are letters from Spanish spies in

37 Elizabeths own retinue. Paul threw his hands in the air. Well, theyre bound to say that arent they! he snorted. Those are not the only sources, young man. We have countless references. It was part of Elizabethan court gossip for many years. Gossip rumour and spies, oh, come on! Nicolas straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. Do you think me some kind of senile old fool? he asked his voice tense. Am I correct in stating; of the assembled party, only one individual amongst us has had a long and distinguished career as an historian? And would I be also correct in stating that individual would, of course, be my good self? Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat Im not questioning your academic qualifications, he protested. Nicolas suddenly leaped to his feet. No, Paul, you are questioning my intelligence! he roared, and fashionable as it may be in this day and age to view anyone over the age of sixty to be possessed with all the intellectual faculties of an amoeba, let me assure you, I have spent many years researching this matter, and I am not mistaken. Elizabeth fell pregnant and Ralph Sadlier was the father! Nicolas emphasised his conviction by bringing a heavy fist down onto the table, the impact of the blow sending his wine glass toppling. Simon watched a small pool of ruby liquid leak from the glass and soak into the white linen tablecloth. For some reason it struck him as a bad omen. He remained silent, he couldnt blame Nicolas for getting angry, Paul knew how seriously he took his profession, and he should have given the old man a little more respect. After a few moments, as if surprised by the intensity of his emotions, Nicolas sat back down. Removing his spectacles, he rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Do forgive me everyone, he sighed. I have, perhaps, become a little obsessed with the subject. He replaced his glasses and smiled ruefully. Please accept my apologies for snapping at

38 you, Paul. It is getting rather late, so perhaps we should conclude proceedings for tonight and begin afresh tomorrow. I must confess I am rather tired after the drive from Heathrow, but we shall rendezvous in the morning and after breakfast I shall take you to the cottages near the main gates and show you proof of my claims. Paul smiled and raised his glass. Until the morning then, Uncle Nick, he saluted, until the morning.

39

Chapter Four
What cruell hand of cursed foe vnknowne, Hath cropt the stalke which bore so faire a flowre? Untimely cropt, before it well were growne, And cleane defaced in untimely howre. Great losse to all that ever him did see Great losse to all, but greatest losse to mee.

The Doleful Lay of Clorinda by Mary Sidney Herbert (1595)

The following morning, Harriet and Nicolas were conspicuously absent from the breakfast table. It was nearly a quarter to ten and Ivy was getting worried The old girl didnt look to good last night, Paul admitted, pouring boiling water from a copper kettle into a teacup. Maybe they got up early and went to the doctors? Ivy wasnt convinced. Surely theyd leave a note or something? Paul fished the tea bag out of his cup and threw it in the sink. You know what Nicolas is like, he shrugged. Nicolas can be forgetful, Ivy conceded, but Harriet is the exact opposite. Well, maybe they just fancied a lie-in? Ivy cocked her head and looked at her husband. Maybe... Paul looked at Ivy and raised his hands. Listen mate, he said turning to Simon. Ivys right and seeing as youre a doctor, perhaps youd go and see if everythings all right? Simon sighed. Great, I get to wake them up. Getting to his feet, Simon left the kitchen and made his way upstairs. A few minutes later, he

40 returned, with a bemused look on his face. Theyre not answering and the doors locked, he announced. Paul shrugged. Like I said, maybe theyve gone to see a doctor. Harriet wouldve left a note, Ivy insisted. Besides, why would they lock their bedroom door? Maybe they dont trust us, babe? Ivy frowned. Its not funny. Theyre old, maybe theyve had a fall and they cant get to the door. Yeah, youre rightSo, what shall we do? Both heads turned to Simon.

~
Paul stood outside Nicolas and Harriets bedroom and reached for the door handle. Clasping it firmly in both hands, he began to turn the handle from side to side while kicking the bottom of the door with his foot. After thirty seconds, he gave up. Yup, looks like its locked, he concluded. Simon looked serious. Well if they arent answering, we havent got a choice. Wed better break it down. Paul smiled. Yeah, and hope they arent just really heavy sleepers. Putting their shoulders against the door, they began to force it open. Its stout construction, however, proved remarkably impervious, and it was only after numerous painful collisions that the wood emitted a satisfying crack. Simon completed the demolition with

41 swift series of kicks, and rubbing at their bruised limbs, they stepped into the bedroom. Harriet and Nicolas were lying on a double bed their heads propped on pillows. Both were dressed in the clothes they had worn the previous evening, Nicolas in his evening suit, Harriet in her silver ball gown. Each had their hands clasped neatly on their chests and their eyes closed as if resting. Simons heart sank. Even from a distance, he could tell they were dead. Nevertheless, he made his way to the bed and proceeded to check for vital signs. Paul shuddered. His face was ashen and he looked as if he were about to faint. Are they? he whispered. Simon nodded his head. Paul cupped his hand over his mouth and began to step away from the bed. Oh Jesusoh god oh Jesus, Id better go and tell Ivy, he stuttered as he backed out of the room. Alone with his Aunt and Uncle, Simon leaned over and tenderly kissed each of them on the forehead. Goodbye, he whispered. As Simon turned to leave, something shiny caught his eye, a flash of gold in Nicolass left hand. Spotting a pencil on the bedside table, he crouched down and began to push it length-ways through his Uncles clenched fingers. It was a tight fit, and he had to exert considerable force, but eventually a gold ring appeared and fell to the carpet. Taking a few moments to pull the pencil free, he placed it back onto the table and bent down to retrieve the ring. Bringing it to his face, he examined the simple gold band for a few seconds and then slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. Making his way back down stairs, he dialed the Emergency Services on his mobile and rejoined Paul and Ivy in the Kitchen.

42

Forty minutes later, Detective Inspector Cawood arrived at the Manor House, accompanied by two uniformed Police officers. After Simon had led them into the downstairs study, Cawood, a stocky, middle-aged man with a battered, weather-beaten face, showed the houseguests his warrant card and introduced himself. Good morning, my name is Detective Inspector Cawood, he said, and these two officers are Constables Keenan and Bass. He indicated to the two police officers. They are here to take contact details and brief statements from you all. Its routine procedure in these circumstances Im afraid, so please dont be alarmed. Unbuttoning his overcoat, Cawood asked, Which of you is Simon Fry? Thats me Inspector. Simon raised his hand. And I take it you were the gentleman who found the bodies and called the police? Yeaah thats right. Paul was with me. He indicated to his cousin. But I was the one who checked for vital signs and called the police. You are a medical doctor, am I correct? Simon nodded. Im a paediatrician, but I know how to check for vital signs, he said with a nervous smile. And did you notice anything out of place or suspicious, doctor? No, not at all, they both looked very peaceful.

43 And did anyone hear anything suspicious at all last night? No, Inspector, it was very quiet, replied Ivy. Paul and Simon both nodded their heads in agreement. I see. Well if you dont mind, Ill just take a look around while these officers take your statements. Where is Mr and Mrs Frys bedroom? Its upstairs and along the corridor, said Simon, the second on the right. You cant miss it because the door is broken. Cawood tilted his head. Oh and how did that happen? he asked casually. Paul and I had to break it down to get into the room, Simon explained. Sorry, Inspector, did we foul up? Cawood blinked. I dont suppose it will matter that much, but the forensic boys do hate an untidy crime scene. This isnt a crime scene surely? asked Paul. Cawood blinked and tilted his head. That is what we are here to determine, sir. Turning on his heels, the detective strode from the room. What did he mean by that? enquired an anxious Paul. Simon shrugged. Dont worry, hes a cop, its his job to be suspicious.

~
Detective Inspector Cawood stood in the middle of Nicholas and Harriets bedroom and took a rectangular packet from his jacket pocket. Tearing open one end, he removed a pair of white

44 surgical gloves, blew into the thin latex and deftly slipped them over his hands. Stepping over the two immobile figures on the bed, he carefully began to examine their bodies. When he was finished, he walked to the windows and tried the locks. Finally, he crouched down and looked underneath the bed. Walking to the door, he turned and made a final examination of the room. After a few seconds, he stepped outside and made his way back down the hallway. Halfway along the corridor he came to the open doorway of Nicolass study and stopped. Narrowing his eyes, he rubbed his chin with his latex covered fingers, and stepped into the study. Two minutes later, he stood at the top of the main staircase holding a sheet of paper encased in a see-through plastic bag. Arriving back at the makeshift statement room, Cawood peeled off his surgical-gloves and began to read the contents of the sheet to the small group. First may we say how very sorry we are if we have upset or disturbed anyone with our selfishactions. Please believe us when we tell you this was not our intention, but you must understand the cruel facts; some six months ago Harriet was diagnosed with a brain-tumour, a particularly nasty and aggressive brain-tumour, one that would eventually cause her intense pain, paralysis, and finally death. After coming to terms with the judgment, we both decided the only humane course of action available would be euthanasia. My beloved Harry deserves nothing less than a dignified death and if that makes me a criminal in the eyes of the law, so be it. could not bear to see her suffer, my love, my life, as much as I could not bear to live in a world without her. With this in mind, I have decided to aid her demise and then take my own life. Not in any vain hope of a life immemorial together, but in the plain recognition that having found heaven here on earth, we have no need to find it elsewhere. The document is dated and signed by both parties, Cawood explained showing the sheet of paper to Simon, Paul and Ivy. So, we have what appears to be a suicide note A Coroners Inquest will be conducted, of course, but if Mrs. Frys diagnosis is confirmed, and there are no signs of foul play, which from a cursory glance there are not, then it would appear youre Aunt I

45 and Uncle took their own lives. Ivys face had completely drained of colour and she began to cry. Paul put an arm around her shoulder and she buried her head into his chest. Its alright, babe, its alright he soothed, kissing the top of her head. Unfortunately, doctor, Cawood continued looking at Simon, this does mean you will have to stay in the U.K., until the coroner has concluded their report. Merely a formality you understand. Simon nodded. I understand Inspector, but would it be okay if I stay at the manor house until then? I didnt book a hotel because I thought I was going to spend Christmas He hesitated. Well, you know, he shrugged. And I dont think Ill find much available near here at this time of the year. Cawood considered the request. As long as you dont enter your Aunt and Uncles bedroom before forensics have had a look that should be fine, he said finally. Ill ring you here in a couple of days with the coroners findings. And its okay if we return to London, Inspector? asked Paul. Again, sir, that will be fine, weve got all your details. Although of course, if you were to leave the country, you would obviously keep us - The detective found himself interrupted by the loud chiming of the front door bell. Perhaps thats the forensics team? he commented. Ill go see, Simon offered leaving the room. Pulling open the front door, he was surprised to find a beautiful young woman standing on the doorstep, dressed in black boots, jeans and a smart leather jacket, her high cheekbones and green eyes accentuated by a shock of long black hair. Simon? she asked with a quizzical turn of her head. Is that you? Simon smiled at the question. Penny? Simon, it is you! The young woman laughed her eyes wide with amazement. Oh my god, Nicolas mentioned hed invited you to stay, but I didnt think youd actually come this time!

46 Simon sighed at the mention of his uncle. Look, Penny, maybe you should come in outta the rain. Ive got some real bad news.

~
Its a great tragedy miss, you have my condolences, offered Detective Inspector Cawood. And under the circumstances, Im very sorry to ask, but would you be prepared to give a brief statement to one of my officers? Penny nodded. If I have to Inspector, she said blinking back tears. Whenever youre ready, Miss, said Constable Keenan flipping open his notebook. I left London late last night, Penny began, Id say about half-past nine, after having a drink with a friend from workDont worry, I only had one gin and tonic I wasnt over the limit. Anyway, I left London thinking Id get down here for about half-past eleven. Well, it took a lot longer than I expected because of the appalling weather and to top it all, my bloody Golf broke down in the middle of nowhere. This wouldve been sometime aroundelevenish. I was going to ring Uncle Nicolas, tell him what had happened, and then cadge a lift, but my damn mobiles battery had gone flat, so I sat in the car for a while, and then decided to walk for a bit and see if I could find a garage. The storm was getting really bad by this point and I didnt get very far before I was drenched. The wind was a gale and I became a little scared, so I decided to head back to the safety of my car and wait it out. I put on the radio, but couldnt hear much over the rain, so I turned it off and eventually fell asleep. I woke up this morning, and trying the engine I was

47 amazed to find it started first time. God knows what was wrong with it, maybe it got waterlogged, or had a loose-battery connection, anyway, it got me here, and thats that. Penny looked up at Constable Keenan, and offered a brief smile. Thank you, Miss. said Detective Inspector Cawood, On that note, we shall take our leave now. As I mentioned earlier, the forensic squad should be here in a short while, just let them do their job, and when theyve finished an ambulance will come and remove the bodi, err, Mr. and Mrs. Fry. Once again, I am very sorry for your loss, but well get out of your way. Ill contact you all when I have the findings of the coroners inquest. Escorting the police officers to the front door, Simon stood and watched as the trio trudged through the rain to their car. Closing the door, he rejoined his cousins back in the study. I just cant believe it, I was only on the phone to them two days ago, Penny said. Its come as a shock to us all, Pen, said Paul. Pennys lips trembled and she began to cry. If I hadnt broken down in the middle of nowhere I might have been able to help, she sobbed. There was nothing you could do, Penny, Simon said gently. Harriet was dying from an inoperable brain tumour. He paused. It seems the only people who knew were Aunt Harriet and Uncle Nicolas, there was nothing anyone could have done. Penny shuddered. A brain tumour, oh, Christ, thats horrible, she never mentioned a thing. Paul cleared his throat. Okay, I dont know about you lot, but at a time like this I need a cup of tea, he announced. Would anyone like to join me? In the kitchen, the cousins sat around the dinning table in subdued contemplation. Outside, the rain beat upon the windows with increased determination, its sharp percussion the only sound in the room. Right hone, Paul said breaking the silence, I think wed better make a move if we want to get back before the rush hour. And listening to that rain, wed better hurry up or well need to build a

48 sodding raft. Draining the last drops of liquid from his mug, he got to his feet. Finishing her tea, Ivy took her husbands hand and the couple left the room. When they had gone, Penny stared across the table at Simon, who returned her quizzical gaze with a smile. So we meet at last, Penny, he said. Penny placed her cup on the table. Ive heard so much about you, Simon, she began, I feel I know you already. Harriet and Nicolas hardly ever stopped, it was always Simon did this and Simon said that, and when Nicolas heard you had become a doctor you just couldnt shut him up. I swear, you would have thought he was the one whod got his internship. Simon looked uneasy. But I havent seen them both for over twenty-years, he protested. That doesnt matter; they cherished your letters. Jesus, Penny, youre making me feel terrible. Penny frowned. Oh, god, sorry that wasnt my intention; I didnt mean to upset you, Simon. Its okay Penny, its not you, its just do goddam typical that after all this time I finally visit and this happens. Simon finished his tea and put his cup on the table. Looking at Penny, he smiled. Anyway, as youve heard so much about me, perhaps youd like to tell me a little about yourself, he said changing the subject. Theres not really much to tell, I went to university, got a degree, got a large debt. She shrugged. You know the usual. So, what do you do for a living? Im a freelance hack for any publication thatll have me. One minute Im editing the shipping forecast, the next Im reviewing portable memory sticks, or the latest innovations in car engine design. Penny rolled her eyes. Im living on the edge, the razors edge, she said sarcastically. Simon chuckled. Okay, thats your job, any hobbies? Penny considered the question. Well, I dont normally mention this, because some people might

49 find it a bit weird, but Im an avid collector of WWII Nazi memorabilia and I also like to do a bit of amateur taxidermy. Well, I say amateur, actually Im pretty good, you should see the badger I found the other week, youd hardly know it was hit by a lorry. Simon remained silent and his eyes narrowed. Penny managed to keep a straight face for a full five seconds before she burst into fits of giggles. SorrySimon she stammered through her laughter. The lookon your face Simon nodded his head slowly up and down. Bravo, Penny, bravo, he said offering a subdued round of applause. Penny composed herself and reached for her tea. I was only pulling your leg, but really that look on your face was priceless, she said. Draining her cup, she placed it back on the table. To answer your question, I like to go skiing and I do a bit of rock climbing, I like hiking, going to the cinema, art galleries, the odd gig. Simon looked suitably impressed. Sounds like one hellva busy day, but it doesnt leave much time for the taxidermy. Right, thats us, Paul announced walking back into the kitchen. That didnt take long, said Penny. Weve only been here twenty-four hours, Pen; we didnt get time to unpack much. So you and Ivy are heading back to your place in Highgate? Paul nodded. Yeah, weve both got work in the morning, he said raising his eyes to the ceiling, but well see you for the funeral, unless of course one of us has been banged-up for murder by then. Noticing the heavy silence, he lowered his eyes and looked at his shoes. Yeah, sorry, its too early for jokes, he apologised, just my way of coping with the shock, sorry.

50

Five minutes later, Paul was busy loading luggage into the boot of his black BMW. Penny stood at the front door as Simon donned his overcoat and braved the elements. Taking his mobile telephone from his pocket, Simon asked Paul for his mobile number. Paul closed the boot and turned to Simon. 0775439248 err, 7, I think, he said with little confidence. Youd better dial it up just to make sure. A few seconds after tapping in the digits, Pauls jacket began to reverberate to the theme tune from The Persuaders. Paul shrugged. I always did like that show, he said with a shameless grin. Well, I suppose well see you both at the funeral. Id like to say its been a pleasure, but under the circumstances that doesnt sound right. Still, its been brilliant to see you again, Simon, after all these years. You too, Paul, Simon confirmed. Its been lovely to meet you again, said Ivy kissing Simon on the cheek, despite these awful circumstancesAnd it was nice to see you again, Penny, she added turning to the young woman framed in the doorway, who offered a wave of her arm. Paul opened the passenger door for his wife and she climbed into the car. Slamming the door shut, he turned to look at the Manor house. You know, Im really going to miss the silly old sod, he admitted sadly. Offering a final salute towards the house, he patted Simon on his back, and smiled. See you soon, he said with genuine affection.

51 As the BMW made its way down the gravel drive, towards the main gates, the vehicles formidable stereo burst into life, the anthem-like chorus of No More Heroes by The Stranglers ringing out across the fields above the noise of the rain. Whatever happened to those heroes? Whatever happened to those heroes? No more heroes anymore! No more heroes anymore!

52

Chapter Five
History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product: myth.

E.L. Doctorow

Later that day the forensics team arrived and Simon took them to Harriet and Nicolas bedroom. Leaving them to conduct their investigation, he walked back downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. Twenty minutes later, a voice called him into the Great Hall. Were all done, sir, said a stocky man with a goatee. Weve called for an ambulance; they should be here within the hour. He fished into his jacket and produced a folded sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen. Now, if you could simply sign this for us, he said. Simons forehead wrinkled. Okay, he said uncertainly. Dont worry, sir, its just a formality, it proves weve been here and done our job, thats all, said the stocky man reassuringly. Youre alright, its not a confession, added his companion, a tall, thin man with receding hair. Simon offered a blank countenance, slightly nonplussed at the inappropriate remark.

53 The stocky man rounded on his colleague. Thats it, Frank, you go putting people at their ease. The tall man bristled. I just thought a little humour might alleviate the tension, he said somewhat defensively Alleviate the tension, the stocky man echoed, what exactly do you think this job entails, son? We are forensic detectives, unless youve forgotten. It is our task to study, record, and collate vital information at the scene of an accident, and, or, crime. Information that might well be utilised in a court of law to help convict, or indeed prove innocent, another human being. He paused. A not too trivial profession I think you will agree. The tall detective took a deep breath, obviously well used to the haranguing. The stocky man continued his diatribe. And of course, the often delicate or unsavoury aspect of our job necessitates a certain degree of competence and discretion. What it explicitly does not require is the ropey patter of a bad stand up comedian cracking one-liners to a relative of the recently deceased. The tall man shuffled his feet, but his companion had not finished. As for alleviating the tension, what do you suggest? Perhaps we should offer cranial massage, or aroma therapy, maybe leave complementary bowls of pot-puri at the crime scene? The stocky man shook his head sadly. I must apologise for my colleagues remark, he said turning to Simon. Hes rather new on the job; I do hope he didnt offend you. Simon smiled. No offence taken, he assured the acerbic detective. Thank you sir that is very decent of you, but you cant be too careful these days. So, if you would just sign this, well be on our way. The detective handed Simon the form and the ballpoint pen. After signing the sheet, Simon accompanied the still bickering police officers to the front door. You love humiliating me, dont you, hissed the tall man angrily buttoning his overcoat. You do a perfectly good enough job of that yourself, his stocky companion retorted striding into the rain.

54 Im a grown man, you still treat me like a sodding child, the tall detective said petulantly. I knew it was bad news getting on the same squad as your old man. Simon fought to hold back his laughter and quickly closed the front door. He was making his way back through the Great Hall to the kitchen when the loud chime of the doorbell stopped him in his tracks. Turning on his heels, he strolled back to the front door and greeted the arrival of the ambulance crew, who wheeled two large, metal framed gurneys into the hallway. If you could just show us to the bedroom, said a rain soaked young woman in a see-through plastic poncho. Ten minutes later, Simon watched the paramedics as they struggled to wheel the now laden gurneys through the downpour to their waiting ambulance. Closing the front door on the somber scene, he walked back to the kitchen. Penny was sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived. So, theyve all gone? she asked. Simon nodded. Yeaah, that was the paramedics, you missed the forensic squad earlier. He shook his head at the memory. What? Penny asked. Its nothing, lets just say they had issues, he said wryly. Penny didnt press the matter. Actually, Simon, she said looking out the window. Would it be alright if I stayed here tonight? I still dont trust my car, and I really dont want to test it in this rain. Hopefully itll stop by tomorrow and I can find a garage. Simon smiled. Sure, Penny, thats fine with me. To tell you the truth Id feel kinda strange being all alone here anyway, he admitted, taking a seat. Turning her head, Penny began scan the room. Spotting a large copper kettle sitting on the cooker, she got to her feet. Picking up the kettle, she filled it from the tap and placed it back on the hob. So, did Uncle Nicolas reveal his big secret last night? she asked pressing a small button on the front of the cooker. After a few seconds, a ring of yellow-blue flames ignited

55 beneath the kettle and she returned to the kitchen table. Oh, so, he mentioned it to you as well, huh? Simon asked with a grin. Penny laughed. Mention it? You could never shut him up. How he was going to change the face of British history, or how he was going to personally confront David Starkey. Yeaah he was kinda enthusiastic. So, what did he tell you? Jeezzuz, a whole bunch of stuff, Simon said vaguely. And we were all pretty drunk. Realising he wasnt being of much use, he fell silent. Collecting his thoughts, he began again. I suppose you know its got something to do with one of our ancestors, right? he asked. Yes, he did mention that, Penny said with a smirk. Okay, so Nicolas revealed his highly plausible theory that Queen Elizabeth I, the so-called Virgin Queen, in fact had a clandestine affair with someone called Ralph Sadlier, or Sadler. Anyway, this Sadlier guy was a real big-wig political mover-and-shaker, kinda devious, although you could tell Nicolas had more than a sneaking admiration for him; so, this Sadlier guy managed to get Elizabeth pregnant and she gave birth to a son. Penny nodded. Okay, sounds reasonable. And our family enters the story because an ancestor of ours, Doctor Edmund Fry, delivered the baby. So, its all about an illegitimate heir to Elizabeth I? Simon pointed to the ceiling. Yeaah, an illegitimate heir and this old house, he said. What do you mean? According to Uncle Nicolas, Edmund Fry was rewarded with a title and this house, and thats how it came to be in our family. Well, if Elisabeth did have a son, hes right about changing the face of British history, but how on earth would you keep it a secret? Thats more or less what Paul said, and Nicolas got really bent out of shape. Ive rarely seen the

56 old-guy so angry. Eventually he realised he was making a scene and ended the evening by telling us he had proof of his claims in the redbrick cottages near the main gates, and thats all he told us. But now, Simon hesitated. He shrugged and looked at Penny. Now that hes dead, I feel a kind of an obligation to at least entertain his theoryMaybe carry on where he left off. At least until I go back stateside. Does that make any sense? Penny smiled. It cant do any harm, Simon, and Nicolas would be proud. Turning to the window, Simon stared into the rain. And theres no better place to start than the cottages, she enthused, and no better time to start than right now. Getting to her feet, she took Simon by the hand and attempted to pull him from his seat. Cmon, it might help us to take our mind off things for a while, she said tugging him reluctantly towards the hallway. But, its pouring with rain, well get soaked, he protested feebly. So, well wear our raincoats. Simon planted his feet and stopped Penny in her tracks. And theres the small matter of the stove, he said, pointing to the kettle that was billowing a large cloud of steam merrily from its copper spout.

57 Under the folds of a large white umbrella, Penny had discovered in a stand by the front door, the cousins left the manor house and began to trudge along the gravel road. Dense black storm clouds filled the horizon and a sharp wind had developed that drove the rain along in great sheets. Penny clutched the handle of the umbrella with a firm grip and wrestled with the storm. Noticing her efforts Simon smiled and clamped his hand over hers for added security. Beautiful day for a stroll, he observed wryly. Some thirty meters before the main gates, they veered to the left and crossed the muddy ground towards a small coppice of birch trees. Passing beyond the momentary shelter of the trees, they entered a clearing occupied by two miniature redbrick Tudor cottages. Choosing the cottage on the left, Simon walked to the front door and reached for the door handle only to find a weathered-hole. Pushing against the door, it refused to budge. Putting his shoulder to the ageing wood, he began to apply more pressure. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts it became obvious the door was not about to open and he gave up. Assessing the situation, he nodded and took three large steps backwards. Stamping at the ground with his right foot, he lowered his body and charged at the door, only to rebound off its sturdy surface like a rubber ball and land ungracefully on his backside in the mud. Getting to his feet, he glanced at Penny, who had been watching his antics with mute admiration. That always looks so easy in the movies, he grinned rubbing his shoulder. Raising her eyes to the heavens, Penny walked towards the second cottage. Lifting her leg, she brought it down in one fluid motion and the door flew open with a loud bang! Oh shit! she exclaimed. I thought it would be locked, like the other one. Thats it, Penny, you go around destroying valuable sixteenth-century doors, Simon admonished wiping mud from the seat of his jeans. Penny rolled her eyes. Oh, god, yeah, the Antiquarian Door Society will be livid. Stepping over the threshold, the couple found themselves in an unremarkable one-room dwelling, its roof spanned by two enormous oak beams. The white plaster walls were bare and the room

58 was empty, apart from a sledgehammer, a rusty pickaxe, and a battered Hurricane lamp that sat in a pile in one corner. The only available light eked its way through two filth-encrusted windows, casting the space in a dim murk. What was Nicolas thinking of in a completely empty building? asked Simon. Giving no reply, Penny began to walk around the chamber. Simon laughed. Well, this is all up to his usual standard. Penny glanced at the sledgehammer. Unless, of course, he was talking about the other building, you know the locked one next door. Bending down, she picked up the sledgehammer and threw it over her shoulder. Turning on her heels, she marched out into the rain and across to the other cottage. Well, as Im already gonna get hung drawn and quartered by the Antiquarian Door Society, she said grinning at Simon. I say fuggit. Turning to the door, she lifted the sledgehammer high above her head and brought it crashing down on the unfortunate obstruction. After two or three attempts, the wood finally succumbed to the punishment and the door flew inwards. Surveying the damage, Penny dropped the sledgehammer into the mud, where it landed with a moist thump. Gosh, why, a gal just doesnt know her own strength, she said ostentatiously wiping her brow with the back of her hand. Stepping across the threshold, the scene inside the second cottage was very different from the first; hundreds of ragged holes dotted its white plaster walls, while the floor was a patchwork of similar small holes. Looks like Nicolas was searching for something; it also looks like he didnt find it, offered Simon. And thats your professional opinion is it, Sherlock? said Penny surveying the devastation. Simon shrugged. Ah, Christ, this is pointless, Penny, we dont even know what the hell it was Nicolas was searching for. Youve got a point, she conceded.

59 Hes been working on this for years; he must have plenty of notes and research, lets go back to the Manor and see what we can find, at least we might get some idea of what were actually looking for. Penny thrust her index finger into one of the holes in the wall. Twisting it around a number of times, she removed the digit and examined it closely. Unsurprisingly, it was marked with a ring of white plaster. Wiping the chalky residue on her jeans, she shrugged. Maybe he discovered a mutant species of woodworm? Simon nodded. Yeaah or maybe he was breeding woodpeckers. I say we conduct our investigation back in the main house. Its cold and Im wet and Ive got mud on my ass. Having repaired the damaged door as best they could, they made their way back through the small coppice of trees towards the Manor House. As they approached the building, the unmistakable sound of a telephone ringing became audible over the storm, and Simon jogged the last forty-yards to the front door. Perched at the base of the main staircase stood an octagonal wooden table its long thin legs emerging from the embroidered edges of a crisp white tablecloth. At the centre of the table sat an ancient bakelite telephone, its squat black body reflecting the light like the carapace of some exotic over-sized beetle. Lifting the telephones heavy receiver, Simon put it to his ear. Hello? he said. Ah, yes, good afternoon, I do not wish to sound impolite, but I wonder if I might enquire to whom I am speaking? The caller was male with a clipped English accent that Simon couldnt help but find slightly amusing, it sounded like a bad impression of Basil Fawlty. Yeahh, sorry, Im Simon Fry, Nicolas and Harriets nephew. The caller cleared their throat. Yes, I shouldve twigged when I heard your accent, how are you young man? Without waiting for a reply, the caller continued, Although we have never met, I feel I know you already; but allow me to introduce myself: Daniel MacIntyre, lawyer and executor of your aunt and uncles estate. The police have informed me of the tragic news; you

60 have my heart-felt condolences. I shall miss them both a great, great deal. Simon sighed. They had that affect on most of the people they met, Mr. MacIntyre, he said wistfully. Indeed they did. Unfortunately, it is now my job to fulfill their last wishes. Obviously, we shall have to wait for the Coroners report, but pending their findings we shall proceed with the funeral, which will take place at St Mary the Virgin church situated in the nearby village of Standon. Yeaah, I know it Mr. MacIntyre, Simon informed the solicitor. Excellent, that will greatly simplify matters. Now, youre aunt and uncle requested a humanistbased ceremony attended by relatives and close friends. Shortly after the service, the caskets will make their final journey to the family vault next to the church. Finally, I shall conduct the reading of the wills at my office in Ware. I do hope this is satisfactory? If thats what they wanted Mr. MacIntyre, its fine by me. Splendid, I shall contact you as soon as the coroner has arrived at their verdict, might I enquire where you will be lodging in the meanwhile? Im staying here at the manor house for a couple of days. Dont worry, Ive run it past Detective Inspector Cawood, he said its fine. MacIntyre paused. I must say I find it a little irregular; nevertheless, I shall ring you in the next few days. Until then I shall bid you good-day, Mr. Fry. Good-bye, Mr. MacIntyre, and thank you.

61

After Simon had outlined the contents of his telephone conversation to Penny, the cousins retired to their rooms. Changing out of their wet clothes, they rendezvoused back in the kitchen where Penny made them both a cup of tea. Suitably fortified, they climbed the main stairs and made their way to Nicolas study. Pushing open the door, they stood transfixed in the entranceway and wordlessly surveyed the devastation beyond. A large, antique writing desk dominated the room, its surface now hidden beneath countless reams of hand written notes and battered reference books. Over in one corner, a badly stuffed armchair fought to contain a crooked stack of blue, cardboard folders, their insides bulging, while dotted around the desk, filling most of the available floor space, waist high tower blocks of books and paperwork presented a teetering maze. Indeed, many of the stacks leaned at such alarming angles they seemed to mock the laws of gravity, while the remaining bundles gave the distinct impression the slightest breeze might send them crashing to the floor. Finally, beside a grimy dirt-streaked window, a small table housed a battered looking laptop, its keyboard surrounded by a phalanx of mouldy teacups. Simon placed his head in his hands. Oh Jesus, this is gonna take the rest of our lives, he sobbed. Ignoring his protestations, Penny entered the study and carefully manoeuvred her way towards Nicolass absurdly cluttered desk. After coolly surveying the detritus before her, she chose the nearest pile of notes to hand and taking a seat in a large leather chair perched behind the desk began to read. Eventually a reluctant Simon joined her.

62 After some fifteen minutes, Penny broke the silence. This is interesting, she said, its all about ciphers and codes, listen, Saphar, meaning, to number is ancient Hebrew for cipher. The word was and still may be used as a term of derision to mock an unworthy ignorant person. Organ makers refer to the word as meaning a sound volunteered by an imperfect organ without pressing any key. It may be nothing, a nought, a zero, according to mathematicians. Earliest recorded cipher is the Spartan skytale'. Centuries later came the Caesar Wheel, invented by Julius Caesar. Mary Queen of Scots used her own variation in the Babington Plot. Penny shrugged. Whatever that was, she said. Elizabethan-cryptology owed a debt to the Greek Polybius, who was the first to use numbers to encipher letters. Nicolas has drawn the cipher, have a look. She handed the page to Simon. 1 2 3 4 5 1ABCDE 2FGHIK 3LMNOP 4QRSTU 5VWXYZ Thus dog enciphered = 14 34 22 or alternately 41 43 22.

Could make for some interesting emails, he said wryly. So, what you got then, Einstein? These are all about something called, the Rosicrucian Movement, real popular in Elizabethan England according to Uncle Nick, and a secret society called the School of Night. Listen, In England Ralph Sadlier, William Herbert the first Earl of Pembroke, Sir Walter Raleigh, and the (9th) Earl of Northumberland, Henry Percy, led a group of advanced-thinking noblemen, courtiers, and educated commoners, (mathematicians, astronomers, voyagers who had explored the New World, geographers, philosophers, poet, etc.), this became the School of Night. Philip Marlowe was a member, as was his friend the mathematician and astronomer Thomas Hariot the so-called

63 Wizard Earl. (Hariot is oft. referred to as the greatest scientific mind before Newton.) The School of Night is a modern appellation that derives from a passage in Act IV, scene III of Shakespeares Loves Labours lost, where the King of Navarre says, "Black is the badge of hell /The hue of dungeons and the school of night." Some scholars believe the line to be an allusion to Sadliers 'school of atheism' and have used the School of Night as a name for the group. Skipping the text, he fell silent. Wait a minute, now this is interesting: The Modern Masonic Order that calls itself the School of Night, (Address: 33, Saffron Street, Clerkenwell London), claim a direct lineage from Sadliers original Fraternity, although, neither L. nor myself have been able to verify their claims. Penny nodded. Who do you think L is? she asked. Simon shrugged. An ex-pupil, or one of his old professor buddies from Cambridge, maybe? As they pondered the question, the audible rumble of Simons digestive tract reliably informed them it was time for dinner.

It took some time to acquaint himself with his Aunts over-sized kitchen, but eventually Simon found the ingredients he required and taking a sharp knife from a draw, he began rapidly slicing onions on a wooden chopping board. Thirty-minutes later, he was serving pasta into two large

64 bowls, onto which he sprinkled grated parmesan cheese. Throwing a tea towel over his arm, he scooped-up the bowls and placed them onto the kitchen table. Dinner is served, madam, he announced with a sweep of his arm. Penny was suitably impressed. I swear, if it wasnt for baked beans and Ryvita, I wouldnt have survived being a student, she said forking the steaming pasta into her mouth. Simon grinned and took a seat. That mustve been delightful for your room mates.

Later that evening, Simon called Anne on his mobile and explained the tragic events of the last twenty-four hours. Absorbing the information, she fell into a stunned silence. Eventually, she fought back her tears and attempted to console her husband. Oh, my god, Simon, thats terrible, I just cant believe it, how long had poor Harriet known she was ill? Thats the thing, it looks as if she was diagnosed months ago, and they didnt tell anyone. Oh, baby, Im so sorry. You must be feeling awful. We had to break into their bedroom, it was pretty bad. If only you couldve waited a little longer, then you wouldnt have to go through this on your own. Simon took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. What do you mean wait? Youve got weeks

65 to go on that contract; if Id have postponed, I would never have seen them again. Simon, thats not what I meant, Anne protested. No, what did you mean? I shouldve sat around until it was convenient for you? No, Simon, Im not saying that. Im saying that if you had waited a few weeks- And Im saying if I had waited a few weeks, theyd be fucking dead already! Why are you shouting, Simon? Because I just dont believe you sometimes, how come you always make it so that everything is about you? My Aunt and Uncle have just died, and yet, still, somehow, its all about you! Anne sounded tearful. Simon, please stop shouting, she pleaded. Simon held his breath and closed his eyes. Counting to ten, he exhaled slowly through his nose. Having gained some control of his anger, he continued. Im sorry honey; Ive had a real stressful day Ive still got to contact Nicolass attorney concerning the funeral arrangements, he lied, Ill ring you tomorrow Im sorry about shouting. Ill be fine tomorrow. Anne sighed. Promise? she said tenderly. Promise, Simon whispered. Ok sweetie, I lo- But before she could finish the sentiment, Simon flipped his mobile closed and threw it on the bed.

66

Chapter Six
From time to time historians need to be shocked.

Peter Burke

The following morning, Penny and Simon were sitting down to breakfast when the unmistakable sound of the telephone ringing pierced the silence. Ignoring the sound, Penny continued to butter her toast. Ill get it then, shall I? Simon asked. Penny nonchalantly reached for a jar of marmalade. Thank you, Jeeves, and if you could bring in the morning papers, she said with a grin. Shaking his head, Simon reluctantly left his bacon and eggs and made his way down the hallway. Reaching the foot of the staircase, he lifted the heavy receiver and put it to his ear. Good morning, sir, I hope I didnt wake you? enquired the familiar voice of Detective Inspector Cawood. No, Inspector, we were just having some breakfast.

67 We, sir, Cawood asked casually. Yeaah, Penny stayed the night at the manor, Simon explained. In separate rooms, I might add, he hastily clarified. Thats really none of my business, sir; I merely called to say the coroner has now finished their report. And? And it would appear your aunt and uncle died from ingesting a massive overdose of Oxycondone, a painkiller prescribed for your aunts illness. We have confirmed Mrs. Frys diagnosis in May of last year, and as no sign of a struggle was evident, and a note was present, the coroner has concluded a verdict of suicide. This obviously means you are now free to leave the country. Thank you, Inspector, but I think Ill stay on, at least until the funeral. Well, once again you have my sincere condolences for your loss, and if you need anything you know where to find me. Goodbye Inspector and thank you. Replacing the receiver, Simon returned to his rapidly cooling breakfast. Between mouthfuls of tepid scrambled egg, he explained the findings of the coroners report to Penny. He was reaching for his tea, when the telephone rang for a second time. Raising his eyes to the heavens, he downed his fork, trudged back along the hallway, and picked up the receiver. Good morning Simon, Daniel MacIntyre here, Detective Inspector Cawood has notified me of the coroners verdict, and under the circumstances the funeral will be conducted tomorrow morning at 11:30 a.m. at St Mary the Virgin church in the village of Standon. After the service, I will conduct the reading of the last will and testaments at my office in Ware. I do hope this will be convenient? Hi Mr. MacIntyre, that should be fine; well see you in the morning. And my thanks go to you.

68

~
Sitting back at the kitchen table, Simon dolefully eyed the now congealed remains of his breakfast. Penny was standing at the sink washing dishes. So, the funeral is tomorrow morning at St. Mary the Virgin in Standon village, he informed her. Penny nodded her head. St Marys, yes I know it, she said. And then we all go back to MacIntyres office in Ware for the reading of the wills. Wares not far from Standon; it shouldnt take too long to get there after the funeral, Penny explained. Simon prodded listlessly at the flaccid skin of a cold fried tomato with his fork. Well, it doesnt look like the rains ever gonna stop, he said glancing out the window at the relentless downpour and the brooding skies. So, it looks like its another day in the historical junk-pile for me. He shrugged. Fancy it? Penny turned from the sink and smiled. Im freelance remember? I dont have to be back at work for a couple of days. You never know, we might just come up with the scoop of the decade. Simon nodded. Yeaah or we might be found next April, buried-alive under the trash. Back in Nicholas cluttered study, Penny made her way to the grubby laptop and powered it up; leaving Simon to slump into the leather chair behind Nicolas desk where he began to tug at the brass handles that protruded from its four wooden drawers. He was not surprised to discover each one locked, until, pulling at the lower right-hand corner, the drawer slid open to reveal a small black notebook. Taking the notebook Simon flipped it open. Turning its pages, a rectangular

69 business card fell to the floor. Retrieving the card, he read the legend printed on its cream coloured surface: Biblion: Specialists in Rare and Ancient Books& Manuscripts Dr Leo Harrison, Director 1-7 Davies Mews, London, WIY 2LP. Tel: 0171 629 1377 fax: 0171 493 9377 email:info@biblion.co.uk www.biblion.co.uk I think I just solved the L. mystery, he announced waving the business card in the air. Penny acknowledged the find with a brief-nod, before returning her attention to the laptops glowing screen. So what you found then, Ace? Simon asked a little disappointed at Pennys non-reaction. Im still trying to crack Nicolas password so we can boot the frickin thing up, she explained. But the usual birthdays or phone numbers dont seem to be working. Staring at the computer, she clicked her fingers. I wonderwould he? Only one way to find out: S-A-D-L-I-E-R. Penny typed the letters into the keyboard the screen finally came to life. Laughing aloud, she began to search Nicolas hard drive. Well hes certainly got a lot of Word documents, as youd expectOh, Christ, almost 10 gigs worth! Just from the titles of the folders, weve got Sadlier, Elizabeth I, Rosicrucians, Freemasons, ciphers, codes, and tons of stuff about William Shakespeare. Logging on to the internet, she checked Nicolass bookmarks and discovered more Shakespeare related entries. Seems Uncle Nicolas was really into the Bard; check this out from his bookmarks, www.william-shakespeare.info/william-shakespeare-identity-problem. www.doubtaboutwill.org/declaration. www.shakespeareidentity.co.uk shakespeareauthorship.com,

70 www.william-shakespeare.info/william-shakespeare-first-folio, and thats just a brief sample. Theres also an unhealthy obsession with Freemasonry. Simon shook his head sadly. Leaving Penny to the dubious joys of the internet, he returned to his seat and began leafing idly through the notebook. After a few seconds, he came to a page entitled The Rings, and began to read. L. and I have managed to find four of the five rings and I have annotated the ciphers inscribed on the inside of each below. As of yet neither of us have been able to identify the type of cipher involved, but L. seems enthusiastic concerning his present line of enquiry. I am sure we shall have an answer very soon. Swearing loudly, he leaped to his feet and thrust his hand into the pocket of his jeans. Oh shit, Penny, I forgot all about this, he said holding the gold ring he had discovered out for her to see. I found it in Nicolas hand yesterday morning. It completely slipped my mind. Penny took the ring and examined it under the light of an antique lamp that stood on Nicolas desk. Its got some kind of inscription engraved on the inside, she revealed. No, wait; theyre numbers. Taking a sheet of paper and a pen, she copied the inscription on the ring. When she had finished, she had a list comprising of the letters H.S. followed by sixteen, seemingly random, numbers: 100.900.50.2.80.50.100.8.5.80.90.90. 100.1.40.4. That doesnt help much though, does it? she said passing the sheet to Simon. Simon took the piece of paper and returned to Nicolas notebook. Scanning its pages, he began to read aloud. William Shakespeare died in 1616. In his last will and testament, he states as follows; Item: I gyve and bequeath to Mr. Hamnet Sadlier XXVIs VIIId to buy him A Ringe; to William Reynolds, gent. XXVIs VIIId to buy him A Ringeand to my ffellowes John Hemmings, Richard Burbage and Henry Condell XXVIs VIIId apiece, to buy them Ringes. On the opposite page, Nicolas had annotated the ciphers from the four rings he had found.

71 H. (amnet) S. (adlier) 100 900 50 2 80 50 100 8 5 80 90 90 100 1 40 4 W. (illiam) R. (eynolds) 900 8 5 80 5 60 80 9 5 90 100 90 6 20 5 5 J. (ohn) H. (emmings) 90 9 40 9 90 100 5 80 8 1 40 R. (ichard) B. (urbage) 50 80 5 40 90 6 50 80 100 8 5 5 The sequence of numbers Penny had written down corresponded with the sequence attributed to Hamnet Sadlier. Simon showed the list to Penny. So it seems, according to Uncle Nicolas, weve got a ring that belonged to another member of the Sadlier family, a ring that was paid for by none other than his good-buddy William Shakespeare. I thought this was about Elizabeth I and her illegitimate kid, how did Shakespeare suddenly get involved? Penny took the notebook and began to read aloud. Frustratingly, we have yet to discover the fifth ring in the sequence. L is beginning to worry it may never be recovered, as he is rapidly exhausting his considerable contacts in this field. It still remains my firm belief, however, that it is in the hands of a private collector, and I have faith in L.s abilities, not to mention my considerable bank account. She turned a page. This next entry is dated 17.03.05, she explained. L. has made a fantastic breakthrough concerning the cipher, he believes it is a form of gematria, and upon weighing the evidence, I am in complete agreement. She looked at Simon. Whats gematria, when its at home? Simon shrugged. I havent got a clue, well Google it later. Penny continued to read. 23.04.05: we are both certain the cipher is a form of gematria, but have been unable to locate its origin. Having eliminated the Greek, Arabic, and Hebrew forms, we consequently find ourselves at something of a cul-de-sac. L. is, however, opening a new set of enquiries based upon my Masonic research, and I remain optimistic that this is where the answer

72 lies. Youve got to hand it to the old guy, Simon remarked sardonically, when Nicolas concocts a conspiracy theory, he hits all the targets. Gold rings, secret ciphers, the Freemasons, illegitimate heirs to royalty, this has got the whole shebang. Penny nodded. Perhaps that was what he was looking for in the cottages, the last ring? She paused, the answer sinking in before she could finish her question. Could he have thought it was buried under the floor, or hidden in the walls? Maybe, Simon said cautiously. But just because Nicholas believed in something doesnt necessarily mean its true. My father spent most of his life trying to teach me never trust a word his brother said. He shrugged. I kinda made up my own mind on that one, but Id be the first to admit Nicolas could magnify situations and events when he was consumed by a passion for them. The fact remains he discovered the rings, as the ciphers prove, Penny reasoned. Not to mention the small matter of the gold object sitting on the desk in front of us. She took the ring from the table and began to examine it carefully. Of course, just because he found four rings doesnt necessarily mean theyre the actual rings mentioned in Shakespeares will, she admitted. Walking back to the laptop, she took a seat and tapped at the keys. After a few seconds, she began to read aloud from the text that had appeared on the screen. Gematria or gimatria is a system of assigning numerical value to an alphabet. Although ostensibly derived from Greek, it is largely used in Jewish texts, most notably the Tanakh and Talmud, and in those associated with the Kabbalah. Kabbalah? muttered Simon. Arent Madonna and Tom Cruise into that stuff? Penny laughed. Yeah, youre half right, Madonna is; but Tom Cruise is a Scientologist and they really are bloody mental. Returning her attention to the computer, she continued to read aloud. Some identify two forms of gematria: the revealed form, which is prevalent in many hermeneutic methods, and is found throughout Rabbinical literature; and the mystical form, a largely

73 Kabbalistic practice. Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully and contemplated the information. Having obviously arrived at some momentous conclusion, he nodded his head sagely and delivered his verdict. Screw this, my ass has gone to sleep and Im goddam starving.

Chapter Seven
HISTORY, n.: An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools. Ambrose Bierce

Over lunch, Simon and Penny considered all they had discovered in the last thirty-six hours. So, Simon began, on the one hand weve got a sixteenth-century nobleman, Ralph Sadlier, who had an illicit affair with none other than Queen Elizabeth I. That affair results in a child, a male child, which would presumably make him the next legitimate heir to the throne of England. A distant ancestor of our family, Doctor Edmund Fry, delivered the boy into the world and for his services handsomely rewarded with a title and this amazing houseHave I left anything out? Penny shook her head and continued to spoon soup into her mouth. Simon carried on with his summation. And on the other hand weve got four gold rings, from a series of five, which were bequeathed to various individuals by the William Shakespeare in his last will and testament. Each ring is inscribed with a series of numbers that Uncle Nicolas tells us is a secret cipher, which uses something called gematra, Gematria, corrected Penny.

74 Yeah, right, gematria, an ancient Hebraic method of assigning numbers to letters. Uncle Nicolas and this Harries guy- Harrison, not Harries. Sorry, Harrison, anyway, the two of them havent been able to determine the version of gematria involved and therefore translate the cipher, but Nicolas believed it might just have something to do with Freemasonry. That just about sums it up Hercule, Penny said smugly, except youre forgetting the Mystery of the Empty-Cottages. Well, Miss Smart-ass, it seems the best thing to do under the circumstances is contact Nicolas buddy Harrison and take it from there. Back in Nicolass study, Simon retrieved the business card and made his way back downstairs to the telephone in the hallway. Lifting the heavy receiver from its cradle, he placed his index finger into the small holes set into the round dial, and dialled the numbers on the card. After three rings, a voice answered. Biblion, specialists in rare and antiquarian books and manuscripts, Dr Leo Harrison speaking, can I help you? said a well-spoken male. Simon cleared his throat and politely made his introductions. With these formalities over, he found himself in the unenviable position of breaking terrible news to another human being. Two decades of medical experience had done little to ease this task, but over the years, he had developed a coping strategy that alleviated some of the inevitable trauma for both parties. First, address the issue with clarity. The last thing anyone needs is a stuttering buffoon stumbling through the tragic circumstances of a loved ones demise. Second, dont go into too much detail. Relevant information is whats required, not grisly facts, or graphic descriptions of injuries sustained. Third, expect the unexpected. Just at that moment when you think, you have seen it all; the world is highly likely to rob you of that comforting illusion. With all this in mind, Simon began to explain the terrible events of the last thirty-six hours. Harrison was initially shocked, but soon became deeply upset and unable to stifle his tears. Simon

75 waited patiently for the anguished bookseller to regain control of his emotions. This took some time, but eventually his grief subsided and he began to apologise profusely. Simon took the opportunity to outline Nicolas revelations in the Great Hall, before offering a brief synopsis of all he and Penny had subsequently discovered. When he had finished, Harrison remained silent for long seconds. Is there some way you can verify your identity, young man? he finally asked unable to disguise his suspicion. Nonplussed by Harrisons reaction, Simon took a deep breath and continued. Uncle Nicolas has two rapiers mounted on the wall in the main dining room. As a child, I always used to admire them on my visits, but my father forbade me ever to touch them, for fear I might, in the classic fashion, loose an eye. One day, not long after my seventh birthday, after watching The Three Musketeers, Nicolas decided, with no small amount of goading on my part, that we should enact all we had seen in the film. So wrapping one of Aunt Harriets brightly coloured tablecloths around our shoulders as cloaks, Uncle Nicolas detached the swords from their mounts and handed one of them to me. Holding the weapon in both hands, and calling D'Artagnan at the top of my lungs, I began to make my way around the room madly waving the rapier in the air in a childish attempt at swash buckling. Needless to say, within a few short-paces one of my wilder slashes somehow made contact with Uncle Nicolas producing a vertical cut than ran down his forehead and across his eye. I remember dropping the sword in blind panic and screaming as he staggered around the room clutching his blood-soaked face. I carried on screaming until Aunt Harriet came running in, and viewing the spectacle, fainted dead away. Luckily, the injury was not as bad as it had first seemed, head-wounds always tend to bleed profusely, and Nicolas eye had only suffered a badly scratched cornea for which the specialist proscribed a jaunty black eyepatch. Uncle Nicolas told my father the injury was the result of a fishing accident, but for the rest of his life he always referred to the small scars on his face as his duelling scars. I always wondered how he got those, Harrison mused, all suspicion now gone. A fishing accident indeed, I dont think he even owned a rod. Good Lord, could you imagine Nicolas sitting

76 by the side of a dreary lake in the wind and the rain for all hours? Hed end up dynamiting the thing, just so he could go home and read an obscure history of the sixteenth-century merkinindustry in Dreiserburg. Simon smiled, happy to have allayed Harrisons suspicions, yet still uncertain as to why he might be so overly cautious. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he brought the conversation to a conclusion, assuring Harrison they would speak in more detail at the funeral service the following day. What on earth was that all about? asked a bemused Penny when he returned to the kitchen. Simon shrugged his shoulders. Looks like Uncle Nicolas might not have been the only one a few sandwiches short of a picnic. That was me trying to convince his buddy Harrison I really am Nicolas nephew. I think he believed me in the end, but it was touch and go. Still, its reassuring to discover our Uncles choice of research assistant is such a well balanced individual.

After lunch, the cousins returned to Nicolass cluttered study. Walking over to the grubby laptop, Penny powered it up and logged-on to the internet. While she tapped away at the keyboard, Simon investigated one of the many teetering stacks of paper that littered the floor. Carefully plucking a handful of sheets from the top of the nearest

77 pile, he returned to the large chair behind Nicholass desk and began to read. The first page contained William Shakespeares family tree:

Beside the name of Williams father, John Shakespeare, Nicolas had written the letters R and S. Beside the name of Williams mother, Mary Arden, Nicolas had written the letters E and R. Simon turned to the next page and continued to read: Ralph Sadliers brother, John Sadlier, had a son (R.Sadliers nephew) = John Sadlier. John Sadlier (Sadliers nephew) was the Shire of the Reeve for Stratford-upon-Avon. John Shakespeare (Williamss father) was the Alderman for Stratford-upon-Avon. John Sadlier had a son he named Hamnet Sadlier. William Shakespeare had a son he named Hamnet Shakespeare. Coincidence? William Shakespeare and John Sadlier were neighbours and close friends. William Shakespeare bequeathed a ring to Hamnet Sadler in his will. Coincidence? This warrants more investigation for if I am right we have found a direct link between W.S. and R.S

78 Glancing back at the family tree, Simon placed the piece of paper carefully onto Nicolas desk, and cleared his throat. Hey, Penny, are you sitting comfortably? he began. In fact, you might want to strap yourself in for this one, kid. It seems, if I understood what I just read correctly, it seems Nicolas and his buddy thinks Ralph Sadlier and Elizabeths illegitimate-bambino was fostered onto a family in a sleepy-little town called Stratford-upon-Avon. He paused. You ever heard of it? He nodded. Yeaah, it is kinda famous for being the birthplace of Englands greatest author and poet, what was his name again? Pennys eyes widened. Oh my god, she spluttered, William Shakespeare was really the illegitimate child of Queen Elizabeth I! After a brief moments silence, the room echoed to the sound of their raucous laughter.

That night the cousins elected to have their meal at a local pub. Driving in Pennys battered Golf; they found a quaint country hostelry tucked into the nook of a hill and pulled into the car park. After their supper, the conversation turned to the impending funeral. Simon confessed he was not looking forward to the morning, least of all the reading of the wills. Nicolas was always someone special in my life, Penny, he said quietly, so full of

79 enthusiasm. He instilled some of that enthusiasm into me. Without his influence and support, I honestly dont think I wouldve become a doctor. They were, both of them, the most alive human beings I have ever met. He shrugged and glanced up at Penny not hiding his tears. Putting her coffee cup back on its saucer, she took his hand and smiled. We all love them, Simon, she said, we all loved them.

Much later, drunk and alone in his room, Simon called his wife on his mobile. After six rings, the generic voice of her answering machine informed him the person he required was unavailable and he would have to leave a message. Angry and frustrated, he waited for the flat-tone that was his cue to speak. I know where you are, he hissed before throwing his phone onto the bed.

80

Chapter Eight
History is merely a list of surprises. It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again.

Kurt Vonnegut

Arriving at the village of Standon, Penny parked her car in the high street and beneath the folds of the large white umbrella she and Simon walked the short distance to St Mary the Virgin. As they made their way past the gravestones that dotted the rise leading to the church, Paul and Ivy stepped out from the small crowd huddled around the main entrance. After they had exchanged greetings, Paul proceeded to introduce Penny and Simon to a number of the mourners. He was such an inspiration, enthused a tall woman in her thirties. I can still remember his thrilling lectures on Ancient Etruscan prostitution. Of course, the newspapers blew the whole thing out of all proportion. When she had gone, a scruffy looking man wearing mirrored sunglasses and a crumpled olivegreen parka approached the group. Trailing a few paces behind him was a well-built black man dressed in a long black leather coat. The black man also wore mirrored sunglasses. Im so sorry for your loss, people, said the scruffy man lowering the shades from his eyes. Its like so, yknow...reallybad...And really, he was such a top-bloke with all the things he did and all the stuff aboutyknowhistory. As he said the words, he nodded his head as if contemplating the wisdom he was imparting. Yeaah, Simon hesitated, its a great loss. Yeah, replied the scruffy man staring into the rain. Hes like, gone and everything, but...but,

81 really, hes stuff and thatAll the things he saidand stuffwill, likenot go away. I couldnt put it better myself, Simon agreed. Cool, anyway, youll hear more when I do me eulo-whatsit. Excellent, so youre doing the eulogy? The scruffy man smiled. Yeah, well me and a few other bods, he revealed before his face suddenly turned serious. You should have a pop, he said earnestly, as youre his rellynthat. Ill certainly think about it, Simon assured him. The scruffy man shook Simons hand and grinned. Cool, well nice to meet you peoples, Ill check yall la-ter. He offered the group a final thumbs-up and made his way into the church, followed closely behind by his large companion. Simon turned to Paul, his eyes wide in disbelief. Who, in the name of all that is holy, was that? he laughed. That, replied Paul, was Liam Ryder, lead singer of Oasis Mondays, big in the nineties, you mustve heard of them? Of course Ive heard of them, but what is he doing here? Ryders an ex-public schoolboy and Nicolas used to teach him. He reckons Nicolas inspired him to be a musician, he even named an album after the old bugger, Tales in Tweed. Simon shook his head. Thats about Uncle Nicolas? Paul grinned and nodded. Yup; Im surprised he didnt mention it in one of those twenty-page letters he used to send you. Its not really the sort of thing that interested him. Im also surprised theres not a scrum of paparazzi scum-bags here, actually, said Paul surveying the churchyard. Then again, perhaps Ryder managed to keep it quiet. So, said Penny, is there anyone else attending the ceremony we should know about, Nelson Mandela, perhaps, Desmond Tutu, Amy Winehouse? Nah, thats about it as far as the celebs go, Pen, Paul said with a nonchalant shrug.

82 Thank god for that, intoned Simon crossing his chest. Did you see the state of Ryders eyes? Hes buzzed off his skull for Christs sake. Dont worry, Paul, grinned, hes probably just had a few spliffs to chillax and a little Charlie to blow away the cobwebs. Simon laughed. Oh, well, thats all right then. Lets just hope he doesnt start chopping-up lines on the coffins. What about any long lost relatives? Penny asked surveying the faces in the crowd. Paul shook his head. Nah, Pen, theyre all dead. Nicholas and Harriet were the last of the old breed. Most of this lot are old pupils, colleagues, or friends of Nicholass, although theres a couple of distant cousins on Harriets side, I think, but otherwise theres just us three left. Studying the crowd, their attention fell upon to a tall man who was steadily making his way towards them, his long face and sharp cheekbones, in combination with his dark suit, giving him the appearance of an undertaker. Dear boy! he exclaimed taking Simons hand and shaking it vigorously. You must be Simon. I am Daniel MacIntyre, your Uncles solicitor, or attorney as you Americans say. We talked on the telephone. Before Simon could respond, MacIntyre took Pennys hand and continued with his introductions. And you must be the delightful, Penny. And you both must be Paul and Ivy, he said turning to the couple. Am I correct? Spot on, Mr MacIntyre, confirmed Paul. Please accept my deepest condolences on your loss, your Aunt and Uncle were simply marvelous individuals. I shall miss them both beyond measure. Life, however, must go on. As I discussed with you all on the telephone, the reading of the last will and testaments will take place in my office in Ware. Obviously, as you are unaware of the exact location, after the service, if you would be so kind as to follow me in your vehicles, I will lead our way there. Paul smiled. If we get lost, you can leave a trail of breadcrumbs. MacIntyres face darkened. Do try to remember where you are, young man, he said sharply,

83 this is a funeral, not a music hall. Tugging at his cuffs, he turned on his heels and strode back into the church. Do you think he was ever in the army? Paul remarked when the solicitor had gone.

Halfway through the service, a thin elderly man in a shabby Army greatcoat, John Lennon glasses and a greying ponytail, made his way down the aisle. Finding an empty pew, he took a seat and bowed his head. Penny tapped Simon on his shoulder. Whats the betting thats L. Harrison, Esquire? she whispered. Shush, he hissed with mock indignation, youre interrupting Ryders moving eulo-whatsit. Hes still on his feet, but it was touch-and-go for a few seconds back there. Penny shook her head at the spectacle. Does he really need his bodyguard with him in the pulpit, though? Better safe than sorry, Penny. Oh dear god, hes reaching for his guitar.

84

Outside the church, when the service was over, the motley collection of mourners said their good-byes to Simon, Penny, Paul and Ivy. Hope you didnt mind me having a bit of a jam, mate? asked Liam Ryder buttoning his olivegreen parka against the rain. But, like, this whole Nicolas-vibe was in the room. Ryder put his index finger to his right nostril and inhaled vigorously. After swallowing four or five times in quick succession he continued. Yeahyou mustve felt itIt was like, like...his spirit wasthere in the gaffSo, the whole jam thing, it seemed kindaappropriate. He shrugged and scratched his head. I think he wouldve enjoyed it, Liam, said Penny sincerely. Ryders face broke into a beaming smile. Sweeeeeet! he said raising his thumbs. Well, check-ya laters people, and remember youre either in the guards van or the The musician features screwed into a brief scowl. Nah, thats wrong, its, your either the van driver or theAh fook it! he finally exclaimed flicking the hood of his parka over his head. You know what I mean. Offering a final cheery wave, Ryder began to stride down the slope towards the main gates, followed a few paces behind by his faithful companion. He was standing on the pavement for no more than thirty-seconds before a long black limousine, with obligatory tinted windows, glided into view and Ryder opened the rear door and clambered in. As the limousine drove away, it was apparent the absent-minded musician had forgotten his bodyguard. Shaking his head in disbelief, the large black man swore loudly and then began to jog

85 reluctantly up the pavement after the fast disappearing limousine. When all of the mourners had gone, the elderly man with the ponytail emerged from the church and began buttoning his greatcoat. When he had finished, he spotted the group and walked over. Good afternoon, do allow me to introduce myself, he said offering Simon his hand. My name is Leo Harrison, we spoke on the telephone. You must be Simon. I do hope I didnt come across as completely doo-lally yesterday. It was the shock, you see, I still cant quite believe it, even now. Harrisons voice caught in his throat. Oh, you must forgive me, he spluttered. Letting go of Simons hand, he fished inside a pocket of his greatcoat and produced a soiled linen handkerchief. Wrapping the handkerchief around his nose, he proceeded to clear his sinuses with a series of loud trumpeting noises. Before Simon could comment the officious personage of Mr. MacIntyre hoved into view. A most moving ceremony, most moving, he said crisply. But, time is pressing on. So, if you would all be so kind as to return to your vehicles, I will lead the way to my office where we can proceed with the reading of the wills. What are you plans for the rest of the day? Simon asked Dr. Harrison. Harrison cast his eyes to the ground and shuffled his feet. Actually, I will have to make my way to Mr. MacIntyres office, he explained somewhat sheepishly, as I am also a benefactor in Nicholass will. In that case, do feel free to join us; Simon informed the old man. Im sure Penny wouldnt mind. No, not at all, she said with a smile. Although I cant guarantee well make it without calling out the A.A. Good, then the matter is settled, said MacIntyre glancing at his wristwatch. So, if you would like to return to your vehicles we can proceed on our way. Twenty-minutes later, the small convoy, guided by MacIntyres emerald green Mercedes, had navigated the three-mile journey to the solicitors office.

86 After spending a further twenty-minutes engaged in the tireless pursuit of finding somewhere to park, the group finally found themselves in MacIntyres study. As they seated themselves in the chairs arrayed around his desk, the door flew open and the gangly solicitor strode into the room flourishing a large manila envelope. I must apologise, he began obviously flustered. The new temp has redesigned the filing system and now its all on those hateful computers. MacIntyres face screwed into a tight ball. How I loathe them, he said with genuine contempt. Useless bloody-things; when you think of the millions wasted on Information Technology, just for useless bloody systems that crash every five minutes. It doesnt matter if you back-up everything, the little buggers still mange to loose the one file that you really want. Then theres the viruses, and Trojan thingies...Basically, the whole thing is a fraud! Billons of pounds in research spent so we can write on our e-books with a stylus and its just like using a pen and paper. Well, forgive me, but I already have a device thats like using a pen and paper, and they are my pen and a piece of paper! His tirade over, MacIntyre adjusted his tie and sat down in the chair behind his desk. Taking a brown case from his jacket pocket, he snapped it open to reveal a pair of half-moon spectacles, which he carefully unfolded and placed on the bridge of his nose. Suitable prepared, he opened the manila envelope and emptied the contents onto his desk. Before us are the last will and testament of your Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Harriet. Some months ago, they came into my office and insisted I help them compile mirror-wills, two wills made at the same time, by two people, which are worded more-or-less the same way. Frequently, mirror wills are made by a husband in favour of his wife, or by a wife in favour of her husband and provides that after they have both died their estate go to their children- Paul raised his hand. But Nicholas and Harriet didnt have any children, he said MacIntyre tensed, clearly irritated by the interruption. That is correct, he observed with a raise of his eyebrow, but if you will permit me to continue, all will become clear. As each document

87 is identical I will simply read your Uncles. Untying a thin red ribbon, the solicitor opened Nicolass will and began to read aloud. I, Nicholas Peregrine Fry, and I, Harriet Beatrice Fry, being sound of mind and body, do hereby declare that the undersigned is our Last Will and Testament, legally witnessed by D MacIntyre, solicitor, on this the fifteenth-day of June, in the year 2007. To our great friend and colleague, Leo Harrison, we bequeath a legacy of money, to the sum of 50,000 pounds-sterling. In addition, we bequeath a legacy of goods, namely all my books, research material and notes. Leo, we shall miss you dearly, but it is to you that I now hand over the heavy burden of our research. Keep searching for the truth, old friend. To our beloved niece, Penny Marshall, we bequeath a legacy of money, to the sum of 200,000 pounds-sterling. In addition, we bequeath a legacy of goods and chattels, namely my 1935 Bentley LeMans Vanden Plas. Look after the old girl, Penny, and dont forget to open her up once in a while, she loves the wind in her hair. To our nephew Paul Fry, we bequeath a legacy of money to the sum of 200,000 pounds-sterling. Take care of your lovely wife, Paul, she is a treasure, may you both find lasting happiness together. Finally, to our beloved nephew, Simon Fry, we bequeath all our remaining assets, chattels, goods, possessions, property and residue. The manor house is yours now, Simon, love her as we did. May you all live long and prosper, in love, happiness and light. MacIntyre placed the will onto his desk and carefully removed his spectacles. I will, of course, deal with any Death Duties and Inheritance Tax, and will contact you all individually when I have completed the necessary paperwork, he explained to the bemused looking faces in front of him. The room fell silent. MacIntyre sat back in his chair and listened to the steady ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and the rain beating against the windows. Simon was the first to speak. Mr. MacIntyre, would it be possible, as the new owner,

88 for me to stay at Lordship Manor until the legal niceties are completed? he asked somewhat dazed. MacIntyre considered the question for a moment. I do not see why not, he finally concluded. Just as long as you do not attempt to remove or sell any items until you are officially the legal owner. However, that should not take more a couple of weeks, until then, yes, Im sure it will be fine.

Chapter Nine

89
Imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not; a sense of humour to console him for what he is.

Francis Bacon

Back at Lordship Manor, Paul, Ivy, Penny, Simon and Dr Harrison were in the downstairs drawing room huddled around the fireplace. Still shell shocked by the revelations in MacIntyres office, Simon gulped absently at a glass of scotch and stared into the flames. If you think about it, Si, said Paul, its gotta be five million at least just for this house alone. Jesus, when you add it all up, youre probably talking in excess of ten million quid. Penny threw her hands in the air. Thats a little mercenary, dont you think? she snapped unable to hide her annoyance at the crass remark. Paul shrugged. Not at all, Pen, its just a fact, he said casually. Well, perhaps, she hissed, its just a little too early, four hours after the funeral, to voice that particular fact. Sensing the tension in the room, Simon offered more of Nicolas whiskey to his guests and the group fell into a doleful silence. I dont know about you, he finally announced, but Im goddam starving.

90 After their meal, the group retired to the drawing room and helped themselves to the last of Nicolass scotch. Adding some extra logs to the fire, Simon took a seat alongside Penny on a wine-red leather sofa. Paul, Ivy and Harrison, meanwhile, commandeered leather armchairs, which they manoeuvred around a large wooden coffee table that sat in the centre of the room. Sipping his drink, Simon turned to Harrison. So, tell us Dr Harrison- Please, call me Leo. Leo, continued Simon, as someone with first-hand knowledge, could you please explain what you and Nicolas believe you have discovered? As I mentioned on the telephone, Penny and I have spent the last few days exploring his notes, but to be honest, were still very much in the dark. Harrison put his drink to his lips and drained the glass. I will certainly do my best, young man, he said placing the empty glass on the coffee table. But do you mind if I make a small joint before I begin? I find cannabis-sativa highly conducive to conversation. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a medium-sized plastic bag. Tugging it open, he produced a long thin packet of cigarette papers, and a smaller plastic bag containing herbal cannabis. Pulling a cigarette paper from the packet, he placed it on the coffee table, opened the small plastic bag and proceeded to sprinkle a trail of the bright green herb along the centre of the paper. Reaching back into his jacket, he produced a pouch of tobacco. Opening the pouch, he added the brown strands to the herb and deftly rolled the mixture into a long thin cone. Taking one of his business cards from yet another pocket, he tore a strip from the card, which he rolled into a tube and inserting into the thin end of the cone. The joint now completed, he produced a matt-black Zippo lighter from his trouser pocket and flipped it open. Slowly passing the conical end of the cigarette through the flickering orange flame, he inhaled a number of times. Presently Harrisons head appeared crowned in a garland of silver smoke, and suitably caparisoned he began. You mentioned on the telephone, Simon, that Nicolas spoke to you concerning the life and times of Ralph Sadlier, and his illicit liaison with Elizabeth the First. I therefore presume you are

91 familiar with the idea that this liaison produced a child. I also presume you are aware the infant was delivered into the world by a relative of your family, a Doctor Edmund Fry. The small group nodded their heads in unison, and Harrison continued. Firstly, let me assure you this is emphatically not a matter of conjecture; we have extant documentation in the form of a diary that proves Elizabeth had a child and Ralph Sadlier was the father. The diary is undoubtedly genuine, for its author is one of the few people to have witnessed the birth first hand. Its Edmund Frys diary, isnt it? Simon guessed. Harrison inhaled and nodded. Very good young man, he said offering the joint to Simon, who took it and put it in his mouth. Nicolas discovered Edmund Frys diary hidden in a small compartment in the attic of this very house sometime in June or July of 2003, Harrison continued. Quite by accident, he stumbled across perhaps the most important historical artifact of last five hundred years. He brought the diary to me in order to verify the age of the paper and the chemical composition of the ink, and you can believe me it is quite genuine. This, of course, did not rule out the possibility of a clever fake concocted in the sixteenth-century to discredit Elisabeth. However, as we researched the facts of Edmund Frys life we soon realized the artifact contained information and detail that could only mean it was genuine. This, combined with carbon dating, effectively ruled out a modern fake, but it still left us with the possibility it might be a piece of Elizabethan propaganda. Where is the diary now, Leo? asked Penny. I have it locked away in a cabinet in my shop, but we can travel to London tomorrow and you can see it for yourselves, if you so wish. I might just do that, said Simon. Ive got to go back to London, I could give you both a lift if you want to risk it in my car, offered Penny. Besides, Id quite like to see this diary. You are both quite welcome to view it anytime, Harrison assured them. After all, it does

92 belong to your family. Simon nodded and passed the joint to Penny. Okay, youve got yourself a deal, well go in the morning. Splendid, now, where was I? Ah, yes, well over the next few months, we continued our research into Edmund Fry and the events described in the diary. However, rather frustratingly the entries only refer to the birth, after which it falls silent. Perhaps the infant was spirited away to Europe, or some obscure Colonial Island, there to end his days in blissful solitude. However, in truth, we feared the worst, sure of his discovery and subsequent murder. Yet; Edmund Fry became a wealthy man, replete with a title and land, hardly the punishment for a co-conspirator to high treason. Thus we wrestled with the issue, until, one day, your Uncle came to see me in a state of high dudgeon. After ushering the few customers I had from my shop, he locked the door and proceeded to expound his latest theory. Breathlessly, he explained how he had made a significant breakthrough and was now certain he knew the answer to the mystery that had perplexed us for so long. You see, Frys diary contains a number of references to a J S and a J. Sadlier, both obviously the same man. Nicolas had found documented evidence that this John Sadlier was the nephew of none other than Ralph Sadlier, Queen Elizabeths clandestine lover. Researching John Sadliers life, your uncle discovered his appointment as the Sheriff of Stratford upon Avon. Furthermore, he was very good friends with a certain William Shakespeare Esq. Such good friends, in fact, that William named his son Hamnet after Johns eldest boy of the same name. Penny nodded. Hamnet Sadlier is one of the people Shakespeare bequeathed a ring to in his will, isnt he, Leo? she said passing the joint to Paul, who eagerly clamped the cigarette between his lips. Paul inhaled sharply and then exhaled with a flourish of perfect smoke rings. As the wispy spheres rose into the air and slowly dissipated, he grinned. Can I ask you, Leo, he said, changing the subject entirely, but you wouldnt happen to have any charlie ching in that magic jacket of yours by any chance would you?

93 Harrison sighed. If by ching you mean benzoylmethylecgonine young man, Im afraid I find cocaine a tiresome drug, one which merely facilitates the verbal equivalent of arse-gravy. As the comedian, Bill Cosby, once remarked, Cocaine enhances your personality, but what if you are an arsehole? He smiled. I much prefer the more cerebral stimulus of cannabis sativa, in its herbal form, a substance with a long and varied history of medicinal, and, of course, recreational useage. The first written records date from around 2700 B.C.E. in the pharmacopoeia of Shen Nung, the Father of Chinese medicine. The Chinese made paper from it, as did the Germans, the Franks and the Vikings. The Turkish used it in 1150 C.E. to start Europes first paper-mill, this some fifty years after they had produced hashish for medicinal and social use. But then again Mohammed sensibly allowed the consumption of cannabis resin, but forbade the use of alcohol, circa 800 C.E., so they had an advantage. It was cultivated for the first time in England around 400 C.E. at Bukeham Mare, but it took another thousand years for the English word hemp to be listed in a dictionary. I thought it was meant to wreck your memory as well? Paul remarked when the mini-lecture had finished. Harrison cleared his throat. That, my dear boy, he said, depends on if you have anything worth remembering in the first place. He turned his attention back to Penny. To answer your question young lady, you are correct; Hamnet Sadlier was indeed one of the beneficiaries named in William Shakespeares will, the others being William Reynolds, John Hemmings, Richard Burbage and Henry Condell. Speaking of which, you wouldnt happen to have the cipher ring you found handy, would you? Simon nodded and rose unsteadily to his feet. Relieved to have found an excuse to leave the increasingly narcotic confines of the room, he made his way upstairs to the relatively fresh air of Nicolas study. After clearing his head for a few minutes, he returned to the drawing room and handed the notebook and the ring to Harrison, who was busy brushing the flame from his lighter across the conical end of a freshly rolled joint. Placing the notebook on his lap, he took the ring

94 and began to examine it carefully. Where are the other rings you discovered? asked Penny. Well, thats the thing my dear. You see, at the beginning of this year, I had a break-in at my shop, and among the items stolen were the rings we had found. Harrison paused. Including this very one, he said holding the gold band up to the light. Nicolas was sure the thief targeted the shop because of the rings, but I assured him no one else knew of their location. Still, he remained distinctly jumpy over the matter for many months, and perhaps this explains my slight paranoia when we talked on the telephone, Simon. He shrugged. I assume, Nicolas must have somehow rediscovered the Sadlier ring and didnt have time to tell me before May I ask how you discovered them in the first place? said Ivy. Nicholas discovered the first ring in the attic of this house some months after finding Dr Frys Diary. It was in an ornate wooden box, secreted behind a loose brick, and wrapped in a copy of William Shakespeares will. After successfully verifying its age, we were convinced he had discovered one of the five gold rings mentioned in the will. Over the next two or three years, Nicolas and I engaged in pursuit of the other four. Ivy shook her head. But that mustve been an impossible task. Harrison nodded and passed Ivy the ring and the joint. Improbable, he said, but not impossible. Ivy put the joint between her lips and began to examine the plain gold band. As she studied the object, Harrison explained what she held in her hand. Throughout the sixteenth-century arrangements of leaves flowers and knots of ribbons were the favourite designs for rings and necklaces. To add to their lustre, and to give them a largerappearance, diamonds were set into solid silver and gold often used for coloured gemstones. By mid-century, however, gold and silver ornaments began to form a part of the regional peasant costumes of France, Italy, Holland and merry-old England. Common folk could afford to ornament themselves with jewellery that had only once been available to the upper classes, and

95 the simple gold band in your hand is an example of that trend. These pieces are by no means rare, and their plain nature often disguises their true age and worth. Indeed, many collectors believe them to be of Victorian or Edwardian origin. Consequently, Nicolas and I spent endless months trawling auction houses and meeting private collectors. Over time, we discovered three more rings, until we had four of the five. If you look carefully on the inside of the band, Ivy, you will notice the letters H S followed by a series of numbers. This is not William Shakespeares telephone number, but a numerical cipher, and the letters denote it was Hamnett Sadliers ring. We read some of Nicolas notes on ciphers, said Penny, something about the Spartans and a Caesar Cycle. Caesar Wheel, corrected Harrison. Penny nodded. A Caesar Wheel, thats right, and Mary, Queen of Scotsand something called the Babingford Plot, I think. It was all very vague. Harrison offered an avuncular smile. Reading someone elses notes is an impossible task at the best of times, but Nicolas are a reflection of his mind and therefore resemble entering Daedalus Maze. He laughed at the analogy. Without the aid of a ball of silken thread, he added. However, I will attempt to elucidate. The Spartan reference you mentioned concerns perhaps one of the earliest known ciphers, used in the Peloponnesian Wars some 2,400 years ago. The Spartan leader, Lysander, employed a piece of equipment that resembled a tapered wooden truncheon. The Spartans would get a long strip of fabric material, wrap it around the truncheon, and then write a message on it. When the material was unravelled, and random letters placed in the gaps, the message became unreadable. The recipient would simply wrap the strip of material around an identical wooden-truncheon and reveal the message. Only people with the same skytale could read each others messages. What a brilliant idea, said Ivy, handing the joint and the ring to her husband. Some thousand years later, Julius Caesar encrypted messages by shifting the twenty-three letters of the Roman alphabet along a certain number of spaces, thus, this so-called bi-lateral cipher is

96 referred to as the Caesar Wheel or Caesar Shift. Now, you must understand that throughout the centuries the mysteries of cryptology and ciphers were well-guarded secrets, hidden in monasteries or the private archives of princes and kings. By the sixteenth-century however, the need for a means of clandestine communications became stronger in England and on the European continent. War and politics, you see, demanded such cunning tools. Under these circumstances, the century saw numerous books published on the subject. Perhaps the most significant was Blaise De Vigenres Traict des Chiffres ou Secrtes Manires d'Escrire, published in 1585. Vigenre, a French diplomat and cryptographer, was the first author to reveal to the public all twenty-five ciphers that could be arrived at using the Caesar Wheel. Mary Queen of Scots used her own variant in the so-called Babington Plot. Paul exhaled a long line of ivory smoke rings. Before you continue, Leo, he interrupted, perhaps Simon would be so kind as to offer us another drink. He ran his tongue across his lips and swallowed. This spliff has given me a severe case of dry-mouth. Forcing his limbs into action, Simon rose from the sofa and waded the short distance to Nicholas drinks cabinet. Peering into its well-stocked interior, he produced two bottles of red wine and five glasses. Ah, Chateau Normand, remarked Harrison, your Uncle always did have excellent taste in wine. Although, I could never tempt him to experiment with cannabis sativa, he said he found the world around him bewildering enough, without deliberately adding to the confusion. Simon managed to uncork one of the bottles and fill each of the empty glasses. His exhausting task completed, he collapsed back onto the welcoming sofa. Paul suddenly held his glass aloft. To Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Harriet, he toasted. To Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Harriet! the room replied as one voice. Emptying his wineglass in three greedy gulps, Harrison began to construct another joint. When he had finished, he sat back in his armchair and crossed his legs. Exhaling a cloud of thick white smoke, he continued with his impromptu lecture.

97 So, the Babington PlotOkay, its July 1586, youre a young Catholic nobleman called Anthony Babington. One day you decided to write to Mary Queen of Scots, whom you regard as your rightful sovereign, and ask her to authorize the assassination of her cousin Queen Elizabeth. In the letter, you outline your plan, which includes your friends and over a hundred followers, to rescue Mary from Chartley Hall where she is currently under incarceration. You thoughtfully add the proviso that six of your comrades would be happy to assassinate Queen Elizabeth, if Mary should so decree. Your letter, written using a variant on the Caesar Wheel cipher, is smuggled into Chartley Hall via an ingeniously hollowed-out beer-barrel bung. However, before it reaches Mary, Francis Walsingham employs his double agent, Thomas Gifford, to intercept and pass it to another of his agents, Thomas Phelippes. Phelippes, an excellent cryptologist and forger, unseals the letter, deciphers it, and then re-seals and forwards it back through Gifford. Mary receives the letter on July 14...Three days later she replies, and in a long epistle stresses the necessity of foreign aid if her rescue attempt is to succeed. She does not, however, in any way authorize or sanction the proposed assassination of Elizabeth, instead leaving the matter up to you and your co conspirators. Mary's letter is of course intercepted by Gifford and deciphered by Phelippes, who keeps the original and sends a forged copy, complete with a postscript and possibly other additions or alterations, back to you. So what happened next? asked Ivy. Harrison looked at the burning joint in his hand. He sighed. On 18 September, 1586, the twenty four year old Anthony Babington and thirteen co-conspirators were convicted of high treason against the Crown and sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered. Two days later, the condemned men were marched from their cells in the Tower of London, stripped naked, strapped to wooden sledges and pulled by horses through the streets of London. On arriving at a specially erected scaffold in St Giles Fields, near Holborn, the executioner placed a rope around their necks and hung them using the so-called short-drop method. At the point of death, the rope was cut and the unfortunate wretch dragged, half-alive, to the quartering-table. A bucket of cold water

98 would wake them if unconscious, and each man was then strapped down on the table. Harrison paused. A historian and academic for over forty years, he had still to come to terms with the subjects often-brutal aspects. No matter the number of times, the stark facts presented themselves humanities seemingly infinity capacity for barbarity and violence upset him on a profound level. Nicolas always said that as long as one kept in mind we are all living on the Planet of the Apes, one could retain a sliver of sanityGod, how I will miss the man. Aware his long silence might seem a little strange Harrison smiled. Do forgive me, I was thinking about your Uncle, he apologised. We were discussing the grisly proceedings that constituted poor old Anthony Babbingtons execution, were we not? Paul grinned. Yeah, you were just getting to the juicy bit. Harrison failed to hide his distaste. Quite, he said flatly. To his mind, Paul was the sort of buffoon who took their children to the London Dungeons and laughed at the leg braces and thumbscrews, oblivious to the genuine agony of the thousands of poor wretches who had endured such punishment and torture through the ages, worse, oblivious to the thousands who endured such punishment in the present day. He shook his head. He wished he had never started the blasted story. To begin, the chief executioner hacked away their genitals, he said looking at Paul, before presenting them to the prisoner. Next, he sliced into their stomachs and slowly spooled out the intestines using a contrivance that resembled a large rolling pin. This task completed, he removed the remaining internal organs, placed them on a brazier, and burned them in front of the prisoners face. When completely disembowelled, he took a large axe and beheaded them. Finally their bodies were cut into four, the heads sent to the Tower of London and the other pieces sent to different parts of the country. Paul shook his head. Fuck, and I thought the Taliban were bad. Considering that quartering as a punishment was only abolished in this country in 1870, young man, Harrison snapped, perhaps we should think twice before casting any moral aspersions. Seemingly oblivious to Harrisons irritation, Paul slipped the ring onto his little finger.

99 Still, what has all this got to do with these mysterious rings? he asked, watching in stoned contemplation as the gold band fell to the floor. Ivy sighed and gave her husband a playful slap across his arm. Bending down, she retrieved the ornament and handed it back to Harrison. Harrison smiled his thanks and began to roll the ring between his thumb and forefinger. As we proceeded to find the rings, he said, we soon realised each contained a different sequence of numbers. Nicolas and I recognised the sequences, as some kind of numerical cipher, but what that cipher might reveal was a matter for some conjecture. Nicolas felt it obviously pertained to something of great import connected to the life of William Shakespeare; I however, remained to be convinced. Unfortunately this was only one of many problems we faced, for not only had we to identify the particular cipher used, but also account for certain spellingconventions of the Tudor age. He paused. Not least, the fact that the Elizabethan alphabet has only twenty-three letters compared to our present twenty-six, the U and V being interchangeable with one another. Harrison reached across and took the now extinguished joint from Paul. So you see we had quite a task on our hands, he said passing the butt through the flame of his Zippo. Still, Im sure this incredibly strong weed helped, said Paul. Harrison puffed on the cigarette and exhaled. He did this a number of times and soon a blanket of smoke caressed the ceiling above his head. It didnt take us long to dismiss the majority of the popular ciphers used in the Elizabethan era and we soon realised it was based upon a version of gematria. Paul sniggered. Gimal wha? he slurred.

Gematria, or gimatria, is a system of assigning numerical value to an alphabet, Simon intoned

authoritatively. Harrisons face lit up. Very good young man, I had no idea you were also a practitioner of the Cabbalistic arts, he said obviously impressed.

100 Simon looked apologetic. Er, actually Im not, Leo, we looked it up on Google, he confessed. Paul threw his hands in the air and laughed out-loud. Harrison continued to inhale on the joint. Turning his head, he studied Paul with the bemused expression of someone encountering a previously unknown species of ape on a wildlife documentary. You appear to be a little stoned, young man, he concluded, exhaling smoke with his sentence. However, Simon is correct, he continued above Pauls laughter, gematria, or gimatria, is indeed a system of assigning numerical value to an alphabet. Generally held to derive from the Greek gemetri, from which we derive the word geometry countless religions and traditions have employed the system, including the Greeks, the Gnostics, and perhaps most famously, the Hebrews, who utilise it in such texts as the Tanakh and Talmud. It has been extant in English since the Seventeenth-century via translations of the works of the Italian philosopher and scholar, Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola. That said, multiple versions of Gematria exist - one list alone details seventy-two separate forms, so again, we had a task on our hands. Uncle Nicolas always loved a challenge, said Simon. Harrison nodded. That is precisely what separates those who act from those who do not, he said earnestly. Nicolas never perceived a problem, only a challenge, and that was part of his genius. But in truth, I was daunted by the idea. He smiled. Nevertheless, over a period of months we methodically dismissed each system, until we had exhausted all known forms. I was stumped, but Nicolas was having none of it, he was sure we had missed something, or that another form of gematria still remained to be discovered. I insisted it was an improbable task, one that might well take a lifetime, but he laughed and told me not to worry. Some weeks later I received a phone call, it was Nicholas, asking if I could find a copy of a particular book for him, namely, Henry Cornelius Agrippa's Three Books of Occult Philosophy. Paul raised his hand. Wasnt that in the book charts this year? he asked unable to keep a straight face. Just below Jeremy Clarksons Big Pop-Up Book of Fascist Dictators and Their Cars.

101 Harrison inhaled deeply on the joint. Turning his head, he launched a large cloud of smoke across the room directly at the younger man, which enveloped him like a shroud. Published in 1531, he continued, Agrippas Three Books of Occult Philosophy, is an encyclopedic work on Renaissance magic, providing information on such diverse topics as planetary rulerships, occult virtues, sympathies and enmities of natural things, enchantments, sorceries, types of divination, astrological talismans, the divine Trinity, the Kabbalistic Names of God, and the orders of evil spirits. Paul coughed ostentatiously and waved his hands in the air in order to dissipate his smoky-cloak. So he was a bit like Harry Potter, he insisted. He genuinely liked Harrison, and he was enjoying himself. The thought never occurred to him the old man might not be having quite so much fun. Harrison raised an eyebrow. Agrippas work represents the highest development of a spiritual and unified schema of thought in the West, prior to the advent of the materialism and atheism of the Enlightenment, young man. After five hundred years, it remains one of the leading texts of Western esoteric thought. I very much doubt, half-a-millennia from now, the same will be said of the crudely inscribed adventures of a bespectacled, adolescent trainee-wizard. I bet you didnt like The Da Vinci Code much, either? Harrison could no longer hide his impatience. Let us not start on that particular pile of steaming ordure, he snorted, the author should be beaten with wooden-planks. The mans grasp of history is laughable and he has all the prose ability of a gassed-badger. Paul smiled. Tell that to the fifty million people whove read it, he said lifting his wineglass from the coffee table and draining its contents. Harrison waived his hand dismissively. Simply because something has mass-appeal does not necessarily mean it is valid or correct, young man. The vast majority of people in Nazi Germany believed it was valid and correct to put Jewish people in gas chambers, the fact the idea had mass support does not condone their actions.

102 Paul laughed. I dont really think you can compare Dan Browns book to the Nazi Holocaust, Leo, however historically inaccurate or badly written it is. Another drink anyone? said Simon getting unsteadily to his feet. Opening the second bottle of wine, with only minor spillage, Simon refilled the empty glasses and slumped back onto the sofa. Harrison put his glass under his nose and inhaled vigorously. Swallowing the contents in one large gulp, he placed the empty glass on the table and retrieved the remains of his cannabis. Tugging a cigarette paper from the packet, he smiled and began to construct yet another joint. Fuck, no more for me, Simon mumbled. I havent been this stoned since college. Yeah, Leo, this is incredibly strong weed, said Paul. Where, if you dont mind me asking, do you get it, he paused, and more important can I get some? I mean, do all antiquarian booksellers smoke this stuff? Harrison considered the question for a moment. Perhaps I shouldnt be telling you this, but I grow it myself, he confessed with obvious pride. Paul raised his empty glass. Out-bloody-standing, he saluted. Harrison smiled at the gesture. Licking the end of the conical cigarette with the flame from his lighter, he inhaled sharply and through a mouthful of smoke continued. Agrippas work had great influence throughout Renaissance Europe, especially in the numerous religious and occult fraternities and societies that flourished during this period. One of the most famous and influential, even to the present day, was the Rosicrucians. Yeaah, we read something about them in Nicolas notes, said Simon. Harrison nodded and offered the joint to Simon who immediately handed it to Penny. Your Uncle became something of an expert on the subject, he said. He was impressed by some of their ideas, I think, especially their love of wisdom and their lifelong search for knowledge. In that sense Nicolas was a Rosicrucian from birth. Harrison paused and stared down at his hands.

103 Taking a few moments to compose himself he lifted his head and offered a wan smile. Do forgive me, I have yet to come to terms with the fact I shall never see them again. Ivy reached out and took his hand. Its all right, Leo, we understand, she soothed, we all loved them. Harrison pressed her fingers briefly to his lips and smiled. Thank you for your kindness my dear, he said. I am a foolish old man, one who has buried far too many of his friends in these last years. A price one must pay, one assumes, for the dubious gift of longevity. He shrugged and sat back in his chair. However, we were discussing the Rosicrucians were we not? Clearing his throat, he continued. The name derives from the Latin: 'rosae' and 'crux' popularly translated to mean the 'rose cross'. The rose cross then became the symbol of the socalled Rosicrucian movement, often referred to erroneously as the Order of the Rosy Cross. It is difficult to comprehend how popular this ostensibly Christian movement became in the seventeenth Century. Indeed, there were approximately 20,000 publications and texts, either directly or indirectly related to the subject published across Europe between the years 1618 and 1625. This flurry of activity was based upon just three anonymous tracts; a curious pamphlet entitled the Fama Fraternitatis published in Cassel, Germany in 1614. Harrison paused and took a deep breath. Or, Allgemeine und General-Reformation der ganzen beiten Welt. Benebst der Fama Fraternitatis des blichen Ordens des Rosencreuzes an alle Gelehrte und Hupter Europ geschrieben, to give it its full title, he recited with obvious satisfaction. This was followed in 1615 by the Confessio Fraternitatis, whose original name I cant remember. Suffice to say, it is in the same-vein as the first tract, but much more apocalyptic in tone. It speaks not only of a secret society that has obtained the secrets of enlightenment, but of a forthcoming reformation of the age, returning it to a former state of grace. A third document appeared in 1616 entitled Chemische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreuz, or The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosencreutz. This highly symbolic treatise follows Rosencreutz, who is also a doctor by the way, Simon; through a mystical wedding, which is actually an alchemical allegory. Not the physical

104 transformation of base metals into gold you understand, but rather a spiritual process in which the base person is enlightened, and thus transformed into spiritual gold. Most scholars maintain the author of the tracts to be Johann Valentine Andrade, a Lutheran minister from Wrttemberg, although Nicolas and I believe they may be wrong in that assumption. However, the fact remains, the notion of a secret society with occult knowledge found a hugely receptive audience in wartorn Europe and here in England, giving rise to an enthusiasm often referred to as The Rosicrucian Enlightenment. What has all this got to do with gold rings and Shakespeares will? Penny asked. As I mentioned, Agrippas work had an enormous influence, not only on what came to be known as Rosicrucianism, but also the hodge-podge of belief and ritual that is Speculative Freemasonry. Paul laughed. It was about time they reared their ugly heads, he said not hiding his sarcasm. Werent they behind 9/11? Harrison sighed. I am well aware of the nonsense spoken concerning Freemasonry, young man. Including its supposed genesis in mythical Atlantis, or Ancient Egypt, or their worship of curious deities such as the head of Baphomet or indeed, Baal, Osiris, Lucifer, Satan, or a giant Owl. I am also aware of the organisations supposed participation in everything from the construction of Stonehenge and the murders perpetrated by Jack the Ripper, to the French and American Revolutions; all of it is nonsensical drivel. As is the notion you mentioned concerning the September 11th, 2001 attack on The World Trade Centre being a continuation of the centuries old battle between Masonry, the direct descendants of the Knights Templar, and the forces of Islam. Paul was shocked. Fuck, I thought I was making it up. Many a true word is spoken in jest young man; except in this case, it is claptrap. Look, Leo, I dont mean to be obtuse, Simon grumbled, but Im kinda-loosing the plot a little. Youre not the only one, Penny added. I cant see what this all has to do with Ralph Sadlier, or

105 William Shakespeare, or the cipher. She handed the joint to Paul. Im sorry, do forgive me, Harrison apologised. I have wrestled with this for many, many years and I often forget how involved the story has become. All right, I shall attack it from another angle. We were searching for an answer to the numerical-cipher inscribed on the rings if you remember. Now, as I explained, the cipher employs gematria, and your uncle and I had crossreferenced it to all known forms of the practice with no success. It was at this juncture, Nicolas suggested we investigate a copy of Henry Cornelius Agrippas Three Books of Occult Philosophy in the hope we might find an answer in its voluminous and encyclopaedic pages. Simon nodded. Right, Ive got that bit, he said. So did you finally manage to decrypt the cipher, and where do the Rosicrucians and the freemasons fit into all of this? No matter my opinion concerning their actual heritage, many freemasonic lodges believe themselves to be directly descended from the original seventeenth-century Rosicrucian fraternities. Subsequently many of them base much of their ritual and doctrine upon Rosicrucian symbolism and principles. One such organisation, the School of Night, also claim a direct lineage from Ralph Sadlier himself, whom they maintain founded the lodge in 1584, alongside William Herbert, the first Earl of Pembroke. Yeaah, we read something about them in Nicolas notebook. Wasnt Walter Raleigh also a founder-member? Indeed he was, although orthodox historians maintain Sadliers group had no nomenclature and the School of Night is a modern-appellation. No matter, what remain of interests are two of the Rosicrucian-inspired Masonic rites that emerged officially in this country towards the end of eighteenth-century. Namely the Rectified Scottish Rite which was widespread in Central Europe, and the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, that was first practiced in France, the 18th Degree of which is called the Knight of the Rose Croix. The School of Night employs both rites to this very day as part of their secretive rituals. One of the Schools most closely guarded rituals

106 is the 28th degree in the Scottish rite, the so-called Knight of the Sun. Now, the 28th degree is closely associated with, and draws heavily upon, numerical Cabala or gematria and the School of Night believe its original form to be a condensation of Rosicrucian doctrines. They also consider Agrippas Three Books of Occult Philosophy to be the textbooks of the original Rosicrucian philosophies." So, youre saying that theres a link between Agrippa, Rosicrucianism and freemasonry, Simon clarified, but what about the ciphers? Nicolas became rather interested in the School of Night and decided to investigate their claims. As he researched, he discovered that much of the ritual used in the 28th Degree, The knight of the Sun relies upon a specific form of gematria. Thus, we examined Agrippas tome and in the twentieth-chapter of the second book, which is devoted to numbers and mathematical magic, we found the answer. Paul sat up sharply in his seat. What, you know what the bloody things say and youve strung us along for the last two hours! he exclaimed. Yes, we managed to translate the cipher young man, Harrison said briskly, but one of the rings was still missing, thus we had before us four lines of verse with no conclusion. Paul laughed. Are you saying the missing ring just-so happens to contain the last line in the poem? Harrisons features wore an uncomfortable expression. That is precisely what I am telling you, young man, he confirmed bitterly. We uncovered the form of gematria, and armed with this knowledge, successfully cracked the cipher, but still we remained in the dark. He paused. Unfortunately, that is where the situation stands. We have successfully translated the cipher, but are no closer to solving the mystery. But surely the poem must make some sense? Penny insisted. Harrison ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Unfortunately not, for the wording is oblique and obscure in the extreme and any sense to be garnered would seem to rely upon obtaining the

107 full and unbroken sequence. Of course, your Uncle and I investigated numerous avenues, but came up empty-handed. What about Nicolas excavations in the cottages by the main gates? Simon asked. Could that have anything to do with it? Cottages, Harrison echoed. Nicolas failed to mention any cottages to me. He considered the question. I suppose it is conceivable he thought he might find the last of the gold rings near to where he discovered the first, but that still doesnt answer the mystery of how he came to be in the possession of the Sadlier ring when it was supposedly stolen from my shop earlier this year. That is kinda strange, Simon admitted. Still, if you think you might be able to crack the poems meaning, I happen to have a copy of the translated cipher in a notebook in my overcoat pocket. I have taken to carrying it about with me like a crossword puzzle. Allow me to retrieve it, and we shall see what the combined brilliance of our collective minds can achieve. Getting to his feet, Harrison shuffled from the room. He returned some moments later with his overcoat and a troubled look upon his face. This is most perplexing, he said patting the coat with his hand. I know it was in there this morning because I looked at it on the train; but now it appears to be gone. Pass it here, Leo, and Ill see if I can find it, offered Ivy. Yes my dear, do have a look. Perhaps its fallen inside the lining. Ivy began to examine the shabby greatcoat. Failing to find the notebook, she gave it back. Sorry, Leo, she said Harrison shook his head. I just dont understand it. Ive carried that book for years and have never mislaid it, never Maybe you dropped it in the church, or when we were at MacIntyre's office? said Penny. We

108 could ring them tomorrow and find out, she added hopefully. That is a splendid idea, Penny, although I fear it is lost. Is that the only translation you have? asked Paul. No, of course not, there are numerous copies at my shop; it is the thought of the copious notes contained within that depresses one. It also leaves us unable to wrestle with the meaning of the lines inscribed upon the rings until tomorrow when we visit my shop in London. Youll have to count us out on that particular scintillating adventure, Leo, said Paul. Some of us have to work for a living, but well be in touch over the next few days dont you worry. Harrison nodded absently. Most unfortunate, young man, he muttered, your polymath-like erudition and impressive intellect will be sorely missed. Paul furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. If I didnt know you better, Id say you were having a pop, Leo. Harrison sat down and met the younger mans gaze. After a few seconds, the showdown ended with both men laughing aloud. If you two have quite finished, said Simon. Lets say for a minute youre right and these gold rings are the ones referred to in Shakespeares will. Why did he have a mysterious cipher based upon an obscure form of gematria inscribed on them in the first place? Where in the hell did he learn all that stuff from, and what has all of this got to do with Ralph Sadlier and Freemasons? Actually, Simon, the Will merely states that certain sums of money are set aside and the rings completed at a later date, if you remember. Thus, presumably William made plans with a jeweller before he died. Nevertheless, that begs the question, how could he ensure the cipher would be inscribed correctly? Harrison scratched his head. Oh, dear, once again Ive flown off onto something of a tangent, please forgive me. The plain truth is your Uncle and I finally discovered the answer to the mystery of the disappeared child. He had not been smuggled out of the country, or murder, but instead fostered onto a trusted friend of the Sadlier family, a certain John Shakespeare, who resided with his wife, Mary, in a town called Stratford-upon-Avon. He

109 paused. Thus, the illegitimate heir to the throne of Elizabethan England was in fact William Shakespeare, the most famous poet and playwright ever to grace the English language. When he had finished, Harrison crossed his legs and quietly observed the stunned expressions on the collected faces around him. Eventually, Paul cleared his throat. Ive got to say, this has been one of the most entertaining days Ive had in yearsApart from the bit with the funeral, obviously, but that aside, this has been a fucking-stormer. Good old Uncle Nick, even when hes dead, he still delivers the goods. Penny put her hand across her mouth and stifled a yawn. I dont know about you, but Im donein. Its been a long day and I need to get some sleep. As she made her way to the door, Harrison rose to his feet and kissed her on the hand Goodnight my dear, sleep well, it has been a delight to meet you. Penny smiled at the charming gesture. The feelings mutual, Leo, she assured him. Paul tossed the joint butt into his empty wine glass. See you tomorrow, Pen, he grinned. Yes, goodnight, added Ivy. Simon waved once and collapsed across the length of the now vacant sofa. See you tomorrow, he groaned. When Penny had departed, Harrison sat back down in his chair and began to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. I must confess the rigours of the day have left me somewhat enervated, he said wearily. Not to mention all that booze and weed, said Paul. So, if you could show me to my room, I think I will also retire for the night. Sure thing, Leo, said Simon getting to his feet. Its upstairs, if youd like to follow me. Turning to Paul and Ivy, Harrison offered his hand, It has been a delight to meet you both, thank you for your conviviality, and I shall see you in the morning. Ivy rose from her chair and warmly embraced the old man. It was lovely to meet you, Leo, she said. Well see you tomorrow.

110 Paul raised his thumbs. Rock on, Prof, see you in the morning. As they made their way out of the room, Harrison leaned over and whispered into Simons ear. He really is quite an irksome fellow, isnt he?

111

Chapter Ten
To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned man's character one must judge it by the standards of his time, not ours.

Mark Twain
(the disguised pen-name of writer Samuel Clemens)

So who wants bacon and eggs then? enquired Paul to the groggy looking faces collected around the kitchen table. Come on, the best thing for a hangover is a good fry-up. Opening one of the kitchens numerous cupboards, he began to scrutinize its interior. Ive just got to find the bloody frying pan and were away. At that moment, Dr. Harrison strode into the room. Paul shook his head. Bloody hell, Prof, you look good this morning considering the caning we had last night. Harrison raised a solitary eyebrow. I have no problem metabolising cannibinol and cannabinoid products, young man; it is alcohol I find hard to process. I believe I may be allergic, from a causal genetic ground. Paul opened another cupboard. So, do you fancy a fry-up? If I can find the bloody frying pan Harrison took a seat at the table next to Penny. Just scrambled eggs and toast for me, please, he said, I am a vegetarian. Paul laughed. Why doesnt that surprise me? Ah-ha, Found it! He turned to the table brandishing a heavy cast-iron frying pan. Right, now, where are the bloody eggs and bacon?

112

An hour later, Simon was locking the front door of Lordship Manor with a set of keys MacIntyre had given him the preceding afternoon. Paul and Ivy were sitting in their BMW and Penny and Dr Harrison were sitting in Pennys battered Golf GT. Its a waste of time, Si; no one will break in! Paul shouted through his open car window. Besides, if it keeps sodding raining like this the place will have its own moat. Simon laughed. Youre probably right, but Ive gotta start getting used to the idea the place is mine some-time. Placing the key in his pocket, he turned to Paul. Well see you in London, Paul said offering his hand. Give us a call when youve found a hotel and well meet you later in the week. Simon shook his cousins hand and nodded. See you in London, he confirmed. As the black BMW roared into life, Jimi Hendrixs Voodoo Chile, Slight Return burst from the formidable car stereo. Reaching for the volume control, Paul increased the already deafening decibel levels, and the sound of Hendrixs voice echoed across the fields as the car disappeared down the gravel drive. If I dont see you no more in this world, Ill meet you in the next one

113 And dont be late, dont be late Cos Im a Voodoo Child, Voodoo Child Lord knows, Im a Voodoo Child!

Getting into the passenger seat of Pennys Golf, Simon turned to the backseat. Well, Leo, lets go see the diary and that translated cipher, shall we? Harrison smiled. It will be my pleasure. When Penny had negotiated the rain-slicked country lanes, and they were safely on the motorway, Simon once again turned to Harrison. As weve got an hour or so, perhaps you could tell us a bit more about the links between Ralph Sadlier and William Shakespeare? Ive gotta confess, Leo, I was a little stoned last night and a lot of what you said is a bit of a blur. Harrison nodded. Perhaps that is my fault, I do tend to ramble, he apologised. I dont think you were to blame so much as the pot, Simon admitted. Again, I apologise, it is a little strong... Anyway, perhaps this morning it will all make a lot more sense. Let us hope so, Harrison smiled. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat. I presume you are both familiar with the centuries old controversy concerning the authorship of the works of the man known to posterity as William Shakespeare? he asked. Simon shook his head. Not really, Leo, all I know is the stuff you learn at school. He was born in Stratford-upon-Avon, he married Anne Hathaway, he helped run the Globe theatre in London, yknow the usual stuff. Same here, said Penny.

114 Well, in that case let me begin by stating your Uncle and I are by no means the first to bring into question the identity of the Bard. We have a host of illustrious contemporaries, which includes Sigmund Freud, Henry James, Charlie Chaplin, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman, Charles Dickens, Keats, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Ben Jonson, Lord Palmerston, Orson Welles, John Galsworthy; the list goes on. In 1985 the Principal Assistant-Keeper of Records for Her Majesties Stationery Office, no-less, confirmed that all the extant documents containing William Shakespeares signatures are each by a different hand. I repeat every Signature we have by William Shakespeare is in fact by a different person. Do you not find that, well, somewhat strange? It does seem a little odd, Simon agreed. The plain and simple facts are we know surprisingly little about our countries greatest poet and playwright. All we know for certain is he married Anne Hathaway at the age of eighteen, who then bore him three children, Susanna and the twins Hamnet and Judith. Sometime between 1585 and 1592, he began a career, possibly in London, as an actor, possibly a sketch-writer, with the Lord Chamberlain's Men, or the Kings Men as they later came to be known under James VI. He appears to have retired to Stratford upon Avon around 1609-13, where he died three years later. Few records of his private life survive and none of his original manuscripts or notes. Strangely his daughter appears to have been illiterate. Let me get this straight. Simon paused. William Shakespeares daughter couldnt read or write? he said deliberately. That is correct young man; furthermore great chunks of his life are unknown to us and are simply referred to as the lost years by historians. It seems crazy so little is known about such a famous historical figure. Ah, that is because his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth-century. The Romantics in particular acclaimed his genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped him with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw witheringly referred to as Bardolatry. Youre saying Shakespeare was unknown in his own lifetime?

115 Far from it, he was a respected poet and playwright; I am merely stating his immense fame rose some centuries later. I see, so when were these lost years? The first period is between 1578, when he leaves school at the age of 14, and 1582, when he marries Anne Hathaway at the age of 18. So, thats four years And for these four years we have no documented facts whatsoever. For the second period between 1582 and 1592, we have a grand total of four facts. We have two entries in church records, one in 1583 and one in 1585. The first refers to the baptism of his first child Susanna, the second refers to the baptism of his twins Hamnet and Judith. A further court document from 1589 names William and his parents in a land dispute, A land dispute? Harrison nodded. Yes, both William Shakespeare and his father, John, were significant landholders in Stratford. And whats the fourth record? Well, that isnt so much a record as a mention. A mention, what, in a book or a play? Not quite, the document in question is a pamphlet registered at Stationers' Hall on 20th September 1592 entitled, Greene's Groatsworth of Wit Bought with a Million of Repentance. It is, in effect, a plea to three dramatists not to give employment to actors in general, but in particular it refers to an upstart crow with a tiger's heart. The full passage reads, for there is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide, supposes that he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you and being an absolute Johannes fac tiotum, is, in his own conceit, the only Shake - scene in a country. So, who wrote the pamphlet? A Seventeenth Century poet and dramatist called Robert Greene, a thoroughly incorrigible

116 individual who boasted of his marriage to a rich woman whom he eventually abandoned, but not before frittering away her fortune on wine, prostitutes, and the gaming table. He sounds like a reliable source, Simon laughed. Harrison chuckled amiably. However, here again, as in so much of Shakespeares life, there is much room for conjecture. Many historians have argued for the playwright Henry Chettle in fact being the author of the tract. Who was he, another con man? On the contrary, Chettle was a respected publisher dramatist and playwright, and has himself been advocated as the true author of Shakespeares work. Just to make it a little more confusing Quite, however the authorship of the tract is not important in comparison to the inconvenient detail of there simply being no trace in 1592, in London, or anywhere else, of an actor, and, or dramatist, called William Shakespeare to attract such an attack. This is ridiculous. It is all very perplexing. Although, perhaps not surprising if one remembers meticulous-accounts or records concerning ones personal life were not kept in the Elizabethan era. Scholars have had to piece together Williams biography by relying on church, court and legal records that mention his name and activities. But theres got to be stacks of information about his life in London. What about the Globe theatre, Jesus, they built a replica of the goddam thing. Indeed, and we have records of William Shakespeares monetary share in the Globe, alongside those of Richard and Cuthbert Burbage, Thomas Pope, Augustine Philips and John Hemmings. Penny nodded. Some of those names were in Shakespeares will, she said concentrating on the busy traffic beyond the windscreen. Yes, Richard Burbage and John Hemmings, confirmed Harrison. So, theres historical evidence of William Shakespeare being a playwright in London at least,

117 she said. Of course, although the actual date he began writing is unknown. Some biographers suggest that his career may have begun any time from the mid-1580s onwards. What is known is that from 1592 the Lord Chamberlains Men were performing some of his works. And he was an actor as well as a writer? said Simon. I think I mentioned that earlier young man? No matter, yes, he was an actor. The 1616 edition of Ben Jonsons Works names him on the cast lists for a number of plays, and the first publication of the complete works, the so called First Folio, published in1623, lists him as one of the Principal Actors in all these Plays. Simon nodded. Okay, now were getting somewhere. But, Harrison smiled. Simon raised his eyebrows. Although we have records of an individual called William Shakespeare, probably an actor and playwright, who owned property in London and Stratford-upon-Avon, it does not answer the question: who actually wrote the sonnets, poems and plays? Simon laughed. What do you mean, William Shakespeare did! Again there is room for considerable doubt, young man, and again, if you disbelieve me you can verify it for yourself. It would not be an exaggeration to state that a veritable industry has arisen arguing a case for the authorship of Shakespeares work. I estimate it would take some half-acentury to read all the current books and academic papers published on the subject. Over fiftydifferent candidates have been suggested in the last three hundred years, including Sir Edward de Vere, Sir Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, Sir Walter Raleigh, Fulke Greville, Rodger Manners the fifth Earl of Rutland and the Jewish poetess, Emilia Bassano Lanier. Jewish poetess, so Shakespeare was a woman? Bassano was the first woman in England to publish a book of poetry, her Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum in 1611, which many historians have come to view as one of the earliest feminist

118 works of British literature. Penny cheered. You go girl! she said punching the steering wheel. The small car offered a toot of its horn, as if in celebration. Yes, she was quite remarkable, Harrison, agreed. Descended from a family of Marrano Jewish musicians, this strikingly beautiful woman not only composed verse, but came to be the mistress of Lord Hunsdon the head of English theatre at the time, and a patron of the Lord Chamberlains Men. The group of players William Shakespeare performed with? The very same, Harrison nodded. So, she had a connection to William Shakespeare, said Simon, but what on earth makes anyone think she wrote his plays? Aside from her prowess as a poet, the main argument stands upon various references in the works. Simon tilted his head quizzically. Such as Harrison raised his hand and began to count on his fingers. One, the plays contain some 2000 musical references. Two, they use 300 different musical terms. Three, they refer to a 5th century manuscript instructing one how to play the recorder. Four, they contain numerous Hebrew puns and examples of Hebrew transliteration. Five, they incorporate several quotations from the Talmud. He ran out of fingers. Erand six, they quote reference to the Jewish philosopher Maimonides. He shrugged. However, I digress. Those who question the fact William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon composed the Shakespearian canon are often referred to as anti-Stratfordians, while those who have no such doubts are often called Stratfordians. Those who identify Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, or Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford as the author are commonly referred to as Baconians, Marlovians, or Oxfordians, respectively. Penny put her foot on the accelerator, and manoeuvred the car into the fast lane in order to overtake a large coach. As they passed the vehicle, its occupants, a party of schoolchildren, took

119 the opportunity to hail the car with two-fingered salutes, some employing the single middle-finger variation. Turning his head, Simon spotted the massed rank of obscene gestures and offered his own spirited version in reply, adding an extra frisson of vulgarity by first inserting his index finger into his mouth before presenting it defiantly at the unruly mob. He remained frozen in this position as the angry figure of a female teacher appeared at one of the coachs large windows. Noticing her, his face flushed with embarrassment and he lowered his finger. Harrison politely ignored the comical spectacle and continued. In very simple terms, the mainstream-Stratfordian argument rests upon these facts. One, Shakespeare left gifts to actors from the London Company in his will. Although it must be noted these words were interlined, that is, overwritten, by another hand and inserted between previously written lines. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. Two, the man from Stratford and the author of the works share a common name, although, here again there is room for much debate. But surely theres only one family with a name like Shakespeare? said Penny. On the contrary, the name Shakespeare is extremely widespread and is spelt in an astonishing variety of ways, including, Shaks-pur, Shakes-speer, Shakke-spere, Shax-peer, and Shakes-staffe. The Bard himself, in credited examples of his signature, always wrote S-h-a-k-s-p-e-r-e. Simon sighed. Jesus, so even the spelling of his name is in dispute? Harrison was obviously amused. Absolutely, like so much else in the history of our nations greatest playwright and poet. What other evidence do the Stradfordians cite? said Penny. A number of commendatory poems in the 1623 First Folio of the works which refer to the Swan of Avon, and his monument in Holy Trinity Church, Stratford, completed in 1630, which refers to William Shakespeare as a writer, comparing him to Virgil and calling his writing a living art. Well that does seem pretty conclusive. Indeed it does, my dear, until you discover the fact many historians debate whether the

120 monument itself was altered after its original creation, and whether or not the original merely showed a man holding a grain sack instead of a quill. Simon slapped his forehead. This is getting ridiculous, why isnt all this stuff more widely known? Harrison paused. They keep information like this hidden in things called books, he said with a grin. Noting Simons reaction, he apologised. Do forgive me, young man, I have always wanted to use that line and the moment seemed so appropriate. He cleared his throat. However, your question is valid one. Why are the majority of the general public in this country largely unaware of the controversy? Perhaps a more important question is why has the issue been conveniently ignored and thus allowed to descend into the hands of conspiracy theorists and cranks? Forgive me for saying so, Leo, Simon said, but the tale you and Uncle Nicholas believe you have uncovered might well be classified in that categoryby some critics. With one very plain and simple difference, young man, Harrison said with authority. We have documentary proof of our claims in the form of Doctor Frys personal diary and physical evidence in the form of the gold rings. Upon discovering the fifth and final cipher ring, we shall have the last piece of the puzzle and the full picture will emerge. Then, and only then, will I reveal our evidence to historians and academics. It will be Nicolass finest memorial, his posthumous kick up the backside to a blinkered and cosseted establishment he always railed against. So you intend to continue with the project? Absolutely! My dear boy, you were at the reading of the will, I cannot ignore a dead mans last wishes. And besides, I want to watch those academic stuffed-shirts squirm as much as he did. Its not gonna do the tourism industry in Stratford-upon-Avon much good, either. Now where are the bovine Americans and quacking Japanese tourists gonna waddle to take photographs? You have a point, Simon ; deepest, darkest Hackney is an urban jungle that just doesnt have the same ambience.

121 Whats Hackney got to do with it? It is the birthplace of Ralph Sadlier, but we have jumped ahead of ourselves somewhat. We were discussing the mainstream Stratfordian viewpoint; now let us turn to the anti-Stratfordian argument. As we have discussed, William Shakespeares three-page will lists no books, diaries, plays, nor any original manuscripts. Furthermore, and perhaps more surprising, it makes no mention of his shares in the Globe and Blackfriars theatres. And I bet those wouldve been worth a few bucks. A fifteen-percent dividend in the most prosperous and famous theatre in London would have been of considerable worth, to not bequeath any of those shares to his family seems a most curious oversight. Unless, that is, he wasnt the same William Shakespeare, said Penny. Indeed. Couldnt the shares have been distributed to his family as a matter of course, she continued, and therefore not mentioned in the will? That is a very valid point, young lady; I see you have all the makings of a Shakespeare sleuth. Simon laughed. Shes a freelance hack, Leo, it comes naturally. Harrison shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I seeI do hope you will not think me rude, Penny, but I am assured of your complete discretion am I not? Penny threw a glance in the rearview mirror. God yes, Leo, sorry if the word journalist frightened you; I wouldnt dream of blowing your big story, although I might insist on an exclusive when you finally piece it all together. Harrison smiled. Of course, my dear, he said, obviously relieved. You will be the first person I will call. He sat back. But, yes, to answer your insightful query, perhaps the shares were passed to the family outside the arrangements of the will. So lack of shares, per se, doesnt really amount to that much, said Simon. Perhaps not, but let us return to the anti-Stratfordians. Above all they stress the fact the plays

122 show a detailed understanding of politics, law, foreign languages, modern sciences, diplomacy, warfare, history, natural philosophy and astronomy. They also refer to such aristocratic sports as tennis, hunting, and falconry. And music and Hebrew, said Penny. Harrison nodded. Indeed. So, Penny continued, the author of the plays would have had a decent education. Not to mention widely traveled, as many of the plays cite geographically correct locations, in some cases even local delicacies. The author spoke Italian for instance. So, basically, old Red-neck Will from Stratford was just too much of a shit-kicker to have written the works, Simon concluded. Harrison laughed. That is about the sum of it. In a nutshell, there is no evidence that William Shakespeare possessed the higher education required to have written the works, particularly the knowledge of contemporary science and foreign languages. The word count alone is mind boggling, with a lexicon of over 29,000 different words, including different versions of words; almost five times as large as the King James Bible, for instance, which employs only 6,000. Simon was impressed. Jesus, so whoever he was, he was really in a league of his own. As far as his vocabulary is concerned, Simon, none of his contemporaries even comes close. What was the level of William Shakespeares education? said Penny. The Stratfordian position is that William was entitled to attend the Kings School in Stratford until the age of fourteen, where he would have studied the Latin poets and playwrights such as Plautus and Ovid. However, records for pupils at the school have not survived, and so we are left with the simple fact the school, or schools, William Shakespeare might have attended are a matter of total speculation, as there are no existing records for him at any grammar school, university or college. Seems par-for-the-course, Simon muttered. Another area for speculation is the reason William left Stratford and journeyed to London in the

123 first place. Nicholas Rowe for instance, Shakespeares first biographer, recounts a Stratford legend that he fled the town to escape prosecution for poaching a deer. So he was a common thief? According to his first biographer, yes, but he was quoting an apocryphal tale. Another eighteenth-century story has William starting his theatrical career as a horse minder for theatre patrons in London. Whadda guy So you can see the conundrum? I can see why theres doubt over his ability to have written the plays, Simon nodded, and why so many different people have been suggested as the real author. And this conjecture is not a modern phenomenon. The first indirect statements come from the Elizabethans themselves. As early as 1595, the poet Thomas Edwards published his Narcissus and L'Envoy to Narcissus, in which he seems to hint at Shakespeare's identity as a nobleman. Whilst referring to the poet of Venus and Adonis Edwards addresses him as one dressed, in purple robes, purple of course being the symbol of aristocracy. Which would explain his knowledge and education, said Penny. It very well might, Harrison agreed. However, some one-hundred-and-twenty-years later, we find the first overt statement of doubt, in three anonymous allegorical stories. In An Essay Against Too Much Reading published in 1728 by a 'Captain Golding Shakespeare is described as merely a collaborator who, in all probability cou'd not write. In Herbert Lawrences The Life and Adventures of Common Sense, published some forty years later, the author is depicted as a shifty theatrical character and incorrigible thief. Perhaps this Lawrence guy had met Will standing outside the Globe in the horse shit, said Simon. And finally, continued Harrison, ignoring Pennys laughter, an anonymous author described as an officer of the Royal Navy, published his wonderfully titled, The Story of the Learned Pig in

124 1786, in which he portrays Shakespeare as the front man for a character called Pimping Billy. Somehow, Simon managed to keep a straight face. So William Shakespeare was a stooge for this Pimping Billy? he said. According to an anonymous tract, yes, but before considering this hypothesis, let us turn once again to the name itself. You said there were numerous variations, said Penny. One must of course take into account the fact there was no standardised spelling in Tudor England, never the less, the surname Shakespeare is spelled in numerous different ways only one example of which being the standard S-H-A-K-E-S-P-E-A-R-E. Indeed the man from Stratford has S-H-A-K-S-P-E-R-E recorded at his baptism and that is the spelling anti-Stratfordians use to differentiate him from the actor and playwright in London. They also refer to legal documents from Stratford which spell the first syllable of his name with only four letters S-h-a-k or sometimes S-h-a-g or S-h-a-x whereas the dramatist's name is consistently rendered with a long a as in Shake. Simon nodded. But couldnt that be explained by the fact there was no standardised spelling in that period? It might, and that is precisely the Stratfordian position. However, the actor and playwrights name is often spelled with a hyphen between the e of Shake and the s of speare, the title page of the 1609 edition of his sonnets, for instance. In fact, of some thirty plays published before the first complete collection in 1623, approximately half contain a hyphen. Intriguingly, this strange convention is only ever observed by other writers, or those who published his works, in contrast William Shakespeare himself never hyphenated his name on any of his extant signatures. Interesting Indeed So whats the relevance of a hyphen in a name? said Penny.

125 Throughout the sixteenth-century it was not unusual for authors to publish their works anonymously, and more commonly under a pseudonym. In these times of civil upheaval and religious persecution, the wrong word or sentence could get you killed. Under such circumstances, a nom-de-plume or pen name was often a prudent measure for a person of rank or position to hide behind. None other than Robert Greene, of a Groats Worth of Wit fame, supplies a reference to his fellow Elizabethan writers habit of hiding their identities with a pseudonym. How does it go againAh, yes, thats it: which for their calling and gravity being loth to have any profane pamphlets pass under their hands, get some other Batillus to set his name to their verses, Batillus, of course, an obscure reference to a rather inconsequential poet who lived under the reign of Augustus Caesar. Simon turned to Penny. We knew that, didnt we? She nodded. Abso-fucking-lutleyWho hasnt heard of Bati-mouse? You mock me, I fear. Sorry, Leo, its just a lot to take in, said Penny. A joke now and then helps, thats all. Please go on, its a fascinating subject. Harrison smiled. Do not concern yourself, my dear. I have developed something of a thick hide over the years and am well able to take a ribbing, especially from such a beautiful young woman. For a brief second, Penny caught Harrisons gaze in the rearview mirror. Despite his age, his blue eyes still sparkled, and she could not help but wonder how attractive he must have been in the prime of his youth. Youre such an old flatterer, Leo, she said, but I like it. I do not consider stating the truth a matter of flattery, my dear. She laughed. There you go again, if youre not careful I might have to propose. Now it was Harrisons turn to laugh. And I would no doubt accept, he said, adjusting his glasses, however, such unlikely events aside; I believe we were discussing the vogue for literary

126 pseudonyms throughout the sixteenth-century, were we not? Indeed, such was the precedent the period has been referred to as the Golden Age of Pseudonyms for almost every writer of merit employed one. So, youre saying the man in Stratford and the man in London are two different Shakespeares, said Simon, and the man in London was using a pseudonym, or was a front for another author probably a member of the Elizabethan nobility, is that right? Yes and no. Harrison said, and then he paused. Yes, the name of the London based Shakespeare was a pseudonym. No, he was not necessarily a different individual from the William Shakespeare based in Stratford upon Avon. I seeBut he was a front man for another author, probably a nobleman, right? Yes and no. Harrison repeated obviously enjoying the intrigue. Yes, he was the public face for another writer. No, the true author was not an aristocrat, although he was a nobleman who owned land and was intimately associated with the aristocracy all of his life. Now, if we return to Edmund Frys diaries, I informed you it makes no mention of the child other than the fact the good doctor successfully delivered him into the world. Your uncle and I, however, discovered his subsequent whereabouts. Thats one part of last nights conversation I can remember, Simon grinned. Lizs secret heir was entrusted into the care of the Shakespeares. Harrison nodded. That is correct. But why on earth would Queen Elizabeth trust this bunch of nobodys from a backwater hamlet with her son? said Penny. You are forgetting one other important player in this drama, my dear. You will recall I explained the diary mentions the connection between John Sadlier, Ralph Sadliers nephew, and William Shakespeare. A connection we subsequently verified. Yes, William Shakespeare named his son Hamnet, after John Sadliers boy. That is correct, and Hamnet Sadlier is one of the beneficiaries in Shakespeares Will to have

127 received money for a gold ring, the very ring Simon now has in his possession. So, you see, there is a deep connection between the Sadlier family and the Shakespeare family. Now, John Shakespeare, Williams father, was a glove-maker by trade who specialized in fine leather gloves and the gauntlets used in falconry. As a glove maker, he would travel the English countryside using the long established trade routes. One such route was the so-called wool road, which ran from Stratford-Upon-Avon to Hackney. Simon cocked his head. Hackney again, thats the second time youve mentioned Hackney. It is the home ground of Ralph Sadlier, Harrison repeated. Right Now, John Shakespeares father, Richard, was a tenant-farmer in Snitterfield, a village about four miles away from Stratford-upon-Avon. Okay, Simon nodded. Ralph Sadliers father, Henri Sadlier, was a steward in the household of a man called Sir Edward Belknap, a soldier and court official for Henry VIII. Check. Belknap was also a substantial landowner in Stratford-upon-Avon and Snitterfield, land that he used to grow the cotton needed to manufacture canvas and the stiff cloth referred to as buckram, which he then sold to the army for the manufacture of tents and uniforms. Harrison paused. Are you following so far? Easy, Leo, Penny chimed. William Shakespeares dad, John, was a glove-maker and his granddad, Richard, was a farmer. Belknap, Henri Sadliers boss, owned land in Stratford-uponAvon. So I presume your next link in the chain is the fact William Shakespeares granddad, Richard, worked on Belknap's land, she concluded smugly. That is indeed correct, young lady, I am impressed. Yeaah, well, Simon muttered. If everyone in the tale didnt have the name John, it might be less confusing.

128 Penny flashed her cousin a dazzling smile. We cant all be a genius. So, Harrison continued, we have Richard Shakespeare growing cotton for Edward Belknap. Belknap, as was often the case, employed a Steward to oversee his wool business and his landholdings. That man was Henri Sadlier. Now, in 1520, Henry VIII, in a bid at cementing an alliance between England and France against the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, held a meeting with Francis I at a location just outside Calais, the so called Field of the Cloth of Gold. Okay, so what has that to do with Henri Sadlier? said Simon Belknap was the man employed to supply the tents and pavilions for the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Henri Sadlier was Belknaps steward; as such, he would have travelled to Stratford-uponAvon and Snitterfield to oversee the haulage of the cotton used in their manufacture. It was here he first met the 41 year-old Richard Shakespeare. Over the years, Henri would have made the journey along the wool road many times for Belknap, and slowly he became close friends with Richard. Indeed, our researches reveals the two families had been connected since the War of the Roses, for in the 1450s, John Sadlier of Over Whiteacre Warwickshire, Henri Sadliers father, and Henry Shakespeare, Richard Shakespeares grandfather, both fought together for Henry Stafford first Duke of Buckingham, their mutual-employer. Interestingly, it would seem John Sadlier named his son, Henri, after Henry Shakespeare. Okay Believe me, Simon, your Uncle and I spent many years researching both the Sadlier and Shakespeare families and you can trust me when I tell you Richard Shakespeare and Henri Sadler became friends. Now, as Ralph grew, Henri would allow his son to accompany him on his working expeditions, and it was in this fashion Sadlier came to meet Richard Shakespeare. God alone knows what the boy made of the staunchly Catholic tenant farmer; perhaps his refusal to bow to authority impressed the young lad, who can say? What is apparent is Richard made an impression on Ralph that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Harrison paused. Okay, now we must move ahead to the year 1546. The obese and ailing Henry VIII has come to the end

129 of his tether trying to unify England and Scotland through a dynastic marriage between the infant Mary Queen of Scots and his seven-year-old son Edward VI, Prince of Wales. The so-called rough wooing was over; it was time for a showdown. At this point in his career, Ralph Sadlier was the treasurer for Henrys army and the king dispatched him to amass the equipment needed for war. Sadlier, however, was not some mere accountant, he was a Knight, and as such required a page or valet. Still maintaining his friendship with the now 60-year-old Richard Shakespeare, he had become acquainted with his young son, John, who in 1546 was fifteen years old. Ralph made a proposition to his old friend, he would take on the young man as his Page. That was like a butler, right? Not quite, young man, although a Pages duties did include waiting on their patron, looking after their clothing and other personal needs, it was a potentially powerful and lucrative position. Indeed, it was commonly a rung on the ladder to higher offices. So Richard wouldve presumably jumped at the chance for his son to become Sadliers Page. Absolutely, it would ensure his son would become an educated-man with the potential for a career beyond that of a tenant farmer. Of course as with many of Sadliers offers, there was a sting in the tail, for as a Knights Page, John would be expected to accompany his master into battle. Simon looked shocked. Hed have to fight? Harrison shook his head. No, his duties would be to carry and maintain equipment etc, he would not be expected to fight unless the camp was overrun by the enemy and it was every man for himself. But it was still dangerous? Extremely, especially as Johns first taste of warfare would be one year later in the horrific bloodbath that was the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh.

Chapter Eleven

130
What experience and history teach is this - that people and governments never have learned anything from history, or acted on principles. George Wilhelm Hegel

Jesus, Pinkie Cleugh! exclaimed Simon. Yeaah, Nicolas painted quite a picture of the carnage. Harrison nodded. Yes, he did like his grisly details. He smiled at the memory. How different in temperament he and Nicolas were, he thought, yet that is precisely what made them such a good team. His heart sank. He must stop thinking of Nicolas in the present tense. He was still in shock, still not able to accept his old friend would not suddenly stride through the door. Its all been a terrible mistake, Lees old chap, hed say with a grin, a terrible mistake. Blinking back his tears, he cleared his throat and continued. However, the most important eyewitness account of the battle comes from William Patten, secretary to the English commander Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset. Somerset led a sixteenthousand strong army across the Tweed into Scotland in early September 1547. Patten compiled his account of the campaign one year later while events were still fresh in his mind. Strangely, as is often the case when dealing with Sadlier, we discovered it was in fact a Clerk from the College of Arms, one William Cecil, who actually wrote the account of the battle, after which he took Ralph Sadlier as his mentor. Harrison paused. Who was it who compared history to a vast onion, no matter the number of layers you strip away, there is always another underneath. The Beatles! Looking through a glass-onion!

131 He smiled. Layers upon layers, he said wistfully, layers upon layers. He turned to the window and stared into the rain. For me, history is a magical mystery tour subject, born of paradoxical virtues by being at once forever old, and at the same time, forever new. And over half a century now, and my enthusiasm has for it has not dwindled at all. It was the same for your uncle; he too remained addicted to the thrill of peeling away the layers. He sighed. His chest was tight and he could feel a growing ache radiating across his sternum, not a heart attack at least that would be swift. This was something far worse. His heart was broken. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Stupid, stupid, old man, get a grip. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. However, we were discussing the battle of Pinkie Cleugh, he said decisively. Now, Pattens account recalls the decisive moment when Sir Andrew Flammack, bearer of the Kings Standard, found himself surrounded by Scottish troops during a fight for possession of the banner. All seemed doomed until Sadlier rushed to his rescue and, as Patten puts it, not both his strength and his heart and his horse been good, both would have perished and the banner lost. Obviously, the kings standard was a potent symbol, its loss would have been unforgivable, and the two men fought their way to safety with the precious totem. The Scots however remained in possession of the staff, which had snapped off in the melee. Sadlier, for his part, had managed to seize the Scottish banner and used it to urge his men to rally and continue the fight. It hangs above his monument in St. Mary the Virgin to this very day, not 700 yards from where you Aunt and Uncle are laid to rest. You know, after all these years Ive never even seen Sadliers tomb, Simon admitted. Oh, you must, Simon, it is a magnificent marble edifice. Aside from the banner you can marvel at the incredible amount of Masonic imagery it contains. So, Sadlier was a Freemason?

132 Undoubtedly, although we still have one more piece of the jigsaw to consider before exploring that particular avenue. Sorry to interrupt, Leo, said Penny, but were approaching the north circular, we should be in London in about forty-minutes, depending on the traffic. Okay, my dear, I shall direct you when we get closer to the West End. My shop is adjacent to Bond Street tube station, but I fear we will have to find a place to park and then walk. Dont worry, well drop you off, find Simon a hotel, then well both come back. She glanced at her cousin. Sound like a plan, Si? Sounds good to me, he confirmed. As Im playing the part of the American tourist, I think Ill actually stay in one of those West End hotels you always hear about; after all Ive got the greenbacks thanks to Nicolas and Harriet. Actually, Leo is there anywhere youd recommend? Harrison shook his head. To be honest, young man, the price of a hotel room in London is so prohibitive these days it is something I have never considered. He paused. However, I did once have an assignation with a young heiress in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, in Knightsbridge, he confessed with a sly smile. It offers spectacular views over Hyde Park. Penny laughed. Whoa, Leo, Im impressed. It was the nineteen-sixties, my dear, he dismissed casually. Every debutante and aristocrats daughter went through a phase of roughing-it with us in the lower-middle classes. Some even went to the extreme of entertaining gangsters and criminals in their search for vicarious thrills. What was her name, if you dont mind me asking? Not at all, her name was Laura Fitzsimmons. Was she beautiful? Harrison turned his head and stared out of the window. Very, he said simply. Penny hesitated. Did you love her? We were very youngAnd as I explained, for her it was just a rebellious phase. Harrison smiled. Her father loathed the sight of me.

133 Yes, but did you love her? I think I did, he admitted. Although at the time I was just overwhelmed by the fact this dazzling, not to mention wealthy, young woman was even interested in me. So, how did it all turn out? Did you sweep her off her feet? Harrison stopped smiling and looked at his hands. It was fated to end in disaster from the very beginning, and of course it did. After some six months, she stopped returning my phone calls and refused to answer her front door. Oh, I sent her letters, and generally made a complete fool of myself, but it did no good. Then one night, perhaps a year later, I was in a club in Soho. Approaching the bar, I was stunned to see her walk across the smoke-filled room on the arm of a tall young man, his smart suit and short hair in sharp contrast to the psychedelic clothing and shaggy locks of those around him. Noticing me, Laura came over and calmly introduced her fianc, James. He took my hand and proceeded to crush it in a bear-like grip. Splendid to meet you old boy, he barked in a clipped upper class accent. Harrison fell silent, sinking into silent memory. Nearly a minute slipped by before he took a deep breath and continued. A year later, Laura was dead. James, a member of the Household Cavalry, had concealed his alcoholism, but after they were married, he began to reveal his true nature. Coming home drunk one night they had a violent row and he beat her to death with a golf club. Simon winced at the revelation. Penny was lost for words. God, thats horrible, she finally managed. Im so sorry, Leo, I dont know what to say Harrison removed his glasses and began to polish them on the sleeve of his coat. Placing them back on his head, he offered a brief smile. Its quite all right, my dear, I have had ample time to come to terms with it. But I must confess I will always be left wondering how it might have all been so different, and after all these long years II still miss her. Simon cleared his throat. She sounds like one hell of a lady, Leo, and dyou know something, I think Ill stay at thewhat was it called?

134 The Mandarin Oriental, Harrison repeated. The Mandarin Oriental, right, Ill stay in honour of your nights with Laura. It was only the one, Im afraid; the prices were rather steep even back then. I would not be surprised if a room might cost you six or seven hundred pounds a night these days. Are you sure, you want to spend such a large sum? There are cheaper options. Simon grinned. I figure Im gonna be in London for a couple of days, tops, so what the hell? Im gonna book the best suite in the house and make a toast to Nicolas, Harriet and your lovely Laura. Harrison smiled. That sounds a splendid idea, young man, a splendid idea. And later on this evening well all have a meal at the place, my treat. I really dont know if I can accept, I have taken advantage of your generosity far too much already I fear. Nonsense, Leo, its been a real pleasure to meet you. And Penny will join us Im sure. Penny laughed. Free food? Im in. So, thats settled. I suppose it would be nice to see the place again after all these years. Great, well I think weve still got a few minutes. Simon looked out of the window at the mounting levels of traffic. So perhaps you could go back to the story. You were about to tell us the final piece of the puzzle concerning Sadlier and William Shakespeares father, John. Harrison rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Okay, well as we have seen, Sadlier was dubbed Master of the Kings Hawks in 1532, by his admirer and confidant Henry VIII. A strange title as it seems a certain Robert Cheseman already held the position. It is a matter of record Sadlier was a keen and prolific hawksman, but your Uncle Nicolas believed the soubriquet reflected his hawklike abilities in politics and court intrigue, rather than any official position. A kind of in-joke between Sadlier and Henry, said Simon. One must never forget, hawk was also a codeword for an assassin. However, it is the historical

135 fact of Sadliers love of hawking that is important here, because William Shakespeares father, John, was a glove maker by trade if you recall, one who specialized in the manufacture of the leather gloves and gauntlets used in falconry. It was Sadlier who had John trained in the art of leatherworking and the curing of fine leather while he was employed as Sadliers page. As a keen hunter, Sadlier also worked with John on the design and manufacture of hawking gloves and gauntlets. When John left his employ in 1551, Sadlier had him set up in business in Johns home town of Stratford upon Avon. With Sadliers patronage, John, a young man of twenty-one, soon began to prosper and was able to purchase his first house in Henley Street in the same year. Over the next twenty-seven years, he becomes a pillar of the Stratford establishment, with his first official civic-appointment in 1557, as the official Ale Taster of the Borough. Penny laughed. So getting drunk was an official civic position? Not quite, my dear, the position was one of extreme importance in a time when clean drinking water was unavailable. Indeed the whole notion of basic hygiene was unheard of in an era when men would urinate on the walls in their living rooms. Penny was disgusted. I thought they at least used a bucket. Sometimes they did, if one was available. Of course it would also probably double as the water receptacle for the house. Nice The only safe liquids were alcoholic and therefore the person chosen to make sure the ale was not tainted or poisonous bore a great deal of responsibility and trust. So, John Shakespeare had made quite an impression in six short years, said Simon. Indeed, in 1561 he was elected as Chamberlain of the Borough of Stratford upon Avon, a substantial rung-up the ladder from his first post. Seven years later he becomes an Alderman, which entitled his children to free education at the local grammar school, and in 1568 he rose to the position of Mayor. Simon nodded. Thats pretty impressive for the son of a tenant farmer.

136 Of course, Sadliers patronage would have considerably eased his rise, as would judicious intervention by Sadlier himself from time to time. So, Ralph set John up in business and then helped him throughout the rest of his life? Sadlier was a hunter, Simon, a man who trained and flew hawks, and like a hawk, he had that rare and deadly combination of infinite patience and killer-instinct. For Sadlier everything had its consequence, every action, every word. He constantly looked towards the horizon, in the knowledge deeds done today would impact upon tomorrow. So youre saying he set John up for his own selfish ends? Harrison considered the question. I believe Sadlier bore genuine affection for John, as his actions in subsequent years proveBut here was a man already embroiled in intrigue and politics for over two decades, and experience had shown the more truly trustworthy friends you have, the safer you will be. Makes sense The pinnacle of Johns career came in 1570, with his appointment as Chief Alderman, a position that enabled the bearer to apply for a coat of arms. It was a costly undertaking, with an amount of thirty-guineas paid to the College of Heralds. This was, of course, an excellent way for unscrupulous Heralds to grant coats of arms based upon spurious genealogies, and they were on occasion censured, or even imprisoned for granting arms to base born individuals. And I bet John Shakespeare was one of those, right? Indeed, he was. However, his son, William, successfully petitioned for the right on behalf of his father nineteen-years later, and on the 20th of October, 1596, John Shakespeare was finally granted a coat of arms, and officially became a gentleman. Simon shook his head. The Shakespeares had a coat of arms, Jesus; I really am the typical American tourist. Penny laughed. Dont worry, Si, youre just stupid; its no big deal. Yeah, right, sure, he dismissed, like you knew the Shakespeares had a coat of arms.

137 He turned his attention back to Harrison. Anyway, ignoring this idiot, John Shakespeare was granted a coat of arms, so what was on it? The College of Heralds gives us this description, Gould, on a bend, sables, a spear of the first steeled argent. And for his creast or cognizaunce, a falcon, his winges dispplayed argent standing on a wreath of his coullers That doesnt really help Harrison smiled. Yes, Im sorry. Okay, well, gold on a bend, Sables, means a black coloured diagonal bar running from left to right across a gold shield. A spear of the first steeled argent, well, first means gold and argent means silver, thus we have a silver spear with a gold tip. This spear would lie across the black diagonal bar. Finally, we have a silver falcon displaying its silver wings. When we arrive at my shop, I shall show you a facsimile. Unfortunately, we have no extant record of the emblem; the best we can do is refer to a sketch by Ralph Brooke from 1602. But the use of a falcon is most intriguing, would you not agree? Did William Shakespeare use the coat of arms while he was in London? said Penny. No, he did not, and one of the privileges of having a coat of arms granted was the right to display them outside ones home and place of business. Seems a little odd, she concluded. Doesnt it? However, we have once again digressed somewhat. We were discussing John Shakespeares meteoric rise to fame and fortune, something historians have never adequately explained. A further mystery is his marriage to Robert Ardens daughter, Mary. The Ardens were one of Warwickshire's most prominent families, one who could trace their ancestry back, beyond the Norman Conquest, to the Doomsday Book. John Shakespeare was the son of a farmer, hardly the usual social match. He paused. But what a fruitful union it was to be, for the couple had no less than eight children: Joan, born in 1558; Margaret, in 1562; William, in1564; Gilbert, in 1566; Joan, in1569; Anne, in1571;Richard, in1574; and finally Edmund, in 1580. Simon was obviously impressed. Thats some going, but they cant all have survived?

138 Unfortunately, you are correct. Joan contracted the plague and died shortly after birth. Their daughter, Margaret, also contracted the disease and died a year after her birth, and finally Anne died at the age of eight. God, thats horrible, said Penny. They must have been heart-broken for most of their marriage. Harrison paused, obviously framing his answer carefully. We cannot judge these things by our standards, Penny. Today, we hide death inside the antiseptic wards of hospitals, or shut it away in old peoples homes. For us, it is something that happens to someone else. For the vast majority of our ancestors however, it was a reality one faced every day, something that, however painful, was acknowledged and dealt with. Of course, as human beings, they would both have been devastated by the loss of their children, but death was considered a natural phenomenon, a part of the Wheel of Life. Simon nodded. In the U.S., he said, even as late as the 1930s, before the invention of penicillin, the infant mortality rate was as high as 150 for every 1000 live births; today its about 7. Thats amazing, said Penny. Yeaah, its made my job a helluva-lot more pleasant, believe me. I read the biography of a paediatrician from back in the twenties and thirties, and most of her time consisted of filling out childrens death-certificates. Simon paused. Trouble is, By 1947, only four years after Penicillin had been patented and mass-produced, microbes appeared that could resist it, this lead to increasingly higher doses being prescribed and eventually the invention of more hardy antibiotics such as Tetracycline, and more recently Amoxicillin. Unfortunately nature just reacted by evolving microbes and bacteria that could resist the higher doses and newer drugs. Penny shrugged. And now weve got all these super bugs. Theyve saved millions of lives, but as is always the case, nature found a way. Are you saying its going to go back to those horrendous figures again?

139 No, thanks to generally higher levels of basic hygiene and higher standards of living, but social status, education, employment all still has a huge impact. I read a study a couple of years ago which found African-American kids suffered a death rate of 13.63 per 1,000 births, by far the highest in the country. With those figures, a black American baby would have a better chance of survival if they were born in Russia, or Bulgaria. Penny wasnt amused. But Americas the richest country in the world, she protested. Yeaah, with vast pockets of poverty and disenfranchised communities, you know as well as I do if you cant afford medical insurance youre pretty-much screwed. One of my colleagues tells the story of an Hispanic patient he treated who had to make the agonising decision of which fingers he could afford to save and which would have to be amputated because his insurance didnt cover the cost of the surgery. Fuck, thats barbaric Simon shrugged. Thats the reality of free-market capitalism my little chick-a-dee, he mocked in his best W.C. Fields accent. Its not funny, Simon. Penny shook her head sadly. Your country is truly fucked if the doctors wont treat patients because they havent got enough money. Thats precisely why you should be grateful for the National Health Service; its probably one of the greatest achievements of the twentieth-century. Harrison rose up in his seat. Here, here! he agreed waving his fist in the air. Simon laughed. Jesus, sorry to go-off on a tangent like that, Leo, he apologised, we were discussing John Shakespeare before this became a political rally. Harrison offered a warm smile. I quite understand it is something you speak of with great passion and that is always a good sign; for a moment there, you reminded me of your Uncle Nicolas. Ill take that as a compliment. You should, it was intended as such. However, let us return to John Shakespeare. He has become

140 a respected member of the Stratford community, with a prestigious position on the borough council and has married into one of the most prominent families in the area; he has achieved much from such humble beginnings, and it is this achievement that perplexes historians to this day. Unless, that is, you have the vital piece of information concerning Johns previous employment as Ralph Sadliers Page. We discussed earlier how the position was often a first step to higher-office, and this certainly held true in the case of John Shakespeare. And so, with Sadliers influence and connections, John was able to successfully marry aristocratic Mary Arden and go on to purchase numerous properties in Stratford-upon-Avon. So Ralph looked after his own, huh? I believe he held John in some regard, Simon, yes. You must remember they had forged a bond in the terrible crucible of war. John had proved his loyalty and courage, and in later years, Sadlier would return the favour. I like to think Ralph would have perhaps journeyed to Warwickshire from time to time and the pair would go hawking together, who can say? However, the Wheel of Fortuna inevitably turned and John fell into debt and financial ruin. In 1570, he stands accused of the offence of usury, for lending money at the rate of 20% and 25%. We have already discussed how, in 1568, his application to bear a coat-of-arms was rejected, by 1578 he is behind with his taxes, and in the following year he was forced to mortgage Mary's estate, called Asbies. Things really took a turn for the worse. Harrison nodded. And they do not get any better. In 1586, John was removed from the Board of Aldermen, and by 1590 his only possession was the house on Henley Street. So he really hit the skids, but why? That is precisely the question researchers have asked for the last 300 years, young man. The orthodox answer concerns the fact Marys father, Robert Arden, was a staunch Catholic at a time when Catholics were viewed with the utmost suspicion. Not unlike, the Muslim community in our modern age with its ludicrous so-called War on Terror, a simple extension of the cold war ethos, I might add, brought to you by many of the ageing defenders of Liberty that inflicted that

141 particular debacle upon the world. In short another example of the age old tatic of divide and rule, give us a visible enemy and we will surely smite it. Meanwhile, at home, our civil liberties are encroached and the surveillance intensifies, new laws passed, people detained for weeks without trial, then spirited away to detention camps. While abroad, civilians are bombed and shot and maimed by soldiers on sleeping pills and assorted anti-psychotic medication prescribed to them by their army psychiatrist in order to keep them functioning as viable killing machines. We marched against that damn war, over one million of us! Yet they politely commended us for our peaceful demonstration and sent in the troops. That smarmy, sanctimonious little shit, Blair, even had the gall to say it was a moral action! Tell that to the hospitals full of dead and wounded. Harrison suddenly stopped; aware his voice had grown alarmingly in volume. He shrugged. It would appear you are not the only one who thinks they are standing on a soap box at Hyde Park corner. Simon laughed. Dont worry, Leo, I couldnt agree with you more, he said. Harrison smiled. He liked Simon; the young man seemed to possess many appealing qualities. He was obviously intelligent, he had a quick wit, he grasped new concepts easily, and he projected an easy confidence that didnt overpower those around him. He could understand why Nicolas spoke so highly of him. Harrison had no children of his own, but he would be proud to call Simon his son. He cleared his throat. Anyway, he said, we were discussing the Ardens. Indeed many of Arden family were sent to the Tower of London, and her father Robert was arrested and executed in the Tower in 1556 for his Catholicism. Well that could easily be the reason for Johns downfall, he was Marys husband after all, said Penny. And the Shakespeares themselves were Catholics, added Harrison. So it seems plausible the rampant anti-Catholic feeling at the time had something to do with it, she continued.

142 Plausible, and probably in-part true, Harrison agreed. Along with Johns morally dubious money lending activities, and property development, it is entirely likely the Protestant majority on the Council would act against this ambitious Catholic. However, what is interesting from our point of view is the impact this downfall might have upon Ralph Sadlier, who had, after all, initiated Johns success. Surely he could have pulled a few strings and prevented Johns slide into poverty? said Simon. That is a tricky question, Harrison admitted. You must remember Sadlier was an influential member of Elizabeths Privy Council by this point, and as a Protestant, Elizabeth had little time for Catholics, especially after the Babington Plot of which we spoke last night. Sadliers relationship with John Shakespeare was, therefore, somewhat controversial under the circumstances; but not unusual. So, Ralph remained loyal to John even though it could have seriously damaged his reputation and career? Precisely, that is why I believe he held genuine affection for his friend. However, Fate would eventually provide an opportunity for Sadlier to aid John and at the same time aid himself. Its the Sadlier way, Simon grinned. Harrison smiled indulgently. Let us return to some fourteen years earlier. The year is 1563 and Ralph Sadlier is 56 years-old; he has been on Elizabeths Privy Council for six years and over this period has become increasingly intimate with Her Majesty. And this is when the famed shag-fest takes place, said Penny. You might put it like that. In truth who knows how long they have been lovers, but that is not the issue. This was the year Elizabeth gave birth to Ralph Sadliers child. Sadlier was faced with perhaps the most momentous events of his life thus far; he had sired an illegitimate heir to the throne of England. Even he mustve panicked in that situation, said Simon. I am sure it was a subject that caused him more than a little discomfort, Harrison said dryly.

143 But Sadlier employed his years of experience and removed the queen to Plas Uchaf, an abandoned manor house hidden away in the wildest depths of North Wales. Here, the child might be born anonymously. Edmund Frys diary informs us he was summonsed from his bedchamber in the middle of the night by a Page, which he identifies with the initials J.S. Initially your Uncle and I took the reference to mean John Sadlier, Ralph Sadliers nephew, but we soon realized the dates made this impossible. Finally it dawned upon us, J.S. was none other than John Shakespeare, Ralph Sadliers trusted Page and companion. Your saying Sadlier called upon John Shakespeare to help him in North Wales? Absolutely, Simon, who else could Sadlier turn to in this perilous situation? Only someone he intimately knew and trusted, and that was none other than his ex-Page, John Shakespeare. It is no coincidence that upon his return home John was made an alderman, a member of the Common Hall of Stratford. Sadlier made him the classic offer he couldnt refuse. I have no doubt a certain amount of persuasion was required, but I do not believe he would resort to directly threatening his old friend. Perhaps I am wrong. However, the fact remains a child was delivered by your relative, Edmund Fry, and the Page who accompanied him to Plas Uchaf was John Shakespeare. And all of this is in Frys diary? said Penny unable to hide her scepticism. The good doctor leaves little room for doubt, Harrison assured her. Im eager to see this thing, Leo, because if youre right, it really is one of the historical finds of the century. Shes angling for an exclusive, Simon mocked playfully. Harrison smiled. And she shall have one, as we have already discussed. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Ralph Sadlier has called upon John Shakespeare to aid him in his hour of need, and his ever-faithful friend has rallied to his ex-masters call, however, Sadlier has another, far weightier, proposition for John, one that if accepted would irrevocable alter the course of his life. Harrison

144 paused. For you see, if he adopted the child and raised him as his own, Sadlier would ensure John would become a wealthy and respected man. Simon found it hard to believe. But surely no one would be stupid enough to accept? he said. It would be like signing your own death warrant, surely? Harrison narrowed his eyes and considered the question for some seconds. John Shakespeare owed everything to Sadlier, he said thoughtfully, through his ex-masters patronage he had already prospered; but as easily as it was granted, so it could be taken away. Simon nodded. So you are saying Sadlier threatened him. Im saying Sadlier didnt have to threaten him, young man, Johns whole position was built upon an implicit, but never stated, threat. Jesus, you make him sound like Tony Soprano, Ah yes the fictional Mafioso gangster. In many ways, the analogy is very accurate. Although I fear, Mr. Soprano has good few pounds on the rather lithe Mr. Sadlier. Knowing what I do of the man, I would surmise Sadlier wished to help his friend, but also recognised the expedient nature of the bargain. Thats the Ralph weve all come to know and love. Harrison smiled. Pragmatism is not necessarily the sign of a selfish individual, he said measuring his words carefully. In certain situations it can be a distinct virtue. Maybe, but the fact remains, Simon persisted, Sadlier mustve been only too aware of the danger for John Shakespeare. Absolutely, but who else in the world could he trust? Harrison let the question hang. So what happened next? said Penny. After Dr Fry had successfully delivered the child, Sadlier accompanied John back to Stratford upon Avon and together they confronted his young wife, Mary. One can only imagine the scene upon their arrival.

145 Penny nodded. Sounds like something from Eastenders. Simon laughed. Jeezus, is that crap still going? Harrison paused. Yes, perhaps the tale does have a whiff of the melodrama about it, he admitted. Simon laughed even harder. A whiff, he echoed, I hate to say it, Leo, but its more like a reeking stench. He fell silent, aware he had overstepped the mark. No offence, he offered sheepishly. Harrison threw him a sharp glance, but reading Simons face, his eyes mellowed and he smiled. None taken, young man, he said magnanimously. You are right; it is an often convoluted tale whose many twists and turns might well merit the pages of a penny dreadful. However, could not the same be said of the life and times of Sir Walter Raliegh, or Francis Drake? Or, indeed, the vast majority of those people and events deemed worthy of recording within the pages of our history books? Probably, Simon conceded. Fact, as they say, is often stranger than fiction, as Nicolas and I soon discovered in our pursuit of Ralph Sadlier. Harrison sighed. I am still in two minds as to whether our discoveries are a blessing or a curse, he admitted. He looked Simon in the eye. The truth simply is the truth, he said earnestly. Oh it can be obscured, or hidden, or denied, or embellished, or manipulated or censored, no matter, it still remains the truth. It is like gold, fish it from the darkest, filthiest sewer, wipe it with a clean cloth and it will shine. He paused and looked at his hands. At least, that is my own opinion. I think youre right, Leo, Penny agreed. Ive seen it time after time in my job. A story might fall under the banner of conspiracy theory or propaganda and be vilified for years before the facts emerge, and then wadda you know? It all turns out to be true. She shook her head. Unfortunately, a lot of the time, its so much later no-one really gives a damn, she added. In this case, I believe some people might, Harrison stated flatly.

146 Well, with youre permission, Ill certainly mention you to a few colleagues of mine, I reckon we can at least get you into the papers. When I have completed the book Nicolas and I were working on, you will be the first person I will call, my dear. Simon laughed. Okay, weve sorted out the publicity, but as were getting close to your shop, maybe you can finish the story? Harrison looked out of the window at the slow moving traffic and caught a glimpse of a cyclist weaving their way through the dawdling procession of cars. Reaching a set of traffic lights just up ahead, they peddled on ignoring the red light burning at the top of the signal box. Harrison smiled, whenever he cycled, he always did the same thing. Turning his attention back to Simon, he collected his thoughts and continued. Okay, fifteen years have passed, it is now 1579, and John Shakespeare has begun his rapid decent into poverty and ill repute. Added to this tragedy strikes when his eight-year-old daughter, Anne, dies of plague, the family is falling apart and John finds himself forced to remove his sons from school. Sadlier is obviously distressed concerning the fate of his old friend, and of course his fostered son William. Moreover, as a pragmatic man the thought of the Shakespeares thrown into poverty and thus prey to the temptation of revealing the truth would not have been far from his mind. Simon wasnt surprised. Yeaah, he nodded, I bet old Ralphy-boy really started to panic. But what could he do if the Shakespeares were associated with Catholic radicals? You are missing a vital part of Sadliers plan, young man, for you see, in exchange for their continued loyalty and discretion, Sadlier would ensure the Shakespeares a return to their former wealth and position. And how would he do that exactly? Harrison could not hide his delight. The moment had finally arrived to reveal his big secret. He straightened his back and sat up in his seat. By supplying his adopted son, William, he said

147 slowly and deliberately, before pausing for effect, with the collection of poems and plays he had been working on for most of his life. He sat back, smiled, and looked out of the window

Chapter Twelve

148
Since the time of Elizabeth I, British secret services have worked according to the principle of the end justifies the means. Money, bribery, blackmail these are their recruitment methods...
Nikolai Patrushev, head of the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB), October 2007

Simon laughed. So, youre saying Ralph Sadlier was himself, in fact, the True Author of the works currently ascribed to William Shakespeare? That is exactly what I am telling you, Harrison confirmed with a sharp nod. If you remember, we discussed the anti-Stratfordian claim that the author must be conversant in politics, warfare and foreign languages, not to mention modern sciences, diplomacy, hunting, natural philosophy, history, falconry and the law. Sadlier was personally involved in all of these activities. Here was a man educated to the highest level in the households of Thomas Cromwell and Sir Thomas More. A man whose business tutors came from Antwerp and Bruges, a man who travelled extensively throughout Europe, even visiting the Pope in Italy. A man who had access to the State Paper Office, and thus all historical sources, a man who retained the rank of Privy Counsellor throughout the reign of four successive monarchs. A man who dealt with not only the Reformation of the Church in England, and the Dissolution of the monasteries, but personally presided over the imprisonment, trial and execution of Mary Queen of Scots. A man who rose by 4 a.m. yet was rarely in bed before midnight; his habit of dating his letters by the hour as well as the day, gives an insight into his grueling schedule. A man who claimed the Red Lion of Scotland for his own and rallied the troops at Pinkie Cleugh. A keen hunter, a hawksman, and a man who had property that correlates to places mentioned throughout the Shakespearian canon. In short, a man who fulfils all the criteria needed to have written the works. Okay, he fulfils all of the criteria; but is there any evidence he could actually write a poem or a play? Ralph Sadlier was a gifted orator; he is one of the few Renaissance statesmen for whom we have

149 extant Parliamentary orations, including a speech on succession in 1563 and one on subsidy in 1566. These speeches are extremely eloquent and verbally dexterous. And we have a huge collection of his state papers. And do they have the dexterity and genius of Shakespeare? One must remember, Simon, Sadlier composed these speeches for delivery in Parliament not upon the stage of a theatre, and however one might argue these establishments are similar they are not. Likewise, official state papers do not allow much room for florid prose or soliloquys. So youre saying Sadliers written work doesnt match Shakespeares? I am saying Ralph Sadliers official written work has no room for such eloquence and flights of imagination. These facets of his personality he revealed only in his poetry and prose. And he used his illegitimate son as a front man? Sadlier needed an agent, someone streetwise, entrepreneurial, au-fait with the theatre; this was the role William Shakespeare played for his biological father. Using money given to him by Sadlier, William purchased shares in the most famous and prosperous theatre troupe in London, and after some months performing as an actor, slowly introduced the idea he was also a playwright and poet. Thus via the Lord Chamberlains Men, Ralph Sadlier was eventually able to introduce his work to the general public. Simon tugged his earlobe. Okay, he agreed somewhat reluctantly. Think about it, young man. For decades, historians have debated the reason behind Williams departure from Warwickshire to London. As we have discussed, there are rumours of his poaching deer and thus forced to flee, but this still begs the question, how did a Glovers son become embroiled in the specialist world of sixteenth-century theatre and performance? Are we to assume William strolled up to the most famous troupe of players in London and simply petitioned them for work? We have no evidence of him putting pen to paper before 1592. Nor do we have any mention of him playing dramatic roles in his youth. Are we to conclude these Metropolitan sophisticates simply took this nondescript country bumpkin at his word and

150 employed him? Simon had to concede it was a good point. Put like that it does sound kinda improbable. Harrison waived his hands in the air dismissively. It sounds improbable precisely because it is, it is a preposterous assumption, but the matter takes on quite a different aspect when we are armed with the knowledge Ralph Sadlier was William Shakespeares biological father, who not only bankrolled him, but introduced him to Richard Burbage via one of his many associates, Doctor John Dee. Why does that name ring a bell? said Penny. Harrison smiled. Perhaps you have come across him due to his rather unfortunate reputation as a Sorcerer and Necromancer? Sorcery Ive heard of, but whats Necromancy? said Simon dubiously. Necromancy is the act of conjuring the dead for the means of divination, Harrison explained, its practice dates back to Ancient Persia, Greece and Rome. It was outlawed in England by the Witchcraft Act of 1604, passed one year after Elizabeths demise, Dee, however, was Elizabeth official Court Astrologer, he personally set the date for her coronation on the 15th January, 1559 due to its auspicious numerical significance, so throughout her reign he remained immune. So, Necromancys kinda like mediums contacting the dead? Not an unreasonable analogy, Simon, the aim was similar, if not a little more elevated than the usual trivia passed on to mediums by the deceased at modern sances, which seems to consist solely of commenting upon the new wallpaper in their bedrooms, or discussions concerning their favourite article of clothing. Thats because theyre all fakes, Leo, Penny stated bluntly. Its just a simple trick called coldreading. Harrison nodded. Yes, Penny, I am familiar with the technique, not to mention the other far more fraudulent and deceptive ploys often employed by the unscrupulous.

151 Penny was annoyed. Exactly, she hissed. Theyre like bloody vultures preying on grief and pain, taking money from people when they are at theyre weakest, it makes my blood boil. I couldnt agree more, and the most galling aspect of the matter is, perhaps the single most important question concerning the human condition, i.e., what happens after ones death, is no longer deemed a serious arena for research and investigation, but is left in the grubby hands of these paltry charlatans. One feels like screaming into their faces, Do you not understand? This is far too important an issue for your feeble parlour tricks! Alas as long as there is grief and bereavement in the world, Harrison sighed. But, yes, Simon, Dr Dee contacted the dead; or so it was alleged. From these communications, he discovered a new Angelic alphabet and language, which he named Enochian. He paused. Of course, this is merely the more populist view of Dee. He was in fact a gifted mathematician and translator whose study ranged from geocartography and calculus, vital for explorers navigating the New World, to religion, architecture, science, astrology, alchemy, Cabala and cipher writing. Indeed, the library at his home in Mortlake was considered the finest private collection in Europe, containing thousands of bound books and handwritten manuscripts. He sounds like a good candidate for the author himself, said Penny. Harrison smiled. Ahh, we seem to have arrived back at the start of this particular avenue. Dee was indeed involved with William Shakespeare, or the true author of the works, Ralph Sadlier, for, as Francis Yates tells us in The Theatre of the World, James Burbage consulted Dee on the design of his first theatre in London. What, the same Burbage in Shakespeares will? No, Penny, this was James Burbage, Richards father. It is Richard who is a benefactor in the will, Harrison clarified. So Richards dad was also involved in the theatre? Penny continued. James Burbage built his first theatre in London in 1576, which he named somewhat imaginatively The Theatre, and in 1596 he built the Blackfriars theatre in Shoreditch.

152 In 1599, his sons Richard and Cuthbert pulled down the Shoreditch playhouse and used the materials to erect The Globe theatre. Now, The Globe utilised it distinct design, Francis Yates informs us, in order to amplify the voices of the players, a feat accomplished using the geometrical resonance of a circled dome. This became known as the Burbage method. Burbage relied on Dee's extensive architectural library for the construction of the dome.

What was Ralph Sadliers connection to John Dee? said Simon.

In 1532, Sadlier was titled Master of the Kings Hawks, if you remember, noteworthy when we consider the official position Master of the Kings Falcons was already filled by Robert Cheseman. The riddle is answered when we realise Sadliers title had little to do with the actual sport of falconry, but refers instead to his new position as the head of Henry VIIIs network of spies and informants. Inherited from his father Henry VII, the old network had become shoddy and disorganised; it was Sadliers job to coordinate a new more efficient organisation. One Henry could rely on. To this end, Sadlier inaugurated a number of Academies up and down the country in which to educate and train individuals. So, he set up spy training camps? Not exactly, Simon, these Academies were ostensibly places of learning, for the sons of the gentry, court officials, politicians, etc, but Sadlier chose from among the pupils those he considered especially suited to work in his new secret service and had them trained accordingly. This would have included the mastery of several languages, the use of ciphers and codes, and of course, armed and unarmed combat. Simon couldnt believe what he was hearing. Wouldnt thatve been a little suspicious? Not at all, we must remember Tudor schooling included physical training and sport such as archery and falconry, Sadlier merely added a few extra specialised disciplines to the curriculum. He sounds like M from the James Bond films, said Penny.

153 Harrison smiled. That is precisely the analogy Nicolas used, my dear. All the more odd when we discover Doctor Dee signed his secret missives to Elisabeth with the code name 007. Penny looked briefly at Simon, who offered a roll of his eyes. Youre making that up, she said. I assure you, Penny, it is quite true. Dees spying career is well documented and it is the opinion of many that his angelic-cabalistic-alchemical work, the Monas Hieroglyphica, published in 1564, may have been a cover for covert operations carried out in the name of Her Majesty. So, youre saying Sadlier had Dee trained at one of his academies, said Simon, and then employed him as a secret agent for the rest of his career. Harrison nodded. Exactly, Dee was one of Ralph Sadliers finest operatives; a man whose intellect perhaps even matched Sadliers own, but then, Sadlier had many fine minds to choose from; including Christopher Marlowe and Robert Dudley, both employed as agents in his burgeoning secret service. Wait a minute, said Penny, wasnt Robert Dudley also Queen Elizabeth lover? She paused. I remember it from school and that film a few years ago with all the shagging, oh, what was it called? Harrison could only offer a bemused shake of his head. I do not have the faintest idea, he shrugged. But, yes you are correct; Robert Dudley was Elizabeths lover for over twenty years, although he was not alone. Elizabeth was romantically connected to numerous men throughout her life, including Robert Devereux Earl of Essex, but her relationship with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was perhaps the most notorious, especially after the scandal concerning the death of Dudleys wife, Amy. Penny shook her head. He was married? Yes, somewhat of an impediment in his relationship with Elizabeth you will agree. Thus, in 1560, when Amys body was found at the foot of the stairs at their home in Cumnor Place, in North Berkshire, rumours soon spread Dudley, and, or, the queen had murdered her and made it

154 appear to be an accident. And did they? No one really knows, Penny, some historians insist she died of breast cancer; but it is certainly possible. Especially in light of the fact staging fake accidents is something of a favourite technique of the secret services. Harrison fell silent. However, the rumour stained Dudleys reputation for the rest of his life. So, how did this help Sadlier? said Simon. Because, Robert Dudley was an intimate confidant of Elizabeths for over two decades, who better to keep a watchful eye on Her Majesty? Classic spy tactics, kinda-like a male Mata Hari. Perhaps, although I have no doubt Dudley and Elizabeth were very much in love. Her rage at his second marriage, in 1578, to Lettice Knollys proves that. However, I believe Sadlier used Dudley in order to both garner information and guide the Queen. Through Dudleys subtle entreaties, Sadlier was able to ensure his long-term plans would not be jeopardised by the whims of a single capricious monarch. With men such as John Dee, Robert Dudley, Francis Walsingham and William Cecil, Sadlier had the Elizabethan royal court infiltrated by his operatives and spies. So he basically ran the show from behind the scenes. Sadlier was a man in his fifties by this point, he had been a Privy Councilor under Henry VIII, a position he took once again upon the coronation of Elizabeth I. Now, the Privy Council was the hub of the Tudor political system of government, an elite executive-board, which governed England on behalf of the Crown. As such, the Council was the main permanent institution of government in the country. Sadlier was in a similar position on the council as his old friend and benefactor Thomas Cromwell had once been, which is to say, he controlled it. From this position alone, he could be said to be the most powerful and influential man in the country. He already ran the show as you put it, Simon. His network of informants and spies merely aided his efficiency.

155 So, what does writing plays and sonnets have to do with all this politics and intrigue? said Penny. Harrison smiled. A very good question, Penny, he said tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear. We have seen how, through his agent John Dee, Sadlier was in contact with the owners and players at the Globe theatre; and it was through Dee that the young William Shakespeare first met Richard Burbage. Dee had tutored Robert Dudley, Elizabeths lover, as a youth. Now, Dudley, under his guise as the Earl of Leicester, was the first man in the country to license a band of players for dramatic purposes, for without a license acting was illegal in Elizabethan England. This troupe included Richard Burbages father, James Burbage. Harrison raised his index finger and drew a circle in the air. Thus, we have come full circle. John Dee was Ralph Sadliers agent; he had close ties to Robert Dudley and through Dudley the Burbage family. Under the circumstances, it was a simple matter for Sadlier to introduce William Shakespeare to Burbage via Dee and Robert Dudley. Seems to me, said Simon, by using his son as a cover, Sadlier was saving his neck in the event any of his plays caused a controversy. That is of course one argument for anonymity, Harrison agreed. He had, after all, watched his first employer Thomas Cromwell executed for his prose. However, your Uncle Nicolas insisted Sadlier had greater plans for his works above and beyond mere public acclaim. Simon was confused. What more could he want than to be the most famous author in the world? Ah, but as we have seen, young man, that was much later; and of course you forget Sadliers prose would forever be known as the work of another man. Yeah, that doesnt sound much like the Ralph we all love; hed want the kudos, surely? Perhaps, perhaps not, said Harrison weighing his words carefully. However, Nicolas considered Sadliers actions in more depth, specifically his conduct throughout the tricky negotiations with Scotland he presided over for Henry VIII, in which he favoured peace over war

156 and argued that England's cause would be better served by the distribution of bibles and copies of the New Testament. It was a subject Nicolas returned to repeatedly. Suffice to say he eventually arrived at the conclusion Sadlier was attempting to compose, what Nicolas termed, literary propaganda. What, in order to promote Elizabeth I? Simon reasoned. Harrison shook his head. Nicolas believed it went much further than a single monarch, he believed Sadlier was trying to, and would, in a sense, inadvertently or not, invent what we call England and The English, and to be a world power. And on that bombshell, interrupted Penny. Were just off Tottenham Court Road, so it shouldnt be more than a few minutes now, tell me where to drop you and well go and find the Mandarin Orange Hotel, or whatever its called. Simon pointed to the grubby dashboard. Havent you got sat-nav, Penny? We can just type it in. Penny laughed. Does it look like this heap has sat-nav, Si? Were lucky to have windscreenwipers and a working radio. Dont worry, Harrison assured them. The Mandarin Oriental is just off Sloane Street in Knightsbridge, opposite Harvey Nichols. You cant miss it, it is a trifle ostentatious. Simon grinned inanely. I knew I shudda brought my Stetson. Penny sighed. Im sure well find it, Leo. Well, this is Davies Street, she said manoeuvring the car to the kerb. Youd better jump-out, and well see you in a couple of hours, sound good, Si? Sounds good to me, meanwhile heres my mobile number if you need to call. Reaching out his hand, Simon offered Harrison his business card. Harrison smiled and put the card in his coat pocket. I shall see you both later, he said reaching for the door handle. After fiddling unsuccessfully for a few seconds, he turned to Penny with a quizzical look.

157 Sorry, Leo, that door gets stuck sometimes, she explained, just push the button down and then pull it up again that usually sorts it. Harrison obeyed the instructions. Ah, yes, my dear, that seems to have got it. He smiled and clambered out of the car into the rain. Pushing the door closed, he offered a final wave goodbye and began to make his way along the busy pavement. Within a few short paces, he merged into the bustling crowd and was gone. Alright, you dickhead! screamed Penny at a passing black cab, whose driver had the temerity to blast his horn at her choice of parking space. Just because it takes you four years to do the fucking Knowledge, doesnt mean you own the fucking road! she hollered out of her open window. Simon flinched. Whoa, Penny, that must be an example of that infamous road-rage we hear so much about, he joked, attempting to disguise his genuine surprise. Pennys face flushed with embarrassment. Shit, sorry SimonIts just, those taxi-twats think theyre the only ones who should be on the road. I swear theyre worse than White Van Man, at least their just knuckle-scraping Neanderthals with serious penis-envy issues. Simon was nonplussed. Who the hell is White Van Man? he laughed. Penny nodded. Oh yeah I forgot, youve been away to La La Land for 30 years. Well, White Van Man is, as the name suggests, a man who- Drives a white van, I geddit. Yeah, but these white van dicks have a reputation due to the fact the death-traps they drive are work or hire vans, so they dont give a toss about them. Cool. Theyve got the unofficial title as the worst drivers on the road, but I reckon black cab drivers beat them for sheer arrogance, every time. Well, this has been a fascinating insight into your borderline mental illness, Penny, Simon said with a wide grin, but perhaps we should make a move and let this very large red bus get past?

158 He paused. Besides, the Mandarin Orange Hotel is calling. Penny stared out beyond the windscreen at the departing black cab. Good plan, she said with a shrug of her shoulders. She turned to Simon and smiled all traces of anger now gone. Dont worry, she said sweetly. I remember his license plate, Ill just put some sugar in his petrol tank next time I see him.

Chapter Thirteen

159 Though this be madness, yet there is method in't. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act II, scene (ii) lines 193206

A door attendant in a red frock coat touched the brim of his top hat, as Simon and Penny made their way up the white marble steps of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Another similarly attired gentleman held open the glass-fronted doors and they stepped into an expansive lobby, its high walls lined with speckled green marble. Two long, wooden desks stood on each side of the reception area, staffed by a man and a woman dressed in plain black suits. Making their way to the check-in desks, their heels rang out on the marble floor beneath their feet, its mirror-like surface a patina of brown and white flecks. Now this is more like it, Simon enthused at the opulent surroundings. This I could get used to. You havent seen the price of a room yet, Penny whispered. Simon turned to his cousin and smiled. Listen, Penny, I know you live in London, but Id be honoured if youd stick around while we talk to Leo. Penny shook her head. Id love to, Si, but I cant afford to stay here. Simon took a step closer and touched her arm. Come on, its my treat, just for a couple of days, it might be fun. He immediately realised his error. Idiot, stupid fucking idiot, she thinks youre some dirty old man angling for an easy lay stupid fucking idiot. Oh, wait, he stammered, separate rooms of courseI wasnt suggesting Penny cocked her head to one side and laughed. Dont beat yourself up; I didnt think you were proposing a dirty weekend. Her forehead creased and she shook her head. Christ, if you just wanted a quick-shag there are far cheaper places in London, she joked. Simons feet shuffled involuntarily.

160 Great, now she thinks youre some guilty fucking schoolboy. Jesus, Penny, I didnt want you to think I was, yknow, suggesting. He shrugged. Penny sighed. God, are all you Yanks so bloody sensitive? Cos if so, how come you go around starting so many wars? Simon laughed. Yeah, okay, you like her, dont make it to obvious, you chump. Okay, yeah, maybe I overreacted. Penny found Simons discomfort strangely charming. She smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Dont worry; Ill only hold it against you for the rest of your life, she said. Besides, I couldnt possibly accept your underhand offer; this place is far too expensive. Simon relaxed the moment had passed. Lucky for you shes so laid back. Look, Penny, I dont care, money is no object. See it as a final hurrah for Uncle Nicolas. Well go see the diary, have a meal later tonight with Leo. Simon indicated to two enormous porcelain dragons that sat either side of the main staircase and raised his eyebrows. I mean, how often do you get to hang out in a place like this? Penny was adamant. Really Simon, I cant, she insisted. Dont make me beg. Penny shook her head. Pleaaaaseeee, Simon persisted. Penny shook her head with a little less enthusiasm. Simon placed his hands together in prayer. Pretty pleaaaseee, he said in a long drawl. Penny studied the pathetic display for a few seconds. Throwing her hands in the air, she let out a long sigh. Alright, alright, she hissed, Ill accept your bloody offer of a bloody free room in one of Londons most expensive bloody hotels, if youll just stop whining. Simon grinned. Call that whining? You aint heard nothing yet.

161

Penny couldnt believe what she had just heard. Two-thousand six-hundred quid, a nightTwothousand six-hundred quid! she repeated, her voice rising in pitch and volume. Simon stabbed the glass button for the elevator with his index finger. Yeah, okay, hone, lets not scare the other guests, huh? he muttered. But, two-thousand six-hundred fucking-quid Penny shook her head and looked amazed. Thats insane. Jesus, I thought you were renting the rooms for a night, not putting down a deposit on a mortgage. Ha-ha, most amusing Oscar, now, if youll be so kind as to push the baggage trolley into the waiting elevator, well be on our way. Simon clapped his hands. Chop-chop girl, we havent got all day. Penny laughed. Youll pay for this, she said pushing the heavy-baggage cart into the elevator. Bet it wont be as expensive a room in this place, Simon muttered as the buffed metal doors closed-shut. Arriving at the third floor, they stepped into a long hallway. Simon studied the numbers on the door opposite. Were twenty-two and twenty-three, he said. He indicated to the left. So thats this way. Travelling along the corridor, the carpet beneath their feet cushioned the sound of their footsteps

162 in its deep rich fibres, while the long polished mirrors on the walls threw back their reflections at myriad different angles. Simon had never liked mirrors. Like most men, he refused to acknowledge the passage of time, oh, he could see it etched on the faces of his family and friends over the years, but he genuinely failed to see it in himself. As far as he was concerned, he still looked the way he had in his twenties. Part of that comforting illusion sustained itself by the minimal use of mirrors. Obviously, he found himself forced to look in one on a daily basis in order to shave, but that was a ritual he conducted in a purely utilitarian fashion, paying little attention to his actual face. Simon suddenly stopped walking. He was standing between two brown wooden doors set 5 meters apart. This is us, he informed Penny, who was trailing a few paces behind pushing the baggage trolley. He handed her a large magnetic key card. Okay, Ill take number twenty-three, he said indicating to the door on his right, and you can have twenty-two. Penny flexed her fingers and looked at her hands. Fine by me but youre lugging this thing next time, its bloody heavy. Simon smiled and walked to his room. Taking his key card, he swiped it ceremoniously through the lock mechanism. Lets see what a couple of grands worth of hotel room looks like shall we? he said. Grasping the door handle, he pushed open the door. In front of him was a short passageway leading to a bedroom at least 30 meters square. The enormous room was a staggering, eye-bashing, vista of fabrics and silk, the verdant greens and rich purples of the intricately patterned carpets and rugs expertly complementing the silk wallpaper and large cushions on the king-size four-poster bed. Someone paid someone a large sum of money to design this tastefully understated interior. Someone else paid someone a very small sum of money to make the fabrics and silks. Then lots of wealthy people paid someone a large sum of money to sleep in it.

163 Simon laughed, but perhaps not for the reason Penny imagined. Jesus, it looks like a Shanghai brothel. Craning his neck, he spied the separate living space that adjoined the bedroom. And for an encore theyve gone for the classic Yakuza penthouse feel. The living room was Spartan in comparison to the bedroom, the walls a muted eggshell that matched the shag-pile carpet. Black shelves ran along one wall housing an Ipod that sat in a large dock attached to two perfectly round speakers. Beside the Ipod was a collection of paperback books and a small bonsai tree. A flat screen TV dominated the far wall and a black leather sofa sat on a large circular Dias in the centre of the room facing a set of patio doors and a large bay window that offered a panoramic view over Hyde Park. Welcome to the most expensive nights sleep youve had in you life. At least they give you a complimentary mini bar, but then at theses prices you need it to compensate for the shock. Not wanting to disappoint Penny, Simon feigned delight and whistled. This is what I call a suite, he said. To be honest Ive seen better, Penny sniffed. I think Id better check mine for roaches. Stepping down the hallway, she swiped her key-card through the lock and opened her apartment door. Penny stood in silence and her jaw dropped. Oh-my-god, she whispered. So I take it you approve? Oh, Si, what can I say? Thank you so much. No problem, Penny, Im glad you finally accepted. Penny smiled and picked her bags from off the baggage-cart. Right, Im going to check out my bathroom and have a bloody good soak. Ill give you a shout when Im finished, and well go and see Leo. Simon nodded. Sounds like a plan. Just knock when youre ready. He paused. Here we go again.

164 Actually, I probably shouldve mentioned in the elevator, but these suites have an interconnecting door between them. I see, Penny said quietly. Simon body language telegraphed his discomfort. Yeaah, its between the two living rooms I think the desk clerk said. This is stupid. Ive done nothing wrong. I can get you a different suite if you want, its no problem. Its just these are the only two left on the same floor, so I thought He shrugged and briefly raised his eyebrows. Penny smiled. Dont worry, its fine, its just a door, Si, not a proposal of marriage. She crossed her heart with her fingers. I wont tell your wife, promise. Simon felt a hard lump in the pit of his stomach. Hey, thats the natural reaction when a husband thinks of his wife; its in all the textbooks. He shrugged. I really dont think shed give a damn, Penny, shes otherwise engaged From the expression on his face, it was obvious Simon was genuinely upset and Penny felt suddenly guilty. Oh, god I didnt mean to sound like a bitch I was just pulling your leg. You seemed so serious all of a sudden. Believe me, the whole door thing really isnt a big deal. Simon cleared his throat and offered an uncomfortable smile. Jesus, could you be more obvious? Thanks Penny, I appreciate it, he said. Penny dropped her luggage and stepped towards Simon. She smiled and stood on her tiptoes. Simon could smell her perfume, a citrus aroma with an overall subtle hint of vanillas. He liked it. Penny leaned closer and whispered in his ear. If you werent a gentleman, you wouldnt care, she said. Just for a second, Simon felt the heat of her breath; it was a sensuous, intimate moment that sent a shiver down his spine. Taking a step back, Penny kissed Simon on the cheek and walked back to her luggage.

165 Lifting her bags from the ground, she smiled and entered her room. Simon stood in the hallway and sighed. Well that was fun. Taking his luggage, he pushed the baggage-cart to one side. After looking up and down the empty corridor, he walked into his over-sized suite and closed the door He awoke some time later to the sound of a persistent knocking. Lifting his head from the silk pillows, he listened carefully. It was coming from the living room. How long have I been asleep? He looked at his wristwatch. Its gone half-twoover an hour. He crawled off the enormous bed and made his way to the living room Hi, Penny, he said after unlocking the inter-connecting door between their suites, mustve crashed out there for a bit after my shower. He shrugged and indicated to his bathrobe. Come in and give me a few minutes. Penny smiled. She was dressed in black boots, jeans and a long leather coat. Her skin looked freshly scrubbed and as she brushed past him, Simon could smell the shampoo in her hair. Slumping down on the leather sofa, she put her feet up on a long glass coffee table and looked out of the window. God, Si, the bathrooms in this place there as big as my whole flat, she laughed. In fact, to be honest, I reckon the bath itself is bigger than my flat. Where do you live? said Simon, his disembodied voice echoing from the bathroom. In a tiny matchbox of a place in Crouch End, its groovy, theres a deaf old lady with Alzheimers living downstairs and an amateur saxophonist above me. That must get pretty noisy sometimes, but the old lady can never remember if it was her playing

166 the sax, right? Ha-ha, yes, something like that, I swear, sometimes its a toss-up between the sound of her telly, or the sax-a-ma-phone. Obviously, I just introduce both of them to the delights of Iowa by Slipknot at ear-splitting volume. Didnt take you as a heavy metal fan, Penny? Im not really; its just that album sounds like a cross between industrial machinery and pigs in a blender. I think they use it to torture inmates at Guantanamo bay. Simon laughed. Actually, I read they use the theme tune from Barney the Dinosaur and the Bee Gees. Penny looked disappointed. Oh, I quite like the Bee Gees, she muttered. Okay, Simon announced emerging from the bathroom fully dressed. Lets go and view the greatest historical find of the new millennia, shall we?

Buttoning their coats against the rain, Penny and Simon exited Bond Street underground station and quickly made their way across Davies Street, towards Grays Antique Market. Stepping through a large set of glass doors, they followed the signs through the busy market that led to Biblion Books. When the arrived, they were surprised to find the shop dark and empty, a large Sorry We Are Closed sign hanging in the door. Simon sighed. Whats Leo playing at? We told him wed be back in a couple of hours.

167 Perhaps hes just popped-out for a while? Penny said hopefully. Ill ask next door. She indicated to a tiny cupboard of a room that obviously specialised in authentic 1960s Beatles memorabilia. They might know. Penny entered the shop and slowly made her way to the counter. Having navigated the biscuit tins, playing cards, day-glo plastic combs, yo-yos, board games, pencils, quiz books, comics, plastic figurines, coffee mugs, briar-pipes, fake wigs, rubber masks, pillowcases, condoms and record covers that stacked the shelves, she arrived at her goal to be greeted by a bored looking young woman, who reluctantly lifted her head from her magazine and raised a solitary eyebrow. Simon watched the silent pantomime of their conversation for a few seconds and then began to search the pockets of his overcoatWallet, credit cards, keysbut no business card. He sighed. A minute later, Penny returned. She was in a good mood, she said shaking her head. Anyway, he was here for about an hour and then he locked-up. She hasnt seen him since. Simon nodded. Marvellous and I left his business card back at the hotel. Hes got your mobile number; if he had to suddenly leave, why didnt he ring and tell us? He is kinda eccentric; maybe he lost my card the same way he lost his notebook? All we can do is go back the hotel and hope he calls. If not we can come back tomorrow morning and see if hes turned up. Simon wearily rubbed his eyelids. I just cant figure it, he muttered. Penny laughed. Perhaps he ran out of grass and needed to score? Yeahhprobably

168

Back at the hotel, Simon was standing at the check in desk picking up the keys. Rooms twenty-two and twenty-three, please, he said to a freckled-faced youth who was busy excavating the contents of his inner ear with the blunt end of a ballpoint pen. Ah, yes, Doctor Fry, chirruped the clerk, a package has been left for you, he said before bobbing beneath the counter. He emerged seconds later with a large manila envelope clutched in his hand. An elderly gentleman with a pony tail arrived and delivered this only moments after you left, he explained handing the bulging package to Simon. Simon was confused. Did he say anything; leave any kind of a message? No, Im afraid not, he just handed over the envelope and informed me it was for you. He was most insistent, and he did seemed in rather a hurry, as he nearly bowled-over Townsend our doorman on his way out. Okay, well, thank you. You are quite welcome, doctor, said the desk clerk examining the end of the pen. After careful scrutiny, he wiped the ballpoint on his trousers. Dont hesitate to ask if you require any other assistance. Simon smiled. Yeaah, but I know who I wont call if I need to write a postcard. Waiting for the elevator, Penny could not contain her curiosity. So he rushed in and left us with this? she said taking the envelope from Simon and weighing it in her hands. Thats just about the size of it, Penny. Feels heavy, wonder if the diarys in it? Lets get back to my room and well take a look-see. Back in his suite, Simon opened the envelope and emptied its contents onto the glass coffee table

169 in the centre of the living room. Looks like weve got the usual, he said sifting the pile on the table, a mass of papers and notes. He paused. And, ta-dah, one black notebook. He took it from the table and began to leaf through it pages. This appears to be another one of Nicolass, he revealed. Damn, Penny said with a sigh. Wait a minute, theres a note. Simon reached out and grabbed a folded sheet of paper from the table. Please forgive me, but I have been forced away on extremely important business. The life of an antiquarian book-dealer is often peripatetic, as I am sure you will understand; once again please accept my apologies. In way of slight-recompense, I offer you all the notes and research your Uncle and I have discovered in the last year and a notebook given to me by your uncle just weeks before his death. It contains the translated cipher, and much we have not yet had time to discuss. Read the notebook and you will understand the true magnitude of the discoveries we have made. I shall return in a couple of days, and hopefully we can reconvene and continue with our researches. Kind regards, Leo Harrison. Why didnt he just call and tell us, hes got your number? said Penny. Simon shook his head. Thats just one of many unanswered questions, he said wearily. Another being why he didnt mention this important business trip two hours ago in the car. He scanned the room. Right, wheres that business card? Ill give him a ring. Walking to a large wardrobe that lined an entire wall of his bedroom, Simon retrieved Harrisons business card from his jacket pocket. Back in the living room, he opened his mobile and dialled the number on the card. A few seconds later, Harrisons voice informed him he was unavailable right now and he would have to leave a message. Hi, Leo, this is Simon, hope things are okay with you. We got your envelope, but we were both kinda hoping youd be at you shop. Simon looked at Penny and rolled his eyes. Please ring me you when you get back, and well hopefully see you soon. Penny laughed. This is ridiculous, why all the mystery?

170 Simon put his mobile on the coffee table. Maybe he cant get a signal, he said scooping up the contents of the envelope, or maybe hes lost the goddam thing. He took a seat on the sofa next to Penny. So, good old Doctor Harrison has left us with another pile of paperwork and a notebook, this is beginning to feel rather familiar. Penny sat up. Try the notebooks first. Lets have a look at the translated cipher and see if we can crack it ourselves. Ive always been good at crosswords. Simon shrugged. I dont know about you, he said scanning the room, but I need a drink. After a cursory investigation, Simon was unable to find the standard small white refrigerator he was expecting. Thats why you dont pay for drinks chump there isnt any. Getting to his feet, he began a careful inventory of the room. Enormous flat screen television, check, four large mirrors, check, enormous teak cabinetHe nodded and smiled. Strolling confidently to the large piece of furniture, he opened its polished doors to reveal a fullsized drinks cabinet its shelves stacked with an impressive collection of spirits and mixers. Simon draped his hand ostentatiously across the colourful array of bottles. And for the lady...? Penny laughed. Ill have a classic Gin and tonic please, waiter. And for the gentleman, Armagnac de Janneau, I think. Taking two glasses from the upper shelf, Simon poured the drinks and returned to the sofa. Offering Penny her glass, he took a seat beside her on the soft cushions. Outside, the day was slowly merging into twilight, the rain dissolving the outlines of Hyde Park in a watery haze. Simon watched the heavy droplets beat against the window and shook his head. Id forgotten how early it gets dark this time of year in EnglandAnd does is ever stop raining? Penny took a long draught of her drink. Thats why we Brits are so amenable and good natured, she said. Not to mention raging-alcoholic, shag-happy, drug addicts.

171 I know its a clich, Penny, but living in California you just get used to relying on the weather. Pennys face wrinkled comically. Maybe, but I dont want to end up looking like some of those sun-baked lizards. Simon laughed. Youre right, but then again you whey-faced Brits dont fare much better. Christ, some of the people in this country are actually beige. Penny got to her feet and made her way over to the window. Draining her glass, she stared absently into the rain. Thats the thing about this strange little island, she said in a low voice, its not really designed for people to live on. Why do you think we went and conquered half of the known world? She indicated outside the windows. To get away from this bloody weather; compared to this, dying in a mosquito infested swamp in Papua New Guinea seemed a blessed relief. Penny turned her back on the downpour and placed her empty glass onto the coffee table. Right, she said, picking up the notebook, lets take a look at the translation of the bloody cipher shall we? Taking a seat on the sofa next to Simon, she began leafing through the notebook. About a third of the way through, she came to the legend THE SHAKESPEARE CYPHER. Underneath, Nicolas had transcribed the numbers on each of the individual rings and their letter translations: 100 900 50 2 80 50 100 8 5 80 90 90 100 1 40 4 T W O B R O T H E R S S T A N D

TWO BROTHERS STAND 900 8 5 80 5 60 80 W H E R E P R

[Ring bequeathed to Hamnet Sadlier] 9 5 90 100 90 6 20 5 5 I E S T S F L E E

172 WHERE PRIESTS FLEE [Ring bequeathed to William Reynolds]

90 9 40 9 90 100 5 80 8 1 40 4 S I N I S T E R H A N D [Ring bequeathed to John Hemmings]

SINISTER HAND

50. 80 .5 .40. 90. 6. 50. 80. 100. 8 .5. 5. O. P. E. N. S. F. O. R. T. H. E .E. OPENS FOR THEE [Ring bequeathed to Richard Burbage.]

Penny showed the page to Simon, who nodded sagely. She recited the translated poem aloud. Two brothers stand; Where Priests flee; Sinister hand; Opens for thee. Simon nodded once again. Clear as mud Two brothers stand; Where Priests flee; Sinister hand; Opens for thee, Penny repeated. Simon shrugged and took a large gulp of his drink. Leo warned us they were obscure, Jesus, they could mean anything. They could, but in this case they mean one particular thing. Yeaah, its just we dont have a clue what that one particular thing might be. We have some idea it links to William Shakespeare and Ralph Sadlier. Simon shook his head. But if Nicolas and Leo couldnt figure it out, what chance do we have? All Im saying is we take it apart line by line and see what we can link to what we already know, Penny reasoned. Christ, Si, this notebook has tons of other stuff in it, she said hopefully, with the paperwork Leo gave us; we could at least have a go.

173 Simon finished his drink. Just let me get another one of these and well give it a shot, he said. What have we got to lose?

Simon buried his nose in his glass and inhaled on the armangnacs heady vapours. Two brothers stand, he intoned. Lowering the glass, he repeated the phrase. Two brothers standcould it be referring to William Shakespeares sons? Did he have two sons? Penny said. I cant remember. Simon gave a cocky grin and tapped the side of his head with his index finger. Luckily one of us has the smarts. Simon got to his feet and sauntered to his bedroom. As he made his way, he began to whistle a merry tune. Penny couldnt place it, but it was annoyingly familiar. Thinking for a moment it suddenly came to her. She smiled. It was If I Only Had a Brain from MGMs The Wizard of Oz. Simon returned with a black padded attach case, which he placed on the coffee table. Un-zipping the lid, he opened the case to reveal Nicolas battered laptop. Thought, it might be wise to bring his laptop, he said smugly, just in case we want to read some of his notes and files.

174 Simon pulled open a Velcro pocket in the attach case, and produced the first notebook they had found. And I packed this just in case. Penny offered a brief round of applause. Bravo, there might be hope for you yet. Simon ignored her and sat back down on the sofa. Opening the notebook, he began to read. Okay, did Ralphy have any sons; lets seeGot it, a daughter Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. So, thats an ix-nay on the two brothers standing. Penny thought for a moment. Well, we know Ralph Sadlier had a brother, because Leo told us William Shakespeare named his son Hamnet after Ralphs nephew, John Sadliers son, Hamnet. Simon stared blankly at his cousin. Penny shook her head. Oh, come on, its not that difficult! she protested. Sadliers nephew John, and William Shakespeare, both had sons called Hamnet. She enunciated the words as if she were talking to a small child. So, perhaps, the line could be referring to Ralph Sadlier and his brother. Simon narrowed his eyes. And what was his name? he said suspiciously. John Thats right, everyones called fucking John! Penny laughed. I think the only way to approach this is if we go through these notebooks and papers and make some notes for ourselves. Have you got a pen? Reaching for the padded case, Simon retrieved a pen and a sheet of paper from one of its numerous pockets and handed them to Penny. We might as well start with William Shakespeare, she suggested, and Shakespeare was born in 1564. She wrote the date down. Simon nodded. Thats the official date, he said checking Nicolas notebook. And he died when? 1616

175 Okay Married to Anne Hathaway, had three children, Susanna and the twins Hamnet and Judith. Penny continued writing. Hamnet and JudithGo on He had shares in the Globe theatre, and he bequeathed money in his will for five rings to be made For? ErrA Richard Hamnet Sadlier, a William Reynolds, the ffellowes John Hemmings and Richard BurbageAnd one Henry Condell. Okay His fathers name was John Shakespeare and his mother name was Mary Arden. Penny stopped writing and looked at the growing list on the page. So, what else do we know? Simon considered the question. He was the illegitimate heir to the throne of England? Penny sighed. When was the First Folio published? Err1623, a very significant date for freemasons according to Uncle Nicolas. 1623. Penny wrote it down. Right, lets have another look at the translated cipher. Okay, so, two brothers stand, where Priests flee, sinister hand, opens for thee. Well, none of the men named in the will are brothers, and Shakespeare didnt have two sons, so thats that taken care of, which leaves Ralph Sadliers brother. We need to read a bio on Ralph, Si, and check some facts for ourselves. Lets boot up the laptop, theres bound to be stuff online. Simon shook his head. Lets just concentrate on Shakespeare, huh; well deal with the Sadliers later. Its hard enough remembering all of this as it is. Penny thought for a moment. Okay, moving to the next line, where priests flee. Heaven, Hell, the pub? offered Simon. I dont think it means, flee to as much as, flee from. So perhaps its a reference to the theatre, certainly not a place for any self-respecting clergymen in those days. Maybe its a quotation from one of Shakespeares plays?

176 It seems obvious the lines refer to one of the sonnets or the plays, but surely Nicolas or Leo wouldve thought of that from the beginning? Yeaah, youre right, Nicolas could quote great reams of the bard; he wouldve checked that possibility. Still, its worth having a look. Lets try the third line, sinister hand. Well, sinister means left and dexter means right and obviously it also means scary or frightening. Maybe its a reference to Freemasonry; dont they have two hands in a handshake as one of their symbols? Penny reached for the padded case and took the laptop from its foam shell. Flipping open its lid, she booted up the computer and turned to Simon. Lets have a look, shall we? After accessing the hotels wi-fi network, she waited a few seconds and then typed Freemason Handshake Symbols into the search engine. Moments later, she began to read aloud the information on the screen: What are the signs, symbols, and handshakes used by Freemasons, in order to identify themselves to other Freemasons? Clicking onto the page reference, she continued. The Secret Grip of a Master Mason: It's a regular handshake, except that you press your thumb against the base-joints, between the index finger and middle finger, of the man you are shaking hands with. It looks pretty-much like any other handshake; only the men shaking hands can feel the difference. So, theres a definite connection between handshakes and Freemasonry, said Simon. Yup, Penny confirmed. Do you want to know the password of a Master Mason? You never know, it might come in useful one day. Simon sighed. The password of the 1st Degree, or the Entered-Apprentice degree, is Boaz. The password of the 2nd Degree or Fellow-craft degree is 'Shibboleth. The password of the 3rd degree or Secret Password of a Master Mason is Tubal Cain.

177 Simon processed the information without expression. Sounds perfectly reasonable, Penny, he deadpanned. But now it gets really interesting, The Secret Word (always capitalized) is so secret that initiates are taught it one letter at a time. First they learn A, then O, then M, and finally I. The Word is IAOM. The Name is pronounced as follows: It is started by opening the lips with an "ee" sound graduating into a broad "a" as the mouth opens wider with lips forming an oval shape and then graduating the sound to "o" as the lips form a circle, and again modulating to an "m" sound as the lips close to a point. Expressed phonetically, the Name is "EE-Ah-Oh-Mmm" and is pronounced with one continuous out-breathing with a slight nasal tone in the manner described above. It can be correctly and properly expressed with its full power, only by one who has brought his body to a state of physical perfection. Simon raised his arm and flexed his bicep. Hey, thats me. Pennys lips curled into a brief smile. Physical perfection, Simon, not physically pathetic. She turned to Simon and grinned. Simon cocked his head to one side and raised a withering eyebrow. Gee-whiz, you Brits are so witty. He scrunched a blank sheet of paper into a ball and threw it at his cousin. Watch it! she called, dodging her head from the incoming projectile. You could have someones eye out. It missed by a mile. Thats only because of my cat-like reflexes. Well, if Ive got the strength, I think another drink is in order. Same again for me thanks. Get it yourself; my pipe cleaner arms cant manage the weight. Rising on shaking legs, Simon began to dodder his way across the room in a comical imitation of an enfeebled old man. Penny smiled and turned back to the computer. The High Sign or Grand Masonic Hailing Sign

178 of Distress, she continued. A Masonic defendant in court or caught in the pinch might bury his head in his hands and cry, Oh Lord, my God, is there no help for this Widow's son?" As interesting as all this nonsense is, said Simon returning from the drinks cabinet with his hands full. I fear we may have strayed from our original enquiry somewhat, my dear Holmes. Penny took her drink. Sorry, thats the thing about the bloody internet; its soooo easy to get distracted. Simon took a seat. So, can you find any images of these handshakes, and is there one called the sinister-hand? Let us see. Penny took a sip of her drink and returned to the screen. This looks promising, she said clicking on the highlighted U.R.L.

Secret Masonic Handshakes, Passwords, Grips And Signs Of Blue Lodge Masonry.

"BOAZ" GRIP OF AN ENTERED APPRENTICE (HANDSHAKE)

The Grip of the Entered Apprentice is made by pressing the thumb against the top of the first knuckle joint of the fellow Mason; the fellow Mason also presses his thumb against the first Mason's knuckle.

179 "SHIBBOLETH" PASS GRIP OF A FELLOW CRAFT (HANDSHAKE)

The hand is taken as in an ordinary hand shake, and the Mason presses the top of his thumb against the space between the first and second knuckle joints of the first two fingers of his fellow Mason; the fellow Mason also presses his thumb on the corresponding part of the first Mason's hand.

"JACHIN" REAL GRIP OF A FELLOW CRAFT (HANDSHAKE)

The Mason takes the fellow Mason by the right hand as in an ordinary hand shake, and presses the top of his thumb hard on the second knuckle; the fellow Mason presses his thumb against the same knuckle of the first Mason's hand.

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At this point in the ritual, the instruction goes directly from the pass grip to the real grip.

"TUBALCAIN" PASS GRIP OF A MASTER MASON (HANDSHAKE)

The Mason places his thumb on the space between the second and third knuckles of the fellow Mason's right hand, while the fellow Mason moves his thumb to the corresponding space on the first Masons hand. The thumb is pressed hard between the second and third knuckles of the hands.

"MA-HA-BONE" REAL GRIP OF A MASTER MASON (HANDSHAKE)

181

The Mason firmly grasps the right hand of a fellow Mason. The thumbs of both hands are interlaced. The first Mason presses the tops of his fingers against the wrist of the fellow Mason where it unites with the hand. The fellow Mason at the same time presses his fingers against the corresponding part of the first Mason's hand and the fingers of each are somewhat apart. This grip is also called the Strong Grip of the Master Mason or the Lion's Paw. Instruction for this grip is given at the "graveside", after the candidate has been "raised". Simon had had enough of the mumbo jumbo. He shook his head and sighed. Well, that all seems perfectly normal and sensible; nothing to worry about there, but I dont see a sinister hand among this list. Maybe one of them is known as the sinister hand? Penny reasoned. Type it in and see what we get. Penny tapped in the words and waited a few seconds. Well, weve got a record label, a band something about Disneys Fantasiaand, wait here we go, The Remote Viewer Blog Archive The Importance of Hand Signs to23 Dec 2006. The left hand is ever considered the sinister-hand The handshake is used to recognize another mason in public, or light of day. She turned to Simon. So it does have a connection with Freemasonry. Looks like it. Go to the blog and see what it says.

182 Okay, right, here we go, The Importance of Hand Signs to the Illuminati, by mindcontrol 101 on Dec 23. And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads Revelation 13:16. Penny paused and took a large sip of her drink. Actually, I dont think this is going to be the sanest of commentators, she admitted. Simon laughed. The Book of Revelations and the Illuminati, weve really arrived at CuckooCentral Station! Penny took another fortifying draught from her glass and nodded. Okay, wish me luck Im going in Raise the right hand extending the two fingers like a fork, and then draw it back over the right shoulder and with a quick motion dart the extended fingers forward in a horizontal direction. (It alludes to the penalty of gouging out the eyes of a traitor.) As we shall see, the Illuminati worship deity by many names in many disguises. One such name and disguise is Jah-buh-lun. In pursuit of their worship of this false God, Jahbuhlun, they have devised many rituals in which they employ hidden hand signs. In all the 33 degrees of Scottish Rite Freemasonry and in the rituals of the York Rite, the order of Skull-and-Bones, the Ordo Templi Orientis, the Grand Orient Lodge of France, the School Of Night, the Grand Lodge of Jerusalem, and on and on, in almost all the secret societies and orders, hand signs and handshakes are prominent. Penny turned to Simon. Then weve got The International Secret Language, and Messages in the Media. Of course, he confirmed. Wait here we go: There is a great symbolic difference between the use of the left and right hands. The right hand is said to be the hand of blessing, a good and positive influence, and those who use it in the occult world are known as those on the right-handed path. This is considered white magic. Those on the left-handed path, however, are practitioners of black magic. Full-fledged Satanists are typically of the left-handed path, though, in reality, it does not matter to the devil

183 which hand is used. Penny laughed. Thats comforting to knowThe left hand is ever considered the sinister-hand. It is associated with words like diabolical, witchlike, clever, deceptive, sly, cunning, evil, wrong, backward, and perverse. The evil eye is said to be the left eye. Some early Christians (for example, the writer of the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus) taught that of the two thieves crucified next to Jesus, the one at his left side rejected truth and was consigned to hell. you have it, Simon concluded, the plain, unvarnished truth. He smiled sarcastically. And believe me, Penny, if you cant trust an anonymous blog by someone called Mindcontrol 101, who can you trust? Penny laughed. Well, Mr Mindcontrol aside, weve discovered its Latin for the left hand and Freemasons have all these different handshakes; but none seem to employ the left hand, and any one of them could be classified as sinister. She paused. It hasnt really got us very far has it? Simon pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. To be honest, Penny, Ive had enough of this garbage for a while, hows about some dinner. Penny nodded and shut the laptop. Sounds good to meTo tell you the truth I need some food to soak up the alcohol, Im not really used to drinking in the afternoon. There

~
Penny passed her keycard through the lock, and opened the door to her suite. Thanks for the amazing meal, Si, that food was delicious. Simon shook his head. What there was of it, and those ridiculous hexagonal plates?

184 Penny laughed. Perhaps we shouldve gone to McDonalds instead? Now youre talking, gram after gram of saturated fat, fried in grease, and served in a Styrofoam coffin. He patted his stomach. Thats good eatin. Okay, Si, well Im going to bedunless you fancy a nightcap? Simon tried hard not to look at his shoes, but failed miserably. Id better not, Ive got to ring Anne and tell her the news, he said. Look her in the eye chump. Yes, Christ, of course, she doesnt know about your inheritance yet does she? Okay, well, goodnight, and thank you again for the wonderful meal. Penny gave a cheeky grin. Not to mention the two-and-a-half-grand-a-night hotel suite. Simon took a small bow. Anytime, Penny, its been a pleasure to meet you after all these years. Penny smiled. The feelings mutual, Simon, she said kissing him on the cheek. Ill see you in the morning for the further thrilling adventures of the missing bookkeeper. Simon watched Penny close her door. Standing alone in the corridor, he caught his reflection in one of the large mirrors on the wall. He looked at the figure in the glass and nodded once. Another time another place, chump, another time another place. Taking his keycard from his pocket, he swiped it through the lock and stepped into the empty expanse of his suite. A bow for Christs sake? Simon shook his head. Ignoring the light switch, he navigated his way through bedroom by the fluorescent orange glow of night time London that radiated through the large windows. Entering the living room, he took a seat on the sofa and looked out into the rain. The lights of the capital twinkled like a newborn constellations, a synthetic Milky Way of shimmering neon and tungsten that rippled and blurred through the raindrops on the glass. To his right lay the East of the city and the Tudor plague pits of London Fields; to the North, the

185 old Tudor gun-proving grounds of Highbury Fields; not far away stood the Tower of London and the Houses of Parliament. Surrounded by the living inheritance of the Tudor dynasty, Simon closed his eyes and listened to the perpetual thrum of the great metropolis, and like some long-forgotten lullaby, it soothed him to sleep. He woke much later with a start, his neck complaining violently. Shit! he said to no one in particular. Massaging the back of his neck with one hand, he took his mobile from his jacket-pocket with the other and flipped it open. Focusing his bleary eyes on the screen, he was surprised to discover it was 03:15 am... Counting in his head, he calculated the time in Los Angeles and dialled his wifes number. She answered on the first ring. Ben, you idiot, where are you? she said brusquely. Ive been waiting in the cold for nearly twenty minut- Its not Ben, sweetie, its me There was a long pause. Simon couldnt help but smile, but he wasnt happy. He heard Anne swallow into the mouthpiece. Oh, sorry honey, I was expecting Ben to ring, she said. She sounded flustered. Simons hackles rose. Obviously Ask me whats wrong. Whats wrong, baby? I can tell by the tone of your voice, somethings wrong. Simon laughed. Oh, I dont know, perhaps its nothing, but Im just wondering why, at quarterpast seven in the goddam evening, youre expecting Ben to call. He pronounced the name with a sharp plosive. He was angry and he wanted Anne to know it. He heard her sigh, the long weary sigh she reserved just for him.

186 Jesus, Simon, we have a big dinner with the Bridgemont people tonight; its the final clincher, if we ace them this evening the whole deal is in the bag, and that idiot is nowhere to be seen. She was trying to subtly alter the direction of the conversation, obscure his original objection. They had been married for nearly thirteen years he knew all her gambits. Its far too late for me to argue with you, Anne, he said employing one of his own. Whenever Anne attempted what Simon liked to call her switchback manoeuvre, he always countered by feigning indifference, sure in the knowledge it would illicit a hostile reaction, often one in which Anne revealed more than she otherwise might when calm and in control. I dont want an argument, Simon. I just want my husband to understand I take my job seriously and to give me a little respectnot to mention trust. Her voice had risen in volume and Simon could hear the slight Canadian accent that returned whenever she was angry or upset. At that moment, a part of him wanted to say he was sorry, to tell her he loved her, needed her, and never wanted her to go, but his wounded pride forced his lips into a sneer. Ah, Jesus, Anne thats pathetic, he dismissed sharply. Ive given you nothing but support over the years. Simon knew she would laugh. She always laughed when she was furious. It was a special laugh she had perfected for just such occasions, it wasnt the sound someone made when hearing a good joke, it was short and sharp, a cross between a laugh and a snarl. Simon moved the phone away from his ear. There it is. Placing the mobile back to the side of his head, he continued to listen. Bullshit, Simon, oh, you offered the usual vague platitudes, but you were always undermining me with your snide comments and your constant refusal to attend any of my work dinners or parties. He knew she would bring up that particular subject. It was the same old routine.

187 She sounded like a broken record. He had endured endless sleepless nights, his stomach knotted with panic, lying only inches away from her, inhaling the scent of her face cream and perfume. He had suffered the terrible loneliness and rejection when she brushed off his advances, barely able to disguise her distaste. He experienced the endless excuses for her late nights, and got through the screaming rows that would then ensue. He remembered the day when she told him, At least Ben isnt a fucking immature little boy. (It was a Wednesday and hed just come back from a dental appointment. She was sitting on a chair in the kitchen looking out of the window. They had had a blazing row and then a heavy silence had descended.) She didnt sound angry, on the contrary, her voice was even and tempered and she delivered the words as if the comment were the most obvious thing in the world. He even remembered, to his shame, stealing her phone and reading her texts. He had found nothing, she was clever and had left nothing incriminating, yet somehow that had just made him even more suspicious. Now, after all these months he had finally had enough of the wretched melodrama his marriage had become and a wave of ennui lapped over him sapping his anger, leaving in its place a cold indifference. What difference did it make? It was only thirteen years. He knew he could continue to partner her for the rest of the night, as they danced the Angry Divorce waltz, but suddenly the silk sheets and pillows in his bedroom seemed a remarkably alluring proposition. Come on, I dont go to my own work colleagues goddam parties, he said barely bothering to pronounce the words, let alone some soul-crushing real estate junket with Pam and Sam

188 Applegate. Id spend the entire meal trying to resist the temptation to invite one, or other, preferably both, out on to the sidewalk for a fist fight. The long sentence had been an effort and as soon as hed closed his mouth, he wished he hadnt bothered. He listened as her voice took on the accusing tone that accompanied her best withering scowl. Simon could see it captured perfectly in his minds-eye. The way her forehead would wrinkle and her jaw would get tight, tiny crows-feet would appear at the corner of her eyes and her nostrils would quiver. Sometimes, if she were standing up, shed clench her hands into tiny fists. In the future, when we all have video phones, youll be able to bask in its malevolent glory conveniently in the palm of your hand then again, what future? There you go again. Couldnt you, just for once, put yourself in my place and realize how humiliating it is for me? Not only was she angry, but he could tell she was getting close to tears. He knew this would lead into long minutes of anguished sobbing and painful silences followed by reconciliation as brittle as it was disingenuous. There was only one thing for it; something he knew would bring this torture to its conclusion. To be honest, he said nonchalantly, I thought I might cramp your style. After all, you never wouldve worked your mojo on Benny if I was with you. Here comes that laugh. He waited, but in its place was the sound of stifled sobbing. He heard her sniff and take a long shuddering breath. You are a sad little man sometimes, Simon, do you know that? Sad, petty and cruel, she said. She didnt sound angry, on the contrary, her voice was even and tempered and she delivered the words as if the observation were the most obvious thing in the world.

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Chapter Fourteen
Video et taceo
(" I see all, and say nothing") Motto of Queen Elizabeth I

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The next morning Simon woke to the familiar sound of knocking. Donning his bathrobe, he sauntered across the bedroom, into the living room, and opened the inter-connecting door. Good morning, Doctor Fry, said a fresh-faced, bright-eyed, Penny. Will you be joining us for breakfast? Simon yawned and scratched his head. Jeesh, Penny, give me a few minutes, he said rasping at his stubble. I need a shower before I do anything. Penny laughed. My, my, arent we a Mr Grumpy-boots in the mornings, she trilled in a deliberately annoying singsong. Yeah, Simon scowled, and one of 'em is gonna be right up your ass if you dont knock it off with the Mary Poppins routine. Penny wagged her index finger. Promises, promises, she teased. Noting the look on Simons face, she shrugged. Well, if thats youre attitude, Ill see you downstairs after your ablutions. Simon nodded. If you mean after Ive had a shit, shower, and a shave, youre on the money. Penny wrinkled her nose in disgust. God, you Yanks are so crude. Im leaving, before I lose my appetite completely. Simon yawned. Good, he said and closed the door.

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After traveling the three stops on the Underground to Bond Street, Simon and Penny once again made their way to Biblion books. Arriving at their destination, it does not come as much of a surprise to discover the same dark and empty space they had encountered the previous afternoon. Well, thats that, Simon muttered irritably, now what? Penny shrugged. I hate to say it, Simon, but it looks like its back to the hotel and another thrilling day delving through the mad-ramblings of the dynamic duo. Simon nodded and reached into his overcoat. Yeaah, but before we go Ill try Leos mobile. Once again, Harrisons answer machine informed him he would have to leave a message. He shook his head; he was rapidly beginning to loose his patience with the old man. Hi Leo, this is Simon, its about 10:30 a.m. and were outside your shop, it looks like youre still away, so maybe you could give me a call sometime today and tell us when you think youll get back. Wed really like to meet up so give me a call as soon as you canOh, and we got your envelope, but I dont know why you didnt come up stairs and give it to us personally. Anyway, if you want to contact us at the Mandarin Oriental, Im in suite twenty-three and Penny is in suite twenty-two. Okay, Leo, hope to see you soon. He hung up and forced a smile. Right, lets endure another hellish day with the Egyptian silk sheets and the hand woven carpets. Penny shook her head sadly. Bloody Egyptian silk, she tutted, I much prefer the electric-tingle of polyester.

192

Simon was pouring coffee from a glass jug into two china cups. So where did we get too yesterday in our painstaking enquiry? he said. Penny turned to the sheet of notes she had made the preceding afternoon. Two sugars for me, please, she said scanning the text. Okay, well weve got various bits and bobs about Ralph Sadlier, William Shakespeare, and of course the enigmatic cipher. Simon nodded. Yeaah, something about monks fleeing and creepy hands, he offered vaguely. Nearly, actually its Two brothers stand; Where Priests flee; Sinister hand; Opens for thee. Okay and we found a connection between sinister hand and Freemasonry, although we couldnt find an actual handshake with the name sinister. Penny checked her notes. Yup, she confirmed. And the fact Ralph Sadlier had a brother called; wait for itJohn, who might be something to do with the second line in the cipher. So, we were going to do a bit of research on Ralph next, werent we? Penny opened the laptop and turned it on. Accessing the hotels wi-fi network, she typed Ralph Sadlier into the search engine and began to read the information on the screen. Well, weve got ten of a grand total of 1,080,000 hits for Ralph, she revealed. Simon shrugged. Hardly the mysterious figure Nicolas and Leo implied. Theres certainly a lot of his state papers and Parliamentary speeches availableAnd weve got an entry in Wikipedia, of course.

193 Simon looked aghast. Yeaah researched and compiled by a dyslexic, thirteen year-old school kid. Penny laughed. What else is there? Yknow, maybe something that might contain some actual reliable information. Theres a Dictionary of National Biography indexing for something called the Sadleir Web. Lets have a look; anythings gotta be better than goddam Wikipedia. Penny clicked on the link. Sadleir. Org, Resources: literature: Letters and Papers. Letters at the Edinburgh University Library, Letter from Sir Ralph Sadlier and Sir James Croft to Sir William Cecil, 20 August 1559, Letter from Queen Elizabeth I to Sir Ralph Sadlier, 24 August 1559, Postscript to a letter from Sir Ralph Sadlier and Sir- I think we get the message, Simon interrupted. Penny scrolled down the page. Theres tons more, including correspondence and papers related to Sadliers embassies to Scotland, and no less than seven volumes of his royal court correspondence. Okay, okay, so they were right about one thing, lets find a nice orthodox biography of the guy and then compare it with Nicholass version. God, youre so bloody impatient. Alright, well I know you hate it, but lets try good-old Wikipedia first...lets seeThe Right Honourable Sir Ralph Sadler, PC, Knight Bannerett, (1507 30 March 1587) was an English statesman of the 16th century and served as a Principal Secretary of State for King Henry VIIIborn in Hackney, Middlesex the elder son of Henry Sadler. The second son, John Sadler, was the ancestor of Hamnet Sadler the friend after whom William Shakespeare named his only son, Hamnet and may also have been influenced to name his play HamletSir Ralph Sadler's father was originally from Warwickshire but later settled in Hackney. He was a minor official in the service of the Marquess of Dorset and Sir Edward Belknap- Simon nodded. Belknap, thats the dude with the land in Stratford who employed John

194 Shakespeares old man, right? Belknap, thats him, confirmed Penny. At a young age, Ralph Sadlier was taken into the household of Thomas Cromwell. Around 1536, he was made a Gentleman of the King's privy inner-chamber and was soon sent to Scotland to investigat complaintes made by Margaret Tudor (Henry VIII's younger sister) against her third husband, Henry Stewart, 1st Lord Methven, and to improve Anglo-Scottish relations. He repectfully succeeded in both respects. The King was pleased with Sadlier's work, and sent him again to Scotland, this time to discouragement the king of Scotland, (James V), from accepting Cardinal Beaton's proposed Franco-Scottish alliance. Ralph Sadler failed in that respect, but the Henry was nonetheless impressed with his work. In 1540, he had become one of the two Principal Secretaries of State, was already knighted, made a senior Privy Councillor, and had begun in Parliament as M.P. member for Hertford. After the Battle of Solway Moss,1542,Sir Ralph Sadlier was again sent to Scotland again, this time to arrange a marriage between the infant Mary Queen of Scots and Edward, Prince of Wales; he was again unsuccessful. All of his work in shoring-up and solidifying Anglo-Scottish relations, however, was for nought, because again war broke out in 1543. Again he accompanied the Earl of Hertford on his campaign, Sadlier now as Treasurer of the Army in Scotland again and again held that position in 1545. Penny paused and shook her head. Christ this is really badly written isnt it? Simon laughed. Like I told you, Penny, Lysdexic schoolkids Lets hope they didnt just make it all upRalph Sadler had been replaced by William Paget as Secretary of State, owing to his frequent absences on diplomatic missions, but was appointed Master of the Great Wardrobe. When Henry VIII died in 1547, he had had already again appointed Sadlier onto the Council of Regency that would rule England during Edward VI's minority. Ralph Sadlier again accompanied Lord Hertford again, this time onto the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh- Simon grinned. Ah, yes, good old Pinkie Cleugh, quite possibly, the most ludicrously-named act

195 of warfare and carnage in British history. Doesnt quite have the ring of Bannockburn or Waterloo, Ill grant you, Penny agreed, but according to Uncle Nicolas, it should be just as famous. Its the name, Penny; its all about having the right name. The Battle of Britain, Agincourt, Trafalgar, they all resonate a certain gravitas. Pinkie Cleugh, on the other hand, sounds like a retail outlet that specializes in golfing equipmentor, it would make a great name for a gay nightclub. Penny laughed. Do you want me to finish this, or not? Yeaah, you go right ahead, Ive just got to get rid of the mental image of thousands of sweaty men with broadswords leather caps and mustaches dancing to Its Raining Men. In recognition of his services during the fighting, Ralph Sadlier was consummated asKnightBanneret, a position that was above a knight and next to a baron. Ralph Sadlier was again present again when Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was arrested; Ralph Sadlier personally arrested Thomas Howard, the last Tudor Duke in 1572; he also went with the force that put down the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536; and again during Robert Kett's 1549 Norfolk Rebellion again. Penny turned to Simon and shrugged. And there you have it, she concluded. It seems Nicolas and Leo was right; he was as a soldier as well as a statesman. He certainly didnt mind getting his hands dirty, and if he did write the works of Shakespeare it would explain the authors knowledge of political intrigue, warfare and strategy. Simon was amused. I thought you were a cynical, hard-bitten hack, you arent actually beginning to think theres something in all this, are you? Penny looked serious. It is precisely because Im a reporter I dont dismiss what at first appears to be outlandish, she said measuring her words. Take for instance the idea the CIA was smuggling drugs. Twenty years ago, that was the calling card of a bone fide conspiracy-nutter. Now, thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, we know its true. Operation Snow Cone was its codename. The only question that remains is not if the CIA smuggled drugs, but when they

196 stopped, if they have stopped, that is. Simon wasnt convinced, but he was prepared to give Penny the benefit of the doubt. Okay, youre right, he said cautiously, but for every conspiracy theory that turns out to be true there are thousands that are bullshit. Thats the game, Si, to be able to spot the genuine from the fake. And if Nicolas and Leo are on to something, this is right up there with the assassination of J.F.K. and the fake moon landings. Yeaah, Simon laughed sarcastically, and like the fake moon landings, its probably bullshit. Penny turned back to the computer. Theres only one way to find out, she said. During Elizabeth Is reign, William Cecil, one of her most trusted advisors, was the pupil of Ralph Sadlier. Ralph Sadlier went to Scotland again to arrange an alliance again with the Scottish Protestants; secretly, he was running an English war of infiltration, to end French claims in Scotland once for all all, and, and wrest Scotland and her people into a union with England. Penny laughed. Jesus, this is getting ridiculous. Simon folded his arms and refused to comment. Okay, Im going to read this verbatim, so pin back your ears...When fighting broke out at Leith, he was one of the architects of the Treaty of Leith. In 1572, he was appointed Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and when Marys Queen of Scots flead to England, Ralph Sadler appointed himself again to meat with the Scottish commissioners regarding that problem in hand, and became her self-appointed goaler. Long Nineteen years later, he presided over her trial and execution as Chief Judge. Ralph Sadler died in 1587 at his home Standon Lordships Hertfordshire. A thorough biography, Simon concluded, and leaving aside for one minute its authors unique interpretation of the English language, one that, strangely, fails to mention the fact Sadlier wrote the works of Shakespeare. Yes, they do seem to have missed that bit out, Penny agreed. Simon sighed. Well, weve read the comic, lets actually read the book. He shook his head and laughed. Its the internet for gods sake, theres got to be a better source than Wiki-fucking-

197 pedia. Lets have a goOkay try this: Author: Gervase Phillips: Sadiler, Sir Ralph (15071587) Dictionary of National Biography (D.N.B.) Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn. May, 2006. Okay, Gervase tells us, Sadlier [also,Sadler] Sir Ralph (15071587). ), diplomat and administrator, was probably born in Warwickshire, the first son of Henry Sadlier, administrator, of Warwickshire and Hackney, Middlesex- Warwickshire? Simon echoed. But the Wickipedia entry said he was born in Hackney. Penny nodded. Well, someones got it wrong. Simon had seen it all before. Yeah, and my moneys on Wickipedia, he said disdainfully. Jesus, the amount of times Ive marked-down a student because theyve used that shitty database, you wouldnt believe it. Lets stick with Gervase, does he mention Ralphs family? Ill have a lookYes here we are, He married Ellen, or Helen (d. after 1545), daughter of John Mitchell, of Much Hadham, Hertfordshire, in 1533. However, the marriage was technically bigamous, because she was still-legally the wife of Matthew Barre, a London tradesman and a drunkard, originally from Sevenoaks, Kent, who had abandoned her and their two children. She enquired after Barre but eventually presumed him dead. She then found employment as a laundress in the Thomas Cromwell household, where she met Ralph Sadlier. By 1533, the couple was married. Unfortunately, Matthew Barre was not dead. Sadlier was unaware until 1545 that his marriage was bigamous, and that his own children were technically illegitimate. That mustve really got old Ralphy pissed. Does it say how he dealt with that little problem? Simon slowly drew his index finger across his throat. Or did this Barre guy just, disappear, if you get my drift. Phillips doesnt seem to mention it, but he does mention Sadliers children, er There were seven surviving children in all: three sons, Thomas, Henry and Edward, and four daughters, of whom only the names of three are known, Anne, Jane and Dorothy. So he had three sons?

198 Yes, Thomas, Henry and Edward, Simon shrugged. Well thats him out of the frame for the two brothers in the cipher. It looks like it. Penny scrolled down the page. Wait a minute, this is interesting...it is likely that in January 1541, in the wake of Thomas Cromwell's execution and Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine Parr, Ralph Sadlier was briefly imprisoned in the Tower of London. Yet the king found him too valuable, for Sadlier was capable and industrious. Simon was obviously impressed. He was imprisoned in the Tower and managed to talk his way out of it, thats some going. Dont get too enamoured, Si, listenSadlier was one of those who gathered enough evidence to ensure Catherine Howards execution in February 1542, and to discredit Norfolk and Gardiner before the king. He was a ruthless participant in this process, co-coordinating much of the inquiry into the queen's conduct and doing his utmost to transform a case of treason into a purge of those who had orchestrated Thomas Cromwell's downfall. We all have our faults, Penny. Some, more than others I dont have faults, I have mannerisms and eccentricities. Mhhh Simon threw back his shoulders and pushed out his chest. Well forgive me all to hell, pilgrim, he drawled. Penny shook her head. And the bad film star impressions dont help, that was the worst Bruce Willis Ive ever heard. Simon was appalled. Bruce Willis, he mocked, that was John Wayne for gods sake. The frickin Duke, not Bruce fucking Willis. Oh, well forgive me if I dont recognize all the stars of the silent screen, some of us were only born in the Eighties. Simon laughed. Youre old enough to know youre A-B-Cs, he said indicating to the

199 computer, so just keep reading. Penny returned to the screen. Phillips does continue the Sadlier marriage saga, she revealed. He was confronted with an unexpected crisis on his return to London. One of Wriothesley's servants overheard a drunken Barre boasting in November that he was really Lady Sadlier's husband. Barre was seized and interrogated and the truth of his claims established. Sadlier's only recourse was to petition Parliament. The experienced Privy Councillor had little difficulty securing passage of a Private Bill, passed on 24th December, 1545, that legitimized his children; he included Richard, a fourth natural son in the legislation. Penny

paused. A fourth son, oh well, that definitely rules him out of the two brothers standing. She shrugged and continued to read. Lady Sadlier, however, remained technically legally still Barre's wife and it may have been years before Ralph Sadlier's marital status was regularized. Sadlier was deeply attached to his wife and took this matter very heavily (HoP, Commons, 150958, p. 251). Simon whistled. He basically changed the law to legitimise his marriage, he said, thats some going. Penny agreed. Youve got to admit; he had real political clout, and god was he wealthy, listen, Sadlier's position at court facilitated the purchase of crown lands and by 1547; he owned property in twenty-five counties in England and Wales. His annual income from land alone was 372 13s. 4d. and by 15456, he was principally living at court or in London. His estate at Standon, Hertfordshire, acquired in 1544, where he built a great mansion, provided something of a refuge for his wife and himself, not only from the scandal of 1545 but also from the court's revels and masks, which they seemed to find distasteful. Simon was confused. Leo said Sadlier built the house for Edmund Fry, he didnt say Ralph lived there with him. Thats true; we really need to research Standon Lordships in detail. I think that should be the next thing on our list. Agreed, but lets stick to Sadlier for a while, huh? Does it mention his links to Freemasonry at

200 all? Penny briefly scanned the screen. Doesnt look like it. She continued reading. This is interesting though, the failure of Northumberland's coup d'tat and the subsequent succession of the Catholic Mary I in 1554 saw Sadlier marginalized politically. He lost most of his offices, including Privy Councillor and Master of the Great Wardrobe, was removed from the commissions of the peace, and was briefly under token-house arrest from 25 to 30 July, before suing out a pardon on 6 October. For the remainder of Mary Is reign he ostensibly lived quietly at Standon Lordships, but through retention of offices like the Court of the Hanaper, maintained good-relationships with Mary I, indeed being retained as the leader of the militia forces surrounding London, throughout her reign. Ralph Sadlier's political career resumed at the accession of Elizabeth I and he was the first to be admitted to her Privy Council on 20 November 1558. Elizabeth obviously valued him as much as her father had, Simon said, thinking aloud. Nevertheless, that doesnt mean she fell in love with him he said answering his own question. How old was he at this point? Penny suddenly turned on her cousin. Fucks sake, Si, havent you been writing any of this down? she exclaimed. Simon raised his hands in the air and laughed. Sorry, Pen, Ive been too busy listening, he admitted with chagrin. Well, dont just sit and gawp, get a pen and paper and do some bloody work! Simon reluctantly reached for a pen. Jesus, Im meant to be on vacation, he grumbled. Right, Penny said sternly, Ralph Sadlier, also known as Sadler, was born in 1507, she dictated. Check. And he died the richest commoner in England, in 1587.

201 That makes him eighty-years old when he croaked. Correct. Im glad that university education didnt go to waste. Did I mention Im a fully-qualified medical doctor? He had eight children, four sons and four daughters, Names? Thomas, Henry, Edward, and natural son Richard, And the girls? We only know the names of three of them, Anne, Jane andDorothy. Wifes name...? Err, Ellen or Helen Mitchell, also sometime Barre. Okay, so to return to our original enquiry, Sadlier was made Privy councillor for Elisabeth on? 20th November 1558. Which would make him? Simon made a swift calculation, fifty-one. Penny nodded. Perhaps Liz had a thing for older men? Simon stopped writing and began tapping his teeth with the end of the pen. How old was she when she came to power? Penny typed Queen Elizabeth I into the search engine and waited for the screen to give her the answer. Here we are, born 1533 and died in1603. Her coronation was on 17th November 1558, and two days later she calls Ralph out of his self-imposed seclusion and makes him her leading Privy Councillor. Simon dropped the pen into his lap and placed his arm across his chest. Stretching out his left hand, he furrowed his brow and began to recite in a loud stentorian voice. And so it was, the 51year-old Sadler met the 25-year-old Queen and over the signing of someones death warrant their passions erupt. Taking the beautiful young Elizabeth into his manly arms, Sadlier drew her to his heaving bosom and slowly - Ow! Jesus, Penny, watch those kicks of yours, I bruise easy. Simon scowled and rubbed at his shin.

202 Penny laughed. Sorry, Si, I thought you were going to burst in to song. Well, come on, this is such bullshit. Not necessarily. Penny turned to the computer. Listen, Thomas Seymour tried to win Elizabeth Is love in 1547-9 and the traumatic effect of these overtures from a man nearly three times her age, may have had a bearing on her later emotional-difficulties over her marriage. She turned and smiled triumphantly. So she did have a thing for older men. Simon laughed through his nose. Yeaah, Penny, and this particular older man gave her deepseated psychological problems that lasted for the rest of her life. Penny offered a crooked smile. Perhaps that wasnt a good example, she admitted, but if Sadlier was a good looking fifty-one year old, like George Clooney, say, its not beyond the bounds of reason she might go for him. Simon remained skeptical. Maybe, but the logistics aside, does Phillips mention anything about Sadliers brother, John? Nothing so far, Ill carry onHes Privy Councillor andwait, this is interesting, Sadlier was personally engaged with the detention in custody of Mary, Queen of Scots, in August 1584, first at Sheffield, then at Wingfield, Derbyshire, and finally, in 1585, at Tutbury, Staffordshire. His attitude towards her was ambivalent. He had once held her in his arms when she was a baby, and proved a sympathetic-gaoler. He wrote to Elizabeth I of Mary's integrity and loyalty in, December 1584. The following year he allowed Mary to accompany him when he went hawking, a favourite pastime that alleviated the boredom of their situation to some degree. Yet in November 1586, having been discharged from his duties with Elizabeth I's thanks, he spoke forcefully in parliament in favour of Marys execution, denouncing her as the root cause of all conspiracies, who would, while she lived, never cease to be a threat to Elizabeth. Simon shook his head. He was appalled. Jesus, what a son of a bitchThe whole Mafioso Godfather thing is true. He held Mary in his arms when she was a baby, yet he still denounced herwhat a bastard.

203 He doesnt come across as father Christmas, does he, Penny agreed, but his personality aside, there seems to be nothing here about his brother, John. What do you get if you Google John Sadlier? She tapped in the name. Err, a military historianA cricketerA famous Bridge playerWait, this is interesting, Sadler, John (b. 1512/13, d. in or after 1591), translator and music copyist, N. P. Milner and David Matee. Click on the link. Damn, its the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography and you need to subscribe to download the textWait a minute. Penny snapped of her fingers and got to her feet. Im an idiot. Ive got a British Library membership card in my room, one of the perks of my otherwise rubbish job. Thirty seconds later, she returned with a green-laminated card in her hand. Here we go, now lets see what we can find in the biggest library in the world, shall we? Penny tapped at the keyboard and the red and white British Library logo filled the computer screen. Lets see what theyve gotOkay, there are the usual state papers, and a couple of biographies. Lets check this one, A Brief Memoir of the Right Hon. Sir Ralph Sadlier, reprinted from the Transactions of the East Herts. Antiquarian Society, 1851 She paused. Wait, its no good, we have to request it and theyll send us a copy in the next two to five days. Itll be quicker if we just went to the Library. Simon shook his head and didnt comment. Ah, yes the unique pleasures of the internet, humanities greatest invention since the wheel. Just as long as you dont mind the conspiracy theorists, fraudsters, sex offenders, wannabe celebrities, inane gossip, penis extensions, bad bands, bad haircuts, bad spelling, bad advertising, spam, Trojans, viruss, Viagra, virtual casinos, virtual racetracks, virtual worlds and virtual friends, paedophiles, hackers, prostitutes, the C.I.A., the F.B.I., long lost school friends you hoped youd never see again, (ditto ex-girlfriends), tweeters, bloggers, pornographers, and groomers, cranks and weirdoes of every political persuasion, (ditto religions), pirated movies, pirated music, pirated

204 videos, pirated music videos, hacked facebook accounts showing 15 year old girls flashing their breasts, plastic breasts, plastic biceps, shaved vaginas, (ditto peniss), credit card fraud, Nigerian Heads of State, Eastern European wives for sale, or Chinese, or Thai, or Korean, or South African, or Malaysian, or Moroccan, or Mexican, (probably easier to list the countries that dont offer brides and go from their), personalised advertising, celebrity porn videos, morgue shots of the rich and famous, morgue shots of accident victims, or victims of gunshot wounds, or stabbing, or drowning, or burning, emoticons, eye straining websites with flash content and music you can never turn off, instructions manuals on how to construct mantraps, Molotov cocktails, hand grenades, landmines, rocket launchers, or dirty bombs, designer drugs that are in fact liquid plant food or polish for the hub caps of cars, videos of girls with large breast playing guitars, badly, that receive more hits than B.B.King, videos of cats wearing sunglasses, or a pig with a false moustache, or a baby laughing that are more popular than Citizen Kane, and worst of all, Wickifucking-pedia. Penny was concerned. Simon hadnt said a word for over a minute. He just sat on the sofa with a look on his face. It was a strange look, somewhere between disgust and amusement, (dismusment, Amusgust.), and it was more than a little unsettling. Are you alright, Si? she asked. Simon blinked a number of times and smiled. Sorry, Penny, I was miles away thinking about the joys of the interweb. He laughed sarcastically. All the information in the world at your fingertips just as long as youve got a credit card and a couple of days Penny was relieved; he was his same laconic self, no need to worry. We need to make a trip to the British Library and do some research, she suggested. Simon indicated to the untidy stack of papers and notes that lay strewn across the coffee table. Not forgetting this lot. Penny moved the laptop to one side. I also think we should also do a bit of hunting around Sadliers home in Hackney and his tomb at St. Mary the Virgin, we still havent found a thing to

205 connect him to Freemasonry. Leo said his grave has a stack of Masonic imagery and symbols, maybe well find the Sinister Hand on his tomb. In the meantime, you try Nicolass original notebook and Ill look through the new one we got from Leo. Penny reached for the notebooks and offered one to Simon. It was not long before he found what they were looking for. Okay, this is all about the School of Night, he said, soweve got Walter Raleigh and Henry PercyA group of advanced thinking noblemen, courtiers and educated commoners Not actually referred to at the time as the School of Night, however, because its a modern name that derives from a- Passage in one of Shakespeares plays, Penny interrupted. Very good; Act four, scene three in Loves Labours Lost to be exact, but heres Nicolas twist, The School Of Night or School of Atheism, as it was referred to by Elizabethan contemporaries, was established around 1557 by Ralph Sadlier as a meeting-place for astronomers, voyagers, mathematicians, poets, playwrights, philosophers. This egalitarian cabal allowed commoners to mix with noblemen in a spirit of intellectual, philosophical and artistic enquiry. Its members included some of the greatest minds of the age such as Thomas Harriot. Recent research credits Harriot with the creation of the first ever drawings of the celestial moon after peering through a telescope in July 1609, a few months before Galileo. Penny was impressed. Wow, thats amazing. Not bad considering youve never heard of the guy. And theres moreGeorge Chapman 1559 1634 the classical scholar, translator, poet and dramatist, often considered a rival to ShakespeareChapman was educated by Ralph Sadlier at his home Standon Lordshipthen weve got Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon, Dr John Dee - And all of them were members of this School of Night? Simon nodded. According to Uncle NicolasGet this; the modern Masonic Lodge that calls itself the School Of Night claims a direct lineage from the Sadliers Tudor original. L. and I have

206 been unable to verify this, however, and it would seem from our research the Lodge originates from sometime in the early eighteenth-century. Certainly, its modern day address dates from this period. The School of Night building in Clerkenwell contains a magnificent library housing perhaps the finest collection of Freemasonic literature in the country. Amongst its shelves can be found numerous rare first editions, a significant number concerning R.S. I think we should take a little sightseeing jaunt to Clerkenwell, said Penny. Its not that far on the tube, and we could go to Sadliers home in Hackney. What was the name of the place again? Simon consulted his notes. Err, Sutton House. Penny reached for the laptop and tapped in the address. Well, its the oldest extant Tudor house in east London, owned by the National Trust, and you can experience the Authentic Tudor kitchen with objects to touch and smell. Simon liked the sound of the place. I wonder if they have the authentic stench of urine. Penny grinned. Perhaps theyve got scratchnsniff wallpaper? Anyway, its open from twelvethirty to four-thirty, so we wont be able to make both today. Lets leave the heady delights of Hackney for tomorrow, Penny, and concentrate on the School of Night, huh? CheckActually, this looks good, its a primary school kids report on Ralph Sadlier called The Hackney Tudors. It was written by a little girl called Rianna for the Ralph Sadlier's 500th Birthday project. Simon sat back, folded his hands behind his head and put his feet up on the coffee table. Shoot, its gotta be more coherent than Wikipedia. Penny cleared her throat. Ralph Sadlier had a huge family and lived in Sutton House five-hundred years ago. This was Tudor times. The king at this time was Henry VIII. The kings right hand man was Thomas Cromwell. Sadlier and Cromwell once got into the Tower of London. I will tell you why. The king demanded a new wife. So Thomas went to Anne of Cleves. Thomas took one look at her and she was pure ugly. He knew what to do. He gave King Henry a portrait of her, but she did

207 not look the same. Henry VIII liked this picture, so he ordered her to his presence. When the king saw her, the look on his face looked like he was going to puke. Thomas Cromwell was sent to the Tower of London, but when he was there he blamed Ralph Sadlier too. Locked in the Tower, Ralph Sadlier somehow got out. He survived by talking to the king and asking him to work for him to spare his life. Ralph was a very valuable person because the king asked him to do his dirty work like telling people they were going to die .He was a loyal person because he worked for the king. He was also a happy, lucky man. Hackney might of thought of him as a kind man, but a bit of a show-off, because he had money. His kids thought him of a generous man because he could buy them food. Simon raised his arms above his head and stretched his torso. That, he said decisively, is the most insightful piece of historical research Ive heard in the last three days. Turning his neck from side to side, he winced at the damaged caused by last nights session on the sofa. Im famished. Penny, lets go eat. Stiff neck? she asked. Simon shrugged. I crashed out on the sofa last night and woke up with Congenital Muscular Torticoliis, he explained. By which you mean a bit of a sprained neck. Something, like that Simon rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Penny looked concerned. Let me have a look later, she said, I give an excellent massage. Let me guess, it comes with the British Library card? Penny offered a coy smile. Something, like that, she said.

208

Chapter Fifteen
Open, yet understood only by those fit to receive it, those who do not seek the secret merely to satisfy Curiosity - who are not content to see the truth and not to be changed by it. Hence, the familiar refrain in the teaching of Jesus: He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. What kept it hidden was no arbitrary restriction, but only a lack of insight and fineness of mind to appreciate and assimilate it. Nor could it be otherwise; and this is as true today as ever it was in the days of the Mysteries and so it will be until whatever is to be the end of mortal things.

Joseph Fort Newton, Litt.D. The Builders A Story and Study Of Freemasonry

209 After lunch, they returned to Simons suite and Penny searched the internet for the School of Night. Finding the Lodges U.R.L., she clicked on the link. After a few seconds, the laptops screen filled with a strange symbol.

The School Of Night

Grand Master: J. D. Portinari M.B.E.
DECLARATION OF PRINCIPLES

The School Of Night is a charitable, benevolent, educational, and religious society; its principles are proclaimed as widely as men will hear. Its only secrets are in its methods of recognition and of symbolic instruction. It is charitable in that it is not organized for profit and none of its income inures to the benefit of any individual, but all is devoted to the promotion of the welfare and happiness of mankind. Well, that all sounds very reasonable, said Simon agreeably, and I really like the muted pastel colours theyve chosen for their webpage. Penny scrolled down the screen and continued reading. Welcome to our website which provides information on the principles, history, and services of The School Of Night.

210 Please use the navigation buttons above to look around our website, or use the site map. All areas of this site are available to public view, including those pages intended for the use of Freemasons. Genealogical enquiries should be addressed direct to the Library & Museum. Email address is TSON.com/Habiff. If you are not a Freemason and have any questions or comments, we would be pleased to hear from you. If you are a Freemason, please send any question, in the first instance, to your Metropolitan, Provincial or District Grand Secretary. The School Of Night is a registered charity that works in conjunction with a number of philanthropic causes, including The Princes Trust, UNICEF, Amnesty International, the World Wildlife Fund, and Comic Relief. Why not take part in one of our sponsored Fun Runs and help to raise funds for the upkeep and maintenance of our Library? Simon laughed. Sponsored fun runs, Jesus, I thought these guys plotted to overthrow governments. Theyre certainly very open and friendly these days, Penny agreed, they sound more like The Womens Guild. Have they got a helpful map to show us how to get there? Penny nodded. Of course, what self respecting occult cabal doesnt supply a street map to its HQ? Okay, its just off Farringdon Road in Saffron Street. The nearest tube is Chancery Lane and its about five minutes walk from there. Looks like quite a swanky-pad. Simon studied the elegant Palladian mansion, with its Corinthian pillars, its semi-circular Venetian windows and its huge white dome. Nicely understated little place, he concluded. Penny laughed. You can talk, she said punching Simon playfully on his arm, seeing as youre now the official owner of one of the older stately homes in Britain. Simon frowned and rubbed his bicep. That hasnt really sunk in yet to be honest, he admitted,

211 Im just enjoying this little adventure while it lasts before I have to face the reality of Nicolas will. Penny was confused. You make it sound like a curse, Si, its amazing, surely? Simon paused, looking for the right words. Dont get me wrong, its incredible they left Lordship Manor to me, but my life is in America, Penny, I have a career and a marriage. He looked at his hands and then offered a crooked grin. For what its worthI cant just drop everything and move back to the U.K., even if I wanted to. In the meantime, I want to spend a few more days on Nicolass theory, its the least I can doI understand if you need to get back to work, Penny, and Christmas is approaching, but what about sticking it out just for this weekend? Penny smiled and offered a decisive nod. Dont you worry, Si, Im in for the next few days at least. I have to admit the whole thing is pretty intriguing. And the million-to-one chance Nicolas and Leo were on to something is enough to keep me interested. She laughed. Besides, youre the one paying for the room. Just look at it as Nicolas and Harriets treat, Penny. Simon shrugged. Anyway, were working on his project, and like you said, I think hed be proudalthough hed never pay these prices for a room. Penny turned-off the laptop and closed the lid. Well in that case, we cant just sit around all day and wait for Leo to ring, lets spend the rest of the afternoon searching the School of Nights library, and well call him when we get back. She got to her feet and looked out the window. Ill just get my coat, its still pissing down.

212

The uniformed clerk behind the large wooden desk adjusted the peak of his cap and smiled. Good afternoon, Sir, Madam, and welcome to the School of Night. The library is open to the general public from 9:30 am until 5:30 pm, weekdays and Saturdays, closed on Mondays and Public Holidays. Most of the books are for reference only I am afraid, so you will not be able to remove them from the premises. If you would like to become a full member of the Library, however, and gain access to all of our records, archives and research tools, you may fill out these forms. He offered Simon and Penny a small application card from a neat pile on the desk. Or, alternatively, you can subscribe online at our website; youll find the address at the bottom of the card. If you would like a tour of the building we have a registered guide who conducts tours every thirty minutes; you will find the waiting area over by the clock. He indicated to a collection of sofas and chairs nestled beneath the circular dial of a large Victorian railway clock. Simply take a seat and wait. Thats great thanks, said Simon, but I think well just visit the library. Youll find it up the main stairs and on the second floor. The clerk indicated to a wide staircase to Simons left. Just follow the signs. It has one of the finest collections of first editions in the country only rivalled by the British Library itself. Thats why were here, Penny grinned taking Simon by the arm and pulling him away from the loquacious official. Bloody hell, talk about the hard-sell, she hissed. I think I preferred it when Freemasons were shrouded in mystery. Simon was obviously amused. Its all changed now, Penny, this is the twenty-first century. Im surprised we havent seen one on Big Brother.

213 As they made their way up the stairs to the library, Simon touched Penny on the shoulder and pointed to a large eye that gazed balefully down from the ceiling high above their heads. The symbol on the Lodges webpage, he said. Penny nodded. Its all over the place, Si, look. She indicated to a mosaic hanging on a wall. Walking to the mosaic, Simon began to read the inscription mounted underneath. The Wadjet (or Ujat, meaning Whole One) is a powerful symbol of protection also known as the Eye of Horus and the all seeing eye. However, it was also known as the Eye of Ra, a powerful destructive force linked with the fierce heat of the sun which was described as the Daughter of Ra. According to later traditions, the right eye represented the sun and so is called the Eye of Ra while the left represented the moon and was known as the eye of Horus. Take a look at this, he said pointing to the last line on the card. Penny read the text. Interesting, so it represents the moon and its the left eye. Yeaah, left as in sinister Simon let the words hang in the air and raised his eyebrow. He held the pose for a few seconds, but his lips curled and he began to laugh. Penny shook her head sadly. The world of comedy really lost out when you decided to become a doctor, besides; the line is sinister hand, Si, not sinister eye. Simon continued walking up the stairs. Still, this lodge was supposed to have been originally founded by Ralph Sadlier, and they seem to use this symbol all the timeseems a strange coincidence. Penny laughed. Now who sounds like the conspiracy freak? Arriving at the second floor, they followed the large wooden signs to the library. Their journey took them down the length of a long corridor, its panelled walls lined with dozens of large portraits. Passing one particular painting, Simon drew Pennys attention to the figure depicted on the canvas. So, even Winston Churchill was a member, he said.

214 Churchill stood in his familiar long black overcoat and Homberg, his trademark cigar clamped firmly between his lips. Penny smiled. I think youll also find Isaac Newton in that parade, not to mention Keats and Shelley. So basically, Simon nodded, every major figure in British history was a member of the lodge. Looks like it. So whos this? Simon pointed to a portrait of a grey-looking man in a dark blue suit. Penny stopped to examine the canvas. Thats John Major, he used to be Prime Minister back in the nineties. Simon offered a blank look. Penny grinned. Well, even the freemasons choose a dud every now and again. Eventually they arrived at a set of glass-fronted double doors, their great weight held in check by two carved marble sphinxes that sat either side of the entranceway. Simon patted one of the beasts on its broad shoulders and they stepped across the threshold into a cavernous circular room, its walls lined with hundreds of wooden bookshelves. On their left, two enormous Venetian bay windows took up one wall, their vaunting arches framed by thick marble columns. To their right, a spiral staircase wound its way up to a balcony, suspended around the circumference of the room by a series of ornate pillars, allowing access to another immense tier of bookshelves. Above their heads towered the librarys great dome, its cream coloured surface dotted with hundreds of stained glass windows. The windows spanned the circumference of the dome; Simon counted seven separate bands in all, each radiating a different colour, from a deep vibrant red at the domes apex, through yellow, pink, green, orange, and purple to finish a dark, royal blue at its base. Its the colour spectrum. Even in this gloomy light, the effect is visible, but on a bright sunny day, the dome must look like a huge rainbow. Simon shook his head. This place is incredible.

215 Penny stood with her neck craned up at the ceiling. Okay, she admitted, so maybe that desk clerk did have something to crow about, Ill give him that. Simon laughed. Radiating from the centre of the Library, like a vast spiders web, was a collection of tables and chairs, the majority occupied by studious looking individuals busy transcribing notes from the open books that sat in front of them. At the centre of the web was a large circular wooden desk manned by a lone librarian. Simon touched Pennys shoulder. Lets ask at the desk, the amount of books in this place, itll take us thirty years to find what we want. Penny and Simon made their way down the nearest aisle and stood politely at the desk. The librarian, a small slightly tubby man with black, shoulder length hair, was attempting to place a line of staples into a staple gun. Ignoring Penny and Simon he fiddled with his task for a few moments, deep in concentration. He was obviously having trouble achieving the level of manual dexterity required for the intricate procedure, but gamely he soldiered on. Pulling back the small spring, he had almost positioned the fresh staples in their trough, when the mechanism sprung closed, ejecting the shiny metal prongs high into the air. The librarians lips quivered with rage and ducked down below the desk. He returned with a grubby metal dustbin and with a violent sweep of his arm consigned the empty stapler to its murky depths. Satisfied, he placed the dustbin at his feet, and finally turned his attention to Simon and Penny. Plucking a pair of half moon spectacles from his chest, which hung from his neck by a delicate gold chain, he put them on his head and waited in silence. Great, another charming Brit, Jesus, what is this guy waiting forGodot? Simon unclenched his fist and smiled politely. Hi, I wonder if you can help us, he began, were looking for anything you might have concerning a Tudor statesman called Sir Ral- Good afternoon, Sir, interrupted the librarian in a barely audible whisper. Sorry, whispered Simon suddenly realising his mistake.

216 The little man looked down his nose and nodded his head almost imperceptibly. Thats quite all right, sir. This is a working library, he explained with a supercilious smile, and we like to maintain an amenably quietist working environment. Absolutely. Quietist. Simon agreed solemnly. Now, if you would be so kind as to inscribe the nature of your enquiry on this piece of paper, I will see what we have on our shelves. Writing Ralph Sadlier on the sheet, Simon slipped it across the desk. The librarian reluctantly swept his eyes over the words and then did something Simon was least expecting, he smiled. Ah yes, our illustrious founder Mr. Sadlier, he enthused, his sullen features suddenly bright and animated, a most remarkable individual, most remarkable. We have numerous biographies and historiographies, and a full collection of his State papers, he revealed in an increasingly loud voice. Perhaps you could recommend the best place to start? Simon whispered. Regaining his composure with a polite cough, the Librarian lowered his voice and continued. The best account of Sadliers life would be Johnsons Spymaster General: Sir Ralph Sadlier, last Knight-Banneret of England, and of course no research would be complete without a look at E.H Clifford and Sir Walter Scotts The State Papers and Letters of Sir Ralph Sadler, we have the original limited-edition four-volume set, in their first edition. Getting on to his feet, the librarian lifted a circular section of his desk. If you would be so kind, he said indicating for Simon to move back a step. Simon stepped away and the little man walked through the gap he had created before turning around and resealing the wooden circle. His post secured, he swiveled on his heels and began to stride down one of the aisles, towards a row of shelves. Simon stifled his laughter and looked at Penny, who offered a bemused raise of her eyebrows. Shaking their heads, they turned and followed the librarian. On the short journey, Simon was unable to tear his gaze from the veritable avalanche of dandruff

217 that lay heaped across the little mans head and shoulders. A situation not helped by his choice of attire, which consisted of a black velvet smoking jacket, a garment that afforded the perfect backdrop for this epic-conglomeration of sloughed human skin. Some of the bigger flakes, their edges rimmed with a yellow crust, seemed to catch the light like rancid pieces of tinsel. Jesus, should I recommend the guy a good dermatologist or simply call The Guinness Book of World Records? The Librarian approached a series of shelves and took a large leather-bound book from its resting place. Offering the weighty tome to Simon, he returned to the shelves and retrieved four more enormous leather-bound volumes. Struggling manfully with his burden, he walked to the nearest unoccupied table and dumped the books down onto its surface. The volume in your hand, he said indicating to the book Simon was holding, is the Johnson, perhaps the most comprehensive account of Ralph Sadliers life published thus far. The four volumes on this table are Clifford and Scotts biographical historiography. Between them they should contain everything you need to begin your researches. Penny smiled her thank you. The librarian waved his hand in the air to indicate it was his pleasure. If there is anything else I can help you with do not hesitate to ask, he offered. Okay, thanks, replied Simon, youve been most helpful. The little man adjusted his glasses and nodded sharply. With a click of his heels, he spun around and began to march back to his desk, the speed of his abrupt departure leaving a flurry of dandruff in his wake. Simon watched in fascination as the discarded pieces of skin danced on the current of air the librarian had created, the individual flakes bobbing and weaving in graceful arcs, before drifting gently to the ground. It doesn't show signs of stopping, and I've bought some corn for popping, the lights are turned way down low, Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Simon smiled wryly to himself.

218 Penny caught his reaction. Whats so funny? Simon laughed. Lets just say I always did enjoy a white Christmas and leave it at that, he replied enigmatically. Lets go find a quiet alcove. What about these books? Ignoring Penny, Simon began to walk towards an empty table beneath one of the libraries arches. Taking a seat, he crossed his legs and patiently began to wait. After few seconds, Penny reluctantly gathered the four weighty tomes in her arms and followed him. Right, lets check us a few facts, he said when she had arrived. Penny wasnt amused. Youre lucky I dont brain you with these things, she hissed nodding at her armful of books. Dumping them onto the table, she sat down. Simon grinned inanely. Sorry, Penny, I cant risk my precious healing hands. He waived his fingers in the air. These babies have got the magic. Throwing Simon withering glare, Penny took a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag. Okay, youve got the definitive biography; check out Sadliers younger brother, John, unless you think you might risk breaking your thumbs turning the pages. Simon laughed and reached for the nearest book. Okay, lets try the Jonsonhere we go.indexJohn Sadlier, youngest son of Henri Sadlier, pageeleven. He turned to the relevant page. Right, Sir Ralph Sadlier had a younger brother, John Sadler, who commanded a company at the siege of Boulogne in the year 1544, very little else is known of the man. He stopped reading and looked at Penny. And thats all there is? Simon looked back at the text. Younger brother, John, commanded a company at the siege of Boulogne, he repeated. What a waste of bloody time. Its one hell of a succinct biography, Simon agreed. Closing the book, he turned to the other

219 volumes on the table. Lets try The State Papers and Letters of Sir Ralph Sadler, he said turning to the index in volume 1. Okay, here he is page, 23. Simon leafed through the book and began to read. Sir Ralph Sadlier had a younger brother, John Sadler, who commanded a company at the siege of Boulogne in the year 1544, very little else isKnown of the man, finished Penny. You got it Penny folded her arms and began to look around the library. Well, at least we know Sadlier had a brother, so they might be the two brothers standing referred to in the poem, she said. Maybe it refers to their graves? Simon offered. Penny shook her head. Except we know Ralphs monuments in Standon, and I dont remember anyone mentioning his brother being buried next to him. Simon nodded. Oh well, at least we got to see this place, he said indicating to the impressive surroundings. Not to mention meeting the Librarian and his award winning dandruff. They both remained silent for several seconds, until Penny quickly thrust her hand over her mouth, the sound of her laughter forcing itself between her fingers in little gusts of air. Dontbe somean, she stuttered, he cant help it. Simon looked appalled. Jesus, Penny, give me a break are you seriously telling me he doesnt look in the mirror and think, hey, maybe I should do something about the visible lumps of my scalp I seem to have scattered about my shoulders? Penny punched Simon on his bicep. Be quiet, she hissed, he might hear you. Simon rubbed his arm, and quickly scanned the library, his eyes darting comically from place to place. No, I think were okay, he seems to be harassing that girl. Penny followed the direction of Simons eyes and looked across the room. The Librarian was gesticulating at an attractive young woman, his podgy face pinched with anger. After a few seconds, she rose from her chair, her own face flushed with embarrassment. As she turned to leave, she bent to retrieve her bag. Noting this, the Librarian adjusted his glasses and

220 stared at her behind. Nice move, Simon observed. Penny shook her head and sighed.

Chapter Sixteen
An expert brother by the true light can readily find many useful hints on almost every page of the Book which others not initiated cannot discover. J. Anderson Book of Constitutions of the Freemasons (2nd Edition)

Glimpsed through the rain, the illuminated sign for Chancery Lane tube station beckoned like a lighthouse, and Penny and Simon hurried the final hundred yards as the downpour intensified. Once inside the busy station, Simon had to purchase a ticket. Told you to get a return, Penny said smugly. The queue at the booth was ridiculous, Simon reminded her, and the goddam machine only

221 had single tickets. Thats the billions of pounds of private investment, Si; our tube network is now a futuristic wonder world. As if to confirm Pennys analysis, Simon glanced at the two men sprawled out on a damp sheet of cardboard by the stations main entrance. At their feet sat an empty plastic cup next to a sign that said Homless pleases give generusly. One of the men wore a grubby Santas hat on his head and a small dog was greedily licking his fingers. His burly companion took a swig from a large can of beer and began stroking the bedraggled creatures back, its little tail wagging furiously. All three of them looked hungry, dirty and cold. Tis the season to be jolly Taking his eyes from the depressing scene, Simon concentrated on the matter in hand. All he had to do was purchase a ticket, something of a relatively trivial and painless matter in most of the towns and cities in Western Europe, or indeed, the rest of the civilized world. This, however, was not the civilized world. This was London. Turning to the solitary open ticket booth Simon shook his head. The length of the queue was such he was certain a lump of coal would form into a diamond before he got to hand over his cash to the large man with the beard behind the smeared glass. Lets use the machines. Penny pointed to a row of automated ticket machines mounted on the far wall. Simon nodded. If we get separated, he said indicating to the heaving sea of humanity all around them. Send out search parties every twelve hours. Arriving at the ticket machines, they patiently waited for a party of Japanese tourists to finish their transaction. Unfortunately, through some quirk of the equipments sophisticated onboard computer, the device would only recognise freshly minted twenty-pound notes, a particular denomination the party of young girls obviously lacked, and they were growing increasingly impatient as they inserted every available note they possessed into the slot only to have it

222 unceremoniously spat back at them. Finally, with an angry flurry of gesticulations, they gave up and admitted defeat. One of the tourists, a pretty girl in her teens, her hair in long braids, turned to Simon. It no working, she informed him. He smiled. Thats why we travel half way round the world to come here, he said, the glamour. The girl looked confused, her rudimentary grasp of English incapable of translating Simons sarcasm. Sorry, I no understand. She seemed embarrassed. One of her friends touched her arm and indicated, as if to say; stop talking to this idiot, and the young girl walked away. Another fan, said Penny. Simon shrugged. Im a people person. Simon took a crisp twenty-pound note from his wallet and placed it into the slot. Having obviously satisfied the machines state-of-the-art electronics, it devoured the note and he successfully managed to purchase a ticket. A few seconds later, he was delighted to receive his change in a fruit-machine-jackpot cascade of grubby one-pound coins. Scooping the sullied hoard into his hand, he stuffed them into a pocket of his jeans. With his jeans hanging low on his hips, Simon led the way to a row of electronic barriers and inserted his ticket into the slot. He was not at all surprised to have it rejected and the barriers refuse him entry. Having patiently fed his ticket into the machine a further four or five times, with no success, a man in a blue uniform and a yellow hazard vest approached the barrier and smiled. Dont worry sir, they sometimes get stuck, he explained raising his fist in the air. Still looking at Simon, he pounded the barrier a number of times and then kicked it with his foot. Okay, sir, have another go. Simon inserted his ticket and the barrier swung open. The man nodded. See, you just need to know where to whack em, he said nonchalantly. This final obstacle surmounted, Simon was at last in sight of the escalators.

223 Reaching the top of the moving staircase, Penny advised him to stand on the left, (leaving the traditional access on the right for those hardy souls actually brave enough to use their legs), and they began their steady decent to the crowded platform below. Jesus, Penny, Simon scowled, this is a nightmare. Penny grinned. Its the rush hour, Si, everyones trying to get back to their overpriced houses, so they can go to bed and then get up and do it all over again in the morning. Anyway, she added nonchalantly, this isnt bad; Ive seen it a lot worse. Oh yeaah, when was that, during the blitz? At least back then the ticket machines worked. Youre exaggerating Simon; our transport network is the envy of the world. Our railway replacement bus services are some of the finest in Europe. Simon suddenly grimaced as the sharp edges of a briefcase dug into his ribs. Turning his head, a man in a grey suit bounded past, the obligatory mobile telephone clamped to his ear. He had tucked the lethal briefcase under his arm to facilitate his call and Simon watched its pointed metal edges narrowly avoid raking the back of a small childs head as he jogged down the stairs. Im going down the escalator, the signals gone! I cant here you! he bellowed, seemingly oblivious to the potential carnage and injury he might cause. Simon rubbed his chest and shook his head. The man was followed a few paces later by four youths wearing baggy jeans and hoodies. As they passed, one of the youths looked at Penny and grabbed his crotch. Id go in haaard, bruv, thru da backdoor, he said in a lewd drawl. His companions laughed. Simons chest tightened and he clenched his fists. Youve gotta be kidding, he protested. The youth at the back of the procession stopped in his tracks and turned to Simon. He had a thin face with a sallow complexion, its waxy pallor only enhanced by the virulent yellow pustules that dotted his cheeks and forehead. You say somefin bruv? he sneered. Hes only a kid. He may be an annoying little shit, but hes still just a kid, besides, if you deck the bastard, it wont look good in court.

224 Simon smiled. I was thinking of going to see Billy Elliot, he said indicating to a poster on the wall as it made its way past them, but, Jesus, you wouldnt believe the prices. The spotty youth looked confused. He turned to his friends for support, but they had already reached the bottom of the escalator. Great, now his looking for his buddies. Coming to the conclusion Simon was probably a mental case, or worse, Australian, by the sound of his accent, the youth offered a finally warning scowl and continued on his way. Still making friends, I see, Penny said dryly. Simon nodded casually. Yeaah, he was delightful, I was thinking maybe we should invite him back to the hotel for afternoon tea. Then, afterwards, I could find a sock and beat him over the head with the coins in my pocket. Arriving at the bottom of the escalator, they followed the heaving multitudes through a winding labyrinth of passageways and tunnels. Plastered on the grimy soot-stained walls along their journey were brightly coloured posters, advertising long weekends at luxurious health spas, or nights at the opera, or holidays in Barbados, or celebrity biographies, or the next episode of X Factor, or the latest Hollywood Blockbuster, or Apples latest Ipod. In short, anything bright and shiny enough to take your mind off the fact you were hundreds of meters underground crushed together with the same approximate number of people as a medium sized town in Belgium. Simon glanced at an advert for a version of William Shakespeares Macbeth at the Royal Court Theatre. The directors name appeared in capital letters across the top of the poster, but Simon had never heard of him. Ticket prices started at fifty pounds. Wonder if it cost that much to go see his plays back when he wrote themIf he actually did write Simon smiled. He hated to admit it, but Nicolas and Leos research was pretty intriguing. Eventually, they were standing at the foot of a wide flight of stairs and reaching the top of the staircase, they finally stepped onto the busy platform.

225 Penny indicated to the mouth of the tunnel at the other end of the platform. Keep walking, Si, its always a bit less crowded at the back of the train, she explained, dont worry Im right behind you. Simon navigated a slow, but steady, path through the tightly packed throng until the crush of bodies made further progress impossible. Stepping forwards, he waited for the approaching train. Below him, the rails began to squeak and thrum announcing its imminent arrival. Looking down at his feet, he realised he had crossed the yellow line that acted as a visual safety barrier and he took a step back. Dont want any accidents. Somehow, he had lost sight of Penny in the crowd. Turning his head in order to scan the sea of faces, a scruffy looking young woman in a red jacket nervously caught his gaze. Simon offered the girl a brief smile and continued to look for Penny. Jesus, she looks like she hasnt slept in a week. platform now reverberated to the sound of the oncoming locomotive; its wheels shrieking violently against their place on the rails, and Simon could feel a stiff breeze ruffle his hair as a warm pocket of oxygen propelled out of the tunnel ahead of the approaching train. Oh my god, shes going to jump! a voice suddenly screamed in horror. The warning gave Simon time to glimpse a blur of red, before the impact of the unexpected collision forced the wind from his body, and he staggered backwards into the path of the oncoming train. Rotating his torso as he fell, he miraculously avoided the live-rail, but caught the side of his head on the hard steel of the neutral, and then rolled onto his back. Lifting his head, he spotted the young girl in the red jacket sprawled across the tracks a few feet behind him. For just the briefest of moments their eyes met and the girls lips formed some kind of wordless plea. Shes begging me to save her, oh sweet Jesus, shes begging me. The sound of the train now a deafening roar, he tore himself away from the horrific spectacle and The

226 dived into the small rectangular well that ran beneath the rails. His face scraping the filthy concrete, Simon forced himself down, his body squeezing into the coffin-sized aperture, and closed his eyes.

The young doctor, a thin man with dark stubble and tired eyes, quietly examined his patients notes. Hed read the words over a dozen times by now, but still they made no sense. The report wasnt badly written, or overly complicated, or contained anything he didnt understand. On the surface, it all seemed perfectly normal. Minor contusion to right shoulder, superficial abrasions to upper torso, small incision, approximately 2cms in length, on left thigh, superficial bruising to right eye and cheekbone, and a blow to the left side of the cranium resulting in a raised lump, approximately 3cms in diameter, but no apparent concussion or internal bleeding, so far so routine. Granted, it wasnt something you would want for your birthday, but what astonished him was the owner of this list of relatively trivial injuries wasnt the victim of a wobbly paving stone, or a minor disagreement with his next-door neighbour, oh no, this particular individual had been run over by a tube train for Gods sake.

227 It was nothing less than a bloody miracle. Except the doctor was an atheist, he didnt believe in god and he certainly didnt believe in miracles. His mouth broke into a thin smile. He knew exactly what it was. He had encountered it many times before. It wasnt an act of God, but it was undoubtedly the work of every physicians true saviour. It was good old-fashioned luck. For the third time in a minute, the doctor shook his head in disbelief. Basically, Dr. Fry, he said looking up from his notes, youve had one of the most miraculous escapes Ive ever encountered, aside from a few minor cuts and bruises and that lump on your head of course, but I still think you will agree youve had quite a remarkable stroke of fortune. Not many people survive falling beneath the wheels of a tube train. Simon wasnt in the mood to hear how lucky he was. Good fortune, he muttered, yeaah, sorry for not celebrating, doc, but Im still kinda in shock. He sighed. Jesus, the look on that girls face Its something Ill never forget. Yes its most unfortunate, the doctor nodded sadly. She died instantly Im afraid. It happens many times a year, more so as we get near Christmas. Someone decides to commit suicide. It is all very tragic. She just leaped out You cant hold yourself in any way responsible. It is a miracle you survived. That doesnt make it any easier to forget. If you have difficulty dealing with the trauma, I can recommend you to one of our Post Traumatic Stress Disorder clinics. Simon began to examine the side of his head. For now I just wanna get out of here and relax in a hot tub, he winced. Yes, it is quite a lump, isnt it? the doctor observed matter-of-factly. I expect it smarts a little.

228 Ill write you out a prescription for some painkillers and you can collect them in the pharmacy downstairs on your way out. He looked back at his notes. As you know, weve run all the tests, and you are free to go home, but if you should experience any lasting concussive effects, such as dizziness, or recurring headaches, dont hesitate to call us. The doctor smiled and turned to leave. Although, I believe the police want a word with you before you go, and there is a young lady outside who accompanied you in the ambulance from the tube station. Shall I let her in? Simon nodded. Thatll be Penny, let her in. The doctor opened the door and beckoned Penny from her seat in the corridor. She nodded and smiled, but her eyes were puffy and it was obvious she had been crying. Penny got to her feet, but before she could enter the room, the doctor took her arm and gently ushered her to one side. Hello again, he smiled. Theres nothing to worry about, hes conscious and hes in pretty good shape, considering. Make sure you get him straight home and off to bed. The best thing for him right now is rest and painkillers, hopefully, within a couple of weeks; hell be right as rain. Hes had a pretty bad shock and a nasty knock on the head, but there appears to be no concussion or internal bleeding, like I told him, hes been an incredibly fortunate chap. Penny looked concerned. Is there anything in particular I can do, doctor? Not really, keep an eye on his temperature for the next 48 hours, make sure he takes his pain killersgenerally pamper him, God knows he deserves it. And if he should experience blurred vision or recurring headaches bring him back for a check up. Is that likely to happen? As far as we can tell from the scans, no, but you can never be one hundred percent certain with a blow to the head, it is always better to be safe than sorry. Okay, doctor, thank you. Oh, I almost forgot. The doctor fished in his pocket and handed Penny two prescriptions. You

229 can collect his medication from the pharmacy on the ground floor. Well, its been delightful to meet you Mrs. Fry. He smiled and shook Pennys hand. And hopefully we wont meet again anytime soon. Before Penny could correct the doctors mistake, a loud bleeping erupted from a pocket in his trousers and he reached his hand inside and produced an electronic pager. Turning it off with his thumb, he turned to Penny. Sorry, Mrs. Fry, but Ive got to go, he said jogging off down the corridor. Penny watched in admiration as the nimble doctor avoided the various obstacles he encountered on his journey; an old woman in a wheelchair, an orderly wheeling an empty gurney, a man with a tube trailing from his arm attached to a drip that hung from a metal stand. It was obvious he had participated in this particular event many times before and he maneuvered his body with all the skill and grace of a professional football player. Penny watched the impressive display for a few more seconds and then stepped into Simons room. Turning to the figure on the bed, she stopped dead in her tracks. Simons right eye was now a swollen lump of purple flesh that forced his eyelid closed, while his cheek displayed a collection of livid scratches and abrasions that extended to the bottom of his jaw. Someone had cut away the left leg of his jeans just above the thigh in order to apply a large white dressing and on a table beside his bed sat a kidney dish containing what could only be one of his molars. He looked up, obviously in pain, and offered a wave of his bruised hand. Penny felt a lump in her chest. She swallowed. He looked so small and vulnerable under the harsh light of the emergency room. Yet somehow, he was still alive. Hi, he said. Hearing Simons voice Penny ran to the bed, unable to conceal her relief. Oh, Jesus, oh, Si, I was right behind her, she stammered the words tumbling forth in a rush, I saw her jump. I called out, I tried to stop her, when I saw you go onto the rails I was sure you were deadI just

230 screamed and screamed and, oh, Jesus... Penny shuddered to a halt. She looked at Simon and bit her trembling lip, her eyes filling with tears. Simon propped himself on his elbows and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Its okay hone, Im fine, he reassured her, just a few cuts, bruises and mild concussion. He got himself into a sitting position and offered a grin that failed to hide a wince. The doc said Im free to leave. Ive just got to give a statement to the police and well go. Penny took a deep breath. Theres a policeman outside by the vending machine, she said quietly. I gave a statement to him earlier. Im starting to think Im cursed, Simon admitted, this is the third suicide Ive been involved in since I arrived in the country. He sighed. Go find the cop and tell him Im ready. I want to get out of here, hospitals give me the creeps. Penny was confused. But, youre a doctor? Simon nodded. Precisely Okay, he was just outside; Ill go and get him. Penny wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and left Simon to explore the painful lump on the side of his head. Fuck, its the size of a goddam goose-egg. After a few moments, there was a knock at the door and a young uniformed police officer entered the room. Simon Fry? Im Constable Woodruffe, he said producing a notebook from a pocket in his flak jacket. Please dont be alarmed, Sir, but, under the circumstances, I have to take a brief statement concerning the unfortunate events of this afternoon. Simon stopped probing his skull and offered a wan smile. Sure, Constable, you wouldnt believe how many times Ive heard that sentence in the last few days. Okay said Wodruffe, uncertain what to make of Simons comment. Well, if you could just start at the beginning.

231

Penny watched Simon swipe his key-card through the lock to his hotel room. I still cant believe what happened, she said. Simon shrugged. To be honest, its all still a blur. Making their way through the bedroom, they entered the living room and took a seat on the sofa. One second you were right in front of me, Penny said her voice tense, and the next, you were gone. The crowd was so densely packed and I saw the girl in the red coat, she had this weird-look on her faceI cant describe it...Like, like she was preparing herself for somethingIt was in her body language, I just knew she was about to... Penny shuddered at the memory. Tucking her legs up on the sofa, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock back and forth. She looked at Simon and offered a thin smile. I screamed and tried to grab her, but it was too late, she whispered, the crowd suddenly parted and I saw you, both of you, tumbling onto the tracks, andOh, god, Simon, I was so scared. Simon reached out and gently touched her hand. Its okay, Penny, it was no ones fault, he soothed. I just feel sorry for the girl.

232 Penny didnt understand. Sorry? But she nearly killed you. But, that wasnt her intention, I just...gotin the way. Simon sighed. Jesus, I need a drink, he said wearily. Are you sure thats a good idea, Si? Simon laid his head back on the soft leather cushions and closed his eyes. Trust me, Im a doctor, he said with a dismal grin. Look at the state of you; you cant even move your head. Its not that bad, it only hurts when I laugh, or talk, or walk, or breathe. You just stay there, Ill make the drinks. Penny got to her feet and headed for the drinks cabinet. Make mine a very large Janneau, no ice, said Simon. k, and I think some food might be in order. Yeaah, but lets order room service, Im not up to sitting at a table

~
Simon hardly touched his meal, preferring instead to ease his suffering with painkillers and cognac. Penny ate her food in silence unable to hide her concern. I think you should eat some more food, she advised.

233 Simon laughed the sound strained and uncomfortable. Sorry, Pen, but I just dont feel up to it, he said looking at his half-empty plate. Well perhaps you should take it easy on the booze; youve had a nasty bump on the head. I just need some rest, Pen, trust me Im a - Yes, Penny sighed, I know what you are. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. Its youre funeral. Forty-minutes later, Simon stood at the door of his apartment and watched the pretty Polish girl from room service, who had come to collect the dirty plates, make her way down the hallway. Jesus, what is it about maids uniforms? He was more than slightly out of it, the painkillers and booze producing an agreeably warm fuzzy landscape full of shimmering colours and geometric patterns that danced before his eyes. God, shes beautiful He closed the door and staggered to the living room. Sitting down next to Penny, he stretched out his legs and sat back contentedly. Outside, the downpour had intensified, hiding the furthest extremities of Hyde Park in a heavy mist of precipitation. Through his tranquilised haze, Simon was mildly fascinated to note it was raining at such velocity each individual drop bounced back off the tiled surface of the balcony, before exploding into hundreds of separate smaller droplets. Already, the sheer volume of water had overwhelmed the gutter and an ever-growing puddle was slowly encroaching from the overflowing drain that would soon submerge the whole balcony. Simon nodded. Looks like its gonna be another beautiful night in London town, he said breaking the silence. Penny shrugged. You just need the right clothes. YeaahThat would be, lets see, wet-suit, aqualung and flippers, right? Least youve still got your devastating sense of humour, Penny said absently. Simon raised his hands in defeat. Ouch, talk about beating a man when hes down.

234 Penny looked at Simon and smiled. How are you feeling after some food? Not too bad, considering, he lied, but I think Ill have an early night. He tilted his head and fixed a blurry eye on Penny. Well try to contact Leo in the morning, and if he still isnt answering his phone, well take it from theresound like a plan? Penny nodded. Sounds good to me, she agreed, although I do need to get back to work at some point. Simon considered for a moment. Dont worry, if Harrison hasnt turned up by tomorrow Im going back to Standon. He said hell be back, Si, unless something serious has happened, I dont believe he would deliberately avoid us. Simon wasnt totally convinced, but the alcohol and painkillers rendered his doubts null and void. At this particular moment in time, he didnt care about anything other than crawling into bed. He cleared his throat. Okay, well Im gonna crash, so Penny got to her feet. No worries, Si, Ill see you in the morning, if theres anything you need just tap. Its so good that youre okay; I cant tell you. She leaned over and kissed the top of Simons head. Ow! he flinched. Watch it!

235

Chapter Seventeen
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib'd In one self-place; but where we are is Hell, And where Hell is, there must we ever be.
Christopher Marlowe Dr. Faustus

Simon woke up with a throbbing headache. Moving his body under the silk sheets, a bolt of pain knifed its way up his back and he gave a low moan. Shuffling to one side of the huge mattress, he gingerly reached out for his wristwatch on the bedside table and focused on the small dial. He was not surprised to find it was 10:23 a.m. Resting his head back on the soft pillows, he looked out beyond the windows at the grey clouds and the omnipresent rain. Unbe-fucking-lievable.

236 He sighed, closed his eyes, and fell straight back to sleep. The next time he woke up, the rhythmic pounding in his skull synchronized perfectly with the incessant knocking coming from the living room. He groaned. Im coming Penny if I can just get up from the bed. Reluctantly he pulled back the covers and made his painful way across the suite. Rubbing the lump on his head, he opened the interconnecting door. Penny smiled. Sorry, Simon, did I wake you? she asked surveying the rumpled face that matched his rumpled tee-shirt and boxer shorts. Simon yawned. Dont worry, its fine, it must be getting late, he said walking to the sofa and taking a seat. Penny followed him. How are you feeling this morning? Pretty banged-up, if Im honest, he admitted. Ive got a bitch of a headache and my torso feels like Ive had a serious session on the rack, but more important, Im starving. Penny was relieved. Simons appetite had obviously returned, which could only be a good sign she thought. Youve missed breakfast by now, she said, but Im sure room service will serve up some old slop or other, unless you feel like going out for something? Simon nodded and scratched his head. Actually, that sounds like a pretty good idea, just give me fifteen minutes, I need a shower. Touching his right temple, he examined the golf ball sized lump that protruded from his skull. He grimaced. And we can give Harrison a ring. Penny wasnt sure. Are you up to going out? Simon took his hand away from his head and smiled reassuringly. Just give me some steaminghot water and Ill be fine. Ill call on you when Im donetrust me Im a doctor.

237

Half an hour later, Simon was depositing their keys at reception when the ginger haired clerk once again called his name. Although shocked at the injuries Simon had sustained since last they met, the clerk attempted to act as if nothing had happened. Unlike his dexterity with a ballpoint pen, however, the youth was unable to deliver the same level of skill to the task and merely stood and gawped, opened mouthed, until Simon snapped his fingers and he was jolted from his catatonia. Doctor Fry! he stammered, Im glad its you. He attempted a weak smile that instantly slid from his lips. We have another package, he said bending below the desk and producing a medium-sized brown envelope. Handing the package to Simon, he looked down at his shoes and continued. I wasnt on duty last night, but Elaine informed me a motorcycle courier delivered it at about 04:30 a.m. He didnt remove his crash helmet or speak to her, which Elaine though most peculiar. He began to shuffle his feet. They really should remove their helmets you know, its just plain rude. Simon was confused. And youre certain it wasnt the elderly gentleman who delivered the first package? As I explained, I wasnt on last night. Elaine simply described a motorcycle courier in blackleathers and a black crash helmet. I cant see Leo riding a motorbike, said Penny. She shrugged. Then again

238 Simon thanked the desk clerk, and he and Penny walked across the lobby towards a row of highbacked armchairs. Taking a seat, Simon began to examine the envelope. It was heavy and the object inside formed a rectangular bulge. Simon ran his fingers around its edge. Feels like a cell phone maybe. Attached to the front of the envelope was a small white sticker. Printed on the sticker was the legend: DR. SIMON FRY PRIVATE AND PERSONAL. Tearing open one end of the envelope, Simon emptied the contents onto his lap to find a slim black mobile telephone and a folded sheet of paper. Simon unfolded the note and began to read the printed words: Good Morning. Dr. Fry, please find enclosed one mobile telephone. Upon opening the device, turn it on and you will find the usual menu of functions. Go to the FILE MANAGER and search the sub menu for VIDEOS. Click onto this file and find CLIP 01. Press play and watch the clip.

For adults only: No-one younger than 18 years may see an 18 film in a cinema. No-one younger than 18 years may rent or buy an 18 rated VHS, DVD or video game.

Handing the note to Penny, Simon began to examine the mobile phone. Penny looked confused. What the bloody hell does that mean? she said slapping the sheet of paper with the back of her hand. Ive got no idea, Penny, Simon shrugged, but if its some kind of joke, its pretty lame. He took the note from Penny and placed it back in the envelope along with the mobile phone. Still, whatever it is, I think it might be a good idea not to watch it in the lobby of a busy London hotel.

239

Back in his apartment, Simon and Penny made their way to sofa and took a seat. Penny turned to Simon and gave a thin smile. I dont really know if I want to watch this, she said nervously. Simon took the envelope from his coat pocket and emptied its contents on the coffee table. Ill watch it first, he said, if youre worried. He picked up the mobile telephone and looked at Penny. Its probably just some porn, he reassured her. Penny looked shocked. Why would anyone send you a mobile with porn on it? Is there something youre not telling me, Simon? Simon raised his hands in the air and laughed. Oh, shit, you got me, my whole trip was just an elaborate cover to conceal my international porn smuggling operation. We download it to mobiles and then shove em up our asses. Penny nodded. Well, Mr. Comedian its definitely funny how that was the first thing that sprang to mind, she said suspiciously. Simon was still obviously amused. Hey, its not me, isnt that what everyone uses their mobile

240 for? he said sarcastically. When their not filming someone falling off a ladder or crashing their car. He laughed. Dont worry, Penny, all I meant was its probably some lame practical joke. Penny wasnt convinced. But why the eighteen certificate, Simon? Thats why I immediately thought of pornlike I said, probably a dumb practical joke. Simons eyes suddenly opened wide and he paused. Or a bomb, he whispered. Penny scowled and punched him on the arm, Dont say that! I hadnt even thought about that! Simon massaged his bicep and laughed. Dont worry, I was joking. Why on earth would any-one send us a bomb? He reached out and touched Pennys hand. Sorry, I didnt mean to be an asshole. He smiled and looked at the mobile telephone in his hand. Besides, Im sure it wouldve exploded by now. Simon pushed the button marked with a green telephone receiver and the mobile emitted a threenote melody and turned itself on. The screensaver that appeared on the telephones small screen was strangely familiar:

Simon turned the phone towards Penny. Take a look; its the logo from the School of Night. Kind of strange, dontcha' think, considering we were at their library yesterday afternoon. Penny looked at the symbol with suspicion. But why would the School of Night send you a mobile phone? It makes no sense. Theres only one way to find out. Simon began to navigate his way through the telephones various sub-menus. Having found the video file and video clip 01, he placed the mobile on the

241 coffee table and pressed the play button. As he sat back in his seat, the sound of heavy footsteps became audible and the screen displayed a psychedelic lightshow of bright neon blurs and swirling dark shadows. Simon was confused. This isnt porn; it looks like the start of some arty pop video. Any second now and some pretty young men in eyeliner and leather pants are gonna appear and start singing about their girlfriends funeral. He stifled a smile. He didnt want to upset Penny, but he was finding it hard to take it all seriously. Five seconds later, Simons attitude changed dramatically when the camera came to a halt and the inside of a disused garage drew into focus. A single naked light bulb hung from a socket in the centre of the room, its gentle swaying motion casting long shadows on the grimy cinder-block walls, reminding him of the opening titlesequence to that old sixties tv show, what was it called again? Morbid,Callan!. Beneath the pendulating bulb sat the unmistakable figure of Dr Leo Harrison. As the bulb passed briefly over Harrisons head, each time its dim light revealed the thick strip of black electrical tape plastered across his mouth. On its return journey, it illuminated the coils of black tape that bound Harrisons arms and legs to the sturdy wooden chair beneath him. Simons heart sank and he suddenly felt sick. This is no fucking joke this is for real! He turned to Penny, but she failed to react. Her face was pale and she gazed blankly ahead as if unable to comprehend what she was watching. He grabbed her hand and then looked back at the screen. Some three feet to Harrisons left was a large blue paddling pool, its shiny plastic surface decorated with buttercups and daisies. Snaking its way over the side the paddling pool was a garden hose, its yellow plastic nozzle spurting a solid jet of water. The hose was a few inches above the waterline, but at its present flow-rate, the paddling pool would soon be full.

242 This ghastly tableau remained for a few seconds until the cameras operative suddenly engaged the zoom function. Slowly the image shrank until only Harrisons eyes filled the screen, the quivering round saucers staring desperately from behind the shattered lenses of his glasses. The old man was obviously terrified and the camera seemed to relish his anxiety. Simon felt a cold lump in his chest and he swallowed hard. He knows hes going to die, you can see it in his eyes, he goddam knows. He turned to Penny, but again she failed to react. Squeezing her hand, he looked back at the screen. The image had now reverted to a medium shot, the mobiles sophisticated technology rendering, in exquisite digital clarity, Harrisons desperate struggle. It provided perfect natural flesh tones for his bony hands as they strained at his shackles. It accurately represented the deep rich purple of the veins pumping on his forehead. It brought into sharp relief the beads of sweat running down his face. It captured the weave of Harrisons green cardigan as his chest heaved in and out, in and out. It beautifully caught the moment when Harrisons glasses fell from his head and landed in his lap. It compensated for the difficult light conditions to reveal the damp patch between his legs. And, perhaps most impressively, it captured the stark naked terror in his blue-green eyes. Harrison suddenly stopped his efforts and relaxed. He remained with his head on his chest for some time, breathing through his nose, his body convulsing in rapid jerks. Slowly the contractions abated and he lifted his head and began to scan the room. His face looked naked without his glasses, and their loss meant he had to squint as he tracked someone, or something, that lurked off-screen. Simon watched Harrisons eyes move slowly to the right, and then the image on the mobile deteriorated into another series of blurred streaks. Once again, the sound of footsteps was audible until eventually the phone came to rest on a dirty

243 wooden table. From its new vantage point, Harrison, the chair and the paddling pool were now perfectly in-frame. In the time it had taken the camera to adjust to this new position, Harrison had regained some of his strength and was now directing his gaze just above the screen. Tensing his jaw, he threw such a look of hatred and defiance at his torturer it shattered Simons heart. He wont give the bastard the satisfaction. He knows hes going to die but he still wont give the bastard the satisfaction. Simon realised, with deep sorrow, that Dr Leo Harrison was one of the bravest human beings hed ever met. A few seconds later, to Simons utter surprise, a black leather motorcycle boot appeared from the right hand side of the screen and kicked the arm of the chair, the violent impact of the blow launching the heavy piece of furniture sideways, towards the rapidly filling paddling pool. Incredibly, at the moment it seemed as if it were about to topple, Harrison thrust his body in the opposite direction and the chair slammed back down onto all four legs. When it had settled, Harrison began to violently thrash from side to side, the cords in his neck bulging grotesquely as he battled the unyielding coils of electrical tape. With sadistic precision, the motorcycle boot settled on the chairs wooden arm and waited. Tapping along to some unseen rhythm, its owner took their time, until, like some awful black cobra, the boot drew back and lashed out with savage force. However, Harrison was not yet beaten and with another perfectly timed wrench of his body, the indefatigable old man managed to bring himself tumbling back to his original position. Simons heart beat savagely and he found it hard to breath. You goddam magnificent old bastard, break free, you can do itpleasepleaseyou can do it. Harrisons chest heaved with his efforts, and beads of sweat ran down his face, yet still he struggled, his adrenaline-fuelled contortions lifting the legs of the chair from the floor with their fury. Taking this as a cue, the boot rested on the arm of the chair, its weight forcing its victim to

244 stop his thrashing. For a long terrible moment, all was still. The exhausted Harrison slumped in his seat, his chin resting heavily on his chest. The motorcycle boot perched on the arm of the chair casually waiting. With obvious effort, Harrison lifted his head and turned to the right. Still undaunted, he glared at his tormentor, his eyes blazing with incandescent, furious, relentless, defiance. As if in reply, the boot tapped the arm of the chair three times, and slowly drew back until it had disappeared completely from the screen. Simon held his breath. Maybe thats it. Maybe the sadistic motherfucker will leave him alone now. Even the cameras 10 billion mega pixels could not compensate for the velocity and strength of the final kick, the best it could manage was to render the motorcycle boot as a charcoal smudge, a complete blur as it lashed back onto the screen. The outcome of the powerful blow, however, it had no difficulty capturing, and it faithfully recorded every individual drop of water that cascaded over the side of the collapsing paddling pool as Harrison and the chair toppled into it. The inbuilt microphone even did a respectable job of recording the sickening thud, followed by the huge splash. Mercifully, however technically sophisticated, the mobile could not, as yet, read Harrisons mind. Despite the heavy fall, Harrison remained firmly secured to the chair. The hose was still running, and enough of the paddling pools structure remained to collect a small reservoir of water forcing Harrison to strain his head away from the rising tide. The camera simply documented his predicament, its circuitry not caring whether it filmed a newborn baby or a dying man, rendering each as perfect as the other with its beautiful, terrible clarity.

245 Suddenly the camera tilted forwards and the screen went black. For the third time, the sound of heavy footsteps was audible until eventually the camera flipped back to its original position and automatically refocused on Harrison. Adjusting for the lighting conditions in moments, it perfectly captured the vibrant green of the garden hose that now draped across Harrisons head. It seemed to contrast beautifully with the silver-grey streaks of hair plastered across his face by the force of the water. Simon sobbed involuntarily and blinked back tears. He wont give in, he wont givein. Simon knew he was wrong. Harrison could not win this battle and he watched in helpless horror as the old man began to tire. Eventually his head stopped turning and his body began to convulse as the water forced its way down his nose and deep into his lungs. A few seconds later, he was dead. Penny leaped to her feet, her hand in front of her mouth, and stumbled to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind her, she left Simon staring at the mobiles tiny screen, its final image now mercifully blurred by his hot tears. As he cried, Simon relentlessly clenched and unclenched his fists, his bitter sorrow beginning to catalyze into a terrible rage. No one deserved to die like that, alone and terrified, no one deserved to die like that, like a tortured fucking animal. Oh, Leo, Im sorry, Im so, so sorry. Suddenly, the sound of running water gave way to a voice, its deep inhuman baritone obviously electronically distorted or disguised in someway. Good morning, Doctor Fry, the voice announced. Or might I call you Simon? it continued in a polite conversational manner. As a medical man I have no need to inform you Dr Harrison is quite dead, the elderly are so frail dont you find? Yet they can still often surprise us with the agility of their minds. Unfortunately, the good doctor, despite being a rather clever individual, was also quite a stubborn one. We delivered clear and unequivocal warnings. He chose to ignore

246 them. Just as your recently departed Unc- Penny returned from the bathroom dabbing her eyes with a tissue. What the fucks happening now? she demanded, unable to hide her fear. Simon waved her over to the sofa. Its a message from the killer, Penny, listen, he said in a frantic whisper. Shock to us all Simon, the voice continued. What makes an individual proceed down a path they know to be fraught with danger? Courage, moral certitude, or is it just plain hubris? Your Uncle Nicolas was, at heart, a selfish individual, as in the case of Dr. Harrison, he received plain and unequivocal warnings. Unfortunately, like Dr. Harrison, he chose to ignore them. We hope that you will both prove not to be so obtuse. You have witnessed the consequences of displeasing us and now you must make a decision. Do allow us, however, to make that decision somewhat less taxing. Over the last few days, we have been observing your movements and have managed to obtain quite an impressive array of D.N.A. based evidence from you both. Suffice to say, enough to implicate yourself and Ms. Marshall in any number of criminal acts, such as the recent death of Dr. Harrison for instance, or the tragic demise of your Aunt and Uncle. Believe me when I tell you we have numerous operatives working within the law enforcement agencies and the detection of your genetic material at a crime scene would not be a difficult matter to arrange. The voice paused, in order to let the full implication of its words sink in. Of course, we do not want to engage in any unnecessary unpleasantness, for, despite all you have just witnessed. We are not monsters. We therefore have a proposition for you, Simon, and for you, Penny. Penny stifled a sob and clutched Simons hand. You have certain documents, papers and notebooks in your possession and of course a small gold ring. We simply require you deliver them to us. That is all. Once we have these materials, you can both return to your uneventful lives. With the proviso, if either of you were to mention, or otherwise discuss, any of the things you have discovered, dear sweet Penny will become the

247 victim of a rather nasty and quite fatal accident. Simons squeezed Pennys hand and Penny squeezed back. This offer is not negotiable. If you contact the authorities, existing evidence will disappear and new evidence put in its place. This new evidence would of course reveal itself to be highly incriminating for you both. Furthermore, should either of you be tempted to go the press or to the media, you will live the rest of your exceedingly short lives in fear. Those are your options The voice fell silent leaving Penny and Simon to concentrate on the tiny screen as it continued to show Dr. Harrisons body. Water cascaded over his frozen features, one forever-open eye staring balefully from beneath scraggily strands of hair. If you are still watching, the voice continued, here are your instructions. By precisely 02:30 p.m. this afternoon, you will have made your way to the booking office for the Millennium Wheel on the South Bank. You will then go to the Pre-paid Ticket Collection desk and collect two tickets booked for you under the name of Mr. And Mrs. Abiff. Printed on the tickets are your individual cabin numbers. Go to your numbered cabins and once you are aboard, Simons mobile telephone will ring and he will receive our final instructions. We request Penny deposits the documents, the gold ring and of course, this mobile telephone into a bag and leave it under the bench in her cabin where one of our operatives will collect it later. On that simple note, our transaction concludes and we will never bother you again. You have heard our terms; it is now up to you to decide what course of action you will take. Choose wisely. With that, the screen flickered and went black. Penny looked at Simon, her eyes wide with fear. Oh my god was thatI cant believe, she stammered. Simon drew closer and took her in his arms. As she buried her head in his chest, he began to kiss the top of her head. Its okay, Penny, its okay, were safe, he whispered, but it sounded like a hollow mantra.

248

~
Penny sipped at the large glass of brandy Simon had poured them both. Was it real? she whispered, not wanting to know the answer. Ive never seen a dea Penny dragged her hair from her face to reveal the features of a frightened little girl. She looked at Simon. Oh Jesus, Si, Im so scared. Simon took her hand. Dont worry were safe here, he said quietly, were safe here. He let the words sink in, hoping they would calm her down. He was certain she wasnt going to like his next suggestion and he wanted her rational not pumping on fear. Penny let go of his hand and reached for her glass on the table. Taking a large gulp, she offered a weak smile. Considering this as a good sign Simon revealed what he thought they must do. Weve got to go to the cops with this, Penny, he said flatly. Penny nearly dropped her glass. But you heard him; theyve got people inside the police, she wailed. The voice said theyve been watching us for days. He knew she would be upset, but he had to vocalize his thoughts. That doesnt mean its true. Maybe he was lying. Maybe the whole we thing is just a ruse, when in fact its just some lone nut. Penny couldnt believe what she was hearing. That doesnt make it any better! And youre forgetting about the logo on the mobiles screensaver, what was that, another coincidence?

249 Simon was as scared as Penny, but he knew they had to remain calm. They had to think this through and not let blind panic dictate their decision. Too often in his career, he had seen it lead to the disaster. Again, maybe its just part of the scam, he said calmly. Penny took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. But how can we be sure, Simon? If its true, and they do have people in the police well be setting ourselves up for murder, or even worse, theyll kill us! She moved closer and took Simons hand. Please, lets just give them the stuff if thats all they want. Simons features contorted into a mask of rage and he stormed to his feet. We cant just ignore murder, Penny! he shouted. The sonofabitch killed Leo in cold blood and filmed it for our pleasure. He also implied he killed Harriet and Nicolas. What makes you think we can trust a sick bastard like that? He threw the words like icy daggers, his bitter, impotent fury etched across his face. When he had finished he suddenly realised what he had done. He wasnt mad at Penny, he was mad at God, or Buddha, or Mohammad, or Jesus, or Rama, or fucking Krishna, or anyone who believed in anything more than two simple facts. We are born alone, and we die alone. Simon had never been a nihilist, but tonight he had faced a terrible reality. He had encountered death in his career, often in the most tragic circumstances, but he had never before witnessed such a brutal demonstration of the monolithic disinterest and utter futility of existence. Harrison had been systematically tortured and then drowned. There was no last minute reprieve, no divine intervention, only the inexorable and steady passage of time. The electricity kept flowing into the sockets, gravity continued to exert its influence, the earth still went around the moon, and the sun still burned in the sky. Nothing had changed except the fact Dr Leo Harrison had ceased to exist. Simon blinked back his tears and looked at Penny. She caught his gaze and flinched before

250 turning her head away. Oh, Jesus, Penny, he said sitting back down. He reached out his hand for her arm but she moved it away. Please, Penny, Im sorry, please honey forgive me. It wasnt you; Im lashing out because youre the only one hereI just want to kill the sonofabitch who made that video. He heard his voice rising and he sighed. Im sorry if I scared you. Penny looked at Simon for a long moment and then reached out her hand. Simon took it and together they sat in silence. Oh Jesus, Leo, not all the rain in the world will wash away the memory, and I swear, if I ever get a chance, Ill kill the sonofabitch. Penny gently cleared her throat. I know how you feel, Simon, that was the most disgusting thing Ive ever seen and I want the bastard who did to fucking pay. She sighed. But, Im terrified; you saw what they did to Leo. These people are sadistic and clever. Simon looked confused. Think about it, Penny continued, all they have to do is put Leo in his bath and its a suicide. What about the marks on his arms and his legs, Penny? Simon countered. That tape was pretty wide, it wasnt rope or wire, Simon, and it was all the way up his legs and arms. I bet there wont even be any marks. No, these people are clever. He didnt want to admit it, but Simon realised Penny was right. He rubbed at the itchy dressing on his thigh and shook his head. So what the fuck are we going to do? Hes meeting us on the London Eye, its one of the most popular tourist spots in London. Theres no way he can attempt anything and hope to get away with it, not with all those witnesses. Simon exhaled sharply through his nose. He detested the idea they should capitulate and give the killers what they wanted. Please, Simon, Penny pleaded, we can download the video from the mobile to a memory stick, and weve made our own notes, after, if you still want to, then we can go to the police. Yeah, Simon growled, and if hes telling the truth, and they do have contacts with the cops,

251 youre right, well be signing our own death warrants. Jesus, Penny, were screwed. Grabbing his glass from the coffee table, he swallowed a large mouthful of brandy. It looks like uncle Nicholas was on to something after all, he said bitterly. Taking one of the black notebooks from the table, he flipped through its pages. Who wouldve thought the contents of this would be worth killing for? Im so scared, Simon, Penny whispered. What are we going to do? Simon glanced at his watch. Seems weve only one choice, he said decisively. Its mid-day, which leaves us a couple of hours before our rendezvous. Lets make a copy of the video for insurance purposes and then go deliver the package like the good citizens we are. Pennys face flushed with relief. Thank you, she said kissing Simon on his cheek. I just want this to be over with and go back to my boring old life. Simon raised his glass in salute at the sentiment before draining the remaining liquor in one hefty gulp.

252

Chapter Eighteen
Turn, Beatrice, o turn your holy eyes upon your faithful onewho, that he might see you, has come so far. Out of your grace, do us this grace; unveil your lips to him, so that he may discern the second beauty you have kept concealed. Dante Alighieri. The Divine Comedy Canto XXXI, Purgatorio

Hi, Im here to collect two tickets booked under the name Abiff, Simon said smiling politely. Certainly sir, said the pretty female clerk from behind a smoked-glass window marked Pre Paid Ticket Collection. Enjoy your flight, she trilled passing the tickets to Simon through the small gap at the bottom of the window. We sure will, he assured her. Nice tan, maybe just a shade too orange for my liking. Making their way through the crowded booking hall, Simon and Penny emerged onto a rain swept South Bank and turned towards the imposing Millennium Wheel.

253 Buttoning his overcoat to the collar, Simon tilted his head and looked up at the thousands of tons of steel and glass that towered in front of him. Making a swift calculation, he counted sixty-four huge cables that stretched across the circle, giving the impression of spokes on a giants bicyclewheel. At the wheels hub sat an enormous steel tube, which formed the spacer that held the spokes apart enabling the cables to hold the rim tight to the central spindle. Around the circumference of the structure was an interlaced band of steel braces that formed the wheels rim. Attached to these bands were a series of tubular glass cabins that afforded a panoramic view of the city as the wheel completed its almost imperceptible revolution. Thats some feat of engineering, Simon marvelled genuinely impressed. Sorry, but Im not in the mood for sightseeing, Penny muttered gloomily. Simon offered a brief thumbs-up. Dont worry, hone, this will all be over soon. Penny obviously wasnt convinced. Lets just get on with it can we? What cabins are we in? Simon took the tickets from his coat pocket and read the information printed on the front. This one is booked under the name of Mr. Abiff for cabin number sixteen, and this one is for Mrs. Abiff, cabin number twenty-three. So, presumably, this ones mine, and this ones yours. He handed Penny her ticket. Right, lets get this over with, she replied with a brave smile Simon returned her smile with one of his own. Like you said, this is a highly public place, nothing can happen. Well just hand over the envelope and enjoy the view. He glanced up at the leaden clouds and the rain. Or not, he muttered. Thats easy for you to say, Im the one with the stuff in my bag, Penny reminded him sharply. He could be anyone. She indicated to the milling crowd. He might be next to us right now and we wouldnt know. Simon reached out his arm and rubbed Pennys shoulder. He wont try a thing, believe me, he said with confidence. Hes going to ring my cell; he probably wont even be in the same part of London. Youll just drop the stuff under the seat and hang out until the rides through.

254 Dont worry, he said looking into Pennys eyes. Believe me; they wont try a thing in broaddaylight, not in such a crowded place. Take a look around you. Simon indicated to the small cameras above their heads attached to the lampposts. Were caught on CCTV the whole time, theres nothing they can do. Penny took a deep breath. Youre right, Im getting the jitters thats all. Like you said, Ill just leave the stuff under the bench and enjoy the view. Simon nodded. Piece of cake, he grinned. Taking Pennys hand, the couple mounted the stairs to the large platform from which the passengers boarded their cabins. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, Simon counted aloud as the glass-booths slowly glided past. Okay, this is me, he said. Ill see you in thirty-minutes. Penny looked small and vulnerable but she offered a wan smile. Dont worry hone, Simon reassured her. Ill be fine, you go, she said bravely. Simon waited for a motley-collection of tourists, mainly small children and their parents, to barge past him and then entered his cabin. See you soon, he mouthed from inside the glass booth as the doors slid closed and the capsule began its slow perambulation. Sitting on the polished wooden bench at the centre of the cabin, he removed his mobile phone from a pocket in his overcoat and noted the time was 02:37p.m. Getting to his feet, he walked across the gondola and looked out of the window. Down below Penny was boarding her cabin along with its other passengers. After a few seconds, the doors slid closed and her capsule moved gently away. The sound of his mobile phone interrupted Simons vigil. Flipping open the lid he put it to his ear. Hello Good afternoon, Simon, said the voice from the video. May we say how pleased we are with

255 your choice of action, however, regretfully, the voice hesitated for a moment, circumstances have changed dramatically since we last conversed and unfortunately drastic measures must now be taken. In the light of these new developments, we have decided to set you a final task, a test if you will. Try to view it as an initiation ritual, or perhaps a romantic quest, for it involves dear, sweet, Penny. You have become quite close to your cousin over the last few days have you not, the voice teased, she is such a remarkable young woman, witty, intelligent, and of course beautiful. Any man could not fail to notice these things, so do not allow yourself to feel guilty over your affections, even if you are still, technically, married. Moreover, the fact she is a bloodrelative, a cousin, should also not deter you. For who can foretell the vagaries of love, that most fickle, yet universal of emotions? Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, as the poet once remarked. As a rational man of science, of course, you have a quite different viewpoint I am sure. For, has one of your colleagues not scientifically proven love to be a mere collection of hormones and endorphins, a biological con trick that simply enables us to form a pair bond long enough to procreate? Love is a drug and Oxytocin is thy name, and woe, how the poets wail in opprobrium, but who listens to poets in this day and age? Modern Western science is, by definition, founded upon such reductio absurdium. Human beings reduced to biological-machines, driven by mindless evolutionary imperatives, with no place for the soul. Thus, by extension, we live mechanical, soulless lives; imprisoned in mechanical, soulless machines we call societies. Nevertheless, tell me Simon, when you save the life of a single child is your soul not touched by the majesty of each individual human existence. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! Yet for most of your colleagues, we are nought but the quintessence of dust. No matter, your moment is at hand O true apothecary. If you continue to look out of your cabin, you will see Penny. You will notice she has her back

256 turned and her hand placed to her ear. This is because she is currently listening to a pre-recorded message on the mobile telephone we sent to you. The message will finish in exactly seven and ahalf minutes. When it has come to its conclusion, a transmitted signal will detonate the small amount of C4 plastic explosive encased within the telephone. Although the bomb is comparatively small, its effect, I can assure you, will be quite devastating in the close confines of the glass booth. The voice paused, letting the words settle. When it was sure, Simon had had time to visualize their meaning it continued. Your mission, should you wish to accept it, is straightforward. First, you must make your way out of your cabin using the emergency hatch situated in the roof above your head. Next, you must climb the maintenance ladder. Using the ladder, you must then make your way to Pennys cabin and retrieve and dispose of the mobile phone. You are in cabin number sixteen; Penny is in cabin number twenty-three. You therefore have seven minutes to reach her. Seven cabins, seven minutes, good luck, Simon. But, you said we could go free We lied. Simons face contorted with rage. Motherfucker! he screamed hurling his phone violently across the cabin. His fellow passengers looked startled and one or two shuffled across to the opposite side of the booth. Someone muttered the word Muslim. Someone else said, Has he got a rucksack? Simon shook his head and ignored them. Moving aside a little girl who had burst into tears at his violent outburst, he stood on the wooden bench in the centre of the cabin and pulled open the emergency hatch in the roof. Instantly the capsule filled with the thunderous roar of the wind outside and a large man with an

257 unruly mop of ginger hair approached Simon his face a mask of rage. Oi, Mate! Get your ands offa my fuckkin daughter, he demanded. What the fuck do you think youre doin? He was big and he was angry, but for once Simon didnt care. From the vantage point of the wooden bench, he turned on the burly figure, his eyes wide and electric. Theres a goddam bomb in cabin number twenty-three, so perhaps someone would be so kind as to call the cops! he bellowed. Meanwhile, Im going outside to fall to my certain death, so believe me, Im not in the mood for fucking heroes! It was obvious the man was not expecting such a verbal barrage, (certainly not one that contained the words bomb and certain death), and he reached frantically into his pocket. Fuck, all right mate, keep your hair-on, he spluttered. Ill ring the Old Bill. Preciate it, bud, you have a nice day now, Simon said with a manic grin. Removing his overcoat, Simon took his gloves from a pocket. Dropping the coat to the ground, he guided his hands into the tight black leather and looked up at the emergency exit above his head. Ok, now remember what Coach used to tell you, if youd actually bothered to listen and not spent gym class practicing how to belch, onomatopoeia, something about exhaling when you benchpressed, and getting sand in his foreskin when he was fighting in Okinawa. Not really gonna help, is it? Ah, fuck it. Flexing his arms and shoulders, Simon crouched down, took a deep breath, and sprang into the air. Grabbing the side of the hatch, he swung his legs, and with a grunt of effort, managed to pull himself up and out onto the rain-slicked roof. Not bad after all these years, heres to your foreskin, coach. The wind at this height was an icy hurricane that battered Simon with such force it threatened to tear him from the roof. Simon screamed and dropped to his knees. Grovelling on his stomach, he

258 grabbed one of the metal handholds that ran the circumference of the cabin with both hands and held on for dear life. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh Jesus, oh shit! I wont even make it across the roof. Winds too strong dont have a chance. His fingers gripping the steel loop, Simon lowered his head and took a series of deep breaths. Exhaling slowly through his nose, he eventually regained some control of his panic. You either get off your belly and move, or lie here and wait for the loud bang, your choice. Yeaah, and thats no choice at all. With a final intake of oxygen, he shook the rain from his face and began to crawl along the glass roof, towards the cabins curved rim. Reaching the edge, he looked over and his stomach shrank. He was not, he thought, afraid of heights, but that was perhaps because he had never attempted to lower himself over the side of a slippery glass booth, three hundred feet above the ground, in a force 9 gale. Simons testicles shriveled, as did his mind, and he went numb inside and out. Frozen, he simply stared at the ground far below. To his left, were the murky brown waters of the Thames, forded a small distance ahead by a redbrick railway bridge flanked by two cable-stayed pedestrian bridges that shared the same foundation piers. To his right, the railway bridge curved slightly as it made its way into Waterloo Station, while directly below ran the concrete causeway that followed the contours of the river. Off into the distance, he could see the grey concrete bunker that was the Royal Festival Hall, and beyond that Waterloo Bridge, its span packed with cars and buses. The rest of the horizon was lost in a mist of shrouding precipitation. Thats it, no chance, too high, no chance, no chance, no chance, no chance, no chance, no cha A sudden gust of wind threw a wall of rain into his face, the sharp icy needles wrenching Simon

259 violently from his catatonia. Shaking the freezing water from his head, he blinked rapidly as the shock of the blast cleared his mind. Just concentrate on each handhold one at a time and dont look down. If this was five feet from the ground, itd be a piece of cake. Its only five feetits only five feetits only five feet. Edging back from the rim, he manoeuvred his body round on the slippery glass roof, until he was facing in the opposite direction. Taking one last look at the sanctuary of the open safety hatch, and knowing he would probably be dead in a few seconds, he put his foot in one of the metal loops and began to lower himself over the side of the cabin. Its only five feet, its only five feet, its only five feet. Forcing his feet into the loops, he gripped with his hands and slowly began to descend towards the thick steel struts that made up the outer rim of the Wheel. Its only five feetits only five feetits only five feet. Except, of course it wasnt, it was closer to four hundred feet and the wind was a giants fist that delivered pulverizing body-blows, great sweeping roundhouse punches encased in a glove of ice. The sound was deafening, a continual bellowing roar that resonated to the marrow and threatened to tear Simons clothes from his body. He had never experienced such terror in his life, it was as if he had put his hand into an electrical socket, he felt like some huge Van Der Graaf generator, his whole body arcing with adrenaline. Fight or flight fight or flight fight or flight. Simon saw Harrison tied to a chair, his eyes blazing with defiance. Fight. His heart pounding, he lowered himself down until he reached the large round strut beneath him. Gingerly, he put his foot onto its rain-slicked surface and still gripping the side of cabin took a series of deep breaths. The construction of the wheel meant he would have to crouch down and then reach out for one of

260 the smaller struts that crossed the steel latticework. From this precarious position, he would have to lower himself and then drop onto the ladder. Once inside the latticeworks steel-frame, he should be relatively safe but as he descended, the angle would become steeper and more dangerous. At least its not windy and the rain held off. Taking a final lung full of oxygen, he crouched down and reached for the cross-strut with his lefthand, his body stretched across the narrow gap. He now had to relinquish his grip with his right hand whilst turning to the left. Counting to three, he let go on two and lunged. Shit, shitshit! His fingers clutching like the talons of a hawk, he managed to grab a hold as his legs collided on the strut below him. Ignoring the sharp pain, he lifted his legs and planted his feet firmly on the wet steel. Theres the ladder, sweet Jesus theres the ladder. His hands gripping the strut above and his shoes slipping on the strut below Simon inched along until he was at the corner of the steel-lattice at the point where the gondola attached to the wheels immense rim. Moving forty-five degrees to the right, he reluctantly transferred his grip to the larger strut that made up the rim and shuffled along a few paces until he had positioned himself directly above the maintenance ladder. With his goal in sight, he took a deep breath and dropped towards it. For just a brief second Simon experienced the terrifying sensation of falling into space until he hit the ladder with an impact that drove the breath from his body. Badly winded, he wrapped his arms through a rung and hung on. Oh shit, that was close, oh shit, oh shit, five feet, five feet, five feet. The wind tore at his body, driving sharp needles of rain into his eyes, and soon Simons gloved

261 hands began to numb from their contact with the freezing steel. All the while, a frantic voice told him he would never make it in time if he continued at this pace. Shaking the water from his head, he looked at the growing crowd of spectators gathered on the pavement hundreds of feet below. The gangs all here Simon thought he could see their expression as they craned their faces up towards him; it was a mixture of excitement and anticipation. I bet thats what the crowd used to look like in the Arena just before they released the lions. Suddenly furious at the mob, Simon placed his waterlogged shoes onto a rung and began to descend the ladder. Thats it, you keep gawping; just dont forget to cover your childrens eyes as I rupture like a rotten melon hitting the tarmac. Anger coursing through his veins, he reached cabin number seventeen the gondolas bright interior packed with passengers grabbing for their mobile-phones, which they eagerly thrust in Simons direction. No one calls the cops, but plenty record the moment for posterity. After all, some douche-bag plunging to their death will get a few million hits on You-Tube. Well, not today you rubber-necking motherfuckers. Fired-on by his indignation, he climbed past the cabin, stifling the absurd urge to wave as he descended past the windows. Dont worry; Ill smile for the camera. This time tomorrow, Ill be the biggest viral on the Net as millions of bored office workers and stoned teenagers repeatedly watch me plummet. Woaah dude, that guy actually bouncedSmoke a bowl? Simon stopped moving and looked at his wristwatch. Amazingly, it was still working despite the glass dial being shattered, presumably from the

262 impact of his fall onto the ladder. Reading the hands beneath the filigree of tiny cracks, he estimated that at least two minutes had passed. He knew he would never make it unless he drastically increased his speed. Keeping a tight grip of the ladder, he looked down. Its not perpendicular but curved to run flush with the circumference of the wheel, so slide down a couple of rungs and the curvature should mean a rung would always be beneath you. At least that was the theory. Gripping the outside of the ladder with his hands and feet, Simon dropped two rungs and then clasped his fingers around the cold steel. He came to a halt with a jolt, but it was nothing compared to the impact of his previous fall. Okay, wasnt so bad, as long as I stop having this heart attack. Taking a number of deep breaths, he continued to step down the ladder before gripping its sides and dropping two more rungs. He had successfully completed the manoeuvre four or five times in a row when cabin number-eighteen loomed into view, its gawping occupants diligently capturing the drama on their mobile phones. Simon ignored them and continued on his way. However, five cabins remained and time was running out. Glancing down, he realised his only option was to increase the number of rungs he dropped before catching hold of the ladder. It was risky, but it would dramatically increase his speed. He had no choice. Fuelled on by adrenalin, he let go of the ladder and then brought himself to a juddering halt. Ignoring the pain across his back and shoulders, he took a deep breath and carried on. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. He began to fall into something of a rhythm, his arms and legs working in synchronised unison.

263 Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Suddenly his numb hands failed to grip and he fell, the ladders rungs flying past his face at frightening speed, his gloved fingers desperately clutching nothing but thin air. He heard a banshee howl above the roar of the wind and realised the sound was coming from his own lips and it was only pure instinct that allowed him to finally grasp a handhold and bring himself to an arm wrenching halt. Oh, shit, oh Jesus, oh shit, oh Jesus, oh, shit, Oh Jesus, oh, shit, oh Jesus, oh, shit, oh Jesus Only dimly, could he hear the horrified screams from the cabin below over the pounding of his heart and his vision began to flicker like a broken computer monitor, bright flashes of static in sea of monochrome. Cant pass - out cant pass out Drawing in great lungs full of freezing air, he planted his feet on a rung and held on tight. After a few seconds, the dizziness passed and he felt sure he would remain conscious. Oh, shit that was close that was close that was close that was close that was close Simon allowed the icy rainwater to clear his head and then looked down. The ladder was beginning to get steeper as the angle of the wheel increased, but he held his breath and forced his gloved hands to relinquish their vice-like grip. This time, perhaps six or seven rungs passed his face before he grabbed the slippery metal, his arms and torso screaming in pain. Taking a deep breath, he carried on. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Soon the roof of cabin number twenty was below his feet and he hurried past its gawping

264 occupants as fast as his battered body would carry him. As he passed the gondola, he spotted a little girl at the window standing next to her horrified parents. She had a bright yellow balloon in her hand and she was pointing at Simon and waving. The smile on her face was warm and friendly and her happy expression said, look at the funny man, Mummy, hes going to fly. Simon offered her a rictus grin. Dont worry kid, when I fall itll wipe the smile of your face. Ignoring his adoring public, he continued on his way. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. Slide hold step step step hold. The expensive leather of his gloves was now tattered and torn, the fingers on his right hand poking through the soft Italian calfskin. A sharp pain was coursing down his leg and he thought he could feel blood oozing from the wound in his thigh. Dont know how much more I can take, Coach, was it like this in Japan? Simon suddenly remembered the morning after Gym when he and a group of his classmates had pestered the Coach about his war days. They normal never broached the subject but for once, he seemed in a relatively good mood so Simon couldnt resist. Expecting the usual tales of infected bladders and virulent sexual diseases, Simon had been shocked when the old mans face went rigid and his jaw had tightened. Taking his time, hed turned to Simon and smiled. It was such a bitter smile Simon had never forgotten it. Then he opened his mouth. You wanna know about the War, son? he hissed. Simon could smell his coffee breath. Okay, let me tell you about the war. We landed on the island at 7:46 a.m., me, and 5,000 of my fellow Marines, by 8:03 a.m. I was one of only 800 left alive. The next three days we spent on the beach pinned down by mortar, snipers, and heavy ordnance, by the end of the fourth day, we were down to less than 200 men.

265 Simon remembered how the Coachs eyes had narrowed and how hed grinned. It was a terrible grin. That night the Japs attacked. I was in a shell hole with my buddies Jerry and Tony when they came pouring over the edge screaming, their eyes wide and their bayonets fixed. Tony, the crazy wop bastard, dived across me as the tip of a bayonet lunged and he took it in the chest, his blood spurting from his mouth like a hot geyser into my face. The Jap was attempting to pull his bayonet out of Tonys ribs when I shot him in the head, the back of his skull exploding his brains across his comrades. Emptying the rest of the magazine into their approaching bodies, I threw Tony away and reached for the combat knife in my boot. Meanwhile Jerry was grappling with another Jap who was trying to shoot him with his rifle, but the big Irish lug had stepped in and was attempting to wrench the weapon from the terrified Jap's dirty yellow hands. Before I could reach him, another Jap swung a long samurai sword and severed Jerrys head from his shoulders, his thick arterial blood arcing perhaps six or seven feet. As his head flew through the air, I could see he had a look of total surprise on his face, as if he was only just realizing what had happened. His head landed in the sand and then crushed beneath the boot of the Jap with the sword as he ran towards me. Throwing my knife, I got him right between the eyes and he staggered forwards and fell to his knees. Wrenching the sword from his dead hands, I got to my feet and began to hack at the wall of Japs in front of me, severing arms and legs and hands and necks. Finally, the sword jammed in the front of someones skull and I was swamped. As I went down under the bastards, I reached for the grenade on my belt. Feeling the sharp edges of a knife enter my back I pulled the pin and waited. The coach had stopped talking and slowly lifted his t-shirt. Simon could still see the mass of livid white scars and deep pockmarks that riddled his chest and stomach. You dont even wanna see my balls, he whispered. Oddly, the subject of the war hadnt come up for the rest of the semester. Simon stopped himself. He was punch drunk, his exhausted brain rambling down paths and alleyways seemingly not, of his own choosing.

266 He had to concentrate. He wasnt prepared to let Penny die at the whim of a sadistic psychopath who hed already seen murder one of his friends on film. And filmed it for our fucking viewing pleasure! If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this programme, a helpline has been set up to take your calls. Just ring 09000 My-friends-have-been-tortured-and-murdered. smiled grimly, shook the freezing rain from his eyes, and then released his grip on the ladder. Reaching out to stop himself, he mistimed it badly, his frozen brain allowing him to drop too far, too fast. As he fell, he caught his right foot in a rung, viciously twisting his ankle, but this only momentarily slowed his descent, and on he plunged, his hands desperately clutching for the ladder. He bellowed in pain as his injured foot jammed on the ladder for a second time, but somehow he managed to grab a rung before his chin connected with the steel, forcing his mouth closed with a vicious snap. Simons vision became a static sheet of brilliant white and his hearing filtered down to a thin whine that grew in pitch and volume. He was going to pass out. PennyNo, you bastardnot, this timePennynotnot again. His mouth dropped open, warm blood brimming down his chin. Probing with his tongue, he discovered the jagged-edge of a broken molar. Thrusting his tongue it into the wound, he touched the exposed nerve and screamed in pain. Not thinking he did it again with even more vigour. The action had the desired effect, the agony enabling his vision to clear sufficiently for him to wrap his arms securely around the ladder. Ignoring his injuries, he gripped tight and waited for the whining in his ears to subside. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he was appalled to see a large chunk of tooth tumble into the rain. Jesus the dentalbill alone forthislittletrip He

267 The thought was so absurd he almost laughed. As his head cleared, he took his bearings. Cabin number twenty-two was now only fifteen or so rungs below him, but the angle of the ladder had increased dramatically and the wind threatened at any moment to pitch him screaming into the void. Shaking the rain from his eyes, he glanced at his watch and noted the time was 02:52 p.m. Unlessitsbroken He squinted at the watches little hand. It was still moving. That leaves less than a minute! Im never going to make it. Simon let go of the rung he was holding and dropped. Turning his feet out so as not to catch his injured ankle, he had to grab a hold of the ladder with his only his hands, the impact of the manoeuvre almost wrenching his arms from their sockets, but after two more grueling freefalls, cabin number twenty-two was above him and Pennys cabin some fifteen feet below. From his vantage point, he could see the faces of the cabins occupants huddled around the windows. Standing in the middle of the crowd was Penny, the deadly telephone still clutched in her right hand. She, like everyone else, looked stunned. The sight of her spurred Simon to one last desperate feat of endurance. Without thinking, he turned his body towards the latticework of steel struts that held Pennys cabin attached to the wheel and jumped. He landed with bone-jarring force but managed to wrap his arms and legs around the largest strut and hung there like an ape. ThinkIve broken a ribmaybe twojust hang onjusthangon Pennys cabin was now directly ahead, while above him and to his right were the rectangular metal handholds that led to the emergency hatch on its roof. Forcing his battered body to move, he pulled himself along the length of wide strut until he

268 reached the corner joint where the booth attached to the wheel. Stretching out his hand, he clutched the first loop, and with the last of his strength, pulled himself into a crouch and balanced on his haunches. Grabbing the first handhold, he reached for the second and slowly began to haul himself up the side of the cabin. As he climbed, he attempted to shout a warning, but all he could manage was a feeble whisper instantly torn from his lips and swept away in the storm. Penny continued to stare blankly out of the window as if she were watching a car crash. Its going to explode! Any second its going to explode! Dragging his body over the rim of the booth Simon crawled across its roof and began to slam the heel of his uninjured foot down onto the emergency hatch. Come on you motherfucker, come on! After a number of heavy blows, the panel fell inwards and forcing his numbed brain to cooperate, he opened his mouth and screamed. Give me the mobile, Penny, its a fucking bomb! Hearing the words, Penny snapped out of her daze and glanced at the telephone in her hand. Throw it, Penny, throw it! Penny stared at the mobile, her eyes wide with fear, and then threw the device up through the hole in the roof. Simon caught it in his right hand, and with one fluid motion, hurled it into the sky, where it spun, end over end, before plunging into the murky brown waters of the Thames.

269

Chapter Nineteen
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look, He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Julius Caesar Act I, scene(ii) lines 190195

The polished stainless-steel sign outside New Scotland Yard revolved slowly in the rain, meanwhile, deep inside the bowels of the building itself, Simon and Penny were being questioned about the dramatic events of earlier that afternoon. The time is 03:47p.m., on Friday the 22nd of December 2007, intoned Detective Inspector Corbett leaning into a small microphone that sat on the desk in front of him. This is the formal interview of Doctor Simon Fry, he continued. Present are Policewoman Constable Ellis, Detective Sergeant Lowson, and myself, Detective Inspector Corbett. The suspect has been informed of his rights and has declined the presence of a lawyer to assist him. Corbett, a burly, middle-aged man with a smoothly-shaved head, turned to Simon and asked, Doctor Fry, good afternoon, could you explain to us, if you would be so kind, the exact circumstances that led to you clambering around the London Eye, shouting about bombs? Simon nodded his head wearily, Corbett obviously thought himself something of a wit.

270 Inspector, as I already explained to your colleague, he said indicating to the tall black police officer sitting on Corbetts left. Note the suspect indicated to Detective Sergeant Lowson, clarified Corbett into the microphone. Sorry, doctor, do please continue. As I already explained, this morning, Penny and I- That would be Miss Penny Marshall, is that correct? Yeaah, thats correct, Penny and I received a package this morning at our hotel in Knightsbridge. That would be The Mandarin Oriental Hotel? Thats correct; we received a package delivered by a motorcycle courier. And what did this courier look like? Thats the thing; the desk clerk said he didnt remove his helmet, so we have no idea. I see, did the clerk mention if they spoke with a particular accent? No, he merely handed over the package and left. And what time would this have been? The clerk said it was real early, four or five a.m., youd have to check with him. And what did you do with the package? We opened it in the lobby thinking it might be from our friend Leo Harrison. That would be Dr. Leo Harrison the proprietor of Biblion, a bookshop in Davies Street, correct? Correct. We, that is, Penny Marshall and I, travelled to London with Dr. Harrison yesterday afternoon in Pennys car. We arranged to meet in his shop to view a Tudor diary my late Uncle Nicolas had found, Corbett glanced momentarily at the open file that sat on the desk in front of him. That would be Nicolas Fry, who committed suicide alongside his wife, Harriet, last Wednesday, is that correct? he said. Correct, Simon said quietly. He bequeathed his research and notes to Dr Harrison in his will.

271 I see, Corbett nodded. Simon continued. Uncle Nicolas believed the diary was written by one of our ancestors, a Doctor Edmund Fry and thats why Penny and I wanted to see it. However, when we arrived at Harrisons shop it was closed and Harrison was nowhere to be found. I rang him on his mobile but no answer and when we returned to the hotel hed left us an envelope. Dr Harrison left you an envelope, but didnt answer your telephone call? Yeaah, he put a note inside explaining his absence on an unexpected business trip, but assured us he would be back in the next few days. Naturally, I tried to call him again but there was still no answer. And what was in the envelope? Just some notes research papers and a notebook belonging to my late Uncle Nicholas. I see, and what was the nature of this research? As I mentioned, it concerns a Tudor relative of our family, Edmund Fry, it also involves illegitimate heirs to the throne of Elizabethan England, not to mention a guy called Ralph Sadlier, who was in fact the real author of the works of William Shakespeare. Is that all? Corbett enquired stoically. Simon smiled. What can I say Inspector. Dr Harrison and my uncle werent your average academics. Evidently, and evidentially. Corbett said with a raise of his eyebrow. And because Dr. Harrison had already delivered a previous envelope, you naturally assumed this second, courier delivered package, was also from him? Precisely, thats why we opened the envelope in the lobby, expecting more stuff from Dr Harrison; to our surprise it contained a mobile telephone as well as a note. Reading it, it was immediately obvious it wasnt from Dr. Harrison. Corbetts forehead wrinkled. Oh and why was that? Printed on the paper were instructions on how to access the mobiles video library and a parental

272 advisory warning. A parental advisory warning, Corbett echoed. Could you explain? You know, the warnings you get on DVDs and films, not suitable for persons under the age of eighteen etc. An attempt at humour would you say? Yeaah, a very black one considering the videos contents, Simon said darkly. And where is the note now? We left it in my hotel suite. Good, Detective Sergeant Lowson will collect it later. And what did you do with the envelope? That should be in the trash in my suite as well. Excellent, Corbett nodded. So, reading the note we decide to watch the video back in my room. You felt it might contain something unsavoury? That, or a stupid practical joke, either way we felt some privacy was needed. So we go up to my suite and watch the video. Simons mood suddenly changed. His body stiffened and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Taking a deep breath, he continued. Its a sick and twisted piece of filth that shows in vivid detail the murder of Dr. Harrison, he said quietly, tears running down his cheeks. He lowered his head. Corbett never took his eyes from Simon. You are stating the video clip on the mobile telephone contains a filmed recording showing the apparent murder of Dr. Leo Harrison. He said the words slowly and clearly making sure there was no mistake. That is correct Inspector, Simon said looking straight at the detective. Dr.Harrison is bound and gagged, tied to a chair, then drowned. Corbett continued to hold Simons gaze. Drowned? he asked. The chair is kicked over into a childs paddling pool. A paddling pool? repeated Corbett.

273 Simon scowled. Yeaah, a blue one with yellow flowers, Dr. Harrison is tipped into the thing, chair and all, and then a hose is draped across his face. Where does all this take place? It looked like a disused garage, you know, dirty floor, cinderblock walls. And you are sure the video was genuine? Im a doctor, Inspector; I know a dead body when I see one. Believe me this was quite real. So why did you not immediately call the police? Because the video continues after Dr. Harrisons murder and a voice addresses Penny and myself. Are you saying the murderer talks to you on the video? Simons face darkened. The sick sonofabitch threatens us both! he said bitterly. He claimed they had D.N.A. evidence and operatives inside the police who would use it to frame Ms. Marshall and I, he kept referring to we, as in, we are most disappointed. As if to imply he was not acting alone? Precisely, he wanted us to see him as part of a larger organisation, namely the School of Night. Corbetts eyes narrowed. The Freemasonic organisation? he confirmed. Simon nodded his head. Yeaah, their eye logo was the screensaver on the mobile phone in the envelope. I see, and what else did this voice say? He demanded we return the notes and research Dr. Harrison had sent us in the earlier package, my late Uncle Nicolas notebooks, and a gold ring. Corbett looked agitated. Notebooks in the plural, he said cautiously, you previously only referred to the one. He paused. And what gold ring? he demanded shifting forward in his chair. Simons face flushed. Sorry, Inspector, I forgot to mention the first notebook; we found that a few days after my Uncle death in the desk in his study.

274 I see, Corbett said flatly. The room fell silent. Corbett turned to his colleague who offered an almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrows. You also mentioned a gold ring? Corbett said turning his attention back to Simon Simon rubbed at the fresh dressing on his thigh and then looked at his bandaged right foot. It hurt like a sonofabitch and his ankle throbbed painfully in time with his pulse. All he really wanted was to crawl into bed and not wake up for 48 hours. He sighed. I found it the morning, Paul, that is, Paul Fry- Who is youre cousin? Corbett stated consulting his paperwork. Correct, the morning Paul and I discovered my aunt and uncles bodies. And where did you find the ring? Simon looked at his shoe. Clutched in my uncles left hand, he said quietly. Corbett nodded slowly. I see, he said in a reasonable tone, and you simply neglected to mention this to, Corbett glanced at his notes, Detective Inspector Cawood. The detective took a deep breath. You do realise, sir, withholding evidence is a serious matter? I didnt withhold it, Inspector, Simon protested loudly. I just forgot about it. I was in shock, we all were. Corbett smiled. And at what point did you recover your senses and remember you had this gold ring? When Penny and I began to read one of my Uncles notebooks, Simon snapped. I dont understand. Simon tried to remain calm. I mentioned Nicolas and Dr. Harrisons research involved William Shakespeare, he said slowly, well, Shakespeare bequeathed five gold rings to various individuals in his will. Nicolas and Dr. Harrison believed they had discovered four of the five rings. Corbett didnt seem at all surprised at the revelation. Presumably the ring you found being one of

275 them? Exactly, Simon confirmed with a nod. Dr. Harrison told us they had found four of the five rings, but that they had subsequently been stolen after a break-in at his bookshop. And when did Dr. Harrison say this break-in occurred? Simon tried to remember the conversation. I couldnt tell you exactly, but I think he said it was earlier this year. Could you describe the ring you found in more detail? Sure; its a plain gold band and like the other rings it has a series of numbers inscribed around the inside, which my Uncle believed is some kind of cipher. Dr. Harrison and my Uncle successfully translated the cipher, but you can read it for yourself, its in Nicolass notebook, Penny has it in her bag, along with the ring. Miss Marshall is making a statement as we speak and Ill liaise with my colleagues shortly, in the meantime perhaps you could explain how you were to deliver the items? The voice told us to collect two tickets for the London Eye reserved under the name Abiff. Abiff, Abiff. Corbett turned to Lowson. Sounds Middle Eastern or Arabic Lowson offered a slight shrug of his shoulders. Thats what I thought, Inspector, Simon nodded, anyway, we were told to board the numbered cabins on the tickets. You were in separate cabins? Yeaah, the voice said theyd contact me on my cell phone once I was inside my cabin and requested Penny takes the mobile phone along with the notebooks and the ring. She was to place them in a bag and leave them underneath the bench in her cabin where theyd be collected later. After receiving our last instructions, the voice said we could go free. And you chose to trust the word of an individual you had apparently witnessed murder your friend? It wasnt a matter of trust, what choice did we have? Jesus, he threatened to murder Penny if we

276 so much as mentioned the research and notebooks; she was terrified and frankly so was I. So you decided to make the rendezvous? Not before we downloaded a copy of the video onto a memory stick. And where is it now? Sitting back at the hotel. Well thats something. So we did something right, huh Inspector? It certainly ranks as one of the brighter decision youve made today, doctor, said Corbett not hiding his sarcasm, but tell me, can you describe the voice on the video? Does it have an accent, was it male or female? Its impossible to tell because they used some sort of scrambler, Simon explained, the nearest I can describe it is the voice of Satan from a bad horror movie. I see, muttered Corbett. It wasnt the strangest thing he had heard this afternoon, but it obviously came close. Simon angrily raised his hands in the air. Jesus, Inspector, do you think Im making this up? Do you really think Ive got nothing better to do than risk my life clambering around a giant fucking Ferris wheel? Theres no need for profanities, sir, Corbett remarked with a thin smile. If you say it was the voice of Satan, it was the voice of Satan, he concluded genially. I didnt say it was goddam Satan! Simon exploded. I said it sounded like Satan. It was obviously some kind of electronic voice scrambler. Jesus, are you being deliberately obtuse or is it just something you do as a hobby? If its a sarcasm tournament the bastard wanted Simon was more than willing to participate. Corbett smiled and raised his hands. Okay, Sir, I think we have established that particular fact, it was some kind of electronic voice scramble, good. So if we can proceed? You collect the tickets and go to your cabins, what happened next?

277 Taking a deep breath, Simon calmed down a little and continued. After a few minutes my cell phone rang and I answered it. Once again, the distorted voice referred to me by name; he then explained circumstances have changed since we last spoke. That was when he revealed the plastic explosives planted in the mobile phone, and exactly what I had to do if I wanted to save Penny. Corbett glanced at Lowson, who didnt react, and then looked back at Simon. And he was quite explicit about the bomb? Absolutely, he told me I had seven minutes to reach Pennys cabin before it detonated. Which, of course, turned out to be a lie, Corbett stated bluntly. I wasnt to know that, Inspector. I was given the stark choice of watching Penny and the other passengers onboard her cabin blown to pieces, or attempt to save them. And you chose to scramble around the outside of a four hundred-foot Ferris wheel in a rainstorm? I didnt really have time to assess the situation rationally, muttered Simon angrily, it was just. He shrugged. Instinct I see, so what happened to your mobile telephone? After the voice hung up I threw it on the floor in frustration. It shattered to pieces, but it should still be there. That would explain the bits of a black Motorola we found in cabin sixteen. Its in bad shape, but the clever boys and girls in forensics reckon theyll be able to get something from it. Simon offered a weary smile. Thats great Inspector, but I doubt youll find much. Youd be surprised, Sir, however, well leave that to forensics. Are there any other details you can give us concerning the alleged murder of Dr. Harrison? As I already explained, it takes place in a disused garage, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, take us back to my hotel and Ill give you the copy of the film we made. Corbett nodded. All in good time sir, he said turning to Detective Sergeant Lowson. Are their any further questions you would like to ask Sergeant?

278 Lowson shook his head. Corbett turned to the microphone. Formal Interview of Doctor Simon Fry terminated at 4:17 p.m. Friday the 22nd of December, 2007. Present throughout were Policewoman Constable Shirley Ellis, Detective Sergeant Nathaniel Lowson, and myself Detective Inspector William Corbett. Turning off the tape recorder, Corbett looked at Simon. Okay, doctor, Im going to liaise with my colleagues next door. I wont be long, so if you would just wait here Ill return shortly. Corbett neatly stacked his paperwork, put it back in its folder, and got to his feet. Tucking the folder under his arm, he nodded at W.P.C. Ellis, and strolled towards the door, followed a few paces behind by Detective Sergeant Lowson. As they left the room, Simon turned his head and stared at the silent figure of Ellis standing impassively at attention against the far wall. She was an attractive young woman with short blonde hair and delicate features who obviously took her job seriously. Looking straight ahead, she refused to make eye contact. Is this like the guards at Buckingham palace? Simon asked with his warmest smile. Do you have to stay like that no matter what? Ellis refused to comment. Simon gave up. Grrroovvvy, he sighed.

~
Half an hour later and Corbett returned. Closing the door, he walked across the room and sat back down across the desk from Simon. Well doctor, he began, it would seem you have had quite an eventful number of days recently have you not? Corbett looked Simon in the eye, sniffed, and then scratched his nose. I am of course referring to the little incident on the Underground involving your good self and a moving

279 train. Simon folded his arms across his chest and stared impassively at the detective. I wondered when youd get to that, he sighed. Let me guess, that was all part of my cunning plan as well, huh? Maybe Im gonna sue the London Underground for a million bucks? Corbett smiled wryly. Hardly likely, sir, we havent quite caught up with the U.S. as far as litigation handouts are concerned; the best you can hope for is a couple of grand, if youre lucky. Simon continued to look Corbett in the eye. The detective nodded and smiled politely. Okay, doctor, he began, it would seem Miss Marshalls statement confirms your own, as do many of the witnesses onboard the London Eye. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. Therefore, you are currently free to return to your hotel. DS Lowson will accompany you back to your suite and retrieve the memory stick you mentioned, alongside the note and the envelope. We will obviously need you to assist us further, once we have studied the video footage and verified its authenticity. This does of course mean you are unable to leave the country, and we would appreciate it if you told us of your whereabouts at all times. Corbett uncrossed his legs and casually ran his hand along the crease in his trousers. We dont want to be conducting a wild-goose chase for you doctor, as it does tend to irritate us somewhat, so, as a precaution you will deposit your passport with us until we complete our enquiries and successfully eliminate you from them, at which point it will be returned. Simon was expecting the request. Sure, Inspector, but its back at the hotel, he offered wearily. In that case Detective Sergeant Lowson will collect it, Corbett explained. Obviously, your uncles notebooks, research papers and the ring are now technically evidence in a potential murder investigation, but rest assured they will be returned to you when our investigation is completed. Simon nodded. I understand. Oh, and one other request, Corbett remarked absently. Could you perhaps refrain from

280 climbing over any other well known London landmarks screaming about bombs? In the current climate of global terrorism, it does it tends to scare the other tourists. With that, the detective got to his feet and walked out of the room. Arriving at the doorway, he found his exit impeded by the sudden appearance of DS Lowson. The impasse lasted a few seconds, until the senior officer tilted his head to one side, and Lowson took two steps back. Dont worry about him, sir, hes just a grumpy old sod; his piles are probably playing up, offered Lowson, when Corbett had gone. I heard that Sergeant! bellowed Corbett from somewhere outside in the corridor. So if youll follow me, continued Lowson, ignoring his superior, your cousin is waiting for us downstairs.

281

Chapter Twenty
In naked beauty more adorned. More lovely than Pandora.
John Milton. Paradise Lost (bk. VI, l. 713)

Here you go Sergeant, said Penny. She handed Lowson a small rectangular piece of black plastic. And youre sure the video is on here? Penny nodded. Of course, the Nokia 345 has a U.S.B. port; you just plug-in and it downloads, although I dont envy you. Lowson offered a wan smile. Unfortunately, its all part of the job, Miss. Lets just hope you catch the sonofabitch, Simon said bitterly. The thought of that sadistic bastard roaming the streets is not a pleasant one. Penny looked frightened. Do you think hell make another attempt on our lives? she said, her voice tight. Thats not going to happen, Miss, Lowson said with firm assurance. Weve informed the desk staff to intercept anymore packages and the CCTV room is keeping a special eye out, so long as you keep your doors locked, you should be perfectly safe. And in the unlikely event you do

282 receive any further packages or threats, contact us immediately and well be here in minutes. Thank you, Penny smiled, obviously relieved. Here are the note and the envelope Sergeant, said Simon. Theyve got our fingerprints all over them, of course, and this is my passport. Thank you, replied Lowson taking the items and placing them into separate see-through plastic bags. Sealing up the bags he looked at Simon and smiled. Dont worry, weve got both of your prints, it shouldnt be hard to eliminate them. He began to button his overcoat. Okay, well, Id better return this stuff to the Yard; well be in touch soon. Penny escorted Lowson through Simons suite and remained in the doorway as he made his way along the hallway towards the lifts. Closing the door, she pushed the small button lock on the handle and applied the chain-latch.

~
Alone in his office, Detective Inspector Corbett sat at his desk leafing through one of Nicolas Frys notebooks. Displayed on the table in front of him were the large manila envelope, Nicolas second notebook and the gold cipher ring. From time to time, Corbett turned from his reading to make notes on a piece of paper. When he was finished, he opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved his mobile telephone. Searching his contacts menu, he dialled a number. After a few seconds, a voice answered. Good evening Inspector. We need to talk. Ive got something here you might find interesting and I need you to check

283 some facts. Sounds intriguing, Im at work until six, but we could meet in the usual place at say, seventhirty? Make it seven, I havent got all night. Fine, then seven it is.

Ive got the memory stick, guv, announced Lowson, entering Corbetts office. And Ive sent the envelope and the note to forensics, he informed his superior. About bloody time, Corbett growled. Did you stop for a pint on the way back? I only had a couple, Lowson shrugged, oh, and the usual four course meal at Claridges. Corbett looked disgusted. Cant stand the place that Gordon Ramseys a foul mouthed cunt and they dont even have Daddies. Snatching the memory stick from Lowsons hand, Corbett got to his feet. Crossing the room, he took a seat in front of a desk and a grubby looking computer, its large screen smeared with greasy fingerprints. Sweeping aside plastic coffee cups, sandwich wrappers and empty crisp packets, Corbett plugged the memory stick into one of the computers USB ports and a red LED blinked inside the memory stick.

284 After a few seconds, a small icon appeared on the computers desktop. Double clicking the icon, Corbett accessed the memory stick and opened its only file, marked Video Clip 01. Alright, son, lets have a butchers at this alleged murder shall we? he said sitting back in his seat. Lowson stood behind Corbetts shoulders and looked at the screen. The two detectives were slightly nonplussed when the monitor suddenly produced the image of a cartoon yellow sponge wearing a white shirt and a pair of brown trousers. The sponge was engrossed in conversation with a pink starfish, whose own attire consisted of a baggy pair of green and purple Bermuda shorts. What the fuck! Corbett spluttered. Its Sponge Bob Square Pants, guv, Lowson informed him. I am well aware of who the fucking sponge is, Lowson, you twat, Corbett hissed, his eyes livid slits. Im just wondering what hes doing on a fucking murder video!

~
Im telling you Inspector, it was on the memory stick, Penny explained for the fifth time to the angry voice on the other end of the phone. Simon and Penny had been sitting on the sofa trying to make some sense of events when Pennys mobile had rung. Thirty seconds later and she wished shed never answered the call.

285 No, Im sure it downloaded, the stick has an L.E.D which pulses when its loading informationNo Inspector, thats simply not possibleI just cant see how that might happen. Unlessunless someone entered Simons suite and swapped themNo, theres no sign of a forced entry or any break inOkay, well, you know where we are, until then good bye. Penny snapped the phone closed and put it on the coffee table. Hes pretty pissed, said Simon stating the obvious. You could say that. Penny said dryly. Then again, its not surprising. I cant work it out, the video downloaded, Im sure of it, plus that memory stick was empty, brand new. It definitely didnt have any clips of bloody Sponge Bob Square Pants on it, I can tell you that. Simon shook his head. Sponge Bob Square Pants, he said with disbelief. What the fuck does he mean? I saw you download the file, it certainly wasnt Sponge Bob goddam Square Pants. Thats what Corbett said, Penny explained. A three minute clip of Sponge Bob Square Pants. Thats impossible Penny and I cant see how the stick was switched. Penny considered the problem for a moment. We were out for hours; there was plenty of time for someone to swap it. Maybe theyve got someone working at the hotel? Simon was skeptical. Thatd be some coincidence, seeing as we only decided to book these suites in the car on the way here from Standon. I wish that made me feel safer, but it doesnt, Penny said quietly. Simon leaned closer and touched Pennys hand. Lowsons right; were perfectly safe here, weve got locks on the door and the desk clerks have been told to intercept any more packages. We just sit tight and let the world famous Scotland Yard deal with it. Penny offered a slight smile. Again, Si, that doesnt really reassure me, she said. Simon grinned. I know what might. Taking a deep breath, he carefully manouvered his shattered body and got to his feet. Composing himself, he began to make the slow and painful journey to the drinks cabinet. Arriving at the large piece of furniture, he gripped the cabinets sides and used its bulk to support

286 his weight. Reaching out he opened one of its doors. Were out of gin, but theres vodka. Penny tried to remain calm. Ill have mine with ice and Coke, please. Simon reached for a bottle. Good idea, I think Ill join you. Simon poured the drinks and began limping back across the room. Penny couldnt stand it anymore. Christ, Simon, let me take those, she said getting to her feet. Simon gratefully handed over the brimming glasses and headed for the sofa. Reaching the soft leather sanctuary, he eased himself down and began to rub at his bandaged ankle. What did the hospital say? Penny asked. Simon massaged his swollen jaw and then ran his tongue over the unfamiliar surface of the temporary crown that now replaced his shattered molar. Badly sprained ankle and maybe a hairline fracture, he said wearily. Nothing they can do, apart from a bandage and lots of pain killers, at least I didnt break any ribs. Penny sat down next to Simon and put the drinks on the coffee table. I still havent thanked you for saving my life, she said. Simon looked at Penny and sighed. I wasnt really thinking, Penny. It waspure instinct. Besides, he shrugged, I couldnt let that smug bastard win, not when weve only just met after all these years. Penny took Simons hand and kissed it gently. Well, I think it was one of the most incredible things I have ever seen, she whispered. Thank you. Simon tried to appear nonchalant. Actually, as there was no bomb, technically, I think youll find I didnt save your life at all. You didnt know that, Penny protested. Whatever you say, youll always be my hero, she said earnestly. Simon smiled. Youre very welcome, Penny. Penny leaned closer and kissed Simon on his cheek. Thank you, she repeated, thank you.

287

Detective Inspector Corbett entered the crowded confines of the Golden Lion public house and made his way to the bar. Ordering a pint of lager, he paid the heavy-set barman and turned to scan the busy room. Over in one corner, by a small wooden table, sat the Librarian from the School of Night. Spotting Corbett, the little man offered a delicate wave of his hand. Corbett scowled and made his way across the room. Does the pay of a Metropolitan police officer stretch to buying a drink for a hard working scholar, Inspector? asked the Librarian. Corbetts jaw tightened. Youve had enough fucking money out of me already, Sinclair, he snapped. Always a pleasure, Inspector, retorted the Librarian with a sly smirk. Corbett took a seat on a stool and stared malevolently at Sinclair. Despite his apparent anger, he spoke in a genial tone. I found out some interesting information today, especially in light of our current project. Do carry on. Taking a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket, Corbett handed it to Sinclair.

288 Its about Ralph Sadlier, he said bluntly. Read it. Corbett sipped at his pint and waited for Sinclair to finish reading. This is quite unbelievable! he finally exclaimed, lifting his eyes from Corbetts notes. Where on earth did you get this information? Corbett sneered. Thats not important, he hissed, what is, is the fact youre meant to be a fucking expert on the subject. Sinclair offered Corbett a supercilious smile. Oh, I am, Inspector, I assure you. Corbetts eyes darted to the sheet of paper in Sinclairs hand. Well, as an expert, what do you make of that? Sinclair slapped the sheet dismissively with his hand. To be brutally honest, without further investigations, I would be inclined to say it was nonsense. He paused and looked at Corbett. However, you actually possess one of these rings? Corbett nodded once. Back at my office, Ill get you some pictures. For now, do some fucking research. Youve got the facts in front of you. As you wish, Inspector, Sinclair muttered with a world-weary sigh. It shouldnt take me too long to verify these sources. I should have something for you in a couple of days. Youve got until tomorrow evening, Corbett snarled. Im busy. Sinclair smiled politely. If you insist, he nodded. Downing his pint, Corbett got to his feet and turned to leave. And, for fucks sake wash your hair, he said disdainfully.

289

and then, my mother came back into the room. Pennys eyes widened and she burst into hysterical laughter. Andthere you werestark nakedwitha! she managed to gasp, before collapsing into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Simon looked chagrined. Yeaah, thanks for your understanding and consideration, Ms. Marshall. Penny took a deep breath. Oh, Im sorry, Si, she said regaining some self-control. She wouldnt look me in the eye for weeks, Simon confessed. It was awful. Pennys mouth twitched and she burst out laughing. Im not surprised! Simon reached out and playfully slapped her arm. You wait and see; when you have kids, itll happen to you, or worse, he warned. No chance, Penny grinned. Ill marry some rich footballer. The Nanny will look after the kids while I go to fashion shoots, work on my range of perfume and dictate my biography to a ghost writer, then when were middle aged and in rehab, theyll be off to boarding school and straight to university. Simon laughed. My father wanted me to go to a private boarding school, he revealed, but my mother fought for me to go to the local comprehensive. In the end, they compromised and put my name down for the local grammar. Lucky for me really as I didnt fancy the dubious pleasures of daisy chains and dicky-back rides around the Headmasters study.

290 I never met your mother, what was she like? asked Penny She was a clever woman, Simon said, his mood subtly changing, funny, independent, and very beautiful. Penny nodded her head slowly. It was obvious Simon was uncomfortable. Yes, Uncle Nicolas showed me some photos. Simon smiled. She came from a working class background, but she won herself a scholarship to Cambridge; where she met my old man. I dont think it was exactly love at first sight, but they ended up together and married a couple of years after leaving university. My father secured a job in London and my Mom soon fell pregnant with yours truly. So she never had a career of her own? This was the nineteen-sixties, Penny. Sure, she couldve secured a teaching job with her qualifications, or perhaps some minor academic position; but compared to my father, her working horizons were pretty limited. Besides, once I was born, she was screwed for at least the next ten years. Simon looked at his hands. But as she died when I was eleven Penny reached out and touched Simons arm. Oh, Si, that mustve been terrible. Simon looked at Penny. Didnt you lose both of your parents not so long ago? he said gently. Penny sighed. Theyll have been gone seven years next April. Thats why I use the surname Marshall, it was my mothers surnameits a way of keeping her memory alive. I still use Fry, but as my middle name. Peny laughed nervously. Stupid, I know. Simon was not in any position to question the depth of Pennys feelings. I think its beautiful, he said sincerely. Penny shrugged. But I was a grown woman; I cant imagine what it must be like to lose your mother at such a young age. Simon thought about it. He had been so young and it was all such a blur, but he remembered. He remembered the look on his fathers face when he had arrived at Standon Lordship and gently

291 took his hand. He remembered the tears that streamed down his fathers cheeks when he had knelt down, looked him in the eyes, and said, Something awful has happened, Simon. He remembered the way Aunt Harriet had scooped him into her arms, how they had both wept, their bodies convulsing with their grief. He remembered how Uncle Nicolas had clutched at the arm of a chair his eyes like saucers behind the lenses of his glasses. He remembered how, on the journey home, his father had stopped the car on the lay by and stood by a wooden fence just looking into an empty field. He remembered the sound of his father alone in his bedroom weeping. All these things he remembered, and more, but above it all he remembered his mother. He had photographs and mementos, but they were hardly necessary. It had been thirty-five years, and it could be another thirty more, but he would still remember. Locked deep in the spiraling coils of his DNA, etched into his bones, set in his marrow, in every single cell in his body, and with every single beat of his heart, he remembered his mother. He blinked back tears, but he wasnt sad. Realising he had fallen silent he looked a Penny and smiled. Sorry, Penny, I kinda zoned out a bit. Penny looked concerned. Its okay, Simon, I understand, you still miss her. Shell always be a part of me, Penny, but her death was no ones fault, it was just one of those things How did she...? Penny stumbled to complete her sentence. Its okay, Simon assured her, its still painful, but I can talk about it. The look on Simons face said he was lying, but he persevered. She drowned in the sea in Devon, he said quietly, my parents had gone for a long-weekend, leaving me with Nicolas and Harriet. It was one of those rare sunny days, and my mother went for a swim while my father sat on the beach. She was a strong swimmer, but after a few minutes

292 witnesses on the beach said she began to flail her arms and legs and cried out for help. My father immediately went to her aid, along with two other men, but by the time they got to her, she was already dead. The coroner concluded shed suffered a stroke. She was thirty-three. Penny reached for Simons hand. II dont know what to say, Simon, she whispered. Simon squeezed Pennys hand and smiled sadly. To be honest it was worse for my father, he never really recovered. Thats why he moved us to the States, he couldnt stand the constant reminder of the life they once had in England. Its probably why he died of cirrhosis of the liver Simon suddenly shook his head. Jesus, Penny, how did we start talking about my mother? Penny smiled. You started it with your masturbation based anecdote, she reminded him. Simon laughed. From masturbation to my dead mother, Freud would have a field-day, and all without the aid of alcohol. He indicated to the two empty glasses on the coffee table. Allow me, said Penny, climbing a little unsteadily to her feet. Whats it to be, another round of vodka and Cokes? she asked. Simon nodded. Sure; saves getting a clean glass. Penny returned from the drinks cabinet, handed Simon his drink and sat down. To my hero, she toasted, bringing their glasses together. Give me a break, Penny, Simon protested, weve been through all that. No, Im serious, Si, that was simply the bravest thing Ive ever seen. Bullshit, the dumbest maybe. Penny smiled. Ive had my share of relationships and believe me none of them wouldve done what you did, she admitted. Simon raised an eyebrow. Not wishing to question your choice of men, but perhaps thats because they were all assholes? Penny reached for her glass. Unfortunately, maybe youre right, she sighed. Simon laughed. Look on the bright side; you couldve married one of them. Penny took a large gulp from her drink. Thats not even funny, she said putting the glass back

293 down onto the table. Taking Simons hand, she began to stroke it with her thumb. Im so glad we finally met, Simon, she whispered, despite the awful circumstances. Simon smiled. The feelings more than mutual. Reaching out her index finger, Penny traced the line of a small cut on Simons cheek and then gently sketched the contours of his chin. Moving closer, she began to plant delicate feather-like kisses on the numerous bruises and wounds that dotted his features. Simon emitted a groan as Pennys body rested against his battered torso. Sorry, she said softly. It doesnt matter, he murmured. Nuzzling at Simons ear, Penny began to flick her tongue at the delicate skin on the nape of his neck. Simon closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Releasing Simons hand, Penny reached between his legs, her nails scraping the thin fabric of his jeans. Take me to bed, she said her voice confident and sensual. Make love to me.

294

Chapter Twenty-One
The man that hath no-music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord-of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. " The Merchant of Venice Act V, scene (i) lines 83-85

The figure was dressed in black leather trousers, a black leather motorcycle jacket and a pair of black leather boots. Opening a small wooden gate, they made their way along a path of brightly coloured mosaic tiles that finished at a large Victorian terraced house. Concealed by the darkness and the rain they reached the front door and removed a small backpack from their shoulders. Unzipping a pocket on the side of the backpack, they removed a rectangular packet. Tearing open one end of the packet, they removed a pair of white surgical gloves. Blowing into the thin latex they deftly slipped them over their hands.

295 Reaching back into the pocket, they removed a small leather pouch and then threw the backpack over their shoulder. Pausing to adjust the eyelets of their balaclava, they unfastened a row of press-studs that ran the length of the pouch to reveal a selection of door keys tucked into small pockets. Choosing one of the keys, they slotted it into the lock. Having no success, they returned the key to its pocket and chose another. After four attempts, the elected key turned clockwise and the front door fell open. Stepping into a small hallway, the intruder turned their attention to the beeping sound emitting from a grey box mounted on the wall. Walking calmly towards the box, they punched four numbers into a numerical keyboard that sat below a row of madly flashing L.E.D.s. Instantly, the beeping stopped and the L.E.D.s changed from red to green. The intruder stood in perfect silence for a number of seconds. Satisfied the occupants of the house were still asleep they gently closed the front door. Walking past a wide staircase, they opened a wooden door and stepped into a large kitchen. Closing the door, they turned to the left and walked to another, glass-fronted, door. Rotating the key that sat in its lock, they opened the door and stepped into the room beyond. Taking the backpack from their shoulder, they unzipped the main flap. Reaching into the backpack, they removed a small leather pouch, a large roll of cloth, and a thin black torch. Rotating the handle of the torch, a bright pencil-beam of light pierced the gloom. Placing the torch between their teeth, its beam revealed the outlines of a small garage. Sitting at the centre of the garage was a shiny black BMW. Untying a thin thread that bound the roll of cloth, they placed the bundle onto the ground. Leaving the bundle at their feet, they popped open a row of press studs on the leather pouch and removed a rectangular piece of black plastic.

296 Pointing the rectangle at the BMW, the vehicle emitted a satisfying metallic thunk as it lock mechanism activated. Placing the electronic key back in its pouch, the intruder walked to the car. Opening the drivers door, they climbed in and sat behind the wheel. Searching the dashboard, they pushed a button and the BMWs large bonnet sprang open. Climbing out of the vehicle, they collected the cloth bundle and put it down by the front of the car. Pulling open the bonnet, they unraveled the cloth bundle and selected a small box spanner from a pocket. Taking the box spanner, they began to unbolt the terminals that connected the battery. Placing the battery on the floor, they peeled back a protective rubber mat from the right hand side of the engine compartment to reveal a silver metal plate. Taking a screwdriver, they removed the four screws that held the plate in place, carefully depositing each one into a small pocket on the sleeve of their leather jacket. Removing the metal plate, they exposed a collection of silver cables encased in a robust plastic sleeve. One end of the cables attached to a thick rubber hose by two plastic housings. The other end of the cables disappeared into the back of a medium sized rectangular compartment. Pushing down on a small metal lever in front of the cables, they lifted the thick bundle from the compartment and moved them to one side. Beneath the cables was a thin metal box, held tightly in place by two large stainless steel clips. Undoing the clips, they removed the box and placed it carefully on the ground. Kneeling down in front of the box, the torches beam illuminated a silver stainless steel rectangle the size of a small laptop computer with the letters DME embossed at its centre. At the bottom of the rectangle was a large red sticker with the words BOSCH printed on it,

297 followed by a serial number and the legend MADE IN GERMANY. Taking a screwdriver, they began to loosen the four screws that held the cover in place, before depositing them into yet another pocket in their leather jacket. Revolving the box, they used the screwdriver to prise open a series of metal tabs. Turning the box face upwards, they carefully removed the metal casing and put it to one side. Inside the metal box was a circuit board dotted with red and green diodes and numerous slate black computer chips. At the uppermost end of the circuit board sat a rectangular plastic case. Removing the plastic case, they carefully slotted the screwdrivers flat edge beneath a large white computer chip and prised it from its housing. Dropping the backpack from their shoulders, they opened one of its pockets and produced a padded black pouch. Unzipping the pouch, they removed a white plastic box. Opening the box, they produced an identical looking computer chip to the one they had removed from the circuit board. Crouching in front of the metal box, they gently slotted the new chip into the vacant space on the circuit board, forcing its metal prongs into place until it sat snug and tight. Replacing the plastic cover, they reattached the boxs metal case and snapped back the tabs. Retightening the screws, they carefully placed the metal case back in its compartment inside the engine. Reattaching the cables, the covering plate, and the rubber seal, they reconnected the battery and closed the bonnet. Walking to the drivers door, they pushed it shut. Taking a step backwards, they pointed the black plastic rectangle at the BMW and its doors locked with a satisfying metallic thunk. Collecting their tools, they replaced them in their pockets in the cloth and rolled them into a

298 bundle. Looping the thread around the bundle, they put the bundle into their backpack and threw it across their shoulder. After a few seconds, they took the torch from their mouth and swept its beam around the circumference of the garage. Satisfied, they turned to the glass-fronted door and stepped into the kitchen. As they closed the door, something brushed at their ankles before slinking its way between their open legs. Startled, they looked down to find a medium-sized cat, its tortoise-shell markings bright and vivid in the torch light. The cat opened its mouth and emitted a small, Miao. Purring frantically, the feline darted to a corner of the kitchen and began sniffing at its empty bowl. Regaining their composure, the intruder walked towards the creature and bent on one knee. Reaching out their hand, they began to stroke its sleek body, the cats purring rising to an even more feverish pitch as it arched its back in appreciation. Turning their head to the right they opened a cupboard door. Reaching inside they took out a small plastic container prised open its lid and poured some of its contents into the cats bowl. The cat buried its head into its food; its purrs still audible even as the sustenance went down its greedy gullet. The intruder gently stroked the cat as it ate its meal, each sweep of their hands along its back increasing the speed of its consumption, until, in no time at all the bowl was empty. Leaving the contented feline to drink from its water bowl, they rose from their haunches and left the kitchen. Once in the hallway, they walked to the front door and silently turned the mortise before crossing

299 to the alarm panel mounted on the wall. Pressing

four numbers on its numerical keypad, the alarm emitted a series of beeps and then fell silent. The intruder held their breath and listened. Hearing nothing over the steady beat of their own heart, they exhaled slowly and stepped out of the house. Standing at the wooden gate, they turned and looked up at the second floor windows. The house remained dark and still. Satisfied, they opened the gate and entered the empty nocturnal street.

~
Sinclair was smirking into the mouthpiece of his mobile telephone while watching his reflection in a mirror mounted on the far wall. He was lounging in his favourite armchair in a pair of red silk pajamas and a bright red kimono, one leg tossed casually over the other, a purple slipper hanging from his dangling foot. As he talked, he moved his leg up and down, the slipper swinging from his toes. Oh, its you, so you got my text, he said slyly. The slipper kept swinging Have you any idea what time it is? It is the middle of the night. Mother will be furious if you wake her, you know how she suffers with her nervesthat is completely out of the question I dont care how urgent it is, besides, after our last discussion. Sinclairs eyes became slits and the slipper fell from his foot. Ah, I see, yes I thought it might, he nodded. Yes that is correct, this very evening.

300 The smirk reappeared. I wondered how long it would take for you to realise the implications, but then again you do so like to play your dangerous little games. I do believe I detect a hint of apprehension in your voice, one could almost suspect you are, in fact, a human being. Surely, things are not spiraling beyond your control. Not after all youre meticulous planning. The irony, that it should all come undone because of a plodding imbecile. Sinclair sniggered. He wasnt going to let himself be intimidated anymore. Believe it or not it is pure coincidence, he said nonchalantly, remarkable under the circumstancesObviously; you probably have a different perspectiveThink nothing of it; it was a professional courtesyThe thought of financial remuneration did not cross my mind. Although now you mention the vulgar issue of money the figure of ten thousand pounds comes quite-readily to handEvery three monthsFor life. He paused, letting the words sink in. Blackmail, is such an ugly word, full of decidedly negative connotations. I much prefer fiduciary stipend, or performance-related bonus. Sinclair suddenly sat up in his armchair. Dont whine! he snapped his voice tight with fury. Its a mere drop in the ocean compared to what youll get! he shouted, his body quivering with rage. Reaching into a pocket in his kimono, he produced a white linen handkerchief and wiped it across his brow. Folding the cloth into a neat square, he dabbed it at the corners of his mouth and then placed back into his pocket. Suitably composed put his mobile phone back to his ear. You see what calling at this godforsaken hour does to my constitution? he said truculently. All this commotion might well have woken Mother, it really is intolerable. His eyes narrowed and he sat back in his seat. I seeSo you at least agree I deserve some reward for my endeavours. Sinclair ran his fingers through his hair, billows of rancid dandruff dancing around his head.

301 Okay, perhaps my behaviour was a tad-lax at times, he admitted magnanimously. Well perhaps more than lax, he said his voice beginning to rise in volume, but that does not mean I should be robbed of my rewards! He fell silent and a sly smile oozed across his lips. That is very generous of you, he said not hiding his suspicion. No, Im sorry it is simply too late, Mothe - Sinclair froze and swallowed a number of times. Well he spluttered, if its that important, but only for ten minutes. Text me when you are outside, I dont want you ringing on the doorbell and waking Mother. He snatched his handkerchief from his kimono and began to dab at the beads of cold sweat that had suddenly appeared on his brow. Looking at his terrified reflection in the mirror, he clenched his fist and tried to regain some selfcontrol. He knew his opponent well, he had fooled them before, and he would fool them again. Like most of the people he had met in his life, they had seriously underestimated him. The thought pleased him and he began to relax. Oh, and if you are tempted to arrange one of your little accidents, he said gazing at his finger nails, please bear in mind the numerous copies of the material I have on my hard drive and other locationsOf course not. I wouldnt think for a minute you were contemplating such a thing. He couldnt resist putting them back in their place and he laughed. Fine, but hurry, I need my beauty sleep. Sinclair looked at his reflection and smiled.

302

Come on love, its nine-oclock! Paul shouted up the stairs. Im half an-hour late as it is, he said looking at his watch. Ill be waiting in the car. Paul shook his head and made his way into a large kitchen. Turning to his left, he opened a glassfronted door. As the door fell open a medium-sized, tortoise shell cat darted between his legs and made its way to its food bowl in the corner of the room. Paul bent down and stroked the feline. Morning, Sam, you hungry? Turning his head, Paul noticed the door of the cupboard containing the cats food was slightly ajar. Oh, right, its the old, double breakfast scam. Nice try mush, but unfortunately your mum left the cupboard open. Stroking the purring cat for a few more seconds, Paul got to his feet. Deeply confused by the conspicuous absence of sustenance in its bowl, the cat looked at Paul and offered a pitiful wail. Paul laughed. Yeah, thats right, youre starving and daddy is a nasty man who only pays for all your food. Not to mention vet bills, flea spray, cat litter, scratching posts and stupid plastic squeaky mice. Ignoring the cats protestations, Paul stepped into a small garage. Reaching into his overcoat, he removed a rectangular piece of black plastic and pointed it at the polished black BMW that sat in the centre of the room. Instantly the doors unlocked with a satisfying metallic thunk. Outside, the heavy rain drummed vigorously on the garage roof, providing an instant weather forecast. Paul looked up and shook his head in weary defeat. Another couple of years and Im gone from this miserable bloody country, he grumbled. Six

303 months of rain and darkness and then you get the sodding winter. Getting into the drivers seat, he put the key into the cars ignition and switched on the CD player. I need the efficacious balm of melody, harmony, composition and song. Punching a button on the stereos console, the vehicles interior exploded to the sound of Babylons Burning by the Ruts and Paul tapped the steering wheel vigorously in time to the beat. Babylons Burning, Youre burning the street. Youre burning the houses, with anxiety! With Anxiety! Babylons burning Babylons burning! With Anxiety Babylon is burning baby cant you see? Babylon is burning with anxiety! He was half way through Motorheads, Ace of Spades, when Ivy opened the passenger door and slid in beside him. Having fun? she shouted over the noise. Its a classic, Paul enthused with a wild grin, up there with Rock Around the Clock or any of the early Elvis stuff. Paul looked at the CD player. This one song alone guarantees Lemmys immortality; itll be played as long as human beings have ears, he predicted. Get's you going every time! He pushed a button on the steering wheel and turned the CD player down a few decibels. Have I ever mentioned the fact that during the Vietnam War the Pentagon had three million duplicates of the ace of spades sent to the G.I.s? Not the Motorhead track, the playing card, the soldiers would put them on buildings and on the front of their tanks to help ward-off attacks, because the Vietcong had a morbid fear of the so-called death card. An interesting historical quirk, Ivy observed dryly, only diminished by the fact, you mention it every time you play the bloody song.

304 Flashing his most lovable smile, Paul opened his window and pointed the black plastic rectangle at the garage door. With a noisy clank of gears, the steel shutters slowly began to rise. When they had fully retracted, Paul started the engine and drove out onto a redbrick driveway that sloped gently onto the street. As the BMW cleared the gap, the shutters began to roll noisily back into place. By the time Paul had manoeuvred onto the road, they were sealed. Paul turned to Ivy and raised his eyebrows. Who knows, maybe the rain will mean the traffic will be relatively light, he chuckled sarcastically. Arriving at the junction onto Highgate Hill, they had to wait for a steady procession of vehicles to pass before edging out into the traffic. Ivy busied herself looking in the window display of the iconic Ripping Yarns bookshop. By now, Ace of Spades had come to its noisy crescendo and the opening bars of Love Song by The Damned began to blare from the CD player. Obviously delighted, Paul drummed vigorously in time on the steering wheel.

Ill be the ticket if youre my collector Ive got the fare if youre my inspector Ill be the luggage, if youll be the porter Ill be the parcel if youll be my sorter

I saw em at the Rainbow once, in Finsbury Park, he said indicating to the CD player. This was long before the fucking God-Squad bought it, of course. Anyway, when they started to play Smash It Up, the audience decided it would be a good idea to throw a few of the seats around, despite the fact they were bolted to the ground. A friend of mine, Shamus, got hit on the back of the head by one of the sods and went down like a sack of shit, good days, good days. Old punks never die, they just go and work in the City, Ivy said sardonically.

305 Touch, Monsieur Le Pussycat, Paul retorted. Ivy groaned. Its like being in a car with a fifteen year-old. Didnt hear you complaining last night, Paul said with a wicked smirk. Anyway, lets not forget your little teen infatuation with Sex Gang Children and Psychic TV you proto-goth. Ivy folded her arms and looked at Paul. I was not a proto-goth, she said sternly. Oh no, then what was it with all the make up and long black dresses, the Siouxsie and the Banshees posters? You even liked that that other muppetwhat was his name? You know, warbled like a bad opera singer? Ivy sighed Doesnt really nail it down does it? Paul laughed and hit the steering wheel. God, you know big stupid quiff and a black macall their songs sounded the same. Ivy shook her head and looked out of the window. Well that describes everyone from Johnny Cash to Pink, perhaps you hadnt noticed but weve developed a system on this planet that alleviates this type of dilemma, its called a name. Paul slowly nodded his head. Yeah, Ive heard of themKirk Brandon! he suddenly shouted. Thats it, Kirk fucking Brandon, he snorted unable to contain his laughter. What was the name of his band, Circus of Hate? Theatre, said Ivy. Oh yeah, thats right, Theatre of Hate. Paul laughed. God they were bad, Theatre of Shite more like. He threw a quick glance at Ivy. And you used to love him, he teased. I did not love him, Ivy protested. Yes you did, you had his face all over your bedroom wall, with his stupid piggy eyes and his quiff. He did not have piggy eyes. He had piggy eyes and a piggy voice, Paul grinned. And you loved him. Ivys visage was initially stern, but the muscular effort required proved too much, and her face

306 cracked into a smile. Just keep your eyes on the road, she managed through her giggles. Paul looked at Ivy. What did I do to deserve you? he said with genuine affection. Just for you heres a love song Just for you heres a love song And it makes me glad to say Its been a lovely day And its okay.

Approaching the steepest part of Highgate Hill, Paul gently applied the brakes, but the car did not seem to slow down. Applying more pressure, his heart began to beat faster as he realised his efforts were having no effect. Stifling a rising sense of panic, he pumped the brake pedal furiously before slamming it to the floor of the car. Still the brakes failed to work and the BMW began to increase its speed as it continued its descent of the steep hill. The brakes! screamed Paul over the noise of the stereo. Theyre not working! Ivy leaped up in her seat. Keep trying! she yelled. Paul forced his right foot down hard on the brake pedal. Its not fucking working! Use the hand-brake, use the hand-brake! Ivy screamed. Paul clutched the black lever and pulled it savagely upwards. Nothing! he bellowed in horror. Ivy was pointing straight ahead beyond the windscreen. Watch out!

Ill be the mail, youll be the guard Ill be the ink on your season-ticket card.

Paul turned his head in time to see the back of a large white transit van looming towards them. Wrenching the steering wheel to the right, they managed to avoid a head on collision, but still impacted heavily with the rear side of the transit, sending the van spinning to the left, where it ploughed into a row of parked cars.

307 Meanwhile, the BMW was now on the wrong side of the road facing the oncoming traffic. Frantically spinning the steering wheel, Paul managed to avoid a blue Skoda as they veered back across the road, the cars tyres howling like tortured banshees. Glancing at the dashboard, Paul noticed the digital rev-counter. Its fucking speeding up and I havent got my foot on the accelerator! he screamed.

Ill be the rubbish, youll be the bin Ill be the paint on the sign if youll be the tin.

Managing to avoid a row of parked cars, they raked the side of a yellow Ford Escort, shunting it violently onto the pavement. The heavier BMW, however, bounced off the Ford in a shower of sparks and continued slaloming down the hill. Looking at the speedometer, Paul dimly registered the ever-increasing numbers as he continued to desperately stamp on the brake pedal. Beyond the windscreen, the foot of Highgate Hill was rapidly approaching, and with it, the busy traffic-filled junction onto Holloway road. Immediately in the road ahead was a green Nissan Micra, its crowded interior barely managing to house a family of four. From the backseat, a little girl stared transfixed at the oncoming BMW, her face a frozen mask of terror. Just for you heres a love song Just for you heres a love song

308 With adrenaline soaked muscles, Paul yanked the steering wheel to the right and the BMW hurtled past the back of the Nissan with inches to spare, its tyres screeching in protest as it veered back onto the right hand side of the road and the oncoming traffic. And it makes me glad to say Its been a lovely day And its okay

Approaching at speed was a large motorcycle, its leather-clad occupant bent low over the handlebars. With no time to react, Paul raised his hands across his face as the BMW ploughed into the motorbike. The force of the collision shattered bumpers and headlights in a cascade of plastic and coloured glass, the heavier BMW punching the motorcycle backwards and high into the air. The impact launched the motorcycles rider from their seat and they propelled forwards, their boots shattering the BMWs windscreen as they bounced across its roof, their body tumbling over the car to land a crumpled heap of shattered bones. Still the BMW increased its speed, the digital speedometer now reading over 100 miles per hour as it mounted the pavement. Just for you heres a love song Just for you heres a love song.

Directly ahead was the wide plate-glass window of a busy Macdonalds restaurant its green dayglow plastic tables jammed with customers busy enjoying the delights of their Egg McMuffin or their Fillet-o-Fish. Paul could plainly see the look of horror on the face of a tall black man, his burger still hanging in front of his open mouth, as the BMW careened through the window and embedded itself into the middle of the crowded eatery.

309

And it makes me glad to say Its been a lovely day And its okay.

Paul regained consciousness to the sound of muffled groans interspersed with terrible cries of pain and suffering. Attempting to move his right arm, he was slightly perturbed to discover it refused to respond. Looking down at the immobile limb, he noticed the large piece of tubularsteel that protruded from his chest before making its way through the cars shattered windscreen. That shouldnt be there. Forgetting this minor setback, he returned to the task of getting his arm to move. After numerous unsuccessful attempts, he decided to transfer his efforts to his legs, but they also failed to respond. Not a good sign His dazed thoughts suddenly found themselves interrupted by a noise to his left. It was definitely a familiar sound, but he just could not place it. Concentrating hard he realized it was the voice of his wife, Ivy. Moving only his eyes, as he couldnt seem to move his neck, Paul observed the battered figure of his soul mate. Her right arm was badly broken and he could see a white knot of bone protruding through her coat at the elbow. Lifting his eyes, he was appalled to find her nose now reduced to shattered lump of cartilage that pumped blood down her mouth and chin. Her seatbelt seemed to be jammed as she frantically scrabbled at the catch with her left hand. Smed de Pedro, she seemed to be saying, Smed de Pedrosmed de Pedro! What Pedro? Paul was confused.

310 We havent got any Mexicans in the car. Smedl the petro, Ivy insisted. Smedl the petrol, smell de petrol! Oh, right. Smell the petrol. Paul was pleased he had successfully deciphered his wifes sentence. A feeling that lasted the time it took for him to look down and notice the oily-liquid pouring into the car through the pedals beneath his feet. Turning his eyes to Ivy, Paul smiled, thankful at least his lips still worked. I love you, he whispered, a split-second before the BMW exploded into a ball of flame.

311

Chapter Twenty-Two
My son, you've seen the temporary fire and the eternal fire; you have reached the place past, which my powers cannot see. I've brought you here through intellect and art;

Dante Alighieri The Divine Comedy Canto XXVII, Purgatorio

Simon was climbing a flight of immense granite steps, their rough weathered surface slick with moss and lichen. Wind and rain lashed his naked body, and a large chain dangled from his left leg, shackled to his ankle by a rusty circular band, the chains heavy links trailing out behind him down the granite staircase. On each side of the ancient structure spanned a limitless expanse of sky, its immense space filled by vast black storm clouds. Far below, the jagged-peaks of a mountain range jutted through the clouds like the stumps of rotten teeth, while far above him the staircase was lost in another bank of dense cloud. Somewhere within Simon could hear a bell ringing, or perhaps the peal of some immense gong. Turning his head towards the sound, he could see a glow emanating from the clouds, and forcing himself onwards, he made his way towards the radiance. Suddenly, the chain bit painfully at his ankle. Turning his head, he watched it fall away, snaking down the steep staircase where it disappeared from view. Gathering his strength, he began to haul on the chain for some minutes until it went taught and he had a pile of rusted-links lying at his feet. Exhausted, he dropped his burden and continued his ascent. Upwards he climbed; the rain lashing his exposed skin like icy barbed wire, the heavy chain-

312 biting deep into his ankle. Step by agonizing step, until each stair seemed a towering precipice, until the ringing in his ears was almost unbearable, and the light so intense he could see the bones in his hand through his skin. He was close, almost at the summit, when suddenly the chain bit hard into his leg and he pitched forwards. Bringing his hands out to cushion his fall, he fell heavily onto the rough granite and lay winded for some seconds. Then, to his horror, he began to be slowly, inexorably, dragged downwards Nooooo! Wait, wait! He was screaming, trying to dig his fingertips into the slippery mosscovered stone. Wait, Im nearly there, Waaaaaaitttttt! Si, Si! Wake up, Si, wake- Simon opened his eyes to find Penny gently shaking his arm. Jesus, Penny! he gasped. Penny looked frightened. Are you alright? You were writhing around and then you started screaming, I thought you were having some sort of fit. Simon took a deep breath and sighed, Christ, sorry if I scared you hone, it was just a nightmare, he said sheepishly. He paused and indicated to the table beside the bed. But how long has that goddam phone been ringing? he growled. About a minute, Penny explained, it woke me up. I was about to answer it when you started screaming. Simon scowled. Well maybe someone had better; they dont seem to be giving up. What if its...? Penny was unable to finish the sentence. Simon shook his head and smiled reassuringly. Lowson said theyd intercept any calls, but Ill answer it just in case. Moving over Pennys naked body, he pinned her to the mattress. Reaching out his left arm, he took the receiver and put it to his ear. Oh, its you Inspector, he said looking into Pennys upturned face. That doesnt sound good.

313 Penny wrinkled her nose quizzically. Sure, I understand... Simon looked serious. Okay, well meet him down stairs in the lobby in about twenty minutes, Goodbye. Placing the receiver back in its cradle, he turned to Penny That was Corbett; he wants us to come to his office right away. DS Lowson will pick us up in twenty-minutes. Penny tilted her head. Maybe theyve solved the case? Sorry to sound cynical, baby, but How long did you say weve got? Penny asked with a mischievous grin. Twenty-minutes Perfect, she sighed.

Good morning Doctor Fry, Ms. Marshall, please take a seat. Detective Inspector Corbett indicated to two chairs sitting in front of his desk. Im afraid there is no easy way to say this, he began solemnly, so, I will simply state the facts as we know them. At approximately ten-seventeen a.m. this morning a black BMW owned and operated by your cousin, Paul Fry, collided at high-speed into a McDonalds restaurant in Highgate, North London. Unfortunately both Paul, and his wife, Ivy, died in the collision.

314 Penny almost fell out of her chair. No! No! This cant be happening! she howled, her breath pumping in and out in a rush of hyperventilation. Hes trying to kill us! Hes trying to kill us all! Her face had drained of colour and she began to tremble. Simon took her into his arms and attempted to calm her. Its okay Penny, its okay, he soothed, gently stroking her hair. Perhaps I should get a female officer to attend Ms. Marshall? Corbett asked. Penny lifted her head from Simons shoulder. No, its okay, Inspector, its just the shockIm so sorry, she whispered. Corbett opened a drawer and produced a small box of paper tissues, which he slid across his desk. Simon was furious. Now perhaps you believe us, Inspector? he demanded. Corbett remained placid. Although badly damaged, forensic examination of the car has revealed nothing suspicious, he said slowly and deliberately. And eye-witness accounts describe your cousin swerving to avoid a transit van before going out of control. As far as we can ascertain, this was a tragic accident, nothing more. Oh come on! Simon shouted. We told you yesterday someone had murdered Dr. Harrison and threatened our lives, what more do you want? Corbett looked Simon in the eye. Evidence is still customary in these circumstances, sir. Moreover, if you remember, the video containing the alleged murder in fact turned out to be a three-minute clip of Sponge Bob Square Pants. Now Im as big a fan of the comical yellow sponge as the next copper, but- He shrugged. What about the envelope and the note? Simon growled ignoring Corbetts sarcasm. Or do you think we had those printed ourselves? Weve examined both items; unfortunately we found no DNA evidence on either, other than your own and Miss Marshalls. Although, we have been able to ascertain the author used the popular font Times New Roman, and probably had the items printed on some kind of handheld printer, a device freely available on the open market. In short, they told us nothing. Simon was getting angrier by the second. Corbett seemed to be deliberately ignoring all they had

315 told him in their statements. What about Dr. Harrison, has he turned up yet? he demanded. Dr Harrison has not returned to either his shop or his flat and we have received no answer from his mobile phone. Simon shook his head in amazement. And you dont find that a little suspicious, especially, in light of what we told you yesterday? An objective observer might conclude the reason you know so much about Dr. Harrisons absence is because you had something to do with it, Corbett said bluntly. Simon threw his hands up in despair. So you do suspect us! he said. I suppose I clambered around the London Eye for an alibi, is that it? Better yet, maybe I threw myself under that goddam subway train on purpose! Simon rose angrily to his feet. Youre a joke, Inspector! Its pretty obvious to anyone whos been paying attention that some psycho is targeting our family. What will it take for you to pull your thumb out of your ass and do something? Corbett nodded and he seemed amused. Do sit down, Sir, that ankle of yours looks painful, he observed. Simons eyes flashed with fury. Thats almost funny, Inspector! Okay, Corbett replied sharply, all trace of humour gone. While we are all in a jovial-mood, let me tell you exactly what this amounts to. We have a bookshop owner who has been missing for approximately 48hours and a tragic car accident involving your relatives. Linking these two facts, we have you climbing around the London Eye shouting about a bomb; and some time before that, falling under a train during a tragically successful suicide-attempt on the London Underground. In addition, we have a typed note, an envelope, and a gold ring. These are the concrete facts. The elaborate web of conspiracy and intrigue that connects these seemingly random items rests solely upon the statements made by you and by Ms. Marshall. So far, forensics has been unable to discover any DNA evidence on either the envelope or the note other than your own. Obviously, we opened and read the goddam thing, Simon muttered angrily. And of course, Corbett continued, you threw the mobile phone allegedly containing the plastic

316 explosives and the video of Dr. Harrisons murder into the Thames. I thought it was a bomb, what else was I gonna do, swallow it? All in all, this does not give us much solid evidence to go on. Corbett sat back in his chair and offered a thin smile. And unfortunately the British legal system, flawed though it maybe, still requires all that complicated evidence stuff. Simon wanted to wipe the smug look of Corbetts face so badly he could taste it. So youre simply gonna sit back and do nothing? he shouted. I didnt say that doctor, I was merely stating the known facts. Personally, I dont know if I totally believe your story, but something definitely doesnt add-up. Unfortunately, until we can locate the whereabouts of Dr. Harrison, there is very little I can do, Im afraid. Cant you give us some sort of police protection? Simon demanded. Corbett shook his head. Strictly speaking, no, but under the circumstances I think it might be wise if DS Lowson accompanied you both for the next few days. At least thats something, Simon said looking at Penny. Do you really suspect us of making this all up, Inspector? Penny asked dabbing her eyes with a paper tissue. Corbett looked at Penny and smiled. Well lets put it this way, Miss, I find it highly unlikely the doctor, here, would Tarzan around the London Eye just to provide himself with an alibi. Simon sighed. Thank you, he said re-taking his seat. Corbett stopped smiling. But, Id be lying if I said stranger things havent happened. We are doing all we can to locate Dr. Harrison; until then, my hands are pretty much tied. And if he never turns up? Simon asked wearily. Without a body, or further evidence of a crime being committed, we will declare Dr. Harrison as officially missing. And what happens to us? As no evidence currently exists implicating you in his disappearance you will be free to go.

317 And what about the killer, Simon demanded, his voice rising, he just gets away with it? Or maybe waits and then targets us sometime later. Unfortunately, Sir, without the aid of psychic powers, or some kind of time machine, I am unable to answer your question. We are currently involved in a search for Dr. Harrison; let us do our job, doctor. In the meantime, you and Ms. Marshall will return to the not-altogether unpleasant surroundings of your hotel. You will have 24 hour-protection from one of my best officers, so you have nothing to fear. Hopefully, in a few days well have found Dr. Harrison and we can proceed from there. Paul nodded. Yeaahyoure right, Inspector, he conceded with a grim smile. Im sorry if Ive been an asshole, but the shock of Paul and Ivys deathI want this sick bastard behind bars where he belongs. Corbett offered a conciliatory raise of his eyebrows. Think nothing of it, doctor. He smiled for a second and then suddenly became very serious. And believe me, he said leaning across his desk, if there is a killer targeting your family, I will do all in my power to stop him. Simon believed him.

318 Detective Inspector Corbett was smiling. Ah, DS Lowson just the man I wanted to see. Shut the door and come in. He indicated to one of the chairs in front of his desk. This sounds ominous, Lowson observed before taking a seat. Youre smiling and thats never a good sign. Corbett shrugged. Bollocks, avuncular, thats me, warm and avuncular. Those were the very words some of the woodentops in the canteen were using to describe you only this morning, guv. Great bunch, Corbett said dismissively, even if most of them are thick-as-shit racist thugs. Not all of them; some are quite intelligent racist thugs, Lowson added. Corbett shook his head sadly. They just dont get the fact its not any particular race, creed, or colour thats rotten, its the whole fucking human race, son. You ever think you might have been in this job just a bit too long, guv? Corbett folded his arms and looked at his sergeant. At twenty-seven, Lowson was twenty years younger than Corbett and perhaps three-inches taller. Corbett was five-foot eleven, so Lowson was a big man, this added to his well-proportioned body gave him a commanding presence; something the young detective would readily bring to bear should the situation warrant. Corbett had seen him in action, and the speed of his reactions was genuinely impressive, especially when hed dealt with that prat Cowell, the redneck dickhead from the armed response unit. For the rest of the time, Lowson was good-natured and always had a book in his pocket, and whether it was some crappy sci-fi paperback, or the Confessions of Jean-Jacques-soddingRousseau, Corbett would read the titles, and tell him the film was better. Hed known Lowson for nearly seven years and he still liked him. That alone was a rarity in Corbetts experience. Most of the coppers hed worked with he disliked in one way or another. You had the Canteen Cowboys, wet behind the ears Muppets who liked to give the wisdom of their nine months of experience to anyone whod listen, or the preening Station Cat, some uniform carrier who never left the fucking factory, or the anal job-worths only interested in

319 greasing their way up the pole to a cushy desk job where they can sit on their shiny arse until retirement at 50 on a fat state pension. In many respects, these were preferable to the mavericks whod watched too much Sweeney when they were a kid, or whatever Yank rubbish they make these days. (Corbett didnt watch any detective shows or films made past 1980, considering the 1970s the finest decade for police drama. Nowadays it was as if the detectives just stood around with their hands in their pockets while the fucking forensics squad solved the case. Bollox, in thirty years of service, Corbett had never witnessed a crime solved by forensic evidence alone, let alone by a brooding forensics officers with a mordant sense of humour conducting the investigation in his spare time. Modern cop shows were too much rotting corpses and moody autopsy shots, and nowhere near-enough heavy-boozing, hard-swearing and fastdriving of fast cars, with a few fast-women either on the side, or for good measure, as far as Corbett was concerned.) Nevertheless, Lowson was different, he wasnt the gung-ho type, but then again he would be the first man Corbett wanted beside him if they were going in mob-handed. Lowson was that rare breed, a smart, intelligent, witty and perceptive young black man who had decided to become a police officer. Corbett smiled. What you saying, Sergeant, that Ive become a bitter and twisted clich of a policeman? Sorry to burst your bubble, son, but I was bitter and twisted from the womb. If you say so, guv, And to prove it, Ive decided to give Fry and Marshall twenty-four hour police protection; this will of course mean some poor sap will have to accompany them throughout the day and remain on duty throughout the night. And that poor sap is, Corbett began to tap his fingers on his desk. Cue drum rollyou, he said pausing to relish Lowsons expression. The Detective Sergeant did not disappoint. Youve got to be fucking kidding! he exclaimed. Its only a couple of days til Christmas, guv.

320 Do I sound like Im fucking-kidding? Corbett asked. But I thought you said you didnt believe a sodding-word of their story, so why the bloody twenty-four-seven? Because I want to know exactly where they go and exactly what they do, until we eventually find Harrison parked-up in some shitty little bed and breakfast at some book convention in Suffolk. Besides which, if, in the million to one chance there is a killer, I want you around if they try again. Lowson realised what Corbett was doing and he didnt like it. So youre using Marshall and Fry as bait. Corbett offered a thin smile. That depends whether you believe their story or not. I find it hard to believe Fry would go clambering around the London Eye unless he had a bloody good reason, guv, Lowson said flatly. Corbett sat back in his chair. Do you remember the Patrick Marsden case, Nat? Vaguely, Lowson nodded. He murdered his wife and kids in some kind of insurance scam, didnt he? Correct, he concocted a story about an intruder breaking-in to the house and killing his whole family. He claimed he struggled with the perp but was knocked unconscious, and he had the injuries to prove it, including a six-inch knife wound in his right shoulder. Turns out, he set the whole thing up. Smothered his wife and three year-old daughter with a pillow, beat-himself up, and stuck a carving knife into his arm. He did all that for two hundred and fifty grand, son. Lowson remembered the case and he wasnt convinced. Marsden was drowning in gambling debts, and his company was going down the shitter wasnt it? Frys got a successful career in the States and Marshall is fruitfully employed as a freelance hack, neither have large outstanding debts, not to mention the fuck-off mansion Frys just legally inherited from his uncle, wheres the motive? Corbett smiled a crocodile smile. Interesting you should mention his dead uncle. He indicated

321 to a blue folder sitting on his desk. Ive got the coroners report. And? Lowson said folding his arms. And, the aunt and the uncle both committed suicide; overdose of pain killers Harriet Fry was prescribed for her brain tumour. But you think different? Im not denying they died from an overdose; but who better to administer it than a doctor? So youre saying Fry aided their suicides? Perhaps with or without their consent, Corbett said flatly. But they found a suicide note. Have you read it? No, Lowson confessed. Well, its been confirmed it was written by Nicolas Fry, and basically it outlines his wifes illness and their joint-decision to commit suicide when the pain got too great, blah-blah. Thing is, it doesnt have a date, so Corbett paused and allowed Lowson to come to his own conclusion. It didnt take long. It couldve been written anytime after Harriet was diagnosed with her brain tumour. Precisely, or maybe Nicolas Fry was forced to write it. Lowson nodded. And our doctor did stand to inherit the house. As motives go, Nat, its quite a good one. But the whole London Eye palaver, theres no way Fry couldve known hed survive, guv. Corbett considered the question. Maybe his cousins were involved and the merry band had a bit of a falling-out? he said thinking aloud. Or maybe there really was a bomb in the mobile phone and Paul Fry planted it? Maybe thats why he ended up burning to death in his car with his wife? But why didnt the phone explode? Maybe the water fucked it up, or stopped the signal, or the bomb was badly made, who knows? So they murder their aunt and uncle making it look like suicide and then argue amongst

322 themselves over the loot That just about sums it up, son. What about Harrison? Maybe he found out about their little plan? But weve got the envelope and the note. Yeah, which you know as well as I do amounts to fuck-all. Anyone couldve typed and printed that note, and that brand of envelope sits on the shelves of most of the newsagents and post offices in the country. Not to mention the only DNA found on them belongs to Fry and Marshall. Thats not surprising as they admit to handling them, guv. Just maybe theyre telling the truth and a killer really is targeting their family; youve read Nicolas Frys research. All very interesting, Corbett dismissed with a wave of his hand, but wheres the motive for murder, son? Well the gold rings for a start. If they are the ones mentioned in Shakespeares will theyve got to be worth something. Ill get someone to have the one weve got appraised. Fry said the killer insinuated he worked for the School of Night. Could it be that someone, possibly a member of the Lodge, believes the information in Frys research is worth killing for? Youve read it, Nat. Bits of it, And, apart from the fact it might all be bollocks, do you think it worth killing for? It does mention an illegitimate heir to the throne of England. What if the bloodlines still around and theyre trying to hide the fact? Corbett laughed loudly and for a long time. Youve been reading too much Dan Brown, son, he said giving Lowson a withering stare. I told you itd rot your brain. Lowson shrugged. Well, what about the identity of the true author of Shakespeares plays,

323 maybe someone doesnt want the real author to be known for some reason. Books get published every year about that load of old cobblers, Corbett snorted. Obviously theres a few-bob in it, but hardly worth killing for. Lowson scratched his nose. Marsden did his entire family for two hundred and fifty grand, guv, he reminded his superior. Lowson had scratched his nose; Corbett knew this meant his sergeant was slightly annoyed. It was one of his tells. Scratching his nose signified minor irritation, a tug of the earlobe signaled medium annoyance, and a short sniff generally denoted approaching anger. Woe betides the individual who witnessed all three in quick succession as this usually resulted in broken furniture and a visit to casualty. Corbett was perhaps one of the few to have observed the deadly trio unscathed, and he would often push Lowson to his limits just to see how far he could go. It wasnt malicious, but deep down Corbett wanted his sergeant to understand he was the boss, besides if it ever came to a fight, Corbett knew hed win, he could be brutal and he didnt fight fair. Lowson was just too much of the gentleman. Dont worry, Sergeant; Ill do some checking on the School of Night. Perhaps theres more to them than a bunch of sad old-sods with dodgy trouser legs, but I doubt it. Go easy, guv, Portinari is well connected. Corbett slumped back further into his chair. Hes just an ageing yuppie who spends too much time in the dressing-up box. Hes also the countrys most high profile businessman since Branson lost it with the railways, hes pals with Prince Charles, and he played bass with U2 on that End Third-World Debt thing in Hyde Park. Im well aware of his public profile, Sergeant. Im just saying hes got the press and the media in his pocket, guv, so go easy. Corbett laced his fingers across his bulging stomach and smiled. Easy's my middle name, son. I thought it was, Sinbad.

324 Corbett didnt look amused. I told you, my mother liked the films, he growled. And, if you were ever to let slip the fact, youll find yourself back in uniform mopping the bogs before you can say Ray Harryhausen. Who? Lowson laughed. Look it up you ignorant twat; itll give you something to do while you baby-sit Fry and Marshall. We wouldnt want you getting bored. Youre all heart, guv. Now it was Corbetts turn to laugh. Oh, and keep a close eye on them, he said with a grin, Ive got a suspicion theyre feelings for each other are not entirely platonic. Lowson looked disgusted. But theyre cousins, he protested. Perfectly legal in this country, Sergeant, Corbett said amiably. Lowson shook his head. I know, but theyre cousins. Dont let your own judgments cloud your vision, son, we arent interested in the moral ramifications; just whether Fry and Marshall are exchanging bodily-fluids on a regular basis, and if they are the implication that fact might have on our investigation. Lowson shrugged. Ill be discretion itself, guv. I dont doubt it. Corbett smiled and rasped at the stubble on his chin. Oh, and dont go ordering room service the budget only stretches to sandwiches, and keep the fucking receipts. Lowson got to his feet. And a Merry Christmas to us all, each and every one, he sighed. Pushing the chair back under Corbetts desk, he left the room. I wonder if The Seven Voyages of Sinbad is gonna be on telly this year? he muttered as he stepped into the corridor. I know where you live, Lowson! Corbett shouted as Lowson closed the door.

325

Thirty seconds later, Detective Inspector Corbett took his mobile phone from his pocket and pushed a button. He didnt like lying to Lowson, but there were some things his sergeant just wouldnt understand. Corbett had been a copper for most of his life and he had never taken a bribe, intimidated a witness, doctored a statement, beaten a confession out of a suspect, or committed perjury in court. He was justly proud of the fact he had based his many convictions upon solid evidence. Corbett didnt care whether the suspect was a crack head or a member of the House of Lords, he would treat them as equals. That was what he considered justice to be, blind and impartial. Corbett always referred to the statue on the roof the Old Bailey, a sword in her left hand, a set of scales in her right, and a blindfold around her head. He even knew the motto inscribed beneath the statue: Defend the children of the poor and punish the wrongdoer. As far as he was concerned, that was all you needed to know. That was until Lowson, the little sod, had pointed out the fact that the statue of Justice above The Old Bailey doesnt have a blindfold. Corbett had dismissed it as the usual Lowson bollox, but Lowson had shown him high-resolution photographs on the internet that proved his point. He then went on to prove the personification of Justice, sans blindfold, was in fact commonplace and used in such countries as Germany, New Zealand and the U.S.A. Just to add insult to injury, Lowson also revealed the origin of Justice with a blindfold seemed to

326 have stemmed for America sometime in the sixteenth-century, as a parody of the inequalities, inequities and injustice of the legal system. Corbett laughed and made some sarcastic remark, but deep down he was stunned. His entire concept of what it meant to be a police officer was nothing more than a dark satire. Justice had never worn a blindfold, not even on ancient Roman coins, she had never been impartial and Corbett was a fool. He was a fool, but he wasnt stupid, he had witnessed the bias and prejudices of the judicial system. The Benefits cheat who gets three years for swindling five grand and the city whiz kid who gets nine months in an open prison for stealing millions. The women from housing estates imprisoned for shoplifting nappies, while minor celebrities and pop stars receive a suspended sentence and then sell their stories to Hello! Magazine. The unemployed black kid who gets five years for dealing cocaine and the politicians kid who buy it from them only sentenced to rehab. On and on, yet he always reconciled the inequalities he witnessed with the knowledge he, at least, was attempting to turn the tide. Corbett realised the only way to change the system was from the inside, and if he could maintain a record of faithful convictions or justified acquittals he was laying a foundation for others like Lowson to follow. With enough luck, they might achieve some kind of victory by about the end of twenty-second century, but it was a start. Needless to say, Corbetts ethos had not made him popular amongst the ranks of his fellow officers, especially the fact he was as prepared to arrest a police officer, as he was any other individual he suspected of criminal activity. Consequently he was pretty much ostracized, a pall of silence falling over the canteen, or any other communal environment, whenever he happened to step into. Corbett didnt care, finding the company of most coppers to be generally boorish, infantile, sexist, homophobic and often borderline racist, and that was just the Women officers. As far as he was concerned, they were a basic resource; you gave them simple instructions and

327 pointed them in the right direction. He had a carefully chosen team he trusted and that was all he needed. As for his superiors, they found his actual ability to solve crimes to be a boon, but otherwise they loathed him. He simply wouldnt play the game, didnt join the right clubs, and consequently never invited to the right dinner parties or soires. Corbett had thus remained a Detective Inspector for over ten years, everyone knew it was a joke, an insult he wore daily, a way of saying, you dont fit in, old chap, but after Lowsons revelation that had all changed. Corbett had given his life to his job, and what had he got to show for his efforts. No wife, no children, a rusty E-Type Jag, and a two bedroom flat in Barnet that he was still paying the fucking mortgage on, mortgage literally, death-gauge. Well, Corbett had had enough; it was time for him to get something back, even if it meant compromise. Fuck, it, his whole bloody philosophy, if the infantile notion deserved such a title, turned out based upon a mistake. Some sarcastic bastard four hundred years ago had painted a fucking blindfold on a statue, and Corbett had lived his life by the image. Ha-fuck-ing-ha-fuck-ing-har. The blindfold lifted from Corbetts eyes, he knew exactly what to do. He contacted the right people, who contacted the right people, introductions were made, handshakes given, oaths taken, and four years later here he was, waiting for of one of the most annoying little shits he had met in his life to inform him the person he had dialed was not available and he would have to leave a message. Corbett scowled. Sinclair, its me, get back to me as soon as you get this message. Im not in the mood for your arsing about. Closing his phone, he sat back in his chair and looked out of the window at the storm clouds and the heavy rain. He fucking hated Christmas.

328

Chapter Twenty Three

It is impossible to love and to be wise. Francis Bacon

Im so glad youre here, Penny said to Detective Sergeant Lowson. Shes not the only one, added Simon removing his key-card from his coat pocket. I gotta confess, knowing youre outside makes me feel a whole lot better. Lowson smiled. I dont think anyone would be stupid enough to try anything in the hotel, but Detective Inspector Corbett thought wed better be safe than sorry. Im sorry if this messes up your Christmas, Penny said sheepishly. Simon looked as if he had just realised something. Jesus, I almost forgot its nearly Christmas Eve! he exclaimed. We cant leave you out in the corridor Sergeant, come in for a drink, or something to eat, please. Lowson shook his head firmly. Thats very kind, sir, but Ive got things to do here at the hotel before I can relax. Where will you sleep? asked Penny. Ill move one of the armchairs from down the corridor, Ill be fine Miss. You must take some blankets and a pillow; weve got plenty. Ill get some from my room and give them to you later.

329 That sounds like a good idea, thank you, Miss. Okay Sergeant, said Simon, dont hesitate to knock anytime, youre welcome to eat with us, its the least we can do under the circumstances. Lowson nodded. You know where to find me, sir.

~
I still cant believe it, Penny said taking a seat on the sofa. Its horrible, I thought maybe theyd give up after the London Eye, but they seem to be targeting our whole family. She paused. Oh Jesus what about your wife? she suddenly realised. Simon shook his head. Thats just not possible baby, he said. Shes thousands of miles away, besides, they dont have my address in the States, or her cell number. Penny wasnt convinced. How do we know what they have? They seem to have found Paul and Ivy easily enough. Ill talk to Corbett about it. Why not ring her now? Dont know if thats such a good idea, Simon said quietly. Penny looked worried. Why not...? Okay, Simon began, this is something Ive been thinking about for a few hours and admittedly it might be bullshit. What? Penny demanded. Well, if they are monitoring us, and thats a big if, maybe they can intercept our phone calls,

330 especially when we use our mobile phones. Penny fell silent. Oh, Christ, the thought hadnt even crossed my mind, but youre right, they could be listening to everything we say. She began staring suspiciously around the room. After a few seconds her eyes became saucers. Oh, Jesus was that how they found Leo? she sobbed. Did we lead them straight to their victim? Simon took Pennys hand. I dont think thats possible, baby, we rang Leo after he failed to show at his shop, remember? So its more likely they already knew hes whereabouts. Leo said hed had a break-in last year; maybe the twisted bastards have been stalking him for months, at least thats what the killer implied on the video. Penny shuddered. Yes I remember. According to the killer, they gave Leo and Uncle Nicolas clear warnings not to continue with their research; the break-in presumably being one of them. Penny took a deep breath and tried to relax. So now do you think they were on to something? Simon shrugged. I just dont know what to believe, he admitted, but someone obviously thinks theres something here worth committing murder for. Yes, but what? Penny said wearily. Theres so much information. Well, an illegitimate heir to the throne mightve caused a revolution in Elizabethan England, but nowadays itd merit a couple of books and maybe a documentary; hardly a motive for murder. What if the heir had living descendants? Apart from the pages of pulp fiction, in the real world, claims to royal bloodlines are not that rare, and certainly not worth killing over. Okay, what about the identity of the true author of the Shakespearian works; thats got to be worth something? If Leo is right itll just sit on the shelves alongside the hundreds of other books written on the subject; sure it might sell a few copies and make a few bucks, but again is it worth killing for? So were left with the rings.

331 If they are those referred to in Shakespeares will, theyd undoubtedly be valuable; but someone like the Victoria and Albert Museum would buy them due to their heritage status; again youd make a few bucks So, that only leaves the facts in the research, Penny insisted. No matter how ludicrous we think they are. Unless this is all an elaborate ruse, Simon said in a low voice. Penny eyes shone quizzically. For what? she asked. Simon thought for a moment. I dont know, to cover the killers real motive? Which is? I dont know, Simon admitted. I just dont know. Penny leaned close and Simon took her in his arms. One thing I do know, he said with conviction. I wont let the sonofabitch harm a hair on your head.

Ive never met a woman like you, he whispered. Opening his mouth, he took her nipple between his lips. She sighed, the sound catching in the back of her throat. Driven by passion, he continued on his journey, lightly kissing her rib cage and taunt muscular stomach. Reaching her belly button, he stopped to flick his tongue into the small indent, before slowly making his way

332 onwards. She opened her legs and he took her swollen clitoris into his mouth. Lifting his eyes, they locked gazes and he brought her to a gasping orgasm. Rising from between her legs, they embraced in a fierce kiss. Tasting her musk on his lips, she grabbed a handful of hair from the back of his head and tugged hard. Fuck me! she demanded staring into his face. Fuck me!

Simon was idly tracing a small birthmark on Pennys thigh with the tip of his index finger, when the doorbell to his suite shattered the intimate silence, sending a jolt through the young woman that flexed all the muscles in her body. Shit! Penny exclaimed brushing her hair from her face. Dont worry its just Lowson, Simon reassured her. We told him to call any time, remember? I dont want him to find us like this! Penny protested. Probably not the best of ideas, Simon admitted looking at Pennys naked body with a comicleer. Penny scowled. Its not funny, Si, she said rising from the sofa and searching for her discarded

333 clothing. Bollox! This is yours. She threw a black tee shirt into Simons grinning face. Scooping her jeans and panties from the floor Penny quickly headed for her suite. Tell him Im in the bath or something, she hissed. Simon had removed the t-shirt from his head and was gazing at Pennys back. Has anyone ever told you youve got a great ass? he informed her. Penny opened the interconnecting door and stepped into her suite. And youll never get your hands on it again if you mention this to Lowson, she said sharply, but the look on Simons face forced her to smile, and she turned away quickly and shut the door. Simon prepared himself to get up from the sofa. Manoeuvring his body, he carefully planted his weight on his good right foot, and using the arm of the sofa for support, got to his feet. Hold it Sergeant Ive just got out of the shower, let me get a robe! he called into the bedroom. Hobbling to the bathroom, he grabbed a bathrobe from a hook and wrapped it around his naked body. Im coming Sergeant, Im coming! Before opening the door, Simon took the precaution of attaching the latch, and through the small chain-linked gap, he could see the anxious face of DS Lowson staring back at him. Lowson smiled. Its me, doctor, he said. Simon shut the door and unhooked the chain-latch. Glad to see youre taking sensible precautions, Lowson remarked when Simon has reopened the door. Although I was getting a tad worried over how long it took for you to answer. Simon shrugged and indicated to his bathrobe. Sorry, I was about to have a shower, I didnt hear the doorbell. And Ms. Marshall? asked Lowson. Shes not answering her door, either. Shes taking a bath, I think, or maybe she just crashed-out, Simon said nonchalantly. I see. Okay, well, I just wanted to inform you the hotel staff will allow no visitors to your suites without clearing it with us first. In addition, the hotel CCTV room is keeping a close watch on the

334 fire exits. Combined with my presence, you should both be perfectly safe. Simon tightened the sash on his bathrobe and smiled. That makes me feel much better, he admitted gratefully. Is there any news about Dr. Harrison? Lowson shook his head. We have received no further information of his whereabouts, Im afraid. Maybe the sick bastard just left him in the garage. Unfortunately, doctor, without the actual video footage, the description you provided fits literally thousands of locations in London, Lowson admitted. Simon scowled. Thats why he chose it. Perhaps Simon looked Lowson in the eye and asked, Tell me, Sergeant, do you believe our story; or do you think were both crazy? Lowson held Simons gaze and considered the question. To tell you the truth, I find it hard to believe youd endanger youre life without a very good reason. What that reason is however Lowson hesitated and then smiled. Basically, doctor, the sooner we find Dr. Harrison the better, he concluded diplomatically. Simon looked disappointed. That doesnt really sound like a vote of confidence to me, he shrugged, but under the circumstances, Im not surprised. If someone had told me the same story ten-days ago, I wouldve laughed my ass-off. Now Im so scared I dont know whether to laugh or cry, so I just do both. Lowson nodded. I understand the strain you must be under, both you and Ms. Marshall, he said with compassion, but believe me, were doing all we can to resolve this. Youre safe here. I know its not easy, but youve just got to sit and wait. Simon sighed. Yeaah, youre right, its just not easy relaxing knowing theres some maniac out there trying to kill us. He looked at Lowson and offered a wan smile. Okay, look, well be ordering food later, he said trying to lighten the mood, you get whatever you want, on me,

335 dont worry about any expenses bullshit. Thats very kind of you, sir. Jesus, its the least I can do considering. I dont figure you deliberately wanted to spend your Christmas sitting in the goddam-hallway of a hotel. Could be worse, Lowson observed. Last year, I spent itactually thats probably not an appropriate story, he reflected. Lets just say, it definitely could be worse. Simon smiled. Ill take your word for it, Sergeant. Anyway, just open your door and Ill be directly across the hall. Right, Simon nodded. Oh, and, Sergeant, he called as the police officer turned to walk away. Yes Sir? replied Lowson turning his head. Call me, Simon, and Ms. Marshalls name is, Penny. Sir Simon laughed and closed the door.

Its okay Penny, Simon called crossing the threshold into her suite. Lowsons gone; although I invited him to dinner later.

336 Pennys living room was empty and Simons heart began to beat faster. Penny? Receiving no answer, Simon anxiously began to scan the room. Penny! he called almost shouting. Im in here, Si! Pennys voice echoed from the bathroom. Sighing with relief, Simon walked through the living room and made his way to a door on his right. He found Penny lying in a large circular bath only her arms and head visible above the steaming water and pink bubbles. As he approached, Simon could see hundreds of reflections of himself in the tiny soapy mirrors. Even in miniature, he could see he looked awful. Jeebus, Penny, you spooked me for a second, he said sheepishly. Penny smiled. I needed a good soak, thats all, I didnt mean to scare you, she apologised. Its just me, baby, Simon shrugged, dont worry, Im a dumbass. Penny bent her knee and began to wash the smooth contours of her thigh with a large white sponge, the movements slow and sensual. I wouldnt say that, Id say you were a gentleman. She stopped washing and looked at Simon. Although thinking about some of the despicable acts of filth you forced me into last night, perhaps gentleman isnt completely apt. I forced you into? Simon laughed. Ill think youll find Im the one with the bandaged ankle. Penny smirked. It wasnt youre ankle I was referring to. Penny rose slowly from the steaming bath water, the movement sending a tsunami of pink bubbles cascading onto the white tiled floor. There you go again, she squealed, covering her breasts with her hands, perving over my tits. What sordid depravity do you next have in store for this innocent waif?

337

Later, reclining on the sofa in Simons suite, they nursed their drinks and gazed idly into the rain. In the distance, a band of hardy Joggers pounded the tarmac that skirted the circumference of Hyde Park, their tracksuits and hooded-tops clinging to their bodies as they doggedly completed their circuits. Turning his head, Simons attention fell upon the lone figure of a man in a gabardine Mac making his way across the park. A bedraggled Alsatian dog trailed in his wake, its collar attached to a long, retractable lead. The man was struggling gamely with a large black umbrella, his body bent double as he fought the savage wind, when suddenly he spun in a circle, obviously attempting to save his umbrella from turning inside out. After two more revolutions, he looked down and realised he had bound his ankles in the dogs lead. Attempting to free himself, he took a step forwards and toppled face first to the muddy ground. Putting his hands out to cushion his fall, he dropped the umbrella, which sailed away in the wind like a childs kite. The man lay prostrate for a few seconds and rolled onto his back. Disturbed by the commotion, his dog ambled up and began to lick his face. Simon shook his head. I make it nine solid days of continual rain; thats gotta be some kind of record, even for England, he said with disdain. Penny shrugged. Ive seen worse, in fact Ive seen summers worse than this. How come the entire population of this island isnt leaping from tall buildings like rain-drenched lemmings, Ill never understand. Simon shook his head. Seriously, the weather in this country is a severe mental-health hazard. Thats why were such a well balanced nation, Penny grinned.

338 Absolutely, with the highest rates of teenage pregnancy in Europe, not to mention alcoholism and drug dependency, Yes, but with this weather, booze, drugs, and shagging is a balanced decision. Simon looked at Penny, suddenly serious. Do you ever think about leaving England? Penny laughed. What, and miss all this? She indicated to the leaden clouds and the pouring rain outside the window with a grand sweep of her arm. Im serious, Penny, why not travel? They say its good for the soul. Penny stopped laughing. After this little excursion, Im surprised you dont have something to say about that, she said flatly. Yeaah, probably not the best reason under the circumstances, Simon admitted with a long sigh. But somewhere in this nightmare, I got to meet you, and you know, maybe His voice trailed into silence. Maybe what? Penny asked. Maybe, somehowit was all worth it, he said quietly. Reaching out her arms, Penny drew Simon close. Thank you, she whispered through her tears. Thank you.

DS Lowson conducted his vigil from the comfort of a red leather armchair he had positioned halfway between Simon and Pennys suites. From this vantage point, he had an uninterrupted

339 view of each apartment and with a turn of his head, each end of the corridor. Behind him to his left was a window, in front of which stood a wooden table with a large vase of flowers at its centre. To his right, down the hallway and beyond the lifts, was the fire exit. Glancing momentarily to the right, Lowson drew his attention to the fire exit, where it rested for a few seconds. Satisfied all was well, he flicked open a copy of the Evening Standard that sat on his knees and scanned the banner-headline running across the top of its front page; Media Mason Dies in House Fire. Intrigued, he began to read the article printed below. High-ranking member of the Masonic run charity, the School of Night, Robert Sinclair, 47, died yesterday in a fire that swept through his north London home. His mother, Alice Sinclair, 72, also died in the blaze. The School of Night, whos flamboyant Grand Master, Julian Portinari, 45, is one of the countrys richest men, employed Sinclair as Chief Librarian in the charitys main-headquarters in Clerkenwell, a position he maintained for the past decade. His librarian duties aside, Sinclair was also a regular contributor to the long running BBC Radio 4 series, A Book at Bedtime. In later years, the middle-aged bachelor found himself connected to a number of scandals, including allegations of fraud involving his vanity publishing business, Ariel Books, and an arrest in March 2000 concerning accusations of drunken assault on his wife, Sandra, 36. Charges subsequently dropped some months later upon the death of his wife in a tragic skiing-accident in France. Neighbour, Mrs.Winifred Frazer-Kent, described last-nights tragedy: It was late, about 3 or 4 in the morning, and I was woken up by the sound of my cat running across the flat roof outside my bedroom window, its made of

340 corrugated plastic you see. The roof that is, not my cat. Anyway, it makes quite a racket when Dr Theology, thats my cat, when he runs across it. I tried to go back to sleep, but I could hear this roaring sound, and it began to get brighter outside, which was strange because it was the middle of the night. I got up, opened the curtains, and saw an orange-glow coming from next-door. Opening the window the roar got louder and I could smell smoke, so I ran to the telephone and called the fire brigade. Eyewitnesses describe the ferocity of the blaze that engulfed the house in minutes: The fire brigade didnt stand a chance, said neighbour Jonathan Raven, 43, by the time they arrived; the whole place was in flames. Fire chief Andy Martin, 49, made this statement at the scene: We have managed to trace the source of the blaze to Mr. Sinclairs bedroom. It would appear a personal computer, or perhaps some other item among the many pieces of electronic equipment in the room, malfunctioned and ignited, probably due to a power-surge of some kind in the domestic supply. Unfortunately, Mr. Sinclair did not have a circuit breaker fitted to his plug board, which may well have saved his life. We recommend consumers who use a lot of sensitive, highvoltage electrical goods, purchase one of the commonly available circuit breaking devices, in the eventuality of a sudden surge in power from their domestic supply. The structural damage Sinclairs house sustained in the blaze has led to fears it will have to be demolished. Its such a shame, commented neighbour Nadia Ballan, 33. It was such a lovely building, with all its original features. Ill really miss it.

341 Placing the newspaper onto his legs, Lowson reached for his mobile phone and dialed a number. Evening, guv, have you read todays Standard? Yeah, I know it is, but you might want to have a look at todays edition. Seems an employee of the School of Night was burned to death in his house last nightYeah, thats what I thoughtit said about three or four in the morning in the paperhis names, wait a minuteSinclair, thats R-o-b-e-r-t and S-i-n-c-l-a-i-rThats what it, says here, guvWhy, dyou know him? Yeah, it mentions the arrest in the paperOkay; well I thought youd like to knowNo, nothing to report here. The hotel security is keeping an eye on the fire exits and Ive got the rooms coveredYou are so amusing guvThats not likely, although I do detect a frisson between them Ive been invited to dinner, so Ill know more after that Dont worry; Frys payingAny news on Harrison...Its not looking good, is it? Alright, yeah, Ill be in touch.

342

Chapter Twenty-Four
My God, my God, look not so fierce on me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while! Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer! I'll burn my books!

Christopher Marlowe Dr. Faustus

Yknow, Simon said pouring neat vodka into two glasses, as long as were holed up in this godforsaken hell hole, we might as well spend the time productively, ice, Penny? Penny nodded. Yes, please lots of it. She sighed. But how, Simon, the police confiscated everything. Simon emptied the contents of a small can of Coca-cola into the glasses and smiled. Weve still got Nicholass laptop, he said with a grin. Arriving at the coffee table, Simon placed the drinks down on its surface and reached for Nicolas battered computer. Booting it up, he began to explore the desktops cluttered mass of files and programmes. In the top right hand corner of the screen sat a small white box with a blue W at its centre. Placing the cursor on the W Simon clicked twice and opened the programme. Right, where to start? he said looking at the long list of individually named files. He must have some kind of overall synopsis, offered Penny. Some kind of framework he can add to. Look for the largest file, or the one with the most recent save date.

343 Okay, that looks likethis one: Book: Rough Draft. Penny rolled her eyes. Well, duh. Clicking the highlighted text, the screen opened onto a page with the words:

Spymaster-General: Sir Rafe Sadlier

Nicolas Fry, D.phil. ,M.A. & Dr. Leo Harrison, Ph.D.

Sir Ralph Rafe Sadlier (c.1507-1587) Master of the Kings Hawks.

344

Some are born to greatness; others achieve it through supreme effort and personal sacrifice, a rare few have the wit and intelligence to guide its hand. Such an individual was Sir Ralph Rafe Sadlier, last Knight-Banneret of England. Born the son of Henri Sadlier, a minor official in the household of Sir Edward Belknapp, Ralph Sadlier rose to a position of power and influence, to eventually die the wealthiest commoner in England. A Tudor dynasty statesman, warrior, spymaster, politician, lawyer, scholar, diplomat, sportsman, keen hunter, and trusted counsellor to foursuccessive monarchs, Sadliers life and achievements have been strangely overlooked. In this book, we aim to place Ralph Sadlier back where he belongs, squarely at the heart of one of the most tumultuous periods in British history. This text is the result of three years research, much of it new to the general public and some of it new to professional academics and historians. We urge the reader to verify our data and correct any errors, secure in the conviction that all we have discovered is completely factual. Indeed, for the large part, most of the material was already common knowledge; we have merely altered the focus of the enquiry and thus brought into sharp relief the new landscape that emerges. We have redrawn the map and the terrain is largely unaltered, only now the signposts make sense. Nicolas Fry MA and Dr. Leo Harrison Ph.D April 1st 2007

345 This introduction is only a few months old. Penny observed. Simon nodded. But have you seen the date? Yes April Fools day, so? Great omen, huh? Its just a date, Si. Still, its good to finally get to see our hero at last. Simon pointed at the portrait on the screen. Although, to tell the truth its kind-of an anti-climax. What did you expect hed be seven-feet tall, riding a dragon? Partly that, obviously, but mainly he seems sohuman. The judge said the same about Ted Bundy. Scrolling down the page, they continued to read in silence:

Introduction: Sketch-in the various major-features of the debate/ Show the familyconnections (from 1450s) between John Sadlier of Over Whitacre & Henry Shakespeare & the Herbert family/ Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham/ Wales, Henry VII and the War of the Roses/ Tudor dynasty begins. Chapter 1: The Rise of the English Gentleman At the royal court of Henry VIII; Ralph Sadlier comes into the tradition(s) of the English Gentleman, rises-meteorically in the household of Thomas Cromwell; travels to Italy; educated by Agrippa, Erasmus, More, Skelton, Wyatt, Howard, Cromwell, etc. Becomes Henry VIIIs personal attendant secretary. Chapter 2: 1532 42: The English Renaissance and the Reformation of the Church in England / From the Dissolution of the monasteries, to intrigues & war in Scotland/ Sutton House in Hackney; Nonsuche Palace, (nr. Cuddington, Surrey), Berwick

346 Castle, Scotland; all of which designed & built by Sir Ralph Sadlier/ Explain Herbert familys inter-connections with Ralph Sadlier as The Principal Secretary of the King in Parliament/ Full status achieved as Spymaster-General by 1537: next fifty-years as de facto ruler of all England/ First Lord of the Privy Council under four-successive Tudor monarchs. Chapter 3: 1542 52, Scotland: Battle of Pinkie Cleugh, Ralph Sadliers personal bodyguard commanded by the Italian, Captain Malatesta / The School of Night and Edward VIs reign, 1547-1553 / Ketts Rebellion & The Massacre of Clyst Cliffs/ Dissolution of all Knights Templar & Knights Hospitaller properties in the U.K. into Ralph Sadliers hands & amalgamation of the same under the School of Night academys and network. Chapter 4: 1553 58: Mary Is reign/ Ralph Sadlier in charge of State Paper Office/ publishes Wyatt & Howards poetry; Tottells Miscellany / Phillip II of Spain/ French suzerainty in Scotland / Piracy & the Herbert family in Wales. Chapter 5: 1558 68: Start of Elizabeth Is reign/ Mary, Queen of Scots detention begins / Birth of James VI. / Birth of the Shakespearian canon of works as a project of nationalistic propaganda to support the eventual succession of James VI. / Birth of son to Ralph Sadlier & Elizabeth I - fostered & named as, William Shakespeare / Peace in Scotland & de facto union of Great Britain / Ralph Sadlier made Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. Chapter 6: 1568 78: The Navy, war with France & Spain / JamesVI. / Ralph Sadlier educating & mentoring James VI. / George Chapman & William Shakespeare attend Sadliers School of Night Academy, which is based at his country estate of Standon Lordships in Hertfordshire.

347 Chapter 7: 1578 88 James VI of Scotland to become James I of England / Trial & death of Mary, Queen of Scots; death of Ralph Sadlier /Tilbury Great Armada Victory Speech / Authorized Version (King James) bible. / The Shakespearian works in performance & publication. / William Shakespeare. Chapter 8: Conclusion-summation: retrospect & review covering chapters 1 7 Emphasis on: (A) the Shakespearian Cypher; Viz. the five gold rings & the School of Night. (B) The Herbert family arranging publication distribution and dissemination of the Shakespearian canon of works from 1592 (C) 1603: death of Elizabeth I. / James VI enthroned, Great Britain now officially in existence. (D) 1604: Hamlet, Prince of Denmark / 1609: the Sonnets / 1616: death of William Shakespeare (E)The Shakespearian canon of works collated and published in First Folio edition, 1623; Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels and Folios Two, Three & Four. Conclusion: Overall conclusions/ the ramifications.

Simon looked up from the glowing screen and sipped his drink. Well, theyve got it all planned out, he said. Youve gotta give them that. Penny smiled. Lets keep reading shall we, Si, before we handout the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Ralph Sadlier the Shakes-Spear.

348 Ralph Sadliers name both forename and surname can be spelled in a variety of ways. His first name, Ralph, is a modern derivative of Rafe. On the inscription on his tomb at St. Mary's the Virgin church Standon Hertfordshire, his name is given as Rafe. Sadlier often anglicised to Sadler. On the memorial plaque behind the head of his effigy, however, his name is given as, Sadlier. Rafe or Ralph is the Anglicised-form of the Teutonic-root: RADULF; 'Rad' meaning counsel and 'ulf' coming from wulf or wolf; thus, wolf counselor. [http://www.sadleir.org/life/life_name.htm] A strikingly apt nomenclature when we consider Ralph Sadliers position during the reign of Henry VIII.

349

The tomb of Sir Ralph Sadlier at St Marys the Virgin church in the village of Standon, Hertfordshire. As Sir Walter Scott tells us, and this picture makes plain, the monument is supported by two round pillars, with an arch in the middle in which the following inscription is placed: This worthie knighte in his youth was brought up with Thomas Cromwell, afterwards Lord Cromwell; and when he came to man's estate he became his secretaries, by meanes whereof he did writ manie thinges touchinge matters of state, and by that meanes he in continuance of time was know en to King Henrye the VIII., who conceaving a good opinion of him as a man meete to serve him, took him from the Lord Cromwell abote the 26 yeare of his raigne, into his service, and abote the 30 yeare of his raigne made him

350 one of his principal secretaries. The Kinge did most employe him in service towarde Scotland, whither he sente him in diverse and sondrie journeys, both in warre and peace, in which service he behaved himself with such diligence, and fidelite and he ever came home in the Kinge's favour, and not unrewarded. He was of the privie counsell with King Henry the VIII.; with King Edward the VI., he was made Knight Banneret at Muskulhorowu fielde, and in the 10th yeare of Quene Elizabeth, he was made Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, in whiche office he continued till his deathe. He was a diligente and trustye servante to his prince and faythful to the state, and beloved in his countrie. He died in the 80th yeere of his age, A.D. 1587, and in the 29th yeare of Quene Elizabeth, and is here buried. Under this inscription is the effigy of a knight in armour, lying upon a piece of stone cut in the form of a mat, under which is inscribed his motto. Below are the effigies of his three sons and four daughters, kneeling. The monument is surmounted with Sir Ralph's coat-armorial, which, by patent dated February 4, 1575, is the following: He beareth Or, a Lion Rampant, party per Fesse, Azure and Gules, Armed and Langued Argent. Crest - on a wreath Demi-Lyon Rampant Azure, crowned with a Ducal Coronet; Or; motto, Servire Deo Sapere. At the foot of one of the pillars is the following inscription: Ambitimi hostis in concilis apertus, fidelis rcgis famulus, at semper amator patria, virtute crevit. Near the Monument is the standard, which he took from the King of Scotland, armed with iron, and as high as a horseman's sword could reach. (Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Novelists and other Distinguished Persons, volume II. Sir Walter Scott, Bart. P131) [Found a good source on Freemasonic architecture, The Art and Architecture of Freemasonry, by James Stevens Curl. Published in 1992, Curl seems a most

351 reasonable commentator, one who eschews much of the nonsense spoken about the subject. In short, the answer is, yes, two pillars and an arch is indeed Freemasonic in its symbolism. It looks as if Sadlier was definitely a Freemason. These extracts are from Chapter 2, entitled, The Important Legends. Leo] And he set up the pillars in the porch of the temple: And he set up the right pillar, and called the name thereof Jachin: And he set up the left Pillar, and called the name thereof Boaz. Kings 7, 21 One pillar on the right hand was called Jacin and the other on the left was named Boaz: Jacin is a name associated with foundations or establishments, meaning he shall establish, while Boaz is associated with strength, the name meaning literally in it is strength. (Curl p. 29)

352 Suspended above Ralph Sadleir's tomb is the Scottish royal standard flagpole, complete with the royal-banner flag of the Red Lion of Scotland. Sadlier personally captured these items from the Regent of Scotland (The Earl of Arran) who was representing Mary, Queen of Scots at the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh, 1547, an act of valour and bravery-inarms which earned him the rank of Knight-Bannerette. [Note the burgeonet helm headpiece to the left and the armet helm headpiece to the right are not the original items; both replaced in the nineteenth-century, after the originals were stolen.] The tomb monument depicts a life-sized effigy of Ralph Sadlier in day-armour, sporting a clipped full-beard, the facial depiction taken from the death mask. The plaque behind the effigy's head has this poem engraved upon it: Here Lieth Ingraved Sr Rafe Sadlier Knighte By God & The Kinge Calde To That Degree A meane Gentlemen Of Name By His Birthe Righte Yet In His Time so rewarded Was He & Eke Of Bannerett Had The Degree For Service Done Well Was Dye To Doe Firste To God Nexte To His Prince & Contree Whiche Ovghte To Move All Suche As Ar Borne So To Spende Their Time As God Will Them Grace In Carefulnes And Strife Who Maye Do Best To Obtayne By Service That Degree & Place As Did This Knighte Who Lieth Here At Rest

353

Ralph Sadliers death-mask http://www.sadleir.org/images/sadler_tomb_20.jpg

St. Marys the Virgin church, Standon, Hertfordshire.

354

[Found some info on St Marys, seems its a Templar processional-church, no less. Leo] St. Marys the Virgin church Standon lies in east Hertfordshire at the junction of the major road adjoining London to Cambridge the A10. The church, a Grade I listed building, stands at the end of the High Street. Although originating as a Saxon church, it was built largely in the thirteenth and fourteenthcenturies, having been bequeathed in the twelfth-century to the Order of the Knights Templar of St. John of Jerusalem who built most of the church as we see it today. Architectural, its design, known as a Processional Church, means that the nave and the chancel are constructed in one long rising sweep, with steps leading to the chancel and further steps leading to the inner sanctuary. In total the steps make a total of thirteensteps ,spread in distribution to reach exactly thirteen-feet above the ground-level found at the entranceway, to be: thirteen-feet above a mans shoulder, the exact height of the High Altar. This type of Processional Church construction occurs only in churches built by the Order of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, the Knights Templar. http://www.uicl.co.uk/standon/

355 [Note: The Knights Hospitallers formed after the dissolution of the Knights Templar in 1303. Though, nominally, a non-military wing of The Order of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, their amalgamation with the Knights Templar is well documented. Ralph Sadlier dismantled the organization on the secret orders of Henry VIII in 1543. Leo]

Sutton House (c/o the National Trust. 2 & 4, Homerton High Street, Hackney, London E9 6JQ (Information: tel. 0208 525 9053). Originally known as, 'Bryck Place', constructed in 1535 on behalf of Henry VIII by Ralph Sadlier then The Principal Secretary of State to the King in Parliament. It is the oldest extant residential building in East London.

356

The Great Chamber in Sutton House All photos courtesy: The National Trust [Note the exquisite linenfold style wood panelling on the wall, original installed by Ralph Sadlier as part of the preparations for the visiting Henry VIII & Queen Jane Seymour whilst major construction work was being undertaken at Hampton Court Palace. Henry stayed at Sutton House with his then-pregnant wife, Jane, along with his daughters Princess Mary (of m. to Catherine of Aragon) and Princess Elizabeth (of m. to Anne Boleyn) one of the few occasions Henry was to have his entire family around him. Leo]

RALPH SADLIER: THE MAN

357 The State Papers which have been preserved relating almost entirely to public transactions, do not enable us to draw an accurate picture of the individual, although they display in the highest degree the talents of the statesman. But this deficiency is in some measure supplied by the industry of Lloyd, who has left the following character of Sir Ralph Sadler among his State Worthies. Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Novelists and other Distinguished Persons volume II. Sir Walter Scott, Bart. (Whittaker and Co. London 1834.p) Indeed David Lloyd offers an undoubtedly accurate portrait of Sadlier in his State Worthies, or The Statesman and favourites of England from the Reformation to the Revolution. Their Prudence and Policies, Successes and Miscarriages, Advancement and Falls to give it its full title. Published in 1766 Lloyd provides a wealth of fascinating detail, much of which bears repeating in light of our hypothesis. King Henry understood two things: 1. A man: 2. A dish of meat; and was seldom deceived in either. For a man, none more complete than Sir Ralph Sadler, who was at once a most exquisite writer, and a most valiant and experienced soldier; qualifications that seldom meet, (so great is the distance between the sword and the pen, the coat of mail and the gown), yet divided this man and his time; his night being devoted to contemplation and his days to action. An exquisite writer and a gifted soldier. to say it will be a phrase we shall have cause to remember as we proceed in our investigation. Suffice

Little was his body, but great his soul; the more vigorous, the more contracted. Quick and clear were his thoughts, speedy and resolute his performances. It was he that could not endure the spending of that time in one action, which might perform two; or that

358 delay in performing two that might have designed twenty Three things Cato repented of; 1 That he went by water when he might go by land; 2 That he trusted a woman with a secret; 3 That he lost time. Two things Sir Ralph repented for; 1 That he had communicated a secret to two; 2 That he had lost any hour of the morning between four a clock and ten. Number 1 is an explicit reference to Sadliers Masonic Order the School of Night. Indeed, the modern Lodge employs the phrase in part of their initiation ritual according to Stephen Knight in his The Brotherhood, (Granada 1984). And the Master takes the Hierophants left hand and asks: Where are you from? And the hierophant answers, I come from the East. And the Master asks, And where are you going? And the hierophant answers, I go to the West. And the Master asks, What do you seek? And the hierophant answers, I seek the Light. And the Master asks, What do you regret? And the hierophant answers, That I communicated a secret to two. (Knight P.123) Our Knight's two incomparable qualities were discipline and intelligence; the last discovered him all the enemies advantages, and the first gave them none. The next passage is worthy of note as it explicitly underlines the subtle nature of Sadliers political power, his ability to remain anonymous yet direct, every motion of that state. So searching and piercing was he that no letter or advise passed whereof he had not a copy; so civil and obliging, that there was no party that had not a kindness for him; so

359 grave and solid, that he was present at all counsels; so close and unseen that his hand, though unseen, was in every motion of that state. (LLOYD'S State Worthies p 95) Scotts tome also provides us with a memorial poem composed by Richard Vernon Sadleir Esq., Ralph Sadliers descendent and Grand Master of the School of night from 1823-47. We present here the second verse, which contains some enigmatic words and phrases that seem to hint at a lost secret. Scott tells us, Richard Vernon Sadlier Esq. of the present venerable representative of Sir Ralph paid the following tribute at the tomb of his ancestor. VERSES ON A VISIT TO THE MONUMENT OF SIR RALPH SADLER KNIGHT BANNERET AT STANDON IN HERTFORDSHIRE (2nd verse) In pensive mood, with awful tread I come, To feed reflection at thy hallowed tomb. Though dormant lie the honours once our boast, Though much of wealth, and much of fame be lost, Enough of wealth remains enough of fame, To save from dark obscurity our name; And when the strange vicissitudes I trace, Which sunk to humbler life thy generous race; When the false pride of pedigree would rise, And wake ambition by its fruitless sighs, My conscious spirit bids me not repine At loss of treasures which were never mine;

360 But raise the look of thankfulness to heaven, Who though it holding much content has given. Rivers that now full copious at the source, By Times strong hand impell'd forsake their course; But He who rules the world with stronger hand, Can bid new fountains rise to enrich the land.

Ralph Sadlier achieved four things during his fifty-year career:

1) Brought James I to the throne and united Scotland and England thus creating Great Britain. 2) Composed, compiled and edited to the Authorised Version (King James) bible. 3) Authored the Shakespearian canon of works and employed them as a nationalistic propaganda tool aimed at giving the general public a sense of England and the qualities of Englishness. 4) Instigated the so-called Rosicrucian Enlightenment laying the foundations for what would become Speculative Freemasonry

For Sadlier anonymity was a vital pre-condition.

The Battle of Pinkie Cleugh (Saturday, 10th September, 1547, Black Saturday) left a clue to the connection between Ralph Sadlier and the Shakespearian canon of works, for

361 it was here Sadlier wrested the Red Lion of Scotland, the Scottish royal banner, from the enemy, and literally shook the spear of Scotland. Ralph Sadlier was ambassador to Scotland for four successive monarchs, and acted as a de facto monarch under the office of Principal Secretary, a position he maintained from 1537 to 1587. A period of some 40 years. Sadliers mission was to rectify conflicting ideals of nationalism and thus create a nation state. In doing so Sadlier would fulfill the plans and objectives begun decades earlier by founder of the Tudor dynasty, Henry VII. Sadliers nationalistic propaganda campaign came to fruition when the thrones of Scotland and England were united, upon James Is succession. (Sixteen-years after Ralph Sadliers death on 30thMarch 1587). With a unified bible, and a single unifying monarch, Ralph Sadlier invented the concept of ENGLAND and of its ENGLISHNESS. Okay! Simon exclaimed. Not only did he write the works of Shakespeare, he also compiled the King James Bible and originated the concept of England and the English, thats some going. Penny nodded. According to Nicolas and Leo, he was the English Renaissance all rolled into one man, she agreed. Have those crazy bastards really uncovered one of the most significant figures in British history? It looks as if someone believes they have, Penny sighed. Simon finished his drink and put his glass on the table. But surely this information is freely

362 available, its part of the historical records, if Nicholas and Leo could piece it together so could anyone else, how can anyone hope to cover it up? It doesnt make any logical sense. Who ever they are, theyre obviously insane, Simon, how can we be expected to understand the mind of a madman? After contemplating Pennys ominous statement, the couple returned their gaze to the computers screen:

Ralph Sadlier, King James VI, and the King James Bible (Insert file number ten: Cites evidence from James VIs letters & state papers)
Authorized Version (King James) bible formed and reformed: 1526-1538, 1587-1613 Eighty-seven years in total from completion to publication Real people six committees. How many hands are at work? Evidence of bibles unifying editor = Ralph Sadlier: overwhelming. James V, James VIs grandfather personally asked Sadlier for cart-loads of bibles in English Sadlier and Thomas Cromwell embarked on a mission to provide them; this mission was to continue until the bible finally emerged in the hands of James VI of Scotland, James I of England in 1613. Based

on the 1526 Tyndale translation into English, which was further extrapolated into the Great Bible of 1538, which in turn became the Authorized Version (King James) Ralph Sadlier acted as general-editor until his death in 1587: Subsequently, the Herbert family saw it into production and published it alongside the Shakespearian canon of works.

363 The reason, perhaps, James VI stopped at Standon Lordships to personally knight Sir Thomas Sadlier, (Ralph Sadliers eldest-son), on a leg of his State Procession to London. The 30th day being Saturday, his Majesties James VI of Scotland took his journey towards Standon Lordships of East Hertfordshire to the deceased departed Sir Ralph Sadliers abode, his majestie was royally entertained for himself and his kingly traine; nothing being wanted the best desired, nor the meanest could demand, there his majesty did dub Sir Thomas Sadlier Knight of the Garter, and stayed of the Sunday, before whom the Bishop of London preached. of the reign of James VI of Scotland, James I of England p133) (State Papers

Masonic Influences:

Simon sighed wearily. Oh shit, before I tackle this Im gonna need a refill. Im just finishing the bit about the King James Bible, hang on, said Penny not taking her eyes from the screen. Dragging himself to his feet, Simon began his excruciating journey to the drinks cabinet. Oh, right, I see what you mean, Penny said reading the underlined text on the page, its time for the Freemasons. Simon grinned. No decent conspiracy can do without them, he said reaching for a half-empty bottle of vodka. Another drink, baby? Just a little tonic-water and some ice please, Simon. What, not joining me? Penny looked concerned. Actually, Si, she said somewhat tentatively. Dont you everworry about your drinking? Worry about it, why? Simon said pouring vodka into his glass.

364 Its just Penny hesitated. Simon put the bottle down and looked at Penny. Go on, I wont be offended, he assured her. Remember you told me your father died of cirrhosis of the liver. What and you think Im going the same way? I thought you said you wouldnt get upset? Im not, Simon protested. Its just, well, Jesus, Penny, come on. After all Ive been through, dont you think I deserve a drink? And besides, he said raising his glass aloft, its Christmas, or hadnt you noticed in all the fun and excitement? Please, Si, dont get angry, I completely understand, but Penny paused, looking for the right words. But what baby? Simon said his voice lowering in register. Penny bit her lip. II just dont want to see youhurt, she stuttered. Oh, baby, dont worry, Simon soothed. Rising from her seat, Penny walked to Simon and he took her in his arms. Holding her tightly, he began planting kisses on the crown of her head. Its gonna be okay, I swear its gonna be okay, he whispered. Its gonna be okay.

Chapter Twenty-Five
The lunatic is easily recognised. Sooner or later he brings up the Templars.

365
Umberto Eco Foucaults Pendulum

Masonic Influences and Connections

[Notes: See cross reference, Masonic Influences, Folder 9] The Eye of Horus became an important Egyptian symbol of power. Horus had a man's body and a falcon's head. (C.F Sadlier & Master of the Kings Hawks) Horus fought with Seth for the throne of Egypt.

366 In this battle, one of his eyes was injured, but later healed by Hathor. This healing of the eye became a symbol of renewal Horus became the conqueror of Seth (the patron of Lower Egypt) c. 3000 BCE when Upper Egypt conquered Lower Egypt and formed the united kingdom of Egypt. He was depicted as a falcon [http://www.egyptianmyths.net/horus.htm]

The Golden Knight = Sadlier? Hidden treasure = the five gold cipher rings? Symbolic gold = Alchemy The hawk assassination squads of the Angevins and the Cistercians Rule of the Knights Templar

Temple Dinsley Herts. The main HQ of the Knights Templar in England

King Stephen granted two mills to the Order there in 1142. King Henry II (11541189) granted the Knights Templar land across England. [By 1310, the story goes nearly all the Templars had taken refuge in France. In 1312, King Philip secured their suppression on grounds of blasphemy and heresy. According to the Reverend Michael Foster in his, A Short History of The Order of St. John of Jerusalem (P.123), The Order of Poor Knights had in reality become extremely rich, acting as bankers to the Crusaders. King Phillip suppressed the Order hoping to gain their land and possessions, but was thwarted by Pope Clement V. Clement then issued a Papal Bull transferring all the Knights Templar possessions to the Knights Hospitaller, Leo]

367 On January 8, 1308, King Edward II reluctantly ordered the seizure of members of the Order in England and the estate at Temple Dinsley handed over to the Knights Hospitaller for their private use. Only a handful of the Knights Templar apprehended in 1308 and the vast majority in England never arrested. Due to the Pope and Church's judgement of the Order as free from guilt, all members in England were free to find themselves a new place in society. Many joined their rival order the Knights Hospitaller. Step forward two hundred years to 1543: Henry VIII orders Ralph Sadlier to implement the suppression of the Knights Hospitaller in England. Hospitallers goods were exempt from market-taxes and the Order exempt from paying Tithes. Destroying the Order was a logical follow-on from the dissolution of the monasteries; more money for Henrys coffers. Henry VIII appropriates Temple Dinsley in 1542. In the following year, (1543), Henry enacts a royal commission for his loyal servant Ralph Sadlier to suborn all Templar land and properties in the U.K. [A definitive list of the Orders property is impossible, but I have seen estimates of at least seventy-four major properties, including thirty full-scale preceptories and hundreds of smaller belongings villages, hamlets, churches and farms. They even established towns, such as Baldock, near Letchworth in Hertfordshire. Supposedly, the name Baldock derives from Baghdad. In addition, large section of Bristol once belonged to the Order, who used it as their major port. Leo]

368

Initiation
Sadlier obtained invaluable information and occult lore from the Order he supposedly destroyed Far from destroying the Order Ralph Sadlier initiated as a Templar. Templar traditionally wore day armour and sported clipped beards; Ralph Sadlier buried in day armour also sporting a clipped beard, (C, f. his effigy on his tomb in Standon). Templar doctrines prevalent in Rosicrucian texts and rituals [Note: see cross reference The Rosicrucian Enlightenment Folder 5] 1566: Ralph Sadlier progresses his already established spy academy, the School of Night, into a full-fledged Masonic Order, along with Henry Herbert, 2nd Earl of Pembroke. [Note: It seems the birth of James VI in 1566 is the reason for this progress.] Sadlier employed the esoteric knowledge he discovered at Temple Dinsley and his subsequent inauguration into the Templars as the basis for the three anonymous tracts that instigated the so-called Rosicrucian Enlightenment. [The three anonymous pamphlets of 1618 23, are presumed to be the work of John Valentine Andre (1586 - 1654), although unproven claims to an earlier manuscript or folk-tradition have been made, including a pamphlet supposedly printed in the Tyrol as early as 1606 Leo.] Via the School of Night, Ralph Sadlier introduced Rosicrucian-based philosophy and rituals to England some fifty years before the publication of the three anonymous pamphlets of 1618 23.

369 The tale of the Invisible Society of Rosicrucians describes the founding of a new social-ranking, a new society, to be composed of eight lovers of wisdom who studied medicine and occult sciences (alchemy) and dedicated their lives to practicing physic without payment. They met in a House of the Holy Spirit and each appointed one man to succeed him at his death. This is, of course, a perfect description for Sadliers Order. Quite simply we believe the original Rosicrucian Fraternity or Brotherhood was the School of Night. [I think youre going to like this, Ive found a reference to the Rosicrucians in England at least 10 years before the publication of the anonymous pamphlets. Leo] The fact a Rosicrucian based literary society was in existence in England before 1616 is evident when we learn, for on the 6th January 1602 the Queen held a Masque Ball, and Inigo Jones, having been asked to design the costumes, drew among other sketches one over which he himself scribbled the words, 'A ROSICROS. (F. de P. Castells, Our Ancient Brethren. p. 90) this some two decades before the official publication of the three anonymous pamphlets of 1616 1623. And it gets better, because, guess what? Inigo Jones was a Freemason. Still need to do a bit of checking, but what are the odds it was the School of Night? Leo]

Although the existence of a Rosicrucian society or brotherhood has never been proven, many subsequent groups have claimed lineage from the 16th century original, perhaps most famously the contemporary English Freemasonic organisation, the School of Night, who take the Eye of Horus as their main emblem thus;

370

[Note; See appendix B: Gold finger for further details on J. Portinari, the School of Nights current Grand Master N.F.]

The School of Night

Sadliers Order, like the Knights Templar before them, and all Freemasonic Orders that were to follow, base much of their ritual and ceremony on those enacted in the Ancient Mystery Schools of Greece and Rome. Perhaps the most important and closely guarded of these rituals was their initiation ceremony. We can only speculate as to the precise mechanics, but James Curl provides us with some idea in his, The Art and Architecture of Freemasonry. Mystery religions are of great antiquity, but in the Masonic context the most interesting are those of Ancient EgyptIsiac (dedicated to the goddess Isis) mysteries were participated in by certain Roman Emperors, and involved purification, personal piety, and a variety of symbolic journeys, with a trial and degrees. Hadrian is known to have gone through two ceremonies at EleusisEnlightenment (photismos), initiation as a mysterion, and symbolon (password) are words that recur in antiquity. The term

371 mysterion signifies the obtaining of esoteric wisdom after some kind of endurance test involving trials, or ordeals, has been passed. Many cults in the Graeco-Roman world required initiates to await enlightenment while being kept isolated in darkness, and there were rules concerning silence, patience, and fortitude. The concept of being reborn after a symbolic death was presentAn initiate, once reborn, would join a sacred band of chosen ones who would be informed of the divine mysteries by being entrusted with esoteric knowledge. (Curl, p 34.) Initiation often took place over a number of days. If all this wasnt enough, Jonatahan Black in his The Secret History of the World (Quercus, 2007), tells us, it is very importantthat, at a particular point in the ceremony, the candidate believes, perhaps briefly, but with total conviction, that he or she is going to die. This was explicitly not play-acting on the initiates part, for it was deemed vital that he or she might be so wracked with doubt and confusion that their deaths seemed imminent. Thus, initiation seems to involve a devastating moment of catharsis for the candidate.

The candidate for admission found himself in the middle of what was partly a play with special effects and partly a sance. In and altered state, perhaps druggedthe candidate was guided by the priests on a shaman-like journey through the spirit worlds. Drama as we know it today would eventually move out of the Greek Mystery centres to become public performances. (Black p.84) This evolution of the dramatic arts from the Mystery Schools to public performance is an interesting one in light of our hypothesis. Ralph Sadlier, as we have discovered, was initiated into the Mysteries via his inauguration into the Knights Templar.

372 Peter Dawkins, in his The Shakespeare Enigma, makes plain the connections between Shakespeares plays and the Mystery plays. See Shakespeare the Initiate (Folder 23)]. All of Shakespeares comedies and tragedies and at least some of the histories can be understood as Mystery Plays. That is to say, the alchemical sequences of stages that form the process of life, the various worlds of existence (natural, psychic spiritual and divine), and the nature and working of the divine laws and archetypes, are represented in and underlie the Shakepeare plays.The word Mystery is derived rom the Greek Mysteria, the sacred drama into which the mystes or mystics were initiated after their catharsis or purification rites. The Mysteries were encted in the temples or schools of the Mysteries, and one of the main features about the architecture of the dramatic setting was the presence (or sometimes inference) of two great pillars. The same were represented on the stage of Shakespeares original Globe TheatreThe pillars signify the polarity of life and were called various namesThe Pillar of Hercules, Pillars of Enoch or (in Freemasonry) the Great Pillars. They representthe dual principles of Mercy and Justice, or Wisdom and Intelligence (Wisdom and Strength in Freemasonry); but represent all polaritiesspirit and matter, love and hatehot and coldVenus (emotion hot) and Mars (intellect cold). (Dawkins. p. 154-55) Obviously, the characters of Venus and Adonis are characterizations of these polar opposites. Shakespeare uses this device in all of his works. Examples include the character Hermione (rendering of Harmony, the daughter of Mars and Venus) in A Winters Tale, Shakespeares reinterpretation of the great Mystery enacted at Eleusis in which Demeters daughter is lost in The Underworld of Hades. Hermione has a daughter called Perdita, which means lost one and thus represents Persephone, Demeters lost daughter. [Note:

373 The School of Night regularly conducts guided tours of their Head Quarters in Clerkenwell. These tours afford a unique opportunity to witness the Lodges Inner Sanctum where their initiation ritual takes place. Above the Grand Masters ceremonial throne is a large, five pointed star, furthermore, dormer windows in the building are so aligned that the light of Venus shines through them on certain auspicious days of the year. Traditionally the five-pointed star is a symbol of Venus, due to the pattern the planet traces around the elliptic in it eight-year cycle. Venus appears five times in the morning sky and five times in the evening sky and this forms a five-pointed pattern. Uniquely, Venus is the only planet to form this precise geometric pattern. This pattern has been seen as a pentagram, a five pointed-star, and for the Rosicrucians, a five petalled flower. As long as society has existed, there have been small groups within it that have practised secret techniques to work themselves into alternate states of consciousness. They have done this in the belief that this alternative state of consciousness leads the power to perceive things inaccessible to, ordinary everyday consciousness. (Black p.201) 1599: The first known record of a Masonic Lodge, Aitchinsons Haven Lodge, based at Mussleburgh, Midlothianshire, Scotland. The Lodge officially inaugurated January 9 1599, thirty-three years after Ralph Sadlier progresses the School of Night into a Masonic Order on the birth of James VI. The Battle of Pinkie Cleugh 1547: Ralph Sadlier the shakes-spear fought in the field South of Musselburgh.

374 Ralph Sadlier chose Pinkie Cleugh as it was the traditional annual moot place for the Clans. It was here in the wilds of Scotland, now his personal fiefdom, that he officially introduced Masonry and Masonic lore to the British Isles. Using the allegiance each candidate swore to his Masonic Lodge, Sadlier neatly circumvented the age-old alliances of the Scottish clans. Sadliers genius was to realize his, by comparison, egalitarian fraternity, with its atmosphere of mutual cooperation, would offer a new ideal above and beyond that of clan or indeed nation. In this way, he effectively quelled the rebellious Scottish clans, enabling the eventual union of both nations upon the inauguration of James I. For Sadlier the establishment of speculative Freemasonry was a means to an end, a vital factor in his life long goal to unite Scotland and England, a task he had embarked upon decades earlier under the auspices of Henry VIII.

The first official Grand Lodge was founded in 1717 in the Goose And Gridiron alehouse in St. Pauls churchyard; however an anonymous pamphlet from 1698 warned that the Freemasons met in secret cabals and accused them of being a devilish sect of men allied with the Anti-Christ. Whatever

ones opinion, it would seem unlikely speculative Freemasonry would simply appear fully formed, as it were, with no preceding antecedents. Its complex lore and symbolism alone implies a considerable time period and the use of numerous active scholars to manufacture. The modern-day lodge that calls itself the School of Night had its Charter confirmed in 1723 (the centenary of the so-called First Folio publication of Shakespeares collected works), by King George I.

375 Despite claims of a direct lineage from Ralph Sadliers original fraternity, its current headquarters in Saffron Street were designed by Nicolas Le Camus de Mzires (172193). Mzires, a prolific writer and freemason, defined the role of architecture as an expressive language arguing that buildings could evoke human sensations because they could speak to the mind and move the soul. He completed work on the building in 1756 and it has been home to the Lodge ever since. [http://www.manitoba-eh.ca/Masonic-Parlante-May-2006.htm] A legend states William Shakespeares grave in Stratford-upon-Avon, has a curse upon anyone who should attempt to move his bones. A strange, almost medieval story, made all the more intriguing when one remembers the Reformation ended the cult of Saints and veneration of relics. However, It may well be that the bone stories were connected with the importance given to Relics in earlier times, and to the need to give Freemasonry a powerful inner secret as potent as Saints bones in earlier days. (Curl p.34)

376

The Deep Plot The intimate fraternity of diplomats, poets, translators, explorers, mariners, philosophers and scientists that Ralph Sadlier had amassed around him were initiated into the lodge. In this way the School of Night, became the think-tank, which led to the flowering of the socalled English Renaissance. Sadliers project was to create a flexible English language and literature written in an Englishmans own tongue that would replace Latin. To this end, the members of the School of Night made translations from many languages, and 1: Issued textbooks covering numerous subjects, in a wide distribution. [Note: See folder 16 Textbooks. Titles include John Fields (1525-1587) Ephemeris published in 1567, the first proto-Copernican book in English. Sir

Henry Billingsleys 1570 English translation of Euclid's work which encouraged the growing interest in mathematics and also contains an introduction by Dr. John Dee, whom some believe was in fact the real author of the translation.] 2: Composed original works of drama and verse, the most famous of which eventually known as the Shakespearian canon. [Note: See cross-reference The English Renaissance, (folder 17), for other titles, including the complete works of Christopher Marlowes, published 1594-1633. Sir Francis Bacons, Essays (pub. 1597), The Elements of the Common Law of England (a.k.a. Maxims of the Law) (pub.1597), De sapientia veterum liber (pub. 1609), Novum

377 Organum (pub.1620), and The New Atlantis (pub. 1626)]

With this sustained propaganda campaign Ralph Sadlier hoped to create an English reading-public, stamping England with a distinct cultural hallmark of her own, which would distinguish her from the other emerging Renaissance states of Europe and (hopefully) give her pre-eminence among them that would last. Thanks to the climate brought about by the Reformation at home and abroad, Sadlier was able to exploit an emerging gap in the market for written and performed drama that was truly appealing to Everyman. With the Shakespearian works, the pinnacle of this literary campaign, Ralph Sadliers aim was to consolidate the power of the state and the monarch whilst simultaneously disseminating enlightened ideas and concepts. (E.g., justice, mortality, mercy, honour and so on, all ideas promulgated by the so-called Rosicrucian Enlightenment, and which play major themes in the Shakespearian Works). Sadliers final goal: to establish a just and stable society in which a secure government ruled a content, and, within reason, justly empowered populace. The historian Parker Woodward, a staunch advocate of the theory Francis Bacon authored the Shakespearian works, offers this description of the Rosicrucian based fraternity he, and numerous others, believe Bacon founded. There is very little doubt that Francis formed a Secret Society for the prosecution of his scheme for the Advancement of Learning, the Maintenance of Religion, and the Improvement of Manners, Morals, Arts, and Sciences.(Woodward, Sir Francis Bacon, p.54)

378 The same author tells us, 'Francis was at this time, if not earlier, well helped by a staff of men capable of writing a sort of shorthand, who afterwards transcribed their work. (Author ib.id.Early-life of Lord Bacon p. 59) Woodward was close, but he turned the spotlight upon the wrong man. Bacon was, indeed, a member of a Rosicrucian based secret fraternity: the School of Night. Ralph Sadlier initiates the Rosicrucian Enlightenment to promulgate a new protoscientific revolution, which would act as the intellectual foundation for his new nation state, England. The members of his Order embody the new growing spirit of research and experiment that swept the country from the mid 1500s onwards. [Many historians consider the School of Night to be the forerunner of the Royal Society. First established at Gresham College or Academy in 1660, it officially became the Royal Society under Charles II. Boyle, Wren, Moray, Ashmole, and Locke, directly founded the Royal Society, and they were also the driving force in Speculative Masonry. (Encyclopaedia Britannica p.22) Leo] Unfortunately, diametrically opposed to these positive achievements was a darker side to the Order. For, we believe, upon his inauguration as Grand Master, Lewis Lewkenor began to explore the extreme elements of Templar belief, namely cultist rituals that utilized hallucinatory drugs and Tantric sexual yoga. Furthermore, under Lewkenors aegis, the Order began to introduce rituals discovered in the numerous grimoires [The term derives from grammarye or grammar, as correct magic relies upon the correct usage of language. Leo] they had translated over the previous years.

379 Upon his initiation into the Knights Templar in 1543, Sadlier instigated a worldwide collection of all extant spell books, grimoires, alchemical texts and works on the Kabbalah, subsequently having them translated by many of the team he employed in TSON, including Dr John Dee. Like Pythagoras before him, Sadlier aimed to synthesise the often-conflicting strands of esoteric thought he collected from around the world, into a comprehensive whole. Sadlier studied this mass of arcane law sifting the wheat from the chaff and from them distilled the elements he would employ in his Orders initiation ceremonies rituals and beliefs. Some of this knowledge he would partially reveal in the three anonymous Rosicrucian pamphlets and some he would use as themes for his sonnets and plays. [Note: See Shakespeare the Initiate, (Folder 23) for in-depth analysis of Macbeth, the Tempest, and Hamlet.] [Sadlier] provides a clear demonstration that the eagerness of Renaissance humanists to recover the works of the ancients included not only authors regarded as respectable by modern classical scholars, but also a vast body of ancient (or pseudoancient) texts that claimed to offer wisdom going back to the very origins of human civilization, the so-called ancient theology (prisca theologia), such as the Hermetic texts from ancient Egypt, the Chaldean Oracles and writings of Zoroaster from Mesopotamia and Persia, the teachings attributed to Pythagoras and supposedly passed on from him to Plato and his followers the Platonists, and the secret Jewish books known as Cabala, which claimed to present the full meaning of the Hebrew Scriptures concealed beneath the words of the text (see Walker 1958 and 1972, and Yates 1964). Such learning was esoteric by its very nature, something potentially powerful and dangerous, and hence to be concealed from the masses and entrusted only to those who

380 were morally and intellectually qualified to possess it. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/agrippa-nettesheim/ [These ancient and obscure volumes include such titles as the 12th Century, Ghyat alHakm fi'l-sihr, (The goal of the Wise) translated under the name of the Picatrix. The Sefer Raziel Ha-Malakh, translated as the Liber Razielis Archangeli. The Magical Treatise of Solomon or the Little Key of the Whole Art of Hygromancy, Found by Several Craftmen and by the Holy Prophet Solomon, renamed the Clavicula Salomonis or the Key of Solomon. The Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis the Lesser Key of Solomon. A translation from the Latin of Marsilio Ficinos (14331499) Corpus hermeticum. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippas (14861535) the Three Books of Occult Philosophy. [Perhaps the most comprehensive and widely known book on magic and the occult arts. Leo] Of the Supreme Mysteries of Nature by Paracelsus (14931541). The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, [which helpfully, lists no-less than sixty-nine different demons and was falsely attributed to Agrippa. Leo.] Giambattista Della Portas (15351615) grimoire on natural magic Magia naturalis. De Nigromancia, or Concerning the Black Art widely attributed to Roger Bacon. Leo] One obvious question arises to the sensible reader, why go to all the effort of collecting and translating, what appear to modern sensibilities, collections of Ancient Hocus-Pocus and obvious fantasy? Kurt Seligmann, in his Magic, Supernaturalism And Religion (Paladin 1975) offers this answer: the acquisition of wisdom for the good of the commonweal, the hope of better times, the trust in humanity, the renewal of the bonds with the eternal: all this contained genuine ethical values. The times were not ripe for a complete regeneration through

381 science. Help was to be sought rather by faith. Nearly all of the brothers were religious. But the official faith did not satisfy their longing, and on it, they grafted marvels, which had been discarded in times when the Church had been purged of oriental extravagances. The cleansing process had been too radical; precious wisdom had been tossed away, and had to be recovered. (Seligmann p.437) [Also, one has to remember that throughout the 16th century, mainstream Religion went hand in hand with a belief in a spirit world. Most of the population employed charms, potions and horoscopes as a matter of course. And this was not just ignorant peasants , the master of Balliol College Oxford, (1571 1580), Adam Squire, nearly lost his job when accused of selling gamblers a 'fly', or familiar spirit, which he claimed would guarantee them success at dice. In the

1580s, 13% of assize trials in Essex were for witchcraft. Of 64 accused, 53 found guilty. In 1583, churchwardens of Thatcham in Berkshire employed the services of a cunning woman to detect the culprit responsible for the theft of the church's communion cloth. And I think youll like this one; In 1597 Thomas Ross published his Natural and Artificial Conclusions, it was an enormous success; indeed so popular no copies of the first two editions survive. In his tome, Ross obligingly provides the reader instructions for walking on water. Leo] Unfortunately, one of the works translated was the infamous Necronomicon The Book of Dead Names. Of all the keys of magic remembered in the modern age, none is more Stygian than the Necronomicon. Harms.D, The Necronomicon Files: The Truth Behind Lovecrafts Legend (preface p.x)

382 It is a book, we are told, of immense evil power, full of rituals and spells, seals and sigils. This evil power can only be gained at great risk, with the threat of madness, death or damnation ever present. Yet there are always human beings eager to take such a risk for their own advantage, believing they are clever enough to avoid paying the terrible price for hubris. (Harms, preface p xi) [Although considered for many years, to be a literary hoax concocted from the fertile imagination of fiction writer H. P. Lovecraft, this assertion has been recently overturned in E.A. Chouses, Necronomicon: The Truth be told (Nonsuch, 2003). In the course of his research, Chouse uncovered a Sixteenth-century translation of the work since verified as authentic. As Chouse explains in his typically grandiose introduction: and so it came to pass, like Galileo before him, your humble narrator stood in the face of accepted wisdom and dared to ask the question, what if? Ignoring the brickbats and mockery of my peers, I fearlessly pierced the veil of rumor, half-truth, and downright deceit surrounding the infamous grimnoire, vowing to hold a tight grip on the sword of reason, as I descended the benighted pit. Then, one hallowed, glorious, day, I stepped inside Ripping Yarns, a rare and second-hand bookshop perched halfway up Highgate Hill in North London, and came face to face with a battered copy of the dread tome. Taking it from a shelf, were it sat alongside a biography of Jeffrey Archer, I held the dusty volume, its leather worn and faded, in my trembling hands. Turning to the frontpage I saw the publication date and my heart skipped a beat, 1573! (Chouse p.3) Chouse continues in a similar vein for over three hundred pages, but, despite his prose style, the book has been authenticated, revealing the Necronomicon to be at least threehundred years old. Many experts now claim the grimoire to be exactly what it says it is; a translation from the original text, written in the 8th Century, by Abdul Alhazred the socalled Mad Arab (D. 738 AD). Funnily enough, a legend has it John Dee (1527-c.

383 1609) translated the book, which in light of Chouses discovery, now seems highly likely. Ive perused a copy of the text and it contains such rituals as The Conjuration of the Fire God, The Conjuration of the Watcher, charms such as, A Most Excellent Charm Against the Hordes of Demons that Assail in the Night, or the Incantation against the Ancient Ones, all very useful one assumes for the would-be sorcerer. Joking aside, I must confess of all the so-called magic texts I have read, there is something peculiarly disturbing about the Necronomicon, its imagery seems to invade upon you, working at the unconscious level. The effects are hard to describe but it seems to induce the most fantastic and often terrifying dreams that even upon waking leech into the mind. Perhaps I am working too hard? Leo] Simon shook his head. So now weve got spell books and black magic. I cant believe Nicolas and Leo took this stuff seriously. They were historians, Si, they go were the evidence leads them, said Penny. Oh come on, the Necronomicon for gods sake. You read Leos note, the 16th century was rife with superstition and belief in magic he even said priests used a witch to find a thief, thats what a cunning woman is by the way, a witch. But the members of Sadliers Order were educated people, mathematicians and scientists. Yes, mathematicians and scientists like John Dee the famous Necromancer. Simon laughed. Basically, Si, according to what weve just read, these people viewed ancient magical texts and spell books in the same way they viewed other ancient texts, as possible receptacles of hidden or lost knowledge. They didnt have the 400 years of hindsight we have to dismiss the obvious nonsense from the gems, the only way to test it was to experiment, actually perform the rituals and spells and measure the results. Lots of historians consider alchemy to be the fore runner of modern chemistry; even Isaac Newton spent years of his life conducting alchemical

384 experiments. Whatever you say, Penny, this is gonna be hard for Average Joe to swallow, let alone other academics. Rubbish, a good dose of black magic and Satanism is just what the public love; its the icing on the cake. Whether they knew it or not, Nicolas and Leo have got a bestseller on their hands. Penny turned back to the computer screen. Freemasons, gold rings, ciphers, illegitimate heirs to the throne, William Shakespeare, spies and assassins, warfare and intrigue, black magic. She looked at Simon and laughed. Fuck thats some serious plot devices, she marveled. Not to mention the clincher twist, the murder of the authors, Simon muttered darkly. Penny said nothing and stared at the screen. It was Lewis Lewkenor who introduced John Dee to Edward Kelley in 1582, five years before Sadliers death, tempting Dee with a translation of the Book of Dunstan (an ancient manuscript purporting to impart the knowledge to transmute base metals into gold). Lewkenor used the amoral Kelley to spy upon his most likely rival for the position of Grand Master of the Order upon Sadliers demise. Dee was one of Sadliers most trusted colleagues, someone he turned to when translating the most delicate and controversial elements of the Ancient Wisdom, not only for his immense erudition on the subject, but for his absolute discretion and silence. Who else would lead the Order when Sadlier was gone? Lewkenor saw Dee chief among his rivals, in a roll call which included George Chapman, Thomas Heriot, the Herbert brothers, Christopher Marlowe, and even Walter Raleigh himself. It was a long list, with some impressive names, but Lewkenor used the skills he had learned in Sadliers spy school and the nefarious wisdom he had absorbed from his study

385 of the Necronomicon to systematically eradicate his rivals. It would be a long process, but like the best sleeper cells Lewkenor bided his time, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. After Sadliers death, however, Lewkenor was to be bitterly disappointed upon the inauguration of Thomas Heriot as Grand Master in 1586. Lewkenor finally became Grand Master in 1591 a position he achieved it would seem via blackmail and intimidation. Secure in his position of power he began to enact his revenge. Subtly directing the Order towards darker, what might be loosely termed, theBlack Arts& Magic; he undermined the original ethos that drove Sadliers vision. At the same time, he plotted the downfall of Sadliers allies and his rivals for Head of the Order. The names on the each list would often be the same. Christopher Marlowe he dispatched in a macabre re-enactment of the murder of Hiram Abiff, the legendary founder of Freemasonry, in 1593. One of Lewkenor agents planted a fragment of a heretical tract in the lodgings of Marlowe's colleague Thomas Kyd containing, vile heretical conciepts. Marlowe was arrested and brought before a Privy Council now infiltrated with Lewkenors agents and told to report to them daily. On the 30th May after spending all day in a house in Deptford, owned by the widow Eleanor Bull, Marlowe had an argument with one of his companions, Ingram Frizer, who stabbed him above the right eye, killing him instantly. Two other men witnessed the scene, Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley. All three worked for Lewkenor via Thomas Walsingham, a relative of Spymaster Francis Walsingham. Thomas Walsingham, unlike his relation Francis, turned his back on the enlightened humanism that lay at the heart of the School of Night, and fully embraced Lewkenors

386 new ethos and regime. As one of the great literary patrons of the age, Thomas Walsingham was in the perfect position to ensure only those Lewkenor favoured would get into print. In this way, Lewkenor ensured the downfall of George Chapman, and many others. Indeed, controlling Thomas Walsinghams purse strings would become a vital factor in Lewkenors eventual success, as we shall see. [Yes, I know we said never refer to Wikipedia, but I couldnt resist. Better check the facts, but you might find this interesting. Leo] Marlowe's death is alleged by some to be an assassination for the following reasons: 1. The three men who were in the room with him when he died were all connected both to the state secret service and to the London underworld. Bull's house also had "links to the government's spy network". [Ill skip 2 and 3]. 4. The manner of Marlowe's arrest is alleged to suggest causes more tangled than a simple charge of heresy would generally indicate. He was released in spite of prima facie evidence, and even though the charges implicitly connected Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Northumberland with the heresy. Thus, some contend it to be probable that the investigation was meant primarily as a warning to the politicians in the "School of Night", [Bulls-eye!] Or that it was connected with a power struggle within the Privy Council itself. [Fits with the Lewkenor power struggle.] 5. the various incidents that hint at a relationship with the Privy Council, and by the fact that his patron was Thomas Walsingham, Sir Francis's second cousin, who was actively involved in intelligence work. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_Marlowe.

387 [All very intruiging I think you will agree, unless, of course, someone simply made it all up. Leo]

Like so many in the school of Night who tried to stand against Lewkenor, Dr. John Dee would also suffer an ignoble end, one which saw him penniless and forced to sell much of his beloved book collection, a fate that would befall George Chapman and Thomas Hariot. In many ways, they were lucky in comparison to Walter Raleigh. First Lewkenor introduced Raleigh to Elisabeth Throckmorton, one of Elisabeths maids of honour. After arranging their secret marriage in 1592, Lewkenor delivered the information into the hands of one of Elisabeths personal attendants. The queen was livid and locked both Raleigh and his new wife in the tower of London. However, to Lewkenors annoyance, the couple were eventually released and Lewkenor was forced to bide his time. When James I becomes king Lewkenor used his influence to convince the monarch Raleigh was involved in a plot against him. Initially sentenced to death, but reduced to life imprisonment, Raleigh spends the next 12 years in the Tower of London. Finally, Lewkenor sends the hapless Raleigh on a fruitless expedition to find El Dorado (the fabled land of gold), in 1616, based upon a fake map Lewkenor had provided via one of his agents. After two years, Raleigh returns in disgrace and again imprisoned in the tower of London. After reinstating the death sentence Raleigh was finally executed on 29 October 1618. [Note: We need to research the schism within the Orders ranks upon Lewkenors inauguration as Grand Master / Upon initial investigation it would seem many of its

388 original members, including the Sidneys, left to instigate their own Lodge, one more inline with Sadliers, by comparison, enlightened original. This leads to the official founding of Speculative Freemasonry throughout the country. Leo]

[Ive found some great stuff on Lewes Lewkenor; I wont spoil it, but suffice to say he seems a pretty rum cove. Leo] LEWES LEWKENOR: SOLDIER, SPY, ALCHEMIST AND BLACK MAGICIAN Lewes Lewkenor (1559-1627) was a lawyer, MP, soldier, linguist, poet, translator and author who later became James Is Master of Ceremonies. Lewkenor graduated from Cambridge with an M.A. in 1579, his time there coincided with the death of Dr. John Caius,(founder of Caius College), and his peer group included, Anthony and Francis Bacon, Edmund Spenser and Gabriel Harvey, all would subsequently become members of the School of Night. As we have seen, Sadlier used Oxford and Cambridge as recruiting grounds for his spy network and it was here Lewkenor was first introduced to Sir Ralph. Lewkenor followed his uncle and cousin to the Middle Temple, but his Catholicism and a desire to travel and learn languages led him to Spain, where he joined an Italian captain bound for the Low Countries. This was the first occasion Lewkenor acted as a spy, it would not be his last. In 1589, after losing his left arm, Lewkenor returned home with his wife, Beatrice, the daughter of a Brabant merchant. In the same year his son, William, was born. Lewkenor earned his passport home by writing propaganda for Lord Burghley, William Cecil (who was running the Secret Service after Sadliers death in 1587) published in 1595 as The Estate of English Fugitives under the King of Spain.

389 The rapidity of Lewkenors return suggests he had been in Sadliers pay as a spy for since his graduation from Cambridge. In the same year, (1589), Lewkenors brother, Samuel, returned from his own travels in Europe, where he too worked as a spy for Sadlier. When Elizabeth I died in 1603, James I knighted Lewkenor and quickly elevated him to the lifetime appointment of Master of the Ceremonies. He achieved high favour under James and attained real political power. In 1605, Lewkenors wife, Beatrice, died in a house fire and Lewkenor was free to marry the wealthy widow of his cousin and fellow lawyer, Sir Richard Argall. Within six months, the widow Argall was also dead, her body found at the foot of her stairs, her neck broken. After inheriting her wealth and property, Lewkenor turned to an ancient family long connected to the Lewkenors, the Blount family, who provided him with his third wife, Mary Blount. Mary was the daughter of Sir Richard Blount, and a relative of the printer Edward Blount who produced Shakespeares First Folio. [Perhaps, it was during his years spent in the service of foreign armies in the Low Countries, Spain and France, years in which he witnessed the terrible, barbaric realities of 16th century warfare that his mind began to unravel? Indeed, it was in the crucible of conflict he lost his left arm, a conflict he fought, ostensibly, for Ralph Sadlier. Little wonder he harboured such animosity towards the man. Little wonder, when he became the Grand Master of the School of Night, Lewkenor systematically redefined the Orders ethos and vowed to destroy Sadliers legacy. Leo]

390

Horus represented as a falcon Dark musings concerning the School of Night These include charges of atheism and idolatry (charges levelled against the Knights Templar both in England and abroad) Manichean dualist philosophy and Cathar beliefs were included in Rosicrucian based rituals & ceremonies hence accusations of paganism and denying the existence of god, ensuring utmost-secrecy among the members of the Lodge. The School of Night referred to as the School of Atheists by contemporaries. More than one source accuses them of harbouring a secret fraternity of assassins. (X/cf op.cit. Johnson, A.N. Spymaster-General: Sir Ralph Sadlier, last Knight-Banneret of England (1960) Faber & Faber)

391 Simon suddenly jumped back from the laptop and turned to Penny. Oh shit! Have you read the last sentence? No, wait Im just getting Penny fell silent as she read the words on the screen:

One anonymous pamphlet Dark Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (pub 1590) links this secret fraternity to the death of Christopher Marlowe. (Which some historians of Freemasonry contend was a deliberate re-enactment of the ritual murder of Hiram Abiff, the legendary founder of Freemasonry.)

Jesus, Penny, H. AbiffI thought it rang a bell when I read it earlier, it was the name our tickets were booked under. Penny nodded solemnly. Yes, I remember, she sighed. The sick-sonofabitch has some sense of humour, huh? Penny bit her lip and looked at Simon, her eyes brimming with tears. Simon smiled gently and took her hand. Dont worry, baby, he soothed, weve got Lowson outside nothing can happen to us now. Penny offered a nervous smile and hand in hand, they continued to read. Another pamphlet, Cry Foule Murder and Let Slip Thee Dogs Of War, published in 1620 (an obvious allusion to Henry V) recalls the tale of a William Brokespeare who discovers a dastardly plotte against him at the hands of the Rapacious Hawks a secret order of warrior-monks who practice alchemy and witchcraft. Brokespeare eventually falls-foul of the assassins blade and is murdered. Fact: William Shakespeare died on April 23, 1616; some four weeks prior to his death on 25 March 1616, he made his Last Will and Testament.

392 Historians debate whether Shakespeare knew he was ill, and son-in-law was a doctor, so he would have received the best treatment available, but it does seem likely that he knew he did not have long to live. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly. If th' assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease, success: that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-allhere, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come. Macbeth Act I, scene (vii) lines 17 A powerful speech, made all the more intriguing, when we consider this is the first recorded instance the word assassination is used in the English language. A third anonymous tract, published in 1623 (the year of the First Folio) entitled, Alls Well That Ends Well (again, another direct-allusion to the Shakespearian works) completes the story by stating William Brokespeare, upon discovering the plot against his life, fakes his own death and flees the country, bound for the New World in America. The pamphlet describes how the ageing Brokespeare was accompanied by a faithfulle companion, who possessed the blood of the Hawk and insured his safety on the arduous journey across the Atlantic. Note the backlash against the School of Night, and the subsequent anonymous pamphlets, occurred after the inauguration of Lewis Lewekenor as Grand Master in 1592. [Interestingly there is a connection between the Knights Templar and Hasan-i Sabbah, whose legendary cult of Assassins terrorized the Muslim world from their mountain

393 fortress of Alamut (Eagles Guidance), near Tehran, in 1273 C.E. Hasan was introduced into the West by good old Marco Polo who provides us with this archetypal portrait of the Order: The Old Man kept at his court such boys of twelve years old as seemed to him destined to become courageous men. When the Old Man sent them into the garden in groups of four, ten or twenty, he gave them hashish to drink. They slept for three days, then they were carried sleeping into the garden where he had them awakened. When these young men woke, and found themselves in the garden with all these marvelous things, they truly believed themselves to be in paradise. And these damsels were always with them in songs and great entertainments; they received everything they asked for, so that they would never have left that garden of their own will. And when the Old Man wished to kill someone, he would take him and say: Go and do this thing. I do this because I want to make you return to paradise. And the assassins go and perform the deed willingly. The Adventures of Marco Polo

Since its publication, Marcos description has been brought into question and many experts dismiss the notion of the garden and the use of drugs. Indeed, I can find no serious cotemporary study of the story that confirms the idea of a lush garden set in a castle some 3000 meters above sea level. Hasan I Sabahs name was also thought to be the origin for the word Hashish, another fact that has been hotly debated. It is said that the word assassin comes from the Arabic word haschishin for hashish user, yet Hassan and his followers didn't speak Arabic; they were Persians. Many scholars believe assassin in fact comes from Hassassin - a follower of Hassan.

394 Others contend it derives from Assass, which means the base or the root, and so assassins means assassion, or those who believe in the foundation of one thing. Furthermore, many argue Hassan, in fact, was a hashish prohibitionist who believed the Koran's ban on alcohol was a ban on all intoxicants, so Matcos tale of drug use does look very suspect. Hasan directed his campaigns against his Turkish and Persian neighbors. Rulers, generals, prime ministers, rank or privilege was no shield. The assailant could be a beggar or a holy man, even a trusted member of the household. When captured, the assassins were contemptuous of death, resisting torture without betraying their comrades. One of their classic terror tactics would involve a target waking up in bed with a dagger stuck in the pillow next to him, a technique Hasan seems to have invented. The mighty Saladin himself, survived at least three separate attacks, and at times supposedly travelled in an armored wooden box for protection. Now, alongside heresy, the Knights Templar were also accused of association with the Assassins, and unlike the majority of the charges leveled against the Order, this seems to be based upon fact. Firstly,

both Orders entered an alliance in 1172, and second, both Orders internal infrastructure and uniforms (red on white) were remarkably similar. Indeed the two groups seem to have embraced each other on many levels, along with that old adage The enemy of my enemy is my friend. It was a true marriage of convenience with the Assassins at times allied with the warrior monks against a common foe, at other times paying them tribute in order to avoid a military confrontation. The Christian Order of the Knights of Templar, who came into contact with some of Ben Sabbahs commanders during the Crusades,were reputed to have adopted Ben

395 Sabbahs system of military organization. Edgar OBallance, Language of Violence: The Blood Politics of Terrorism (San Rafael, CA: Presidio Press, 1979), p. 4. Of course, the Knights Templar also received ancient wisdom from the Assassins, for under Hasans command, Alamut was the center of Nizar Ismailism, a place of learning, which included the study of philosophy, mathematics, astronomy and alchemy.(Yes, I know what you are going to say, all subjects studied by Sadliers School of Night.) Therefore, we have the Knights Templar appropriating their internal structure and uniform from the Assassins, thus it is no great leap to suggest they might also have adopted some of their methodology. Sadlier, upon his inauguration into the Knights Templar, used the knowledge he discovered to train assassins for his burgeoning Spy Network. This explains the use of assassin in Macbeth, the first recorded use of the word in the English language. Unfortunately, it would seem Lewes Lewkenor also adopted Hasans techniques instigating a secret Order of assassins within the School of Night itself. This explains the publication of the numerous anonymous pamphlets we discovered accusing the School of harbouring the Rapacious Hawks a secret order of warrior monks who practice alchemy and black magic. Oh dear, it is all becoming very gothic! Leo]

DISCOVERY

396 Lewkenors hatred for Sadlier sent him on a murderous vendetta, one conducted both on the physical plain and on the magical one. Despite Sadliers intellect and cunning, we believe Lewkenor discovered the truth concerning William Shakespeares true lineage. This explains Shakespeares return to Stratford-upon-Avon at the height of his career in 1603. Receiving news of Lewkenors discovery, via John Sadlier, he returned to the security of his adoptive family, and the ever-watchful eyes of the Sadliers. This did not however stop the monstrous Lewkenor continuing his vendetta. We believe his agents murdered Shakespeares brother, Edmund, in December 1607.Edmund was the victim of a fire at his home in London, a ruse Lewkenor intended to ploy William into returning to London. Thankfully, the protection of the Sadlier family remained sufficient for several years, until Lewkenor grew increasingly bold and in 1613, his agents instigated a fire in the Globe Theatre, which burned the building to the ground. With this act of vandalism, Lewkenor sent an unequivocal message to William Shakespeare and the Sadlier family. Finally, Lewkenors assassins made their way to Stratford-upon-Avon. The consequences would be, literally, devastating. As R.E.Hunter tells us in his, Shakespeare and Stratford-upon-Avon, on the 9th July, 1614, a similar but much more extensive disaster took place in Stratford. On that day a dreadful fire broke out, and within the space of less than two hours consumed and burnt fifty and foure Dwelling Houses, many of them being very faine houses besides Barnes, Stables and other Houses of Office, together with great store of Corne Hay, Straw, Wood and Timber therein amounting to a value of Eight Thousand Pounds and upwards. (Hunter. P. 42).

397 Much of the property destroyed belonged to William Shakespeare or the Sadlier family. For another 19 months Shakespeare weathered the storm, until, on 25 February 1616, William executed his will. Strangely, It appears, however, to have been drawn prior to the marriage, (of his daughter, Judith, on 10 Feb 1616), as the original date was Vincesimo quinto die Januarii, altered afterwards to Vincesimo quinto de Martii. He declares himself to be in perfect health and memory, and within one month of this declaration angels had winged him to his rest. (Hunter.P.43) That last sentence, I think, bears repeating, He declares himself to be in perfect health and memory. Yet, he dropped dead just one month later. In short, we believe John Sadlier senior bought passage for William Shakespeare and his son, John Sadlier, on one of the Pilgrim ships sailing from Plymouth, bound for America. Fact: we have traced the first official Sadlier in America (John Sadlier, Hamnet Sadliers son) back to 1617, one year after William Shakespeares death. While searching records for Prince George County VA, we also discovered personal property and land tax listings from 1650, 1788, 1790 and 1800. Here we found several Sadlier listed, including Thomas Sadlier Sr, (b. 1715) his sons, Henry, (b. 1750) Thomas Jr( b. 1745) and Featherston(e) and Henry's son, Jeremiah Sadlier (b. 1773). Thus, it seems highly probable William Shakespeare fled England bound for the New World accompanied by John Sadlier.

398

The Shakespearian canon.

The secret manufacture into print of Sadliers Shakespearian canon of works involved Edward and Henry Herbert, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, his two sons William (3rd Earl of Pembroke) and Philip (4th Earl of Pembroke, 1st Earl of Montgomery). William was Lord Chancellor and Philip was a Gentleman of the Chamber, both were made Knights of the Garter under James VI. All were members of the School of Night, co-founded by their grandfather, William, the 1st Earl of Pembroke, along with Ralph Sadlier, in 1537. The other participants included Lewis Lewkenor, George Chapman and Ralph Sadliers great- nephew, Hamnet Sadlier, chaperone and mentor to Sadlier & Elizabeth Is illegitimate son: William Shakespeare Hidden in plain-sight Throughout the Shakespearian works and in his work on the Authorized Version (King James) bible, Ralph Sadlier deliberately conspired to conceal his own identity; we must never forget his famous remark that his only regret was to tell a secret to two. Ralph Sadlier, as an important public servant, could not be seen to be, or to be the equal of, a playwright, perhaps, most importantly, the historical issues of the Tudor period, in which Sadlier was both secretly, and openly involved, would have been severely compromised had it been known that he was a dramatist and poet. Anglo-Scottish-Franco relations: in particular, the question of the succession to the Scottish and English thrones, and the geographical position of Scotland as a steppingstone for French, or Spanish Catholic, insurgents. Combined with the creation and consolidation of the Church of England in the wake of Henry VIIIs split with Rome; These were not issues to be trifled with or associated with a common playwright or poet.

399

For the actual mechanics of the writing of the Shakespearian canon, we propose a series of concentric circles beginning with the innermost first. 1: Ralph Sadlier the author, plus (possibly) influential people who, as the conspiracy unfolded, needed to know about it these would be high-level personages of the stamp of Walsingham etc, (possibly James VI). These people, however, were not privy to the true lineage of William Shakespeare, this information was known only to Ralph Sadlier, Queen Elizabeth, her physician in waiting Doctor Edmund Fry, and Williams adoptive father John Shakespeare. [Note: We suspect Lewis Lewkenor discovered the secret after Ralph Sadliers death in 1587.] 2: Sadliers amanuensis George Chapman and Sadliers pupil & friend, Henry Herbert 2nd Earl of Pembroke (both in on it, i.e. privy to the true identity of the author, but not the true bloodline of William Shakespeare). 3: William Shakespeare, actor and entrepreneur (As Ralph Sadliers clandestine natural son, he knew the identity of the true author; but it is debatable whether he realised his true lineage.) 4: Various members of the School of Night. I.E. Henry Herberts sons, William and Philip Henrys wife, Mary Sidney, Emilia Bessano, Dr John Dee, Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon, etc. (Not in on either the true authorship or heir, these luminaries added plot devices and specialist knowledge to the Shakespearian canon, often adding contemporary incidents and events to the plays after Sadlier death. In this fashion, Sadliers work would still appear relevant and thus resonate with a contemporary audience). 5: William Shakespeares co-lessees/partners at the Globe (not in on any of it and

400 believe William Shakespeare to be the author). 6: Players and playwrights actively involved with the production of the plays in the London theatres, together with the printers of the Sonnets, the First Folio etc (none of these were in on it with the possible exception of Ben Jonson, who may have stumbled across the true authorship, but not the bloodline connection.)

THE SADLIERS AND THE SHAKESPEARES: A TALE OF TWO FAMILIES Sir Ralphs nephew, John Sadleir, was Alderman and High Bailiff of Stratford-uponAvon, 1570 1571, and a close friend of Shakespeares father, John. Hamnet Sadleir, witnessed William Shakespeares will, and with his wife Judith were godparents of Shakespeares twin children, Hamnet and Judith, who were baptised at Stratford-on-Avon on 2nd February 1585.

Obviously the children were named after their godparents. [I found this online, at, www.suttonhousesociety.org.uk/Archive/Newsletter199202.pdf, its a newsletter from the Sutton House Local Committee Annual Public Meeting Wednesday 26 February 1992. Seems we arent the only ones who have come to the same conclusion. I tried to get in contact with the author, Mike Gray, but it would appear he died in a car crash near his home in 1993. Leo] Did Ralph Sadlier Write the Complete Works of Shakespeare? Maybe not, but it is just possible that they may have met. Burkes Landed Gentry of Ireland informs us that Ralph Sadlier had a brother, John, who commanded a company at the siege of Boulogne'(where the English captured the town). 'He was ancestor of the

401 Sadliers of Stratford-on-Avon, one of whom, Hamnet, was the friend of Shakespeare. Hamnet, or Hamlet as it is sometimes spelt, was in fact Godfather to Shakespeare's twins, Hamnet and Judith, born in 1584. He was also witness to Shakespeare's Will and benefited from it. Hamnet Sadler's father was John Sadler who owned the mills on the Avon just south of Stratford Church. He was also landlord of the "Bear" in Bridge Street and served as bailiff of the borough in 1570. He died in 1583. If, as seems possible, this John was 'John of Boulogne' then clearly Ralph was Hamnet's uncle. (Hamnet Sadler himself had a nephew Ralph indicating that it might be family name.)The Sadleir family of Hackney had many links with the County of Warwickshire despite the fact that Ralph's 19th century biographer. Sir Walter Scott claimed that the Sadleir family 'had some time been settled in Hackney'. American historian and Tudor specialist, Arthur Slavin, has shown convincingly that Ralph and John's father, Henry, came originally from Warwickshire. He served as clerk to an important landowner there. Sir Edward Belknapp, whose estates included several within a few miles of Stratford. When Belknapp died in 1521, Henry came to Hackney where he bought a house, probably the old tanhouse just to the west of 'the bryk place' (Sutton House). Ralph Sadleir himself came into possession of many manors in Warwickshire including that of Haselor close to Stratford. This manor Ralph sold to Sir Fulke Greville, father of the Elizabethan poet and dramatist of the same name, who later bought Brooke House in Hackney. However, tenuous Ralph Sadleir's links are with Shakespeare and Fulke Greville, one Elizabethan dramatist was very well known to him. George Chapman (1560 - 1634) translator of Homer and author of such works as "The Old Joiner of Aldgate lived and served for some years prior to 1583 in Sadleir's great household at Standon. His play "The Gentleman Usher" is believed to be based on his experiences there. The story concerns the exploits of a young man beloved, as he

402 imagines, by the mistress of the house! Mike Gray

Standon Lordships

Contemporary sources speak of secret tunnels and underground chambers beneath Ralph Sadliers property. Similar stories surround Sadliers home in Hackney, Sutton House. It is a matter of record a series of tunnels run beneath Temple Dinsley formerly the main headquarters of the Knights Templar and then of the Knight Hospitaller. After personally dissolving the Order, Sadlier razed the building to the ground and promptly built a mansion house on the very same spot. The new building soon became The School of Nights first spy academy and main headquarters. In 1543, Sadlier moved to Standon Lordships and his sons moved into the manor house at Temple Dinsley.

Tunnels in Standon.

A local legend alludes to a tunnel that runs for half a mile directly beneath St Marys the Virgin church in Standon and supposedly ends somewhere in the grounds of Standon Lordship.

WHERE PRIESTS FLEE

403

Simon slapped his palm against his forehead Thats it! he said his eyes wide with excitement. Thats the answer to the riddle, and why Nicholas was digging up the cottages, I bet underneath one of them- The left one, Penny said thinking fast. .

Of course, Sinister Hand refers to the building on the left, so, oh shit! Two brothers stand has nothing to do with Sadliers brothers, or anyone elses. Its a specific reference to the cottages at Lordship Manor. Simon laughed with excitement. Uncle Nicolas almost had it, the crazy old bastard, he almost had it. Penny nodded furiously. Yes, its obvious, where priests flee means a tunnel used as an escape route- A tunnel that emerges in the left-hand cottage in the grounds of Lordship Manor, finished Simon. Weve got to get back, Penny. Penny laughed. Jesus, Si, what do you thinks at the other end of the tunnel? Simon shrugged. It wouldnt surprise me if it was the Ark of the Covenant, but knowing Uncle Nicolas, even that wouldnt be enough. Penny looked at Simon and offered a thin smile. Yknow the awful thing is, she said very slowly. This informations been in our possession, on this laptop, right from the start. Simon sat back and began to massage his closed eyelids with his palms. I was kinda-hoping you wouldnt mention that, he sighed.

Chapter Twenty-Six

404
Even in such manner, although we might enrich the whole world, and endue them with learning, and might release it from innumerable miseries, yet shall we never be manifested and made known unto any man, without the especial pleasure of God; yea, it shall be so far from him whosoever thinks to get the benefit and be partaker of our riches and knowledge, without and against the will of God, that he shall sooner lose his life in seeking and searching for us, than to find us

The Confessio Fraternitatis (1615)

Penny finished her drink and looked at Simon. Its too late to go back to Standon tonight, Si, well have to tell Lowson and get him to take us there in the morning. Simon looked out of the window. Yeaah, maybe itll have stopped raining, he said sarcastically. Lets get him in here and tell him weve discovered the answer to the riddle, they already think weve deliberately withheld evidence, I dont want to face another quiet little chat with Corbett. Penny laughed. I just want to finish first, so we can tell Lowson everything Nicolas and Leo discovered. Itll only take another twenty minutes; they wont cosh us senseless over twenty minutes.

The Authorship Debate

There are patterns in the use of genres, histories, comedies, tragedies: also, in the depth and quality of the subject matterthese developments should correspond to the authors life and learning, and we should weigh that correspondence when considering any authorship candidate. The Sonnets are clearly attributed to the author and must be owned, philosophically and personally by any candidate. Their images and date of publication must have a causeThe reason and ability to conceal oneself as the author of these works must be tackled, not just during life but for hundreds of years after life as

405 well. For those proposing that the author was not the actor, the connection to the actor Shakespeare, the Burbage brothers, and the workings of the professional theatres, must be possible. The incredible knowledge from books, from travel, in Italy particularly, via five languages, and of matters legal and courtly, all of this must be possible in a candidate. Will Out: Unmasking The Real Shakespeare. Rubinstein. Foreword to The Truth B. James and D.

One thing unites all the candidates for authorship; their lives fail to mirror the work.
This is true for 1: The aristocratic Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford. 2: The rakish spy and playwright Christopher Marlowe. 3: The polished homosexual statesman and author Francis Bacon. 4: The well-born Earls of Derby and Rutland. 5: And even the brilliant, accomplished and well-educated monarch herself, Queen Elizabeth I. We can succinctly sum up the grounds for rejection of each candidate, based on what we know of their temperament, life, conduct, career and/or literary style: 1: Not Oxford (narrow in outlook, violent and unpredictable); 2: Not Marlowe (stylistically and temperamentally at variance with the canon);

406 3: Not Bacon (ditto); 4a: Not Derby (too much the dilettante); 4b: Not Rutland (ditto); 5: Not Elizabeth I (too preoccupied); By comparison Ralph Sadlier was 1: Well educated. 2: Had first hand experience of all levels of society. 3: Was privy from an early age to statecraft and to stagecraft. 4: Was on first-name terms with a cluster of scholarly and creative types from childhood. 5: Was well-travelled 6: Had unfettered access to all State papers and the latest books. 7: Had hands-on experience of manly pursuits such as falconry. 8: Was a highly decorated army officer with first hand experience of the battlefield. 9: Was fluent in several foreign languages. 10: Had (a significant point) an embattled, complicated, and embarrassing private life. 11: Was a royal favourite and trusted inner-circle member of the establishment for over fifty-years. Ralph Sadlier was the voice and the pen for kings and queens for over five decades, he knew the descendants of the major-protagonists in many of the plays, and in some cases, even the bit-part players. He had access to the State Paper Office, and thus all extant historical sources, which he used to supply references, and often plot devices.

The Merchant of Venice for instance, demonstrates detailed knowledge of the city of

Venice, including the obscure facts that the Duke (the Doge) held two votes in the City Council, and that a dish of baked-doves was given as a gift in northern Italy. The play

407 also uses the local slang word, traghetto, for the Venetian mode of transport ('traject' in the published texts). Logic suggests that the above information most likely obtained from first-hand experience of the regions under discussion, and that the author would have been a diplomat, an aristocrat, a politician, or all three. Ralph Sadlier was educated alongside Nicholas Udall the Father of English Comedy. His tutors include Sir Thomas More and Desiderius Erasmus. Sadlier, in turn, educated George Chapman. . William Shakespeare Not one original manuscript written in the hand of William Shakespeare has survived, and his Will fails to mention any of his work, furthermore his daughter was illiterate and there is no record of a single book being read, borrowed or owned by the man from Stratford upon Avon. [By way of comparison, several hundred books owned by Ben Jonson, Shakespeares contemporary, have been found, signed and annotated by him. Leo] Furthermore, the six existing examples of Shakespeares signature we have on record seem to range from the merely incompetent, to the semi-illiterate. Note: none of the signatures possesses uniformity and they seem the work of different hands. This is particularly strange considering three of the signatures purport to be from the same document.

408 William Shakespeares 3 page last will and testament is noteworthy, aside from the issue of the signatures, as it contains mistakes (or deliberate alterations) which appear to have been crossed through. Most significantly, a Mr. Richard Tylers name has been removed in favour of Hamnet Sadlier, John Sadliers son. Item I gyve and bequeath to mr richard Hamnett Sadler Tyler thelder XXVIs VIIId to buy him A Ringe; to William Raynoldes gent XXVIs VIIId to buy him a Ringe; to my godson William Walker XXVIs VIIId in gold and to my ffellowes John Hemynges, Richard Burbage and Heny Cundell XXVIs VIIId A peece to buy them Ringes. [The compilers of the Oxford English Dictionary ( early nineteenth-century) were so afraid that a name other than William Shakespeares might one-day surface as the True Author they coined a new-word, Shakespearian,an adverb to mean of the writing-style found within the accepted-Shakespearian canon of works. Leo]

SPYMASTER GENERAL Henry VIII dubs Sadlier Master of the Kings Hawks in 1532. From this point onwards, Sadlier serves as Spymaster General, (a position he maintained until the end of his life), personally instructing individuals such as William Cecil, Walsingham, Burghley, Dee, Lewkenor and many others. Ralph Sadlier takes up the role first inaugurated in England under the reign of Henry VII and begins to coordinate a network of spies and informers.

409 Under these auspices, he recruits members from the pupils of Oxford and Cambridge universities and personally finances spy-academies up and down the country, which teach the numerous skills and techniques required to be a successful secret agent. These include literacy, numeracy and fluency in foreign languages, the use of ciphers and codes, martial training, including archery, close arms combat and assassination techniques. One of these Academies was situated at Brantham Manor under the stern management of Sir Humphrey Wingfield (1481- 1545). We have accounts of life at Brantham Manor from Roger Ascham (1515 1568) in his first work, Toxophilus ("Lover of the Bow") published in 1545, who tells us pupils spent the day engaged in various types of academic study and vigorous exercise. In a strange quirk of fate, Aschams master at Brantham Manor was a Mr. J. Bond. Even more intriguing when we realise one of Ralph Sadliers pupils at his academies was Dr. John Dee, who signed his secret missives to Queen Elizabeth with the code name 007. Ian Fleming, it appears, knew his Tudor history. Sadliers revamped and modernised secret service enabled him to maintain a position of power in the Privy Council via surveillance, counter-espionage, foreign intelligence, etc. His substantial network of intelligencers bought him gossip and information from all corners of the Country, and abroad, supplying invaluable news of plots and intrigue such as the Thockmorton and Babington Plots, The Ridolphi Letter and the Spanish Armada. Among his collection of spies and intelligencers were Dr John Dee, Robert Dudley, Lewis Lewekenor, and the playwright Christopher Marlowe, who Sadlier planted in foreign Catholic seminaries for the purpose of gathering intelligence and disseminating counter-intelligence. Perhaps this explains the reason why Marlowe received his M.A. in

410 1587 after the Privy Council insisted he had done her majesty good service and deserved to be rewarded. [Robert Hutchinson Elizabeths Spy Master p.133] Some of his [Sadliers] methods would be familiar to modern spies. Agents used dead letter boxes to exchange information, secret ink manufactured from milk and lemon (although the hard-pressed agent could resort to using his own urine, if watered down), and messages written in complex ciphered code. The enemy acted similarly: the imprisoned Mary Queen of Scots received information hidden in beer barrels, or in the high heel of the fashionable shoes worn by any good Frenchwoman, incarcerated or otherwise. And when these messages were intercepted, [Sadlers] forgers could always add an extra layer of incrimination. Through such behaviour, he scuppered half a dozen plots and harvested crucial information about the Armada. [Peter Watts http://www.timeout.com/london/features/334/Elizabethan_spies.html] Thus it was Ralph Sadlier developed and maintained a network of agents and informants throughout Europe, in what was, perhaps, the most advanced and efficient operation of its kind in the world at the time. It is this network that forms the basis of our modern-day security services, such as MI 5, MI 6, MI 7, MI 9, etc. Through his most trusted agents such as Francis Walsingham, and William Cecil, 1st Baron of Burghley, Sadlier was able to ensure his network survived and flourished after his death in 1587

411

The Shakespearian canon of works.

[Note: these are rough outlines; full details are in file 12 The Canon.]

When troubles come, they come not single spies But in battalions! Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Sadliers first dramatic work is Sir Thomas More which was followed by Thomas, Lord Cromwell and then Henry VIII. Why? Because as a young man Ralph Sadlier was in the room when the events that form the basis of the plays were unfolding. In Thomas, Lord Cromwell Sadlier actually makes a brief cameo when he arrives with a pardon from the king moments after Cromwell doth want for a head. (This leads to a number of questionable jokes.) Henry IV Based upon the Rising of the Northern Earls 1569 Sadlier intimately involved in the politics and military campaigns. William Shakespeares was five years old at the time. Henry V Based upon the Seige of Leith 1560 Ralph Sadlier was present.

412 William Shakespeare was not yet born.

Loves Labours Lost

Based upon the court of King Henry IV of Navarre, Sadlier involved in the politics and intrigue and had intimate knowledge of the court, knowledge he used in the play.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark In the famous Gravediggers scene, the suicide of Sir James Hales is cited as a point of law. Ralph Sadlier knew Sir James Hales, and presided over the original judicial case. Furthermore, he employed Sir James cousin, John Hales as his assistant in the Office of the Hanaper for over forty years. Ralph Sadlier was an exemplary lawyer, trained by Thomas Cromwell, he was, perhaps, one of a handful of men in the country at the time to have possessed sufficient knowledge of English Law to refer to this rather obscure fact. William Shakespeare was, at best, educated to a grammar school level, before being removed from education because of his fathers fall from grace. In the same scene, the famous skull of Yorick represents John Skelton, Henry VIIIs court dramaturgist, a man Ralph Sadlier knew well as a young courtier. One of the plots surrounding Mary Queen of Scots involved the use of a note secreted inside a beer barrel bung this appears in

413 The Murder of Gonzago, or The Mousetrap, the play within the play in Hamlet refers to the murder of the Duke of Urbino, assassinated in 1538. The plays the thing wherein Ill catch the conscience of the king (lines 556-557). The assassination was organized by Luigi Gonzago, Gonzago was an ally of Ralph Sadlier who supported Sadlier in his mission to have James VI crowned as King.

The Merchant of Venice. On 28th January, 1543 Ralph Sadlier sat on a Privy Council Meeting, a transcript of which states; Cowley appeared, and answered Shurlock's articles, and was remitted to the Fleet, to put his answers in writing. He sat on another Privy Council Meeting on 4th February 1543, for which we have this account; Ph. Bobbin, gentleman usher, Sir Edw. Kerne, and Dr. Peter, who, by the King's command, apprehended certain persons suspected to be Jews, presented their examinations and inventories of their goods. [Addendum: 23rd March 1543, the Council reconvenes to discuss, Information by the Mayor and Sheriffs against Jheronimo a stranger dwelling within the house of the late Grey Friars, of misbehaviour and resisting the King's officers' attempt to search his house, order was taken that he should appear before the Council on Tuesday next. The Chamberlains Men (Later the Kings Players), had a play called Jeronimo in their repertoire, first performed circa 1588. (The History of English Dramatic Poetry to the Time of Shakespeare John Payne Collier, p. 207)]

414 Macbeth. Scottish political intrigue a strange subject for a Warwickshire lad, more surprising in this context is the fact it is historically accurate. Sadlier had begun collating English historical documents in 1530, information he used in the play. Edward Seymours wife, Ann Stanhope, urged her husband to kill his own brother to advance himself, a Lady Macbeth character of Iago-esque proportions according to the historian John Heyward. Ralph Sadlier worked with Seymour for ten years. Merry Wives of Windsor Justice Shallow based on Justice Swallow, an adversary of Ralph Sadlier before William Shakespeare was born.

Thus we can see the plays and sonnets unfold via the events in Ralph Sadliers life.

Bookshelves stagger under the weight of literature that chronical the political and religious upheavals that mark the sixteenth-century. Ralph Sadlier remained at the eye of this storm, while all around his contemporaries fell like stalks of barley in the wind. Who better to reflect all he had witnessed, and later instigated, in a dramatic semifictional context? Thus, we have:

415 Elizabeth I = the Fair Lady.

Mary, Queen of Scots = the Dark Lady.

James VI of Scotland (James I of England) = the Golden Youth

Penny suddenly pointed at the computer screen. This is what those bastards are trying to hide, Simon, she snarled. They discovered Nicolas and Leos research and silenced them. Simon could see Penny was angry, but he still wasnt convinced. But why, Penny, it makes no sense. Were talking about revealing the true author of the Shakespearian works, not who shot J. F. K. Penny shook her head. No, Si, this is much bigger, she said seriously. Do you have any idea how much this country earns from tourism to Stratford-upon-Avon? No, Simon said crisply. I bet its in the hundreds of millions, not to mention all the academic reputations built on their knowledge of The Bard; do you think theyll be pleased to find themselves made redundant over night? Then theres all the books published, you remember what Leo told us, theres a small industry built on the, who wrote Shakespeare, debate. Face it, Si, were talking about a lot of money, and a lot of people who stand to lose it. But they can move the tourists to Sutton House, Simon reasoned. And theres whole new careers and reputations to be made upon the back of Nicolas and Leos breakthrough, he added. Yeah, right, Penny snorted. Whos going to want to spend a day out in bloody Hackney? I can just see coach loads of Yanks enjoying the delights of Mare Street or the Lee Bridge Road. She turned to Simon. And despite their attempts at an objective faade, academics are some of the most blinkered and generally stubborn bastards youre ever likely to meet. She shrugged.

416 Ive had enough encounters with them in my career, and Im talking about the real-deal, people whove got a ten-part series on BBC1. This book will shatter their cosseted little worlds, Simon. Simon massaged his bandaged ankle. I suddenly need a real strong coffee, he sighed. My brains cooked with information overload, I think Ill order a sandwich dyou want anything, baby? Penny smiled. Ill have a double espresso and a turkey-club, please, she said sliding the laptop across the glass-surface of coffee table. Bringing her legs up onto the tables edge, Penny rested her feet and gazed out of the window, unsurprisingly, it was still raining.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
I will find where truth is hid Though it were hid indeed Within the Centre. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act II, scene (ii)

417 Simon drained the last drop of liquid from his coffee cup and placed it back on its saucer. Jesus, youd think at these prices you could get a decent cup of goddam coffee. Well, Penny sighed, maybe by the third cup you mightve realised it wasnt going to suddenly get any better. Simon grinned. So, where were we? Moving aside their empty cups, Penny slid the laptop back across the table and repositioned the screen. Can you read that? she asked. Unfortunately, yes, Simon nodded wearily. Shakespeare's fellow actors and shareholders in the Globe theatre, John Hemmings, Richard Burbage and Henry Condell were the editors of the First Folio collection. William Shakespeare mentions them in his last will and testament: my fellows John Hemynges Richard Burbage & Henry Cundell, leaving them twenty-six shillings andeight pence to "buy them Ringes. Thats only the third time theyve mentioned the rings, said Penny. Maybe theyre building up such a mass of evidence that when the rings appear the reader wont just dismiss it as bullshit. Simon shrugged. If you hadnt seen one of the rings for yourself, would you believe their story? Probably not, Penny admitted. Theyre pushing the limits of most peoples credibility as it is with all the freemason and black magic shit, once the rings and the cipher rear their ugly heads its game over if they dont have a water-tight case. Penny shook her head. But, they actually found four of the rings. Simon smiled. Which have subsequently been stolen, apart from the one currently residing in a cabinet somewhere in New Scotland Yard Even one ring is enough, surely?

418 Maybe, but on its own what does it really prove? That Nicholas and Leo havent invented the whole thing. Not really, maybe they just had one made precisely for that reason. Okay, what about the cipher and the riddle? Again, without the actual rings, it could all be a figment of their imaginations. But, WE know it isnt! Simon let out a long sigh. Yeaahand maybe I wish I didnt, he said quietly. Penny took Simons hand. If we get this out to the general public theyll be nothing they can do their whole motive to keep it secret is gone. Simon looked into Pennys face. The voice told us explicitly not to do that, he reminded her. Penny was furious. Yknow what? she exclaimed, her eyes flashing with defiance. Im starting to get fucking angry with these pricks! I say we hand the whole lot over to one of the broadsheets and kick them where it hurts. And if there really is an assassin? I dont care anymore, Ive been terrified for so long now I cant remember what any other emotion feels like; this bastard has killed Aunt Harriet, Uncle Nicolas, Ivy, Paul and Leo, not to mention probably throwing you under a tube train. Wait a minute, baby, that was a suicide, Simon protested. Do you really believe that? Penny said with conviction. Think about it, wed just left the School of Night after enquiring about Ralph Sadlier, and whoops you fall under a tube train. Oh, come on! Simon thought for a moment. Maybe youve got a point, he said reluctantly. You bet I have! Penny shouted. Theyve tried to kill you, and theyve threatened me. Well Ive had enough, I say bring it all down around their fucking ears. If thats what you want, Ill back you all the way. But have you really thought of the consequences if they arent bluffing?

419 It cant be worse than the last ten days, can it? Penny said squeezing Simons hand. Simon shrugged. I dont know, baby, I just dont know Eventually they turned their attention back to the computer screen: The First Folio was dedicated to William and Philip, the sons of the Henry Herbert, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, and Mary Sidney Herbert, Countess of Pembroke (1561-1621). Mary was the daughter of Sir Henry Sidney and sister of the poets Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Robert Sidney. Educated in Latin, French, Italian, Greek, and music, her literary works include a composite-edition of her brother Philip Sidney's Arcadia. (Considered by many scholars to be one of the sourcebooks for King Lear Hamlet, Prince of Denmark and The Winters Tale.) After Philip's death she completed the verse translation of the psalms he had begun, contributing 107 of the 150 psalms. Mary possessed all the skills required to co-author a new translation of the bible. She was a member of the clandestine group who aided Ralph Sadlier in his completion of the Authorized version (King James) bible. James VI visited her at Wilton House in Salisbury, in 1603, and was entertained by his acting company The King's Men, who had William Shakespeare among the troupe. There was at Wilton at one time, a letter in which Mary urges her son to attend, as "we have the man Shakespeare with us". (A Shakespeare Companion 15641964. Baltimore, Penguin, 1964; p. 531.) [The independent historian Robin P. Williams has even placed Mary Sidney Herbert among the contenders for authorship of the Shakespearian works in his book Sweet

420 Swan of Avon: did a woman write Shakespeare? (Wilton Press 2006 ISBN 9780321426406). Leo] The printer and publishers of the First Folio were William Jaggard and his son Isaac, along with Edward Blount. Approximately 500 copies printed at the price of 5 for each copy. Approximately 238 known copies exist today. In the sixteenth-century, plays were sold by the author to the acting company, thus William Shakespeare would have sold the plays to the Chamberlain's Men, (later called the King's Men). Again, there is no record of these transactions in any extant document we have concerning Shakespeare or the Globe theatre, or indeed Thomas Condell or Richard Burbage, his fellow actors and fellow shareholders in the Globe. Surprising, perhaps, in light of the fact Shakespeare thought highly enough of Hemmings, Condell and Burbage, to bequeath money to them in his will, to be spent purchasing gold rings. Even more surprising considering Condell and Burbage edited the first edition of the Folio. Fact: William Shakespeares death was unmourned, even by his fellow actors and colleagues the publication of the complete works in 1623 gives us no further clues. There is no evidence as to the whereabouts of the original manuscripts of his work (no reference made to them in his will) and no documentary evidence as to how the complete works were assembled / edited, after his death. [Thought you might like this, more Masonic gubbins, my, how they like to aggrandize themselves. Leo] The First Folio published in 1623; a year many Masonic historians tell us is of extreme

421 significance. The story is told in the Great Shakespearian Folio of 1623 the greatest Masonic Book in the world. The System was buried in secret and left to grow and root itself, like a bulb, in the dark for a hundred years. The emergence of the Masons in 1723 was a PLANNED emergence.the Centenary of the 1623 Folio. William Shakespeare was not only a Freemason; he was the FATHER and FOUNDER of the FRATERNITY, the Writer of the Rituals. Shakespeare

Creator Of Freemasonry: Being a Remarkable Examination of the Plays and Poems, which proves incontestably that these works were saturated in Masonry, that Shakespeare was a Freemason and the Founder of the Fraternity. Dodd, P.M. London: Rider & CO.Paternoster House, E.C.) Peter Dawkins, in his Shakespeare and Freemasonry (1997) tells us; 1723 modern Freemasonry emerged into the light of the public eye with the publishing of The Book of Constitutions of the Free-Masons, written by Dr James Anderson under authority and by express request from the Grand Lodge, before this Freemasonry in its speculative form had existed in comparative obscurity. Also in the same year Alexander Pope and Dr. Sewell published the Bedson Medley edition of Shake-speare's Sonnets, the title page headpiece of which depicts the symbols of the higher Templar and Christian degrees of Freemasonry that culminate in the 33rd degree. 1723 was the Centenary of the publication of the First Folio of the Shakespearian plays. [Dawkins continues in the same vein to describe how, seven years previously, under the auspice of Dr Anderson, the few Lodges in London...thought fit to cement under a Grand Master as the Centre of Union and Harmony'. These four old Lodges, plus some other 'old Brothers', meeting at the Apple-Tree Tavern, constituted themselves a Grand Lodge and revived the Quarterly Communication. This event took place in the year (Alfred

422 1716 exactly 100 years after the death of William Shakespeare, thus, Dawkins links the birth of Speculative Freemasonry in this country to the death of William Shakespeare. If that wasnt enough, how about this little morsel; in July 1929, the foundation stone at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon, was laid according to full Masonic ritual, by the then Pro-Grand Master of the United Grand Lodge of England, Lord Ampthill. Watched by an audience of 600 Masons in full Masonic regalia. Ampthill placed the foundation stone, using an old Egyptian maul used at Sakhara four thousand years ago. (Dawkins http://www.sirbacon.org/Dawkinsfrmsnry.htm) So, whatever ones viewpoint concerning William Shakespeares alleged Masonic influences, it must be acknowledged, that, in the minds of Freemasons at least, Shakespeare plays a significant role in their history. It is beginning to look as if we might be correct, my old friend, for, when one is armed with the knowledge Ralph Sadlier inaugurated the establishment of Speculative Freemasonry in this country and was the true author of the Shakespearian works, we gain insight into exactly why The Bard of Avon is held in such high esteem by modern Masonic Orders. Leo] Now that is pretty weird, youve got to admit, Penny remarked looking at Simon. It is kinda strange, Ill give you that, he agreed. Strange? Penny demanded. Why should six hundred Freemasons attend the laying of the foundation stone for William Shakespeares theatre? Simon shrugged. Because they really dug his plays? he offered feebly. They definitely like something about him, thats for sure. Im telling you, Simon, this is weird. I think Nicolas and Leo are on to something, I really do.

423 Simon rolled his eyes. Jesus, Penny, the goddam Freemasons take the credit for everything. This is just another one of their sad attempts to link their provincial little organization with yet another great figure from the past. Dont they also claim Leonardo Da Vinci and Voltaire were Masons? Yes, confirmed Penny, not to mention George Washington, Rabbie Burns, Mozart and Winston Churchill. The thing is, Simon, she said measuring her words, they all were. Simon raised his palms and admitted defeat. Okay, okay, he laughed, but, I was right about Da Vinci.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Farewell, diligent reader; in reading these things, invocate the spirit of Eternal Light, speak little meditate much and judge aright."

424 Dr. John Dee 007

The Shakespearian Cyphers: A tale of five gold rings

Item I gyve and bequeath to mr richard Hamnett Sadler Tyler thelder XXVIs VIIId to buy him A Ringe; to William Raynoldes gent XXVIs VIIId to buy him a Ringe; to my godson William Walker XXVIs VIIId in gold and to my ffellowes John Hemynges, Richard Burbage and Henry Cundell XXVIs VIIId A peece to buy them Ringes. So, we finally get the skinny on the rings, said Simon. Penny stopped reading and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Do you have to verbalise every thought that goes through your head? she said wearily. Simon looked shocked. Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died, he protested, punching Penny playfully on the arm. Dont get physical, you know youll only loose, she growled. Trust me, baby, Simon said looking at Pennys comically grim face, you really dont make a convincing bad guy. What do you mean? she demanded. I bet I could cut-up rough with the best of them. Cut up rough. No ones used that phrase since Queen Victoria was on the throne. Next, youll tell me to put up my dukes. Penny pinched her features into a scowl and lifted her hands. Dont tempt me, you bloody bully, she said throwing punches at Simons grinning face. You think youre so tough? I believe you, baby, I believe you, Simon cried through his laughter. Penny smiled, and soon the two of them were gasping for air, their faces contorted with hilarity. Eventually they fell silent and Simon took Penny into his arms. Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he closed his eyes and gently inhaled her perfume. Baby, Im so glad youre here, he whispered. Im so glad youre here.

425

She looked at him in silence, her eyes articulating her emotions with an eloquence her words could never match. Lowering herself towards his face, she thrust her tongue in to his open mouth and he moaned with pleasure. Lifting her head, she leisurely manoeuvred herself down to his waist, his stiff erection stabbing through the fabric of his jeans. Inhaling deeply, he emitted another long guttural-moan, as she began to grind back and forth, thrusting her weight down with expert precision. Running her tongue across her lips, she deftly unhooked the top button of his jeans, and tugged at his zip.

426 The thing is, Si, Penny said pouring hot coffee into their cups, although their book is still only a rough draft, theres more than enough to publish; all it needs is a good editor and someone to check the dates. Simon lifted the steaming cup to his lips Youre the journalist, baby, he said. Why dont you give it a stab? I could probably edit it, Penny admitted, but the historical stuff is just too specialised; we need to get an expert in. Trouble is, after weve given the laptop to the cops, its evidence, so we probably wont see it for a while. Penny nodded thoughtfully. Youre right, Ill copy the file to a memory stick; Ive got one in my case next door. If the worse comes to the worse well get the stuff back when they catch this bastard. Simon smiled. Hes got Corbett on his case, baby, I almost feel sorry for the poor sonofabitch. Penny smiled and took Simons hand. Lifting her hand to his lips, Simon kissed Pennys fingers. Ok, where were we? he asked. Simon pulled the laptop closer and they began to read. For most historian, this small section of William Shakespeares will is of some historical interest in that it shows Shakespeare to have a definite connection to Hemmings, Burbage and Condell, and thus to the Globe theatre in London. Furthermore, it seems to illustrate the fact Shakespeare was intimately acquainted with the Sadlier family, in this case John Sadlier, Ralph Sadliers nephew, and Hamnet Sadlier, Ralph Sadliers great-nephew. Indeed such was the bond between them, William Shakespeare named his only son Hamnet Shakespeare. Some scholars contend Hamlet, Prince of Denmark was also named after John

427 Sadliers son. This contention aside, we have a definite connection between the Shakespeares and the Sadliers. For the most part, however, Shakespearian scholars have all but ignored the rings. On June 15, 2003, I discovered a copy of William Shakespeares last will and testament hidden behind a false brick in the attic of my house, Lordship Manor, Standon. [Figure 1]

Fig. 1 Standon Lordships circa 1967 (later Lordship Manor) Penny grinned. And there it is your new residence in all its glory. Simon looked uncomfortable. I still cant believe they left the old-pile to me, he admitted. Penny squeezed Simons hand and smiled. I saw Harriet and Nicolas quite a lot over the last few years and they always talked about you, Simon. Sometimes Uncle Nicolas would read your letters to us; you could hear the pride in his voice, they both loved you.

428 Simon slumped back in his seat. At least you were there for them; I hadnt seen them for such a long time. He let out a long sigh. Ah, shit, Penny, I dont deserve it; we both know that. Thats simply not true, Penny said firmly. You kept in contact with them all your life. I bet you knew more about them than Paul or Ivy ever did. You loved them as much as they loved you and thats why you deserve the house. Simon wasnt convinced. If you say so, baby, if you say so I do, Penny said with a gentle smile. Now, where were we?

In 1539 Henry VIII appointed Ralph Sadlier 'Keeper of the site, parks, bailiff of the manor and steward of the Lordship' and Sadlier began construction of his main home. The Standon Lordships of 1546 was a typical Tudor manor house; the west elevation had a central arched gateway (still seen today) with brick turrets either side, similar to many houses of the period, and running from the west elevation it had a north, and a south wing. Over the years Sadlier added further to the structure, with an east wing giving the house an internal courtyard and a further extension down to the River Lea. Sadlier and his wife, Ellen (? Helen) and eight children lived in Standon Lordships for some forty-four years In 1578, Queen Elizabeth I stayed at Standon for three days, with about 150 in her part, and visited one more time before Ralphs death. In March 1587, Sadlier died peacefully at his home. [http://www.sadleir.org/resources/prop_lordship.htm] My family inherited the house from Ralph Sadlier in 1588, the property bequeathed to Doctor Edmund Fry (1517 1600) in Sadliers will. Fry had already received a knighthood for distinguished service rendered to our most

429 Royal Sovereign Queen Elizabeth I and served as her Personal Attendant Physician for over two decades, accompanying her majesty on various progresses around the country, including numerous sojourns to Plas Uchaf in North Wales. Intriguingly the manor house of Plas Uchaf has an inscription carved into the lintel of the doorframe which reads E.R. 1563.

The Shakespearian Cyphers: deciphered.

Wrapped inside the copy of Shakespeares will I discovered a plain gold ring, which upon closer inspection contained a series of, seemingly, random numbers inscribed on the inner band. [Figure 2] At first, I failed to make any connection between the two items, thinking them a rather eccentric version of a childrens game, such as hunt the thimble, forgotten perhaps decades before. However, re-reading the will I soon realised this simple gold band might have something to do with the rings mentioned in it. Dismissing the idea as fanciful, at best, I contacted an old friend, Dr. Leo Harrison, whose decades of experience, I hoped, would eventually answer my foolish questions. Harrison had the ring analysed by experts and the result shocked us both. It had been successfully carbon dated at sometime in the 16th century, fashioned using metallurgic tools and techniques available in this period. [Figure 3] We were stunned. The ring was authentic but could this mean it was one of those mentioned in the will? And, if so what of the numbers inscribed on the inside of the gold band?

430 Firstly, surprising as it might seem, jewellery from this period is not all together rare, and those pieces that demand the highest-price are the more extravagant examples of the age. Our rings were plain gold bands, and as such easily overlooked or indeed mistaken to be Edwardian or Victorian in origin. With these facts in mind, we canvassed all the private collectors we could find and spent many exhaustive months travelling to auctions and trade fairs up and down the country. The news two

eccentric old fools were hunting for gold rings with numbers inscribed on the inner band soon spread among the close-knit community of specialists and dealer, and we found ourselves inundated by letters, emails and telephone calls. Needless to say, the majority of items bought to our attention were crude fakes, generally spotted using nothing more than the naked eye or a magnifying glass. With these obstacles to overcome, our seemingly impossible task, however, eventually bore fruit. Some nine months after finding the first ring, we discovered a second at an auction of Edwardian jewellery in Bath, and over the next few years we continued on our quest, until by diligence, hard work, and not a little luck, we had managed to discover four of the five rings. We annotated the numbers inscribed on them and discovered each ring had a unique sequence, which we illustrate below 100 900 50 2 80 50 100 8 5 80 90 90 100 1 40 4 900 8 5 80 5 60 80 9 5 90 100 90 6 20 5 5 90 9 40 9 90 100 5 80 8 1 40 4 50 80 5 40 90 6 50 80 100 8 5 5

431 Written down in front of us, we realised they formed some kind of a numerical cipher, a means whereby numbers are substituted for letters.

GEMATRIA The most well known example of such a system is gematria, perhaps most famously employed by the Ancient Hebrews in their mystical tradition known as the Kabbalah. Unfortunately for us, at least 72 separate forms of gematria exist, and after months of effort, we were despondent to find none of the known forms matched our cipher. We were at something of an impasse, until, after much diligent effort, we found an answer in the pages of Cornelius Agrippas Three Books of Occult Wisdom. The twentieth chapter of the second book is devoted to numbers and mathematical magic and in its final chapter Agrippa provides the code for Roman script languages such as English Using this form we successfully translated the rings and were presented with the riddle below Two Brothers Stand Where Priests Flee Sinister Hand Opens For Thee

432 We had found and translated four of the five numerical ciphers, but incredibly, the fifth and final ring contained the last line in the sequence! The odds against such an occurrence were in the trillions, but the facts stared us uncomfortably in the face, we had achieved the seemingly impossible, only to be thwarted at the final hurdle. Understandably dispirited, we agreed to continue our quest and in the mean time attempt to unravel the meaning of the four lines, we had already translated. Thus began a tireless search for all the information we could find concerning our subject, Ralph Sadlier, his relatives and descendants, the life of Queen Elizabeth I, William Shakespeare, Dr Edmund Fry; in short all the relevant facts we could amass in order that we might find a clue to the riddle before us.

The Diary of Doctor Edmund Fry

Luckily, we had another incredible piece of good fortune on our side in the form of a diary I had found some months earlier, also in the attic of my house in Standon. [Figure 5]

433

Figure 5: The Diary of Doctor Edmund Fry discovered at Lordship Manor, 2003.

This stout, leather-bound book purported to be the property of Doctor Edmund Fry, the owner of the manor house built by Ralph Sadlier in 1539-43, bequeathed to Fry in Sadliers last will and testament. Dr. Harrison had it carbon-dated and the result revealed the artifact dated from some time in the sixteenth century. Raman micro spectroscopy was used to analyze the composition of the ink, the paper and the binding, and they too dated from the same period. Thus, it was a distinct possibility the dairy was indeed what it purported to be, the memoirs of an Elizabethan doctor. However, did the events in the diary match the historical facts of Frys life?

434 As Attendant Physician to Queen Elizabeth I, Doctor Edmund Fry has left us with numerous documents and records, including his marriage to Elaine Fitzsimmonds, the baptism of his children, Ralph (1538) and Mary (1540) numerous land deeds and legal documents; the granting of his Knighthood in 1570, and his last will and testament. From this relative abundance, verification was a matter of simple cross-referencing. Firstly, however, we must understand the nature of personal diaries and journals in the sixteenth-century. They were not the mass produced items we are familiar with today. Often crudely bound they would contain any number of pages, with each page left blank, enabling the owner to make entrys whenever they wished, simply dating each one and then drawing a line underneath when they had finished. In this way, a diary might span any number years, depending on the number of bound sheets. Frys diary has

a hard leather cover, complete with gold hasp, and contains over 300 pages, it thus encompasses over twenty years of his life. We shall not reproduce every entry here, only those relevant to our enquiry; the fully annotated diary, however, will be available as an appendix at the back of this volume. The first entry is dated 10th September, 1554. The diary tells us the owner lives at 33, Fleet Street, then a well-to-do Tudor thoroughfare. Doctor Edmund Fry lived at 33, Fleet Street, from 1537 -1559. In an entry dated 15th February 1557, the writer of the diary proclaims his relief and praises god for watching over his wife when, whilst attempting the delivery of her baby, she was afflicted with diverse ailements, crampes and severe paine. The entry

435 concludes with the news Twas after many hours and by the infinite mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that our beloved son delivered unto the world. Edmund Fry baptised his son, Ralph, at the Holy Sepulchre church on 17 February 1557 1563: Fry describes his arduous journey to Plas Uchaf in North Wales. J.S. called me from my slumbers at some ungodly hour with the news we are to travel to Plas U Chaff. I must confess my apprehension at the news, for I despise the place. Centuries old, the Manor is more a ruin than a place of habitation, its rooms largely abandoned, its Great Hall draughty and cold. Indeed the building doth seep into ones bones, its squalor and dampness a palpable weight upon ones shoulders. Five days it will take us to travel the distance from London. Five days spent pounding the saddle from sunrise to sunset, before resting each night on a louse-ridden mattress in some filthy Tavern. Five days freezing one moment and drowning the next. And after this trial the dubious luxuries of a frosty cell some distance from the Manor proper, there to wait for God knows what. I can only pray His holy hand in such a delicate matter directs my ministrations, for, if any harm were to befall Mlady, I would be surely put to death, and in the god forsaken hills of Wales, none would ever be the wiser. Ive worked it out, Penny! Simon shouted. Penny jolted back in her seat at the sudden noise. Fuck, Si, you bloody scared me, she snapped angrily. Sorry, baby, I didnt mean too, he apologised gently rubbing Pennys arm. Its just; Ive figured it out. Those bastards set them up. Penny looked confused. What do you mean? Its so goddam obvious with all the information in front of you. I always thought the fact Nicolas

436 found, not only Frys diary, but also one of the gold rings, wrapped in a copy of William Shakespeares will no less. Simon raised his hands in the air. Jesus, what are the goddam odds, Penny? Pretty high I would imagine, she agreed. You betcha, theyre fucking astronomical. It just doesnt add-up. So, youre saying the School of Night planted them? Totally, they put them there because they knew Nicolas wouldnt be able to resist. They knew his reputation as a maverick and they set him up to do their dirty work. Ralph Sadlier originally built Standon Lordship, remember, Penny reasoned, so maybe theres another-explanation for the diary and the ring? Simon shook his head. One maybe, but both, come on, baby, it doesnt make sense. What does make sense, is Nicolas and Leo were being used. But, surely, as the inheritors of Sadliers original Order, the School of Night would know all about this stuff? Perhaps not, Nicolas said he could find no real link between the modern lodge and Sadliers original. Maybe this has been something theyve been working on for centuries; maybe they had pieces of the jigsaw, but not them all. Maybe they already had the rings but couldnt break the cipher? So, they plant one of them in Lordship Manor and then feed the rest to Nicolas and Leo over the next few years? Yeaah, something like that; they drip-feed them, and that way hopefully Nicolas would become so obsessed hed spend the rest of his life discovering the rings and looking for the answer. Simon paused. Which, in the end, they made sure he did, he said bitterly. They wind him up like a clockwork-toy and set him loose to do what he did best, and the magnificent old bastard discovers the goddam answer. And then they killed him, Penny whispered.

437 And Leo, Simon added, and who knows how many others who came before them. Penny shuddered. Christ, Simon, weve got to tell Corbett. Simon nodded. Get Sergeant Lowson in to have a look and we can explain it to him, but before we do I just want to check Nicolas footnote about the School of Night; what did he say it was called? Simon began to scroll back up and through the pages until he came to the relevant section. Okay here it is, Goldfinger, weird choice of name. Simon clicked on the toolbar and the screen reverted to the computers crowded desktop. Searching the jumble of icons and folders, he found five or six untitled folders and opened each one. The fifth folder contained a Word document entitled Gold Finger. Clicking on the blue W, the screen revealed a page of text. Adjusting the screen, he sat back and together they begin to read. 23.4.07 Firstly, let me state I am not one who in indulges conspiracy theory or paranoia. I have, in my career prided myself on a strict-use of scientific methodology and rigid adherence to the facts. This discipline has not however restricted me to what might be termed, mainstream fields of investigation and research; rather, it has allowed me the ability to investigate so called left field data or material with greater subjectivity. This has afforded me something of a reputation in the cosseted and often bitter world of academia. With this in mind, what I am about to confess may appear to some as the over wrought imagination of a gullible fool, but I assure you it is all true. Over the last year, I have become ever more fearful for my safety, and more alarmingly, the safety of my beloved wife Harriet. I cannot prove it, but I believe myself followed on numerous occasions, both on foot, and in my car. In addition I

have lost, or had stolen, three mobile telephones, one from own house. Furthermore, my trusted colleague, Dr. Leo Harrison has also been the victim of robbery when his

438 bookshop in the West End of London was the subject of a break-in ( May 2007) in which the four gold rings we had collected were stolen, along with various other items. I believe only the facts and the facts are these; for the last three years, Dr. Harrison and I have been investigating a subject that intimately concerns the freemasonic organisation the School of Night, specifically the Lodges founder, Ralph Sadlier. In that period, Dr. Harrison has been the subject of a break-in, whilst I have become the subject of covert surveillance and theft. Coincidence, perhaps, but under these circumstances we decided to collate information on not only the Lodge itself, but the Orders current Grand Master, Julian Portinari. Portinari, a flamboyant, media-savvy individual, is the publicity loving head of a multimillion pound business empire that includes; the building trade, a string of megastores selling DVDs, CDs, books and magazines, publishing firms, and sundry other media based enterprises. Dr. Harrison and I were well able to conduct the historical research. We needed a very different kind of specialist to collate-information on Portinari. Thus we employed a private investigator of Dr. Harrisons acquaintance, Glynn Haries, a somewhat questionable individual, but extremely competent at his job. He conducted some background Intel on Portinari and his business dealings and found extensive evidence of offshore accounts and various tax-evasion schemes, including one based in Liechtenstein, two in the Cayman Islands, and one in Southern Ireland. I must confess, we were hardly shocked at the information, after-all, discovering a successful businessman was loathe to pay their taxes, was akin to discovering large fur covered mammals of the genus Ursus arctos horribilis defecated in geographic locations conspicuous by their abundance of arboreal plant life. In addition, Haries uncovered substantial investment by Portinaris business empire in collateralised debt obligations, structured credit derivatives and the American sub-

439 prime market all of which, Haries assured us, was exceedingly dubious. It was Haries belief that Portinari is invested so heavily in these ventures, he is effectively bankrupt if they should fail; a very real possibility in Haries opinion, as they are, A total house of cards built upon everyone keeping their greedy traps shut while sucking-up the gravy, as he so eloquently put it. Haries was very insistent these particular financial scams, as he called them, would one day come crashing down, perhaps taking whole countrys economies with them. This aside, Haries discovered something far more sinister and alarming. In March or April 2001, Portinari fell foul of a crime syndicate of Eastern European extraction. These particular individuals, it seems, attempted to muscle-in on one of his lucrative construction contracts. The fact Portinari declined to inform the authorities is a matter of record. A further matter of record was the discovery of the bodies of two men of Eastern European origin, found in a bed-sit in Green Lanes, North London, in September 2000.They had been tortured to death over a period of days in what police described as, a chamber of horrors. Have you read this? Penny shouted gesticulating at the computer. Simon sighed. Ive read it, he whispered. Ive read it. Weve got to show this to Lowson right now, if this is true, Portinari is a fucking killer! Or he pays for someone else to do the dirty work, Simon mused darkly. I cant see him getting those Armani suits covered in blood. Penny looked at Simon with disbelief. I cant believe youre making a joke of this, she said her face flushed with anger. This is the last piece of the jigsaw, Portinaris behind it, hes behind it all.

440 I wasnt joking, Penny, you can bet your ass he doesnt actually get involved himself; hes too rich to get his manicured fingers dirty. Simon turned to the laptop. We need to find the original documents Haries gave to Uncle Nicolas; if hes as good as Nicolas says he is theyll have addresses, bank account details: the works. Look and see if he mentions it, Penny agreed, regaining some control of her panic. In a further shocking-revelation, Harries directly implicated Portinari in the apparent suicide of an accountant named Samuel Parkes, found dead at his home in the Cayman Islands. Interestingly, Parkes had been under investigation by the SFO for mismanagement of funds and allegations of tax evasion connected to one of Portinaris media ventures, Horus Productions. If this was not enough, the redoubtable private detective left us with one further horror; another of Portinaris enterprises, Magus Rex, a video production company that specialises in soft and hard-core pornography, came under the scrutiny of an investigative journalist concerning allegations that it employed young girls abducted from Eastern Europe in its video-productions. On the 15 of May 2003, police discovered the body of the reporter, Guy Levi, who had won commendations for his reporting in Afghanistan, Iraq, Belize and the Congo, in his flat in Regents Park. He appeared to have taken a massive overdose of paracetamol. Beside his body was a suicide note that simply read Ive seen too much. I want to sleep. This is insane, Simon hissed. This guy isnt a businessman; hes a member of the fucking mafia. And that reporter died in exactly the same way as Nicolas and Harriet, Penny added. Im going to get Lowson, hes got to read this and give it to Corbett. Wait, theres a few lines left, said Simon. Lets get to the end. Penny swept a lock of hair from her face and reluctantly turned her attention back to the screen.

441 After concluding his investigation, Haries supplied us with the original documents and files he had amassed, and assured us he had no other copies. We had no reason to disbelieve him and placed the documents in an envelope, which we then secured in a small safe in Dr. Harrisons shop in London. Musing over all that Haries had uncovered we concluded that it amounted to the usual suspect business practices of any multi-millionaire, dismissing the rest as merely circumstantial evidence. We consoled ourselves with this verdict for some weeks, until confronted with the devastating news our private investigator was dead. Haries body was found in the remains of his house in Finchley, North London, after a fire had swept through the building with such ferocity the local fire brigade had to commandeer extra vehicles to extinguish the blaze. Such was the devastation it made the local television news broadcast, and this is how we came to discover the tragedy. A spokesperson for the fire brigade concluded the blaze had started in the bedroom, probably caused by smoking a cigarette in bed, and had taken-hold so fiercely due to the large quantities of books and papers in the house. We were both unconvinced and frankly fearful for our lives. These events took place in March of this year (2007). Since this time, Dr. Harrison has had a break-in at his shop in London (May 2007). Among the items stolen, apart from the four gold rings, was the envelope containing Haries findings. We made no other copies. And this is the perilous situation in which we now find ourselves: we are privy to sensitive and potentially dangerous information concerning the School of Night and its Grand Master, Julian Portinari, whilst the sole other person privy to this information is now dead. In light of both Haries findings, his suspicious death, the theft of the evidence he

442 amassed, and the numerous historical references we have found referring to a secret order of assassins employed by the School of Night, we are increasingly of the suspicion Portinaris Masonic Order is merely a front, masking his murderous business practices. That was certainly Haries conclusion, one, perhaps, he died for. Portinari seems to be a genuinely amoral individual, whose ruthless pursuit of his aims reminds one of Ralph Sadlier himself; perhaps this is why he now heads the Masonic Order that takes Sadlier as their founder? Whatever the reason, we leave this statement as proof that if Dr. Harrison or I were to succumb to a tragic accident, or suddenly decide to take our own lives, someone might investigate both Portinari and the School of Night, and reveal the truth. Nicolas Fry and Dr. Leo Harrison 13 May 2007

Simon pushed the laptop away in disgust. Jesus, he growled, Nicholas is warning us about his death seven-months before it happened. This is goddam sick. Im getting Lowson; hes got to see this. He got to his feet and limped across the living room. Hobbling through the bedroom, he reached the door to his suite and unhooked the chain-latch. Pushing the button-lock on the door handle, he threw open the door. DS Lowson was sitting across the hallway, reading a battered copy of A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, a small bag of peanuts on his lap. Sergeant, Simon called his voice surprisingly loud in the empty corridor. Lowson hurled the book aside and leapt to his feet, a shower of peanuts tumbling in his wake. His right hand reaching inside his jacket he stood with his legs apart and his knees bent. Shocked by the speed of the detectives reaction, Simon stepped backwards, his eyes darting to the black-butt

443 of Lowsons firearm. No need for that! Jesus, sorry, I didnt mean, Simon spluttered raising his hands in alarm. Lowson froze, his right hand still inside his jacket, his legs wide apart. He sniffed, gently re-holstered his weapon, and looked at Simon. Perhaps, he said through gritted teeth, it would be a good idea not to fling-open the fucking door and shout into the fucking corridor, unless its something fucking seriousSir. Im sorry, Sergeant, Simon stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. I didnt mean to spook you. Lowson nodded his head slowly. Its lucky Im the calm placid type, or we couldve had another Stockwell on our hands, he said without mirth.

Chapter Twenty-nine
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that. King Lear Act III, scene (iv) lines 1722

444 Leading the way to the living room, Simon could feel a cold draught between his legs. With growing alarm he realised his zip was unfastened, threatening to expose his naked penis. Acutely aware of the police officer directly behind him, he began to blurt a stream of information in a vain attempt at distraction. So, we checked my Uncles laptop and found a rough draft of his book, its all about our relative Doctor Edmund Fry and Ralph Sadlier and William Shakespeare, Ralph Sadlier, in fact, turning out to be William Shakespeares real father, a bit like Star Wars, with Darth Vader. So were reading and my Uncle Nicolas refers to our old pals the School of Night, hes got this other document, an- Whoa, doctor, take a deep breath, Lowson said at the verbal barrage. You lost me at Darth Vader. Turning towards the detective, Simon tugged at his zip in the split-second his back was turned. He successfully managed to fasten it most of the way before he was standing in front of Lowsons quizzical face. Sorry for ranting, Sergeant, Simon beamed. Weve spent the last few hours lost in this and its left me pretty shook up. I didnt mean to babble. I think it prudent to state, Lowson began, studiously ignoring Simons eccentric display, that in light of the current investigation, it is a little remiss of you not to have mentioned your uncles laptop. It could be perceived as withholding evidence, which combined with the ring you found, seems to happen rather frequently. Jesus, Simon protested, we havent withheld anything. We told you about Nicolas and Harrisons research back at Scotland Yard; you didnt seem that interested at the time. That is not the issue, sir, Lowson said implacably. We are discussing your negligence in failing to inform us you were in possession of your Uncles computer. Well were informing you now. There it is. Simon glared at the other man and indicated to the battered laptop. Its all yours. Believe us, Sergeant, Penny said calmly. We werent withholding anything. Please ignore my

445 cousin; he can be a little aggressive. You know what Yanks are like. Penny threw Simon a withering glance. What Simon meant to say was yes, youre right, we should have mentioned it earlier, but we were in a state of shock. Yeaah, thats what I meant to say, Simon agreed sarcastically. I understand, Miss, but its out of my hands, Lowson said tactfully. It all depends how DI Corbett feels about the matter. Simon laughed. Ah, shit! In that case were screwed. Again, its not Corbetts decision, Lowson explained. If this does turn out to be a murder investigation, withholding evidence is a prosecutable offence. Simon scowled. But we didnt withhold goddam evidence, he said belligerently. Ahh, whats the use, just have a look at what weve found before you drag us down to the cells, huh? Lowson sighed. I dont think that will be necessary just yet, Sir. Just let me get a memory stick from my case, Penny said getting to her feet. I want to make a copy of Uncle Nicholass book, start reading, Sergeant, I wont be a minute. Lowson settled himself on the large sofa and Simon took a seat next to him. Okay, Simon began, this is a footnote Nicolas made about Portinari and the School of Night, it was written in May this year. The two men turned to the screen and began to read in silence. Right, Ive found it, Penny called from the doorway to her suite. Just press control and s would you, Sergeant, and then Ill plug this in and make a copy. Lowson pressed the keys. Probably a good idea, he agreed. Lifting his fingers from the keyboard, the computers screen froze. A few seconds later, the text began to disappear, line by line, sentence by sentence, word by word. What have you done? Penny shouted running across the room. Nothing! Lowson insisted. I just pressed save!

446 No! No! No! NO! Penny screamed. Move, quickly, out of the way! Pushing Lowson to one side, she began to tap furiously on the keyboard. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Somethings eating its way through the hard drive! Its wiping the whole lot, EVERYTHING! I only pressed save, for fucks sake. I only pressed save! Lowson yelled. There must be something you can do, Penny! shouted Simon. Penny was frantic. Im trying, Im trying! Suddenly the screen turned white and a chillingly familiar symbol appeared before them.

After thirty-seconds, the glyph disappeared and a page of text took its place: The following instruction sets out guidance governing the membership by members of the armed forces of societies such as freemasons: there is no intention or policy to preclude service personnel from membership of any lawful and benevolent organisation. However, involvement in organisations of a secretive nature, such as the freemasons, carries with it the risk of establishing disparate loyalties, which may have a destabilising influence on the chain of command, not least by the perception of preferential treatment and undue influence. While membership of such organisations is clearly a matter for the individuals concerned, serving personnel should not

447 encourage or promote membership amongst their colleagues, meetings should not be held on MOD premises, and use should not be made of any MOD property.

Ministry of Defence United Kingdom New: 2001 Department Policy on Freemasonry in the Military

Thirty-seconds later, the screen went black and another image appeared.

The image remained for thirty-seconds and then more text appeared.

448

Police ignore freemason survey.

Jamie Wilson Guardian Saturday July 29, 2001 Police officers may be required to reveal whether they are freemasons after almost twothirds refused to cooperate with an official study of membership of the secretive society, the government announced yesterday. Ministers had hoped that a request for voluntary declaration of membership would allay public anxiety about the existence of Masonic networks in the criminal justice system. However, the proportion of officers in England and Wales responding to the survey amounted to only 36%, compared with 96% of judges and 87% of magistrates. John Hamill, director of communications at the United Grand Lodge of England, said that freemasons would oppose any move to force police officers to declare membership. "We see that as singling out freemasons for discrimination based on a false perception," he said.

The text remained on the screen for thirty seconds, until another image emerged that stared malevolently from the laptop, like a flag on a pirate ship:

449

Repeating the now familiar pattern, the grinning-skull lingered for thirty-seconds before the screen displayed more text.

Presiding in the East', 'Worshipful Master' Kenny Noye... The life of Kenneth Noye has been one of malevolence and corruption. It is an example of how someone eagerly embracing crime as a profession can accumulate enormous wealth and frightening power. Such was the apprehension and nervousness created by the extent of Noye's corruption of the police that during the investigation into Stephen Cameron's murder officers were given around-the-clock protection from their colleagues. Others changed their telephone numbers. The Noye file on the case was restricted to less than a dozen senior officers.

450 In 1977 after being arrested by Scotland Yard for receiving stolen goods, Noye joined the Hammersmith Freemason's Lodge in west London. He was proposed and seconded by two Police Officers. He eventually rose to be the Master of the Lodge with the support of the membership of which the Police made up a sizeable proportion. Other Masons included dealers in gold and other precious metals. A little while later Noye was helped out of an arrest by a detective who was a fellow Mason. The Independent April 13, 2000 Reporters: Kim Sengupta and Paul Lashmar The macabre slide show continued, Penny and Simon reading in subdued silence, Lowson diligently jotting in a small black notebook he had produced from his jacket pocket,

Trying to ignore the severed head, Penny concentrated on the black sash and its collection of bright red roses. Thirty seconds later, the screen offered more text:

451 It is not difficult to ruin a man,' he said, and I will tell you how it is done time and again. There are more than half a million brethren under the jurisdiction of Grand LodgeIf only five per cent of Freemasons use - abuse - the Craft for selfish or corrupt ends it means there are 25,000 of them...Masonic police can harass, arrest on false charges, and plant evidence. 'A businessman in a small community or person in public office arrested for dealing in child pornography, for indecent exposure, or for trafficking in drugs is at the end of the line,' said Christopher. 'He will never work again. Some people have committed suicide after experiences of that kindCredit companies and banks withdraw credit facilities from individual clients and tradesmen, said my informantYou see...you finish up not knowing who you can trust. You can get no help because your story sounds so paranoid that you are thought a crank, one of those nuts who think the whole world is a conspiracy against themby setting up a situation that most people will think of as fantasy, these people can poison every part of a person's lifeSo much unhappiness will be brought to the people around them that there will likely come a time when even their families turn against them out of desperation. When that happens and they are without friends wherever they look, they become easy meat. The newspapers will not touch them'. 'There is no defence against an evil which only the victims and the perpetrators know exists.' 'Christopher' Senior Whitehall Civil Servant and Freemason Quoted in Stephen Knight's The Brotherhood Next, the computer produced its most shocking image thus far:

452

Penny quickly turned away from the laptop. Oh, Jesus, its someone else theyve murdered, she sobbed. No, wait, Lowson said. Dont worry its only an old newspaper photothey didnt do it. Simon pointed at the computer. I dont think its finished, he said. Lowson and Penny turned to the laptop and read message that had now appeared in massive block capital letters.

WE WARNED YOU
The chilling statement remained for thirty seconds until each letter began to dissolve into a series of pixilated black dots. The final image lingered on the screen until Lowson, after punching at the keyboard in a futile attempt at accessing the hard drive, gave up in frustration and turned the computer off.

453

Chapter Thirty
Masonry ought forever to be abolished. It is wrong - essentially wrong - a seed of evil, which can never produce any good.
President John Quincy Adams: Letters on the Masonic Institution T.R.Marvin Press, Boston, 1847

Penny sighed. Its all gone, she said despondently. She had restarted the computer some minutes earlier and was staring at a blank screen with a small line of text running along the bottom. The hard drives been wiped from the ground-up. Look, its asking for the original CD that came with the laptop. She turned the computer towards Lowson. And, unless we can find them in the piles of junk in Uncle Nicolas study, which is doubtful, then were fucked. Even if we do find the disks, if theyve wiped the hard drive we wont find anything anyway. She closed the laptop and slumped back into her seat. Lowson looked sheepish. As long as the hard drive is still working, we can get the lab boys to

454 have a go, he said hopefully. Youd be amazed how much they can recover. If its a Trojan or a Worm, it should be all right. Penny scrutinized the police officer as if he were a small child. Lowson scratched his nose. Dont look at me like that. Im telling you I only pressed save, he protested. Ive been working on computers since I was fifteen; I know how to save a bloody file. Penny smiled and raised her hands. I believe you, she conceded. Im sorry; I didnt mean to take it out on you. She smiled again and touched Lowsons arm. It wasnt your fault, but what I dont understand, is how it happened in the first place. Lowson thought for a moment. Maybe someone set up a programme that triggered after you pressed save a certain number of times? That might work, Penny agreed. It wouldnt be too hard to do, Lowson added. And he hesitated. Simon looked anxious. And what? he asked more nervously than he would have liked. Well, you were connected to the internet via the hotels wi-fi. Yeaah, so? So, its technically possible to send a virus via the wi-fi network. Fuck, so they could do it anytime? Lowson nodded. Yes, in theory its possible. But that means they somehow knew what we were doing. Well, its also possible someone has planted a listening device in your suites, which these days could look like anything from a mains plug adaptor to a transmitter the size of a match head, and Lowson hesitated. Simon eyes narrowed suspiciously. And what? he asked. Well, it is technically possible to use the laptop itself, Lowson said quietly. Simon shook his head. He was stunned. How? he muttered.

455 All modern laptops have a built-in microphone and camera; they can be used as a listening device that monitors you whenever youre online. Jesus, why the fuck dont they mention that in the instruction manuals? For obvious reasons, one would suspectAnd mainly of course because this sort of software is very expensive and generally restricted to members of the security forces or the police. And what did that little slide show we just saw make very goddam plain? Simon growled. That its precisely members of your own service weve got to be worried about, he said indignantly. Come on, thats rubbish, Lowson protested. For a start, we dont know for certain if this is someone involved with Freemasonry, or just an elaborate hoax. Simon threw his hands in the air. Hoax! he echoed with disbelief. Youve just watched this goddam-laptop die in front of your face. You saw the stuff on the screen. Yes, all of it freely available on the internet, dismissed Lowson. I could knock that up in about fifteen-minutes. Bullshit Sergeant! Simon exploded. Its not bullshit, doctor, the laptop proves nothing. Well only know more when we get it back to forensics. So youre denying there are Freemasons in the English police? Simon demanded angrily. Freemasonry is not illegal in this country, Lowson said maintaining his placid demeanour, and police officers are able to become members, alongside any other individual. Apart from ethnic minorities and women, said Penny. Actually, Miss, I believe there are some exclusively female lodges these days. Lowson revealed. But, youre right; for an organisation supposedly based upon enlightened ideals Freemasons tend to be conspicuously both white and male. So you dont believe there might be some kinda conflict of interest, Simon said using his fingers as quotation marks, serving in the police force and being in the Freemasons?

456 Lowson smiled indulgently. That depends on how you view Freemasonry as an organisation. Personally, I dont have time for the nutters and conspiracy freaks that link them to Satanism and every major political event for the last four hundred years. Okay, they have strange rituals and ceremonies; but have you ever sat in a British courtroom, or seen the House of Lords in action? Now theres a collection of strange rituals and ceremony. Its what this country does best; keep alive the meaningless and outdated, just look at the Monarchy. So there just a bunch of well-meaning old geezers, who happen to meet-up once a month to smoke cigars and quaff a good brandy, huh? Im not denying such an organisation is ripe for abuse, doctor. I know long serving officers who have declined the invitation to join and remained in the ranks while watching other, less-able colleagues, promoted above them. Well, Jesus, Sergeant, forgive me if Im wrong, but that sounds pretty much like corruption to me. Lowson shrugged. Influence and mutual co-operation to grease your path up the career ladders one thing, he said carefully, planting evidence and secret death-squads is another. Christ, were only talking a matter of degree, what if the stakes were high enough? Im not arguing against corruption. That happens enough in my job without the help of the freemasons. So, youre not denying, technically, it might be one of your colleagues thats targeting us? Technically, its possible Lowson conceded, but highly unlikely. Besides, only DI Corbett and I know the case properly. Simon narrowed his eyes. And what about Corbett? he said suspiciously. What about him? Lowson left the question hanging in the air. Well, number one, is he a freemason? Ive known Detective Inspector Corbett for nearly six years, ever since I joined the force as a wooden top,

457 A what? A wooden top, its police slang for a uniformed officer due to police helmets once being made of wood, hence, wooden-tops. Lowson shrugged. Corbett took a shine to me and personally recommended me for the Sergeants exam. When I passed, he got me a place on his squad. In case you failed to notice, Sir, Im black; the Met has about six percent of its serving officers that come from black or other ethnic minorities. When I joined, there were a grand total of 66 black sergeants in the whole force; nowadays, I think we might be pushing the 200-mark from a total of about 30,000 officers. He put a few noses out of joint in the process, but Corbett made me a Detective Sergeant because Im a bloody good copper. I wont take bribes, and I wont keep my mouth shut for the sake of the old boy network, freemasonic or otherwise. Simon offered a crooked smile. Forgive me, Sergeant, you dont sound like the average cop, if I might say so. Just because I recognise the reality and the many failings of the institution I work for, doesnt stop me from doing the job to the best of my ability. Corbetts the same, hes a detective because thats what he is; the Metropolitan police simply happen to pay his wages. He doesnt care if youre black, white, or sky-blue pink. His allegiance is to his own sense of morality, and, using an unfashionable word these days, justice. For that, hell hunt tirelessly, its certainly not for the wage packet, believe me. Okay, so you like him, which is great, but you still havent told us if hes a Freemason? How would I know, doctor? Its not a legal requirement to inform anyone, you read the article on the laptop. Well, I thought maybe, as you two are such great buddies, he mightve mentioned it. Put it this way, if he is, Id be amazed. Hes one of the most cynical human beings on the planet. Rolling up his trousers and wearing a blindfold just isnt his style. Besides, hes been a copper for years and hes still only a DI. Obviously, his attitude doesnt help sometimes, but maybe hes one of the officers that I was just talking about.

458 Okay, Simon said staring into Lowsons face, so you dont think Corbetts a Freemason; what about you? Lowson held Simons gaze for some seconds. If I was, would I tell you? he said crisply. Thats not exactly the answer I wanted to hear, Simon admitted. Well then, no, Dr. Fry, I am not, or have ever been, a member of the freemasons. Does that help? Simon didnt reply. Exactly, theres no way to can tell if Im lying, but then I could say the same about you. Only you would be privy to that information. Well, for that matter, so could Penny, you told us they have women these days. Precisely, its a pointless question. We simply have to trust each other. You still cant believe we had anything to do with all this, Sergeant? Penny asked. Lowson smiled. My point, Miss, is that we are in a situation that demands a certain amount of trust on all of our parts, from me as much as from you. And, no, in all likelihood I dont believe you or your cousin are involved. Well, thats something, Simon sighed. Penny looked at Simon. Nats right, we do need to trust each other, and if he says Corbett is okay, well, then I think we should believe him. Simon raised his palms and smiled magnanimously. Penny turned her attention back to Lowson. So, Nat, who else at Scotland Yard apart from you and Corbett might have seen the files? Well, there are various bods in admin, and a few senior officers I suppose, as Simons monkey man antics on the London Eye were hard to ignore. So, it could be any one of them? Potentially So, what do you suggest?

459 Lowson considered the question, I need to bell Corbett and tell him whats happened. Ill use my mobile just in case your telephones have been tampered with and well take it from there.

~
Jesus, you must be psychic, son, Corbett growled into the receiver of his telephone. I was just about to give you a bellno, ladies firstWhat fucking laptop? Oh, they did, did they? Just failed to mention itright, Nat, I want to see them first thing tomorrow morning, Ive had enough of these two conveniently forgetting major pieces of evidenceWhat? You were in the room when this happened. You sure you pressed fuckin save, you molluc? All right, all right, I believe youI said I believe you, get on with it! Right, so it definitely implied they were freemasonsdid they? Yeah, I remember that toe-rag Kenny Noye. I gave him a nice little scar above his right eye. He liked meSo someone did a bit of research. Exactly, wouldnt take too long to find something on the internetWhat about Fry and Marshall. You reckonRandy little sodsThought you didnt notice, dear oh fucking dearAnd what state is it in now? Not his cock you twat, the fucking laptop! Right Ill send Gus over to pick it up. I want it down the lab within the hourMaybe, son, but it sounds far-fetched if you ask meFar likely a more simple explanationWell, what do you think...All right Detective Sergeant heres something that might just change your mind; they located Harrison about forty-minutes agowhat was left of him. Someone found him caught-up in one of the filters on the Thames BarrierCourse he was fucking dead; at least I sincerely hope so as theyre currently dissecting him. We should have something from the post mortem in the next couple of hours. I know what they said was on the

460 videoOkay, well break it to them gently and keep a close eye on their reactionsOh, and that Librarian from the School of Night, forensics has confirmed he died from smoke-inhalation, and they found no signs of foul play. Looks like he had an accident, pure and simpleThey do happen, sonDont worry, Im still keeping an open mindRight, well take a statement from them about the contents of the laptop and give me a bellIm gonna do some checking on the School of NightYou never know, son, you never know Ill be in touch when we have more on the late Dr. HarrisonOh, and Nat, keep your fucking eyes open.

~
Simon opened the door and let Lowson back into his suite. Hi, Sergeant, he said amiably. What did Corbett say, are we gonna be taken to the Tower of London? Lowson smiled. He wasnt very pleased; Dr. Fry, to say the least, he wants to see you and Miss Marshall in his office tomorrow morning. Thats just great, so he still believes were behind all this huh? Hes, shall we say, disappointed you withheld what might become a vital piece of evidence. But, weve already explained, if we were hiding the piece-of-shit laptop from you, why would we ask you to come in and look at it in the first place? Surely wed just dump it somewhere, right? Perhaps we should leave the issue until tomorrow morning, doctor, Lowson said diplomatically. Unfortunately, I have further bad news. The detective sighed. Perhaps you should sit down.

461 Lowson followed Simon into the living room and watched him take a seat next to Penny on the sofa. There really is no easy way to say this, he began, so I will simply tell you the facts. During our telephone conversation DI Corbett informed me Dr. Harrisons body had been found earlier this afternoon. Where? demanded Simon. It seems he was recovered from the tidal-race at the Thames Barrier. Pennys face drained of its colour. She put her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob. The bastard mustve killed him and then dumped him in the river, she said numbly. Theyre conducting an autopsy as we speak so we should have some answers very soon, Lowson informed them. And if they conclude he drowned? Simon hissed. If there are no apparent signs of a struggle and the injuries sustained are those expected when someone Lowson lapsed into silence. When this type of incident occurs, he continued tactfully, then a verdict of death by misadventure will probably be recorded. Which means what exactly? Technically, Dr. Harrison had an unfortunate accident. Lowson looked down at his shoes. Simon was furious. Jesus, Sergeant, after all weve told you, how can you still think this was a goddam accident? Its not what I think, doctor; Im merely stating what a Coroners inquest will conclude if there are no signs of foul play or a suicide note. Which leaves these murdering bastards to pick us off whenever they want to? Were jumping ahead of ourselves. Lets wait until the coroner has concluded their inquest and weve had a look at the laptop before assuming the worse. In light of whats happened in the last ten fucking days, Simon said bitterly, I think we could safely assume the worst has already happened. Once again, I can only re-iterate; you are both quite safe. No one can get in or out of this

462 building without our knowledge. Thats not the issue, what happens when you decide this was all just a series of accidents, Simon demanded, and were left hanging out to dry? Thats something I cant answer, Lowson admitted. So, basically, theyll get away with it Scott-free? If there is a conspiracy against your family and it has anything to do with the School of Night, or Portinari, I assure you we will do all we can to bring them to justice. We are, however, constrained within the law, and unfortunately, if we have no evidence that a crime has beencommitted, then we just cant go and arrest people because we think they might be slightly dodgy. Slightly dodgy! bellowed Simon getting to his feet. Slightly-fucking-dodgy, he repeated gesticulating wildly. Are you a stand up comedian in your spare time? Jesus, what is it like in your fantasy world, do they have rides? I cant believe Im hearing this! These motherfuckers have killed three people, at least, exactly what does the Metropolitan Police classify as serious, huh? Blowing-up a busload of school kids, would that qualify? Lowson held his ground. Youre getting hysterical, doctor, take a seat and calm down. He tugged his earlobe. We fully intend to investigate the School of Night, DI Corbett is on it as we speak, if he finds anything suspicious well charge Portinari whether he knows Bono or not. Let us do our job, in the meantime, you and Miss Marshall can help by giving me a statement concerning the contents of the documents you were reading. The sooner we have an idea of the allegations involved, the sooner we can begin to check them out. Penny slapped Simon on the arm. Youre right, Sergeant, well tell you all we can remember.

463

Thats spelt H-A-R-I-E-S? confirmed Lowson jotting in his notebook. And how did youre Uncle Nicolas say he knew this particular individual? He said he was a friend of Dr. Harrisons, Penny explained. Yeaah, said Simon, thats right. This guy did some digging and found evidence of Portinaris slightly-dodgy offshore accounts, with a nice little side order of tax evasion. And can you remember any of details of these alleged accounts? Simon scratched his head. I think Lichtenstein was on the list, he said vaguely. And the Cayman Islands and Southern Ireland, added Penny. OkayWhat else? Haries alleged Portinari was involved in the murder of two Eastern European criminals found tortured to death in London in 2001, Penny continued. Lowson looked baffled. Tortured? Penny nodded. Haries told Uncle Nicolas they were trying to muscle-in on one of Portinaris building contracts. I see, Lowson said calmly. And did he mention exactly where in London this occurred? Nicolas mentioned Green Lanes, but he didnt give the full address. Jesus, Simon snorted. Two guys, found tortured to death in a bed-sit cant be that hard to trace even in this city. Lowson scratched his nose. Im sure well have no problem, but as Green Lanes is the longest road in the U.K. an address would save a few hours of buggering about. Thats the thing, Sergeant, said Penny, Haries gave a copy of his findings to Uncle Nicolas and Dr. Harrison and they put it in the small safe in Dr. Harrisons bookshop. And is it still there? Simon laughed. Strangely enough, Harrison had a break-in earlier this year. I dont know if

464 you remember, but we mentioned it in our statements. And, well, gosh-darn, wouldnt you knowit, those awful burglars just so happened to steal the Portinari folder, not to mention the rings Nicolas and Harrison had collected. Quite a coincidence wouldnt you agree? Lowson ignored Simon and looked at Penny. Did your uncle say why he employed a privateinvestigator in the first place? He believed he was being watched and he said hed been followed in his car, she said. But why did he suspect the School of Night to be responsible? Because, hed been researching the Order for the last three years, Simon growled. I thought wed mentioned that about twenty-times in the last few days? So your Uncle believed his historical researches somehow had a bearing on Portinaris freemasonic lodge? Thats what weve been trying to tell you! Simon cried in exasperation. For the umpteenth fucking time, Ralph Sadlier, the original founder of the Order, fathered an illegitimate child with Queen Elizabeth, yknow the Virgin Queen? Are we keeping up so far? Lowson sighed but remained silent. So, this kid only turns out to be none-other than William Shakespeare, right? And Shakespeare left money in his will for five gold rings to be made, right? Those are the rings Nicolas and Dr. Harrison found. Each ring has a series of numbers engraved on the inside, a numerical-cipher, which Nicolas and Harrison managed to crack. Lowson tugged his earlobe. I still dont see what all this has to do with the School of Night, he said interrupting Simons drunken lecture. Because, while they were researching, they found documents that accused Sadliers original Lodge of harbouring a secret order of assassins within their ranks whose specialty was to hide their crimes by disguising them as accidents. Simon grinned. Sound familiar, Sergeant? Lowson stopped writing and looked up from his notebook. A secret order of assassins? he repeated quietly.

465 Thats what Uncle Nicolas discovered; he had titles and references, the whole goddam lot. Im sure if Nicolas found them so can the combined intellect of Scotland Yard. And youre sure your uncle hadnt just read some blog by a crank on the internet? I told you, Sergeant, these are original manuscripts, besides, Nicolas was one of the finest historians in this country, youve read his file. Okay, so he found evidence of rumours concerning the original School of Night and thats why he decided to hire a private investigator? Exactly, then, of course, Haries drops the bombshell concerning Portinaris slightly dodgy business dealings. Im sure that only increased his paranoia. Its only paranoia if they arent actually out to get you. So you believe Haries and his findings, doctor? Ive never met the guy, so Ive only got my uncles word to go on, admitted Simon. Lowson nodded. There is, of course, one another explanation youve neglected to mention, he stated. Which is? What if Haries was working for Portinari? What if Haries was in fact a member of the School of Night? Simon shrugged. An interesting theory, one we probably wouldve considered in more detail if it wasnt for the inconvenient fact Haries was found burned to death in his flat earlier this year. Seems smoking in bed really didnt agree with him. I see. Yeaah, these tragic accidents just seem to keep on happening. Actually, Sergeant, Penny said, Haries told my Uncle hed discovered other disturbing facts about Portinari, including links to the suicide of an accountant in the Cayman Islands and an investigative journalist, oh, what was his name? Penny closed her eyes and collected her

466 thoughts. LevyGus, no, Guy Levi, thats it. L-E-V-I, Lowson confirmed writing the information down into his notebook Yes, yes, I think sohes won awards for his journalism, so it shouldnt be too hard to find him. And this Levi was investigating Portinari? Yes, something to do with a company Portinari owns that makes porn and allegations he uses Eastern European sex-slaves in the films. Well, Lowson said closing his notebook. If Haries is right, Portinaris some kind of supercriminal, not so much Richard Branson as Tony Gambino. How hes managed to keep it quiet for all these years is another thing. Simon laughed, but he wasnt smiling. Hes Mr. Fucking-Super-Star, the smiling face of freemarket capitalism. When hes not breaking the land-speed record on a hydrogen-powered skateboard, hes offering package holidays into space, or jamming with Tony-fucking-Blair: how d'you think he keeps it quiet? He owns the goddam press and media, for Christs sake. Lowson calmly observed Simons latest outburst, letting the doctor vent his spleen. I dont care how well-connected he is, he said when Simon had finished. Something wouldve surfaced by now, you cant keep secrets like that hidden, doctor, its impossible. Simon smiled. Perhaps Portinaris taken a leaf out of his idols book. Never tell a secret to two, that was Sadliers motto. Perhaps Portinari added an extra-line: But if you do, make sure you kill them afterwards. Lowson got to his feet. Youve given us enough details to go on for now, if any of this checks out, then, of course, it will put a whole new light on the present investigation. And if it does what then? Penny asked hopefully. The allegations of tax fraud alone, if found correct, are serious enough for an investigation leading to prosecution. As for the rest, you know the answer as well as I do, Miss. Portinari will be arrested, charged, and tried in front of a jury of his peers.

467 And the idea he might have freemasonic connections in the police doesnt deter you? Ive told you, Miss, my career doesnt rely upon them. They really cant hurt me. Penny looked concerned. Im not talking about your career, Sergeant. What if this is real and you stir-up the hornets nest? Lowson patted the slight bulge under his arm Dont worry, Miss, he said with a nod. I always take the precaution of carrying a can of hornet-killer with me at all times.

~
Lowson took a seat in his armchair. Fishing in his jacket pocket, he retrieved his mobile phone and dialed a number. Nathaniel, my son, what have you got for your uncle William? Evening Guv just had a long chat with Fry and Marshall; got as much as they can remember from what they saw on the laptop. Yeah, Ive been doing some digging myself, son; seems that smarmy cunt Portinari has some dodgy relatives back in the motherland, bet you didnt know his family originally came from Sicily did you? Apparently one of his long-lost relatives was the Beatrice Portinari in Dantes Divine Comedy. Oh, yeah course guv silly me for not remembering. Fucks sake, Lowson, you read books all the time, or do you avoid the ones that dont have pictures. Excuse me for not having read every major work of Renaissance literature, guv, but my job

468 doesnt really give me much leisure time, consisting, as it does at present, of sitting in a draftyfucking hotel corridor for days on end. You love it. Anyway, why do I need to bother with books, when Ive got my own personal Yoda to instruct me? Thinking about it, with your gut its more like Buddha than Yoda, although you do have the weird speech mannerisms. He who experiences the unity of life, sees his own self in all beings, and all beings in his own self and looks on everything with an impartial eye. Something Ive often thought to myself whilst sitting on the bog. The immortal words of Siddhrtha Gautama better known as Buddha you ignorant cunt. Yeah, you sound just like him; I wonder what the Sanskrit is for cunt? Khu Do what, Guv, did you just sneeze? Khu, Lowson, is Sanskrit for cunt. I some times wonder about you, Bill Ill take that as a compliment, son, so what did Fry and Marshall have to tell you? Okay, got a pen? Nicolas Fry and Harrison apparently hired a private detective called Glyn Haries; ever heard of him? Not off the top of my head, no, but the name rings a bell, hows it spelt? H-A-R-I-E-S Sounds like a Taff, Ill see if Gus has heard of him, if hes a fucking Private Dick, were bound to have something, you know what theyre usually like. Supposedly, he was an acquaintance of Dr. Harrisons. Anyway, this Haries bloke reckons he found evidence of tax-fraud and dodgy offshore-accounts in Lichtenstein all pretty standard for a smarmy multi-millionaire git, but get this, Haries reckons he also found links between Portinari and the deaths of two Eastern European crims. Seems these chappies were found tortured to

469 death in some scummy bed-sit in Green Lanes. Yeah, hang-onI remember, it was about 2001, the students downstairs complained about a funny smell and called the local plod. Very nasty, by all accounts, they put it down to turf-warfare among the Turkish drug gangs. Before my time, guv, but Haries also linked Portinari to the apparent suicide of an accountant in the Caymans and another suicide of an award-winning investigative journalist in London. Names The accountant is Samuel Parks, or Parkes, they couldnt be certain of the spelling. The journalist is a Guy Levi, spelt L-E-V-I. And Portinaris meant to have had them both done? According to the private dick, yeah Fucks sake, is there anything else? Well, to put the icing on the cake, Haries was found burned to death in his flat earlier this year, which, in light of recent events, does seem rather odd. To say the fucking least, son, this is beginning to get very messy. Gus should be picking up that laptop from you any minute, the sooner we get a good look inside, the better. Did they say what happened to Haries original documents? Fry and Harrison put them in a small safe in Harrisons bookshop. Right, Ill get a search warrant, I want a those files. Trouble is, guv; remember the break-in Fry told us about at Harrisons shop earlier this year? Well, it turns out, not only were the gold rings pinched, but also Haries original document. You are taking the piss, so weve got nothing, how very fucking convenient. This case just seems to keep slipping through our fingers, and dyou know something, Nat? Its beginning to get me ever-so-slightly-fuck-ing-miffed. Tell me about it, every time we get a lead, it disappears, or someone has a tragic accident. And to add insult to injury, another thing Nicolas Fry allegedly discovered were historical tracts

470 that accuse the original School of Night of having a secret order of assassins within their ranks. Now, and youre gonna love this, these assassins covered their tracks by making their murders look like accidents. Thats why Fry got the private dick involved; he reckoned he was watched and followed. And then, theres the break in at Harrisons shopyouve got to admit, it does sound bloody suspicious. We still only have circumstantial evidence, Nat; and most of it depends on Fry and Marshall. What about Harrison...? Still havent had the coroners report; Ill bell you soon as. And Paul and Ivy Fry? You read the coroners report, they - Yeah, guv, I know, had a tragic accident. Thats right, an accident. Right Fucks sake, Sergeant, lets just check the facts shall we before we start to panic. And if the facts check? Then we start to panic.

471

Chapter Thirty One

Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own commonsense.

Buddha

Excuse me, Sergeant, Penny began. I dont want to interrupt your reading, she said indicating to the detectives battered paperback, but Simon and I would like you to join us for dinner. Its the least we can do, after forcing you to stay outside in this corridor. Lowson smiled and got to his feet. Thank you, Miss Marshall, Id be delighted. Penny laughed. Oh, we thought youd make some excuse about being on duty. Not when my dinners at stake Miss. Please, call me, Penny; Miss makes me feel so old. Penny. And? Im sorry, MiPenny? Okay

472 Whats youre name? I cant keep calling you Sergeant all night Oh, no, no, course not, sorry; Nathaniel, my names Nathaniel, but my friends call me, Nat. Okay, Nat, if youd like to follow me into the dining room, well order.

~
That was absolutely delicious, Simon, Lowson said from the comfort of the sofa. Thank you. But I think the lobster ravioli in squid ink as a starter mightve been a mistake. He groaned and gingerly massaged his stomach. What would you like to drink, Nat? Simon called from the drinks cabinet. Ill just have a soda-water and ice, please. Ill have vodka-ice-and-Coke please, Si, Penny requested. And for the waiter, I think the Janneau. You gotta say one thing for this hotel, Simon laughed, they know how to keep the bar topped-up. Pouring the drinks, he limped across the room with Penny and Lowsons brimming glasses, before returning for his own. How is your foot? Lowson remarked watching Simons slow progress. Simon looked at his bandaged foot and grimaced. Hurts like a bastard, but the painkillers take the edge off, he said hobbling slowly across the living room. Slumping into an armchair, he produced a small plastic bottle from the pocket of his jeans and unscrewed the lid. Removing two white pills from the container, he threw them into the air, and tilting back his head, caught them in his open mouth. Looking at Lowson, he winked. And of course, a dash of the old brown medicine helps, he said taking a large swig of his drink.

473 Lowson scratched his nose. Are you sure its a good idea to mix pain killers with alcohol? Simons mouth spread into a wide grin and he held his glass in the air. Dont worry about me; Im just a happy camper, thats all, just a happy camper. Talking of which have you had any further communiqus with the illustrious Detective Inspector Corbett? He rang earlier, Lowson nodded, and I explained everything you told me. And what did he say? He admitted it needs further investigation. Your uncles laptop is now in the forensics lab, so we should get some answers soon. What about Dr. Harrisons post mortem results? Inspector Corbett will ring me as soon as hes got the pathologists verdict. Penny offered a thin smile. Lets hope they can retrieve those files, she said. Believe you me, if they still exist on the hard drive the techies will find them, Lowson said with conviction. Talking of which, could you explain some more about your uncles research? Penny sat back in her seat and shrugged. Christ, Nat, thats a tall order, the rough-draft of the book they were writing was on that computer, thats an accumulation of over three years work. How many of the notebooks and papers we gave you have you had a chance to read? To be honest, Ive just had a cursory glance. My Guvnors gone through them both. Okay, well Simon has already explained, in his own inimitable fashion, the part about the real author of the Shakespearian works. Yeah, I got that, Lowson laughed, and the bit about William Shakespeare being an illegitimate heir of Queen Elizabeth I. Penny nodded. So, Uncle Nicolas and Dr. Harrison believed theyd found four of the gold rings bequeathed to five individuals in Shakespeares will. Now, each ring had a numerical cipher inscribed on the inside and they eventually translated the cipher to reveal a four line poem Do you remember it? We dont have to remember it; its in one of the notebooks we already handed over to you.

474 I see. Actually, we wrote it down. Its over on the pile of stuff by the lamp. Penny indicated to the small table beside Simons chair. Simon sifted through the pile of papers and notes. Yo, here it is, he announced handing the page to Lowson. Two Brothers Stand, Where Priests Flee, Sinister-Hand, Opens For Thee, Lowson read aloud. Unfortunately the last line is missing as they only managed to find four out of the five rings, Penny explained. Lowson was unable to hide his disbelief. And the last ring, the ring they hadnt found, just happened to correspond with the last line of the poem? Simon reached for his glass and emptied the remaining chunks of ice into his mouth. Slowly and deliberately, he began to crunch down on the frozen water, a contented smile on his face. Swallowing the ice, he got to his feet and made his way to the drinks cabinet. Well anyway, Penny continued. Uncle Nicolas and Dr. Harrison finally cracked the cipher and we think we know what it means. Taking the sheet from Lowson, Penny pointed at the first line of the stanza. The Two Brothers is a reference to two redbrick cottages that stand in the grounds of Lordship Manor. Where Priests Flee, refers to a priest-hole or tunnel that supposedly runs from St. Marys the Virgin church in Standon, to somewhere in the grounds of Lordship Manor. Sinister hand is a reference to the left hand cottage, because sinister means left in Latin, so it obviously means- The tunnel comes out underneath the left hand cottage, Lowson finished. Thats what we figure, Simon added retaking his seat. That would probably explain the digging our uncle was doing in the cottages. Digging? Yeaah, one of them is riddled with pot holes. We figure Nicolas worked out the cipher and just hadnt got around to the second cottage before Simon shrugged.

475 I see, so theyd decrypted the cipher, but what did they expect to find? Thats the million dollar question. Right, well first thing tomorrow morning well get a team up to Lordship Manor and have a look. Go right ahead, Simon said magnanimously. Oh, yeah, Im forgetting, the house is your property now, isnt it. Do I detect a certain tone in your voice, Nat? Lowson tugged his earlobe. What do you mean, Simon? he said gently. Simon cocked his head and smiled. Oh, its nothing; Im sure, but I cudda-sworn I smell some kind of fishing expedition going on. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a sip of his drink. Lowson shrugged. Never could stand fishing, too bloody boring. Im a snowboarding man myself. Penny raised her hands in the air in exasperation. Jesus! she wailed. Why dont you two just get your cocks out and get it over with? All this testosterone is steaming up the windows. Besides, she added, all it really means is you want to shag each other. And thats your considered opinion, Simon smirked, speaking as a qualified Health professional. My considered opinion is wed all get along better without you two continually bickering like two old women. Simon put his hand up like a student with a question. What! Penny snapped. Gay old women, Simon reminded her. Lowson began to chuckle and the room soon echoed to the sound of their raucous laughter. Okay, okay, youve made your point, Simon admitted when the laughter has subsided. Youre right, were a pair of assholes, no offence, Nat. Lowson smiled. None taken, Simon.

476 So, lets just forget the bullshit and start again, agreed? Agreed. Penny shook her head and sighed. Well, if you two are going to start behaving yourselves, maybe you want to explain to Nat what you told me? She looked at Simon expectantly. Youll have to jog my memory, honey, he shrugged. Penny raised her eyes to the ceiling. Concerning your theory about Uncle Nicolas and Leo being used by the School of Night, remember? She annunciated her words as if she were talking to a small child. Simon squinted. Oh, yeaah, okay, that theorywell, Nat, its like this, I figure the School of Night planted the first ring in Nicolas attic. Planted it, why? You remember we told you Nicolas found a sixteenth-century diary that belonged to Doctor Edmund Fry in the attic at Lordship Manor? He found the diary in an ornate wooden box hidden behind a loose brick. The diary and the gold cipher ring both found in the attic. Cmon, as a cop, doesnt that strike you as being rather convenient? A historical treasure trove, thats waited five hundred years for the exact right man to come along? Its definitely some coincidence, Lowson agreed. You bet your ass it is, so, I figure, it was all a set-up. Nicolas said he was being watched, maybe they planted the will, the ring, and the diary to set him on the right path, then Nicolas and Leo unwittingly do their dirty work. Youre saying the School of Night had part of the puzzle and they needed experts to find the rest of the pieces and hopefully decrypt the cipher? Yeaah, maybe theyve been searching for years, maybe theyve done this before and failed, but this time they got lucky. They use historians and academics? They choose the right ones, those known for their unorthodox views or radical theories, that way

477 even if they did find something, wholl listen? You know it makes a helluva lot of sense when you consider all the facts. Another thing we forgot to mention, Nat, Penny added, was Uncle Nicolas believed Ralph Sadlier not only composed the works of Shakespeare, but that he was also the head of a huge spying network. According to Nicolas, Sadlier, basically, invented the Secret Service in this country. He even trained spies at special academies he set up. And your uncle found legitimate historical references to back all this up? Thats what he claimed. His laptop contains a full bibliography of his sources and hes provided bookmarks of relevant websites to cross-reference, its all verifiable. Basically, continued Simon, Nicolas believed Sadlier used the members of the School of Night as some kind of think tank to kick-start the English Renaissance and provide an Englishversion of the bible. He also believed Sadlier used the Order as a recruiting ground for his secret service and vice-versa. These guys were trained in different languages, codes, ciphers, combat skills, including assassination techniquesSo, maybe the modern-day School take more than just Ralph Sadliers patronage; maybe theyve inherited his techniques? Which brings us back to our secret order of assassins, Lowson said quietly. Simon nodded his head. Believe me, buddy; ten-days ago, I was where you are right now. I know it sounds like the most outrageous bullshit, but, He looked at Penny sadly. Well, now Im not so sure Simons right, Penny sighed, it sounds like nonsense, but there really is no other explanation that makes sense, you saw the display on the laptop. Lowson looked serious. Believe me, Penny; I dismiss nothing without checking the facts. Ill report all this back to my Guvnor and well put it through the grinder. But, I will concede; someone certainly wants you to believe the School of Night is involved. Simon smiled, Ever the detective, huh, Nat? he said sipping at his drink. Its not just a t-shirt Simon. Its not just a t-shirt.

478 So, now we know why you became a cop, youre like Corbett, born suspicious. I like to think of it as taking an interest, Lowson joked. As a kid, I was always fascinated by how things worked. Id take stuff apart to see inside, how the bits held together. Most of the time, I could never put them back again; we lost a couple of tellys, and numerous Hoovers. Very Freudian, Simon remarked with a grin. Iff you vould be zo-good to continue, he added in his best Austrian accent. Lowson smiled. Yeh, I suppose you could look at it like that. But the main thing that made me join the police was my brother, Kevin. Is he a policeman too? Penny asked. No, Penny, he died fifteen years ago, Lowson admitted sadly. Oh, Im so sorry, Nat. Its okay; Ive come to terms with it. So your brother inspired you to become a cop? Simon asked. Lowson smiled. He could still see his brother. He was looking at him right now. He had his thumbs up and he was laughing. He was always laughing. It was strange, but for some reason he felt like telling the story. Lowson realised he liked Simon and Penny, admittedly Simon seemed on the verge of becoming a full-blown alcoholic, but they were both under a lot of pressure and he couldnt really blame the man for attempting to blot it all out with booze, he wouldnt be the first. Lowson didnt really believe they were involved, they were genuinely scared, and In Lowsons experience, no one was that good an actor. He thought they deserved to see beyond his uniform, maybe it would help them understand he would do everything he could to protect them. He sat back in his seat and crossed his long legs. Yeah, Kev was one of the rare breed who turns their back on the street-culture and crime that

479 fucks-up so much of this city. Lowson laughed. He actually read books can you believe that? Course, he used to get a lot of stick for it all that shit about white mans learning and Uncle Toms. Hed just laugh and because of his size, they left him alone. He told me once, knowledge is power, and those who have it, control those who dont. He also told me you could never be truly poor if you have a book. I got my habit from him; hence, the paperbacks out in the corridor. Course, he got himself a scholarship to Bristol Uni, despite attending one of the worst schools in Peckham; and he had the best-looking girl in school. Lowson could see him pulling that face of his whenever Kelly came in the room. God, she was beautiful, everyone in the school wanted her, including most of the teachers. Jesus, he was one lucky bastard. Lowson tugged his earlobe. Until the night, he decided to go for a drink in the Grovesnor, and then wait for a bus. Some of the local lads took objection to this huge spade laughing and joking with his pretty white-girlfriend, so they drove past the bus stop a couple of times shouting racial-abuse. Kev, probably ignored them, or worse, laughed in their faces. Whatever happened, they decided to stop and get out. After a brief altercation they stabbed him in the chest with a ten-inch kitchen knife, the blade pierced his heart and he died almost instantly. After giving his girlfriend a good kicking, they left them both lying in the gutter and drove off. Simon was stunned. Oh, Jesus, Nat, Im so goddam sorry, he said with genuine emotion. He hauled himself out of his seat and attempted to sit up. Yknow, youre confronted, sometimes, with what a truly shitty place this world can be, he said waving his finger in the air. Ahh, Jesus, buddy, Im so shorry, he slurred. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Simon made his way to the sofa and stood in front of Lowson. Swaying slightly, he reached for Lowsons shoulder and leaned in close. I feel for you, my friend, he sobbed, his voice cracking. For a brief moment, it looked as if he might plant a kiss on Lowson's cheek, but he swayed back and turned towards the bathroom. I gotta use the john, he said absently. Penny was obviously embarrassed. Did they catch them, Nat? she asked trying to ignore

480 Simons drunken display. Lowson watched Simon stagger back to his seat and shook his head. Thats the thing, he said turning to Penny, the lads involved were well known in the area for violent assaults and racially motivated attacks: one of them was even witnessed shouting get the fucking nigger before leaving the pub that night, but he was also the son of a major villain on the manor, who had serious connections in the police, so, the enquiry was botched; evidence got lost, or contaminated, witnesses were ignored. When it finally got to court, they walked away Scott-free. Lowson paused. It was a cold afternoon in March, and he was standing with his parents outside the court. They already knew the verdict so his mother was crying while his father stood rigidly to attention staring at something far off in the distance. The courtroom doors burst open and the accused marched down the stairs flanked by their lawyers and their families, faces flushed with victory. As they made their way through the scrum of reporters and photographers, their trajectory lead them straight towards Lowson. Most of them hurried past, their eyes cast to the ground, but one of them, Patrick Norton, the leader of the gang looked Lowson in the eye. He had a smug grin on his face and he mouthed the word nigger. No one else had seen it, it was over in a split second and Norton had then strolled past giving a victory salute to the crowd. Lowson watched him get into a large black limousine with his smiling family and at that moment, he knew his fate. Lowson wanted revenge; he wanted it every time he went in his brothers room and looked at the Public Enemy poster on the wall. He wanted it every time a song would come on a particular CD he was playing and he could see his brother shaking his booty like a fool. He wanted it when his father had finally succumbed to his grief and jumped off Suicide Bridge. He wanted it as he saw his family fall apart, his sister screaming into his face how she couldnt stand any more funerals. He wanted it went they put his mother into a home, old and frail beyond her years barely talking,

481 barely eating, already a ghost waiting for a grave. He wanted revenge, Lowson wanted revenge, but despite his terrible anger and grief he realised his best tactic would be to ensure that the next time a black kid got stabbed-to-death by five white kids, there would be someone around to take it seriously. This led him to one conclusion. He buckled down in school and got his A-levels, somehow managed to scrape into Bristol, the same Uni his brother wouldve attended, passed his exams and got a first class honours degree. Suitably armed he joined the Metropolitan Police force in 2000 and was immediately fast-tracked into plain clothes and eventually Corbetts squad. Call it kismet, call it luck, call it what you will, but within a eighteen months of Lowson becoming a copper Norton had been arrested for possession of an offensive weapon and possession of cocaine. The arresting officer had been Gus Avison, who just so happened to be on Corbetts squad alongside Lowson. Corbett wasnt stupid, he knew the story between Lowson and Norton and he told Lowson hed like him to conduct the interrogation. Corbett thought Nortons inherent racism would cause him to make errors of judgement he otherwise might not with a white officer. Lowson thought he was probably right and he told Corbett he was a professional, he would do his job. Corbett didnt doubt it. When he finally faced Norton, it was something of an anti climax. He obviously didnt recognise Lowson, the large well-built man opposite not equating to the skinny adolescent he had once intimidated. Lowson took a seat in front of Norton and quietly began studying the man. He was wearing an expensive designer leather jacket, expensive grey slacks and a pair of Nike trainers. The Rolex watch he had around his wrist, which he kept conspicuously looking at, as if he were late for another, far more interesting, appointment, was worth more than Lowsons yearly wage packet. He looked older, but he was obviously, if not wiser, healthier and wealthier. He looked at Lowson and grinned. Lowson felt his stomach tighten. Can I smoke? Norton asked reaching into his leather jacket. Lowson pointed to the large No Smoking sign on the wall.

482 Norton sighed and scratched his nose. Why you starin at me, I got snot on my face, or what bruv? he sneered. They were alone all Lowson had to do was stand up and quietly lock the door. It would mean the end of his career, but he probably wouldnt do time, just some bad press and then early retirement, all he had to do was get up and quietly lock the door. Instead, he turned on the tape recorder and conducted a professional and thorough interrogation witnessed by Nortons lawyer, who had entered the room five minutes after Lowson. (A tubby man with a red complexion and a Saville Row suit, Lowson estimated five grand an hour, at least.) When the interview had finished Norton had got to his feet and laughed. It was obvious he would not face charges, his lawyer had made that very plain. Lowson stared at him impassively. There you go again bruv, wot is it wiv the fuck-ing stink-eye, bruv? Lowson tugged his earlobe. Norton tilted his head and furrowed his brow. Dont I know you, bruv? he said. Lowson kept staring. Yeh wait a minute, werent youNorton paused and then his face light up. Fuck me, he laughed flicking his fingers together. Is dat really you? he said staring into Lowsons face. Fuck bruv, you got big, man, you almost as big as your brother, know what I mean? Lowson was ready to wipe the smile of Nortons face, but he folded his arms and sat back in his chair. Tell me about my brother, he said. Nortons lawyer was looking agitated and began attempting to usher his client from the room. Norton stood his ground. He insolently brushed away his lawyers hand and looked a Lowson. He was like all you lot; he got a bit cocky from time to time and needed reminding whos still the boss. He smiled slyly. Least thats what I heard bruv. Lowson watched Norton button his leather jacket and then saunter from the room.

483 Later that night he drove to Bristol, bought a claw hammer in an all night garage, drove back to London, waited outside Nortons house for him to come home and caved in the back of his skull. After beating Nortons face into an unrecognizable pulp, he left the hammer embedded in his eye socket and went home. Corbett hid his suspicions, if he had any, but it was still a dark rumour around the Kremlin that Lowson had enacted brutal retribution. Lowson never spoke to a living soul about what he had done, but that night his brother had come to him in a dream, he had his thumbs up and he was laughing. He was always laughing. Are you okay, Nat? Penny said gently. You went quiet. Lowson laughed, just like his brother. Sorry, Penny, I was thinking about my brother. He smiled. Sorry, what was your question again? Penny didnt know if she wanted to continue with the conversation. I was just asking if they caught them, and you said they did, but they got away, she said gently. Lowson sighed. There were five of them, all armed, against one eighteen year-old black kid. He looked at Penny and shrugged. So, you see, I really dont need much persuading about corruption in the force. Thats the reason I joined in the first place; so I could get inside the machine, see how it works and maybe fix it He smiled. Total bollocks, of course, theres just too much opportunity for someone to turn a blind eye, accept the odd free drink, maybe a few bob just to tide you over for the weekend. Next thing you know, youre losing vital evidence, or fitting-up the wrong person. At least I can say everyone Ive ever nicked was guilty, to the best of my knowledge, and the same goes for Corbett. Hes what you might refer to as the one goodapple in an otherwise rotten barrel. Simon was idly running his finger around the rim of his empty glass. Have you ever thought of, maybe, getting a different job? he said Because, and forgive me for saying it, but your current employment sounds pretty goddam shitty.

484 If it wasnt for Corbett, I probably would, Lowson admitted. Hes kept my faith in the idea of a decent copper. Being a cop hasnt done his sense of humour much good, Simon remarked. He sat up and hauled himself from his seat. Who wants a refill? he announced. Lowson looked at his watch. Not for me, Simon, its getting late. I think Ill leave you to it. Thanks again for the meal it was delicious. It was good to talk to you both. Ill give you any news concerning Dr. Harrisons autopsy when I get it from my Guvnor. Simon poured another healthy measure of Armagnac Janneau into his glass and laughed. What about our scheduled inquisition with laughing-boy, is that still on? I might need to check my busy social diary. Inspector Corbett still wants to see you first thing tomorrow Im afraid, Ill give you a knock in the morning and well take my car back to the Yard. We should have some information from your Uncles laptop by then and the autopsy report on Dr. Harrison. Great, I look forward to it. Simon lifted his glass in the air and offered a celebratory toast. To Detective Inspector Corbett, may all his dreams be wet ones! He put his glass to his lips and took a long draught. Perhaps you should call it a night, Simon, Lowson observed. Getting a bollocking off of Corbett is one thing, but getting one with a hangover, is off the scale, believe me. Ill be fine, Nat, thisll be my last, I swear as an American, albeit one who was born in London. Besides, tomorrows Christmas Eve, tis the season to be goddam jolly. Lowson smiled. Yeah, youll probably hear a lot of yo-ho-hos from me outside in the corridor. Oh, god, wait, Nat, said Penny getting to her feet. Let me get you some blankets and a pillow, Ive got some spare in my wardrobe. She headed for the door to her suite. You cant sit outside all night without some comfort. Simon finished his drink and slumped back into his armchair. So tell me, Nat, is there a Mrs. Lowson?

485 Theres someone, Simon, Lowson admitted. But this job takes its strain on relationships, it doesnt really allow you to get close, and if you do they soon get sick of the worry and pressure. Sarahs different, she seems to be able to cope, it helps shes a physiatrist, so you can imagine the conversations, but in the end I cant blame her if she decides to find a normal bloke. Simon looked appalled. Jesus, Nat, that sounds fucking depressing, is it worth it? I mean look at Corbett. Corbett was married a few years back, but like I said And hes what, twenty years older than you? Dont you ever look at him and think what might be ahead down the line? I dont want to end up alone, who does. Maybe even one day have kids. But if I cant find someone whos prepared to take the realities of my job, then maybe I will be that sad old sod you see sitting alone in the pub. Simon looked at Lowson and nodded. And being a cop is so important its worth risking all that for, huh? Lowson stopped to consider the question Yes, if I really think about it, yes it is, he said.

~
Guv, Lowson said into his mobile phone. Who were you expecting? Dr. Livingstone? Good to see your legendary rapier-like wit is still entertaining us here in the lower ranks, guv, but Ive discovered a few things that might really make you crack-up.

486 Let me guess, Portinari is responsible for 9/11? No, but Fry does have a quite interesting theory. God save us from amateur detectives Do you want to hear it or not? Not really, but Im sure youre gonna tell me regardless. Fry reckons the whole thing was a set-up, from the start. A set-up, by who? Whom guv, by whom Yes, Sergeant, and youll be receiving a boot up the Jacksie with my initials on it so you might remember from whom it was delivered, if you dont just fucking tell me! Fry reckons that the School of Night may have planted the first gold ring in his uncles house. Yeah? And that they also planted the diary thats supposedly from Frys Tudor relative. Fry reckons the School had one of the rings but needed someone with the right skills to find the other four and then decrypt them Were getting dangerously into fucking Narnia territory here, son. I know, guv, but youve seen the ring, its definitely got numbers inscribed on the inside. Weve had them checked out. And? And its some sort of numerical cipher. Well there you are then, maybe Frys right. His Uncle and Dr. Harrison found the other gold rings and cracked the cipher and maybe they were set up to do it. Think about it, the School of Night reckon Ralph Sadliers their original founder, Fry and Harrisons research intimately involved Sadlier and his links to William Shakespeare and the gold rings. Yeah. I get it, Nat. the School of Night used Harrison and Fry to find the remaining rings and solve the cipher for them.

487 Maybe Fry and Harrison are in a long line of historians and academics theyve used and then offed? Its all a very fucking big maybe, son. But it makes sense, youve got to admit that its at least worth looking in to. Ive told you, Im doing some digging on Portinari, the bastards got some powerful lawyers and theyre making life bloody difficult, but Ill get something if theres something to be got. Just go easy, Bill. Whats the matter, Nat, afraid I wont get my pension? Something like that Guvany news on Harrison? Weve got the Coroners report, and apart from an injury to the head commensurate to one expected from a fall, and numerous other post-mortem injuries he received on his journey down the Thames, theres no sign of foul play, so the coroner has concluded- Death by misadventure, so, basically, weve got another tragic accident on our hands? I know what youre saying, son, theres been far too many bloody accidents for both of our liking. And in light of all Fry and Harrison discovered? Allegedly discovered, the lab boys still havent been able to crack Frys computer; looks like whoever sent the virus knew their stuff. Barney told me they think its some sort of military grade encryption thats effectively locked-down the entire hard drive. Now, you know, as well as I do, that sort of software is restricted to the intelligence services and the police. Which leads us back to potential freemasonic corruption in the service, Guv. Maybe, but another way of availing yourself of this kind of software is via someone with connections in the intelligence services or the police, someone who might use such software in their job, someone like a private detective, say. But Haries is dead... Yeah, he died last March in fire at his flat in Finchley, all Im saying is Fry and Harrison

488 employed someone from whom they could potentially get their hands on this type of militarygrade software. So, they rigged the computer up with a fail-safe just in case it got into the wrong hands? Maybe, but that doesnt explain the slide-show you saw on the laptop. It all seems to lead back to Portinari and the School of Night, guv. Ive got some things to look into tomorrow morning, so cancel that appointment with Fry and Marshall til the afternoon. I should have a better idea by then, but believe me, Nat, if that ponytailed nonce does turn out to be involved, it could be the worst thing that ever happened to us. Hes only got a media empire, billions of quid, lots of powerful mates, oh, and hes one of the highest ranking freemasons in the country; what can he really do to us? Thats why Ive got you on my squad, Nat. Youre absolute blanket refusal to confront reality. Its definitely one of my finest traits, guv. Okay; so were agreed, we have a pop at Portinari, even if it means early retirement to that pub in Essex you always dreamed about. Actually, thats youre dream, Bill, I baggsed the desert island with Beyonce and Kate Beckinsale, if you remember? After Portinaris legal team have finished with us, son, youll be lucky to manage a skip round the back of Tescos with one of the runners up from the X factor.

489 Penny turned to Simon and hit him on his arm. Youre lucky I dont give you a right bollocking, Simon, she said angrily. Simon had staggered over to the sofa and was lying next to Penny. What for, baby? he managed. Penny hit him on the arm again, harder. For your bloody awful behaviour earlier with Nat. Simon waved his hands drunkenly in the air Hey, thats not fair, he protested. His whole attitude stank; always waiting for us to slip-up and give ourselves away. Thats his job, hes a detective, Penny hissed. Its what they pay him to do. Simon attempted a winning smile. Hey, we made up at the end; were the best of goddam pals. And your drinking didnt help, Penny said hitting Simons arm again. Jesus, not the too much booze lectures. Cmon, baby, give me a break. Simon laughed. And stop hitting my goddam arm, Im in bad shape here, if you hadnt noticed. Okay, so Ive been self-medicating a little. Its not something I do twenty-four-seven. Penny began to chew at her thumbnail. I just dont like seeing you pissed and angry it scares me, she said quietly. Hey, cmon, Simon beamed, rising unsteadily from the sofa. Its me, Im not scary. Im a teddy bear. He took Pennys hand and kissed her open palm. Oh, baby, Im sorry if Ive been an asshole, he whispered.

490

Chapter Thirty Two

The first duty of every Mason is to obey the Mandate of the MasterThe order must at once be obeyed; its character and its consequences may be matters of subsequent inquiry. The Masonic rule of obedience is like the nautical, imperative: "Obey orders, even if you break owners.

Mackey's Encyclopaedia of Freemasonry page 525

Detective Sergeant Lowson woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of an industrial-sized vacuum cleaner. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and watched the noisy contraption approaching down the hallway hauled along by a frail looking old woman. As she made her slow but steady progress, she briefly lifted her head in weary recognition of his existence, before thrusting the end of the plastic hose between his legs and underneath his chair. It was only finely honed instincts that enabled him to grab his blanket before it was sucked-up the pipe. Morning, Lowson offered cordially. The old women failed to hear him over the roar of the cleaner and continued to make her weary way, the large black machine tugging along slowly in

491 her wake. Lowson looked at his watch and was appalled to find it was six-thirty a.m. Jesus, its Christmas Eve and shes are already at work. He suddenly remembered where he was and sighed. Bloody noisy cow Stretching his stiff legs, he put aside his blanket and made his way to Simons suite. Turning the round handle, he pushed against the door. Satisfied it was secure he turned his attention to Pennys room. Repeating the procedure, he returned to his armchair and began to read his paperback. Some time later, he opened his eyes to sound of his mobile phone ringing. Fishing in his jacket pocket, he retrieved it and put it to his ear. Guv. Morning, Sergeant, I trust you slept well? Like a prince; I even had my own personal alarm call courtesy of the massed bands of the Highland Vaccumers. Sounds delightful, who said this wouldnt be fun? I did. TrueStill, after what happened last Christmas, son, I wouldve thought youd be relishing a nice cushy little number like this, its got to be better than labeling body bags, so stop bloody moaning. Lowson said nothing. Anyway, I still havent managed to get an appointment with Portinari; but I have a couple of other things to checkout. I should be back at the Kremlin by midday at the latest. Ill bell you then. You still want to interview Marshall and Fry? Depends on what I twig this morning.

492 Its been quiet here, apart from the sodding Hoovers. Good. Hopefully by the time I get back, that useless twat Barney mightve sorted Frys computer. A lot of Nicolas Frys research notes are in the pile Marshall and Fry gave us, Guv, theyve also got more stuff here at the hotel, and I think at Frys new gaff in Standon. Right, I want all of that, here, ASAP. We need to get it in some kind of order and see what weve got. Course, its all laid out on the bloody laptop, according to Marshall and Fry. Well at the moment, son, thats about as useful as saying its on the fucking moon.

~
Penny opened her eyes and stared into Simons sleeping face. His left cheek and jawbone were swollen and puffy and a dark purple bruise extended around his eye and down his neck before disappearing beneath the silk sheets. Above his eyebrow, a plaster covered a small wound, its skin-pink surface stained with blood. Penny gently lifted the covers and peered at his naked torso, the skin on his chest a mass of livid red marks and abrasions. Simon stirred briefly in his sleep and turned around offering Penny a view of his back. Penny closed her eyes and dropped the duvet. Moving closer, she gently slid in behind Simons sleeping body. Resting her head against his back, she closed her eyes and listened to the steady beating of his heart. Lifting her head, she began to plant delicate kisses on every bruise and cut she could find.

493

Oh fuck, its Lowson! Penny cried as the doorbell shattered the silence. Wait, let me get next door; I dont want him to see us like this. she threw back the covers and leaped from the bed. Simon lay back and watched Pennys naked body as she ran through the bedroom. Quick! Run, run, faster, wench! Faster! he commanded. Youll bloody pay for this you sod, she laughed disappearing into her apartment. Simon dragged himself reluctantly from his bed. Okay Nat! Im coming. Wrapping a bathrobe around himself, he tied the sash and hobbled to the door. Sorry if I woke you, doctor, Lowson apologised from the hallway. Dont worry, I havent forgotten our little date with Inspector Corbett, Simon winced. Actually, thats why I knocked; hes pursuing further enquiries this morning, so, until this afternoon, your time is your own. So, hes postponed the execution for after lunch, huh? I gotta say you English are so civilized. Simon yawned. Actually, I think Ill just crash out again until the fun begins, I think maybe I drank a little too much last night. And Miss Marshall? I dont think she was drunk last night, was she?

494 No, is she okay? I rang on her apartment but she didnt answer. Maybe shes a real heavy sleeper? Lowson walked to Pennys suite and rang on the bell. After a few seconds, the door opened six inches and Pennys face peered through the chain-linked gap. Sorry, Nat, she said with a drowsy yawn. I was fast asleep.

Simon offered a small round of applause. That was some performance, he congratulated. Even I believed youd just woken up, and the little touches with the mused hair and the yawning, pure gold. Tell me did you study under Stanislavski? He laughed. Fuck you, Mister Swinging-dick! Penny said sharply. Just because you dont care what people think; some of us do. What, so were cousins. Its not illegal, Penny, besides, I dont care what people think about the woman, I He hesitated. like. Penny made her way across the bedroom and sat on the bed beside Simon. Its not just that, she said gently, to be honest, Im well past the point in my life where I care about what anyone thinks and I love you for saying it. She reached out her hand and began to stroke Simons face. But have you thought about how this might look to the police?

495 Simon shrugged. The police...? Think about it, Simon, if you were a suspicious minded, I dont know, lets say Detective Inspector, and you were working on a case that Yeaah, it might look bad in the circumstances, he acknowledged. But we both know in the long run it doesnt matter; were innocent and eventually theyll discover that. Penny offered a thin smile. I hope to god they can get something from Nicolas laptop; its our one real piece of evidence. Presumably, if it can be done, theyve got the guys to do it. They also have the paperwork we gave them, the notebooks, the ring and all the stuff we told Lowson about Portinari. Jesus, Penny, if they cant make something out of all that, what chance do we have? I trust Nat, Simon, I think hes genuine, and I dont think hes involved with freemasonry or with the School of Night. Lets face it, baby, he said it himself: hes the wrong colour. Right, and if he believes in Corbett, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, too. What choice do we have, Penny? None, she sighed, none what so ever.

~
Lowson finished the final sentence of A Clockwork Orange and placed the battered paperback onto the table beside him. Stretching his arms above his head, he removed his mobile telephone

496 from his jacket pocket, flipped open the lid and dialed. After seven or eight rings, he got the usual answering service. Guv, its me Nat. Im still here and so are Fry and Marshall. Its about ten to one and Im wondering if you still want to see them back at the Kremlin? Okay, well give me a bell. Hanging-up, Lowson searched his contacts and redialled. Yo, Gus, its Natyeah, its a blinding way to spend Christmasactually, I was recommending you for a detail on New Years Eve, if it drags on for that longAnd seasons greetings to you Listen, is the Guv there, or is he still out, only, I cant get him on his mobile...Right, so hes been gone all morning. Okay, well tell him to bell meFucking mobiles, theyre a pain in the arse, you spend more time talking to answering machines than you do peopleOh, any news on Frys laptop?..Fucks sake, whats Barney doing, apart from downloading porn? Tell me about it, honestly its vile filthAnyways, get the Boss to bell meOh, and Gus, happy Christmas mate.

~
Lowson was just finishing a largely incomprehensible introduction to the works of the French philosopher Michel Foucault when his mobile alerted him he had received a text. Removing the thin black rectangle from his jacket pocket, he flipped-open the lid, and clicked the graphic of a flashing yellow envelope on the tiny screen. D I Corbett is member of TSON/Portinaris top man/have proof/trust no one/Meet me at TSON building Saffron ST 3PM/fire

497 escape third floor/please, they will kill me/have tried already/3PM or you will never see me again/ Robt. Sinclair Shit! Lowson announced to the empty corridor. Scrolling back up the screen, he made sure to save the text, and opened his contacts folder. Punching a number, he waited for a few seconds. Its me again, GusYeah, still enjoying the wallpaper. Listen, I dont suppose Corbetts back yet. Its probably nothing, but Ive just got a text from a dead manYeah, just dont tell those twats on Britains Most Haunted or theyll be round the gaff turning the lights off and throwing coins against the wall...Evidence of public gullibility more likeYou in front of a computer? Good, well check the coroners report on a Robert Sinclair, S-I-N-C-L-A-I-Rhe died yesterday night in a house fire yeah, Ill wait. Lowson inhaled, counted to ten, and then slowly exhaled. Looking briefly at his watch, he turned his head towards the fire exit before glancing at the lifts. Ok, you found it, right; well what does it fucking say...And theyre sure it was him? Well, in that case Ive just had a paranormal experienceListen, its gone one oclock, Corbett rang me this morning and said he had a couple of things to do, but he should be back by nowGranted, but his mobiles unavailable and now I get this weird text. Look, Gus, get someone over here in the next fifteen minutes, I dont care just so long as it isnt that useless FLUB Dixon, hell just munch his way through a bag of fucking doughnuts, then fall asleep. Get someone wholl at least stay awakeBetter still, make it a WPCYeah, cos I like the stockingsJust do it, Gus. See if wassername, Ellis, see if shes availableIll tell you later. Just get Corbett to ring me as soon as he walks inNow get moving. Lowson flipped his mobile closed and began to think. Fifteen minutes later, he knocked on Simons door and found himself confronted by a man who looked as if he had just awoken from a coma. Sorry, Nat, I cant seem to stay awake, Simon apologised with a wide yawn.

498 Lowson smiled. Listen, Simon, theres been a bit of a development, a possible lead in the case that might be worth checking. Dont panic, Ive got another Officer coming over to keep an eye on things, before I leave. Simon blinked his bloodshot eyes and nodded. Be careful, huh? he said with genuine concern. Dont worry; Im a big boy. Ill give Miss Marshall a knock and tell her whats going on. I think shes having a bath, Simon shrugged. She can spend days in the goddam thing. Okay, well maybe you could tell her. I shouldnt be more than a couple of hours; just keep your doors locked as usual. And if Inspector Corbett calls, tell him to get in touch with me. Having problems getting hold of Corbett? Its probably just a dead battery; you know what bloody mobiles are like, even when they work, its like listening to a headache. Anyway, Ill see you when I get back. Okay, Nat, well be here. Ah! Here they are now. Lowson turned his head towards the couple approaching along the corridor. See youve made yourself at home, skip, said a wiry man with short black hair. He indicated to the small pile of paperback books on the table beside Lowsons armchair. Im surprised they arent charging me, Gus, Lowson grinned. Anyway, glad you approve, because youll be getting a lot better acquainted with it very soon. Lowsons colleague was not amused. Leave it out, skip. My missus will go mental if I dont go to her sisters in Newport for the New Year, serious. Bring her with you, and her sister. Thatd certainly keep any nutters at bay. So, Woman Police Constable Ellis, Lowson said turning to the young police officer. This is Doctor Fry. Yeaah, Simon waved at Ellis, we meet again. She was there when I gave my statement, we got on like a house on fire; I could hardly shut her up.

499 Lowson nodded and turned to Ellis. Well, youve already met, so, Constable, this is fairly straightforward; just sit and keep an eye out. Hotel security have the fire exits covered, any trouble call me or Gus immediately and well have the cavalry here in minutes. Okay, Sir, Ellis nodded. Seriously, this is a doddle, Lowson smiled reassuringly. Right, Gus, why are you still here? Im not, skip. This is just a hologrammatic-projection, in reality Im sitting in my car, smokin a fag. Turning on his heels, the detective waved and made his way back towards the lifts. Right, Simon, Ill see you later; any problems Constable Ellis is just outside. Sure, take care, Nat. Simon shut the door. Lowson waited for the sound of the chain-latch before he turned his attention back to the young police officer. Right Ellis, just take it easy and keep your eyes open. If Detective Inspector Corbett turns up, ring me straightaway, even if he says he already talked to me, got it? Ellis frowned. Is everything all right, Sir? Peachy, Constable, peachy. Ill ring you if he arrives, Sir. Okay, Ellis, Im off to see the wizard. Ill see you in a couple of hours.

500

Chapter Thirty Three

Of all virtues and dignities of the mind, goodness is the greatest, being the character of the Deity; and without it, man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing.

Francis Bacon

Good afternoon and welcome to The School of Night, sir. Lowson showed the uniformed clerk his warrant card. Detective Sergeant Lowson, he said. The clerk looked concerned. Yes, Sergeant, how can I help you? Well, first; have any other police officers been in the building today? No not unless they neglected to show me their identification. And youve been on duty all day? Yes. Okay, is Mr. Portinari in the building? Actually, you may be in luck. Hes here every Christmas Eve for the Charity Ball. Last year we raised two-hundred and fifty-thousand pounds for Great Ormond Street. As much as that, Lowson said crisply, very nearly the price of one of Mr. Portinaris cars.

501 The desk clerk frowned and lifted a receiver from one of the telephones on his desk. Good afternoon, Rebecca, is Mr. Portinari in his office? Okay, could you tell him I have, sorry, the clerk paused and put his hand across the mouthpiece. What did you say youre name was? Lowson, Detective Sergeant Lowson. Hello, Rebecca, yes, its a Detective Sergeant LowsonOkay, Ill tell him, bye. Replacing the receiver the desk clerk turned to the Lowson. Well, Sergeant, youre in luck, Mr. Portinari is in his office, so if youd just like to make your way to the very top floor. He indicated to the staircase. Its the large black doors at the end of the hallway, you cant miss it.

~
Exhausted, Simon made his way into Pennys suite and headed for the bathroom. Hey, baby, its past one, are you still soaking? Jesus, youll look like a prune. Entering the white tiled bathroom he found Penny lying in the large marble bath, will-o-thewisps of steam rising from the bubbly surface of the water; her face obscured by a blue cotton, flannel. I happen to like prunes, she said from under her clammy mask. So, do I, Simon agreed reaching for Pennys upturned breasts. Did I say you could touch? she demanded. Simon stroked her nipple with his index finger Its not my fault; you shouldnt have such perfect

502 secondary-sexual-characteristics. Penny sighed. Thats right always blame the woman, she said removing the flannel from her face. Bloody hell, Simon, not again

Come in, detective, Julian Portinari called rising from his chair. Making his way around his desk, he began the long journey across his office, the heels of his hand-made, patent leather shoes ringing on the polished black and white marble tiles beneath his feet. Ah, I see youre admiring the dcor, Sergeant, he said observing the look on Lowsons face as he scanned the opulent surroundings from the confines of the doorway. It is rather something, isnt it, if not a trifle vulgar? Designed by a certain Nicholas de Camus de Meziere, who, despite being French, was something of a visionary; he planned this building using ancient techniques designed to trap and amplify the music of the spheres so that the building might resonate to the very sound of Creation itself; hence the large dome that crowns our magnificent library. However, I am boring you, I apologise. Do come in. Portinari smiled and indicated for Lowson to enter. After you Sergeant, he said with a sweep of his hand. Lowson stepped into Portinaris office and made his way to a chair that sat opposite a large wooden desk.

503 Portinari closed the door and followed him. Would you like a drink, Sergeant? Tea, coffee, or something stronger perhaps, it is Christmas Eve after all. Thank you. Thats very kind of you, sir, but I only want a brief chat. Portinari took a seat behind his desk and raised a solitary eyebrow. An important prior engagement with a beautiful young woman no doubt, he said. Lowson smiled. Hardly Oh, come now, sergeant, you must have a string of ladies, a handsome chap like yourself. The life of a police officer isnt quite as glamorous as television or the cinema might lead you to believe, Sir. So, it isnt all kicking-down doors and car chases? You disappoint me. Oh, theres plenty of that, just not that many beautiful women. Portinari laughed. You are amusing, Sergeant. Splendid to see our police officers still have a sense of humour. It is so important in life, dont you think, the ability to see the absurd, especially in ones self. Very true, sir, and speaking of the absurd brings me neatly to the reason for my impromptu visit. That sounds intriguing do go on. Have you been here long? What, here in the building, or manifest on this earthly realm? Portinari permitted himself a wry smile. The former, sir, In that case, Ive been here since about ten-fifteen this morning; Christmas Eve is a very busy day in our calendar. Yes, your desk clerk told me, something about a Charity Ball. Indeed, every year we have a Grand Masked Ball. We have celebrities, actors and musicians; Jonathan Ross hosts the auction, it is all excellent fun and raises a significant amount of money

504 for charity. This year we are donating to The Macmillan Nurses, they do such amazing work with the terminally ill; they truly are a miracle. Very commendable sir, Lowson nodded. Have you had any other police officers visit you here today? I think I might well have mentioned the fact, Sergeant. Having one member of Her Majestys finest as a guest is rare treat enough; two would be positively unheard of. I understand that my superior, Detective Inspector Corbett, has been attempting to interview you in the last few days? Ah, so you are something to do with Inspector Corbett, I see. Yes, my secretary has informed me of the situation, and you can assure your superior I am available at any time that is convenient to him. Obviously, I will be extremely busy over the festive season, so, perhaps it would be wise to schedule something for the New Year? Portinari smiled and got to his feet. Are you sure I cant offer you a drink, Sergeant? he said walking to a large drinks cabinet in the corner of the room Lowson shook his head. Really, sir, I havent got very long and there are a few other things I want to discuss with you, he said flatly. Unscrewing the cap from a bottle of Scotch, Portinari poured a small measure into a tumbler. Go right ahead, I can assure I am quite able to pour a drink and answer questions. Okay, sir, well forgive me if my line of questioning sounds a little far-fetched, but it does pertain to a current line of enquiry were pursuing. Fetch away, Sergeant, fetch away. Well, firstly, are you familiar with certain sixteenth-century manuscripts that accuse your organisation of harbouring a secret order of assassins? Portinari sighed and began to nod his head in a deliberately exaggerated fashion. Ah, I see, youve discovered those bloody awful scrawlings, he said. What are they called Dirty Deeds

505 Done Cheap or something like that? I cant remember the others, but I believe we have copies in our library, if youd care to look. So, you are aware of these rumours? Of course, Im the current Grand Master of the Lodge, I know its history and its legends, and believe me, sergeant, those tracts fall into the latter category. I see, and therefore you are also familiar with the notion that the original founder of your Lodge, Ralph Sadlier, was the true author of the works of William Shakespeare? Portinari was unable to conceal his surprise Now that is a new one! he exclaimed. I must confess youve actually confounded me. Good lord, Ralph Sadlier the true author of the Shakespearian canon eh? Returning to his seat, Portinari continued to nod his head. Absolutely remarkable, absolutely remarkable And, of course, complete nonsense, he added nonchalantly. Why do you say that? Oh, come now, Sergeant, a new candidate for The Real Bard crops up every other week; it was only a matter of time before someone came across Sadlier. Theyre like dung beetles these bloody Shakespeare-conspiracy idiots, they start with a small piece of excrement and before you know it theyve got a great big ball of the stuff. Im not proposing the theory myself, sir, Im just enquiring if you were aware of the fact the founder of your organization, Ralph Sadlier, has been identified as the true author of the Shakespearian works? And as I have already explained, it is the first time I have ever heard of the preposterous idea. Lowson sniffed. Perhaps you should get one of your librarians to look into it. Portinari sipped his drink Perhaps I ought, he said thoughtfully. And finally, sir, Im afraid we have received allegations accusing you of utilising fraudulent offshore bank accounts for the purposes of tax evasion. Portinari continued to sip his drink. In that case, Sergeant, may I suggest we reconvene this

506 impromptu chat until such time I have a full legal representation present? You do understand, with allegations of this serious a nature? Lowson smiled politely and got to his feet. Of course, sir, well, in that case Ill be on my way. Ive got- A prior engagement, Portinari interrupted, yes I remember. He stood up and offered his hand. Well, Sergeant, its been nice talking to you. Im sorry if our conversation ended on a sour note, but you understand, someone in my position must take this type of allegation very seriously. Lowson got to his feet and ignored the gesture. I completely understand, he said. Portinari left his hand hanging in space for a second and then dropped it to his side. Oh, and Mr. Portinari, Lowson said making his way to the door. Strange how you didnt ask for any form of I.D. You must be one of the rare trusting types; you certainly dont come across many in my game. Anyway, you have a merry Christmas, sir. Lowson offered a cordial wave and left Portinaris office.

~
Simon drained his cup, grimaced, and lay back on the sofa. I can tell you one thing; you still dont know how to make decent coffee in this country. I think you mightve mentioned that already Simon, Penny said dryly. I think it was the last time you had three straight cups in a row. I had to be certain, baby; anyway its not your fault, its genetic. Yadda-yadda-yadda, Penny mimicked heading for Simons bed. I dont know about you, but I

507 think forty-winks are required. Simon lay back on the sofa and yawned. Im just gonna lie here for a bit, Jesus, Im exhausted. He yawned again. I can hardly keep my eyes open.

~
Lowson looked at his watch. Noting the time was two-thirty; he took his mobile from his pocket and flipped it open. After checking he had no new texts or unanswered calls, he dialled Corbett. The now-familiar recording informed him the number was unavailable and he hung up. Searching his Contacts, Lowson dialled again. Me, Gus, has Corbett surfaced? Fucks-sake! Well bell me as soon as he does; tell him Im in the main-foyer of the School of Night building in Saffron Street. Tell him I might have a lead; hell know what to doIll bell her nowsee you. Hanging up, Lowson dialled WPC Elliss mobile. Ellis its me, Lowsongood, I didnt expect anything to happenany sign of Corbett? Okay, keep alert, and Ill see you soonyouve got my numberokay, bye. Lowson returned his phone to his pocket and made his way out of the foyer into Saffron Street. Buttoning his overcoat, he walked briskly around the building, following the outside wall. At the rear of the building he came to a door marked fire-exit and he pushed hard against the wooden frame. Satisfied, he turned on his heels and walked back the way he had come.

508

Portinari poured himself another drink and returned to his desk. Taking a seat, he picked up the receiver of a large black telephone and placed it to his ear. Rebecca, is he here? Excellent do tell him to come in. After a few seconds, the door to his study opened and Portinari raised his glass in salute at the burly figure standing in the doorway. Ah! Brother Corbett. Is there no help for the Widows Son?

Lowson scanned up and down Saffron Street idly checking pedestrians as they hurried past in the rain. The throaty-roar of a motorbikes engine drew his attention to a large machine and its leather-clad rider as it weaved its way through the busy traffic.

509 Noisy fucker, hes driving way too fast. What does the mob at the A&E call them? Organ-donors, thats it, organ-donors, and you are well on your way, mate. Lowson shook his head and made his way up the wide staircase and back into the building. In the foyer, the dial of the large station clock on the wall informed him it was 02:54 p.m. Lowson unbuttoned his coat and retrieved his mobile phone. Dialing a number, he scowled. Fucks sake, Guv, where are you? he hissed into the receiver. Dropping the mobile back into his coat pocket, he sniffed and began to make his way up the main staircase. Reaching the third floor, he followed the signs to the fire exit. Pushing down on a thick metal bar, he opened the heavy fire door and stepped into a rough concrete stairwell. Holding his breath he stood in silence as the fire door hissed closed behind him. Looking at his watch he noted the time was 02:58 p.m. Remaining immobile, he strained his ears for sounds of breathing or the shuffle of footsteps but there was only silence. Letting out his breath he glanced at his watch. 02:59 and 57 seconds, 58, 59, the little hand on the small dial moved imperceptibly, 03:00 p.m. Suddenly, the stairwell echoed to the crashing of the fire door from the floor below and an urgent voice shattered the silence. Sergeant, are you there? Please, dear god, theyre after me! Wait, Sinclair, wait, Im here, wait! Lowson bellowed his words echoing off the concrete walls. Help me, please, help me! the voice pleaded. Stay where you are, Im coming! Dont move! Lowson commanded. I am an armed police officer, you are quite safe! Oh, Jesus, hurry! the voice wailed in terror. Theyre here! Lowson began to sprint down the ill-lit stairwell, his right hand reaching inside his coat for his revolver, his left skimming the surface of the banister as he bounded down the steps. Dont move! Stay exactly where you are! he shouted. Armed police officer, repeat I am

510 armed! JESUS! screamed the librarian, his voice broken with fear. HELP ME! Lowson increased his speed, his long legs pumping hard as his hand tugged his weapon free of its holster. Flipping back the safety catch with his thumb, he steadied his arm, his pace driven by gravity and adrenaline. Lowson saw something out the corner of his eye, but by then it was too late, and his foot connected with a thin stainless-steel wire strung across the staircase. Forced-on by his momentum, he propelled down the steep steps, his body describing an almost perfect arc, before he collided, face-first, with the unyielding concrete. Lowsons head snapped back sharply as his jaw shattered and then he continued to tumble, head over heels before finally coming to rest on the landing. Somehow, he was still conscious, and after a few seconds, he began to cough violently, spraying a mist of blood onto the floor. Staring at his legs, he could plainly see part of his left thighbone protruding through the fabric of his trousers. Lifting his head, he tried to focus on his revolver, which lay just a few feet to his right. Lowson coughed again and spat out a mouthful of dark blood, he was sure his ribs has punctured a lung, and it looked like his back might be broken as he could no longer feel his legs, but he wanted that gun. Reaching out his arm the weapon lay only inches away from his trembling fingertips. The movement was excruciating and Lowson moaned like a wounded animal. He wanted that gun, but first, he just had to shut his eyes. It was a Sunday in June and his mother, father and his sister had gone to church as usual, leaving Lowson chaperoned by his big brother. It was a warm day and they had gone into the garden so his brother could smoke a cigarette. Half way through the cigarette, Kevin had exhaled and looked at Lowson. You ever heard of the scorpion and the frog, Nat? he said. Lowson had made some wisecrack about it being dads favourite pub and after they had stopped laughing; Kevin had puffed on the cigarette and nodded. Actually its a fable. Lowson had looked confused. Yknow uses animals and stuff to convey a moral story, a fable. Anyway, there was this frog right and he was standing by the banks of a wide river, thinking about swimming across,

511 when this scorpion comes along and has a chat. Now Mr. Scorpion has a proposition, if Mr. Frog puts him on his back and swims him across the river hell give him some tasty flies. Mr. Frog, whos no fool, says rasclot man, cos this took place in Jamaica, or some shit, anyway Mr. Frog says, me no truss you. I give you ride pon my back and you stick me wid yer likkle tail. Mr. Scorpion laughed and pointed out that would be a stupid idea because it would mean they would both drown. Mr. Frog has a think about this and realises Mr. Scorpions right, so he says to Mr. Scorpion to get on his back and they start to make their way across the river. Mr. Frog is swimming away, and from time to time, hes asking Mr. Scorpion about them juicy flies, when all of a sudden he feels this sharp pain between his shoulders. He screams, cos he knows what it is, its Mr. Scorpions tail embedded in his back. Mr. Scorpion, Mr. Scorpion, he yells, you kill us, you done kill us, both! Why Mon, why?, and as the venoms working its way through Mr. Frogs veins and they begin to sink beneath the waves, Mr. Scorpion whispers, Im sorry, but its in my nature. Its in my nature. Lowson opened his eyes. He wanted that gun, he knew he would be dead soon, but he wanted that gun. It was in his nature. Ignoring the sound of approaching footsteps, he reached out his arm and dragged his broken body along the concrete. His hand grasped spasmodically as he wrapped his fingers around the butt of the weapon and began to reel it in. He was dragging the revolver back along the floor when a black motorcycle boot kicked the gun from his hand and sent it clattering down the stairs. Taking a step backwards, the assassin casually stepped over Lowsons body. Breathing hard, Lowson rolled onto his back and looked straight up at his killer. They were clad in black motorcycle leathers and a black crash helmet, their face obscured by a tinted visor.

512 Lowson offered a bloodstained smile. Fuck you! he spat as the assassin raised their leg and brought their heavy boot down onto his neck, snapping it instantly.

Chapter Thirty four

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act IV, scene (i) lines148, 158

The chain dragged his naked body over the ragged surface of the granite steps. Leaning forwards, he clutched tight on its rusty links and began to pull. Straining his muscles, he managed to halt his progress for a few brief seconds before the effort became too much, and he continued his torturous decent. Turning his head, he could see the top of the staircase perhaps only twelve or thirteen steps away, its apex lost in dazzling light. Stretching below him, the stairs disappeared into an impenetrable darkness from which the chain emerged, a stygian gloom that every second hauled him closer to its benighted bosom. Catching on an edge, the metal ring around his ankle tore away a chunk of granite, and he snatched the ragged piece of stone as he dragged past. The fist-sized lump had a jagged-edge and he turned it over in his hand. Looking behind him, he estimated he had descended another four or five steps;

513 four or five steps closer the ebony blackness of the pit below. From deep inside the gloom, a guttural roar echoed up the staircase as the unseen creature on the other end of the chain hauled him ever closer to its ravenous maw. No longer possessing the strength to resist, he raised the piece of rock above his head and brought it down onto the exposed flesh of his leg just above the steel band. Ignoring the pain, he began to saw, drawing the jagged edge back and forth, back and forth. Screaming his agony, he hacked through muscle and tendon, sinew and bone, his cries echoing the length of the staircase. Eventually the tension of the chain tore his foot from his body, its jagged-stump protruding from the top of the metal band as it flew down the stairs into the gloom. Simon bellowed in pain, and far below, in the darkness, the unseen creature echoed his cries as it roared in anger and frustration. Ignoring his terrible wound, Simon rolled onto his belly and began to crawl, the blood pumping from his jagged-stump mixing with the rain as it sluiced away down the stairs behind him. He knew he would be dead soon, but he was determined to reach the top of the staircase and glimpse the origin of the dazzling illumination hidden behind the clouds. Dragging his body onwards, he could hear the creature below; its terrifying roars louder than before as it ascended the staircase. Not daring to look, he continued towards his goal, hauling his naked body over the stone as the white light grew brighter and brighter. Soon he was only three steps from the top and the light burned through his closed eyelids as he crawled onwards and into the clouds. Bathed in illumination, he looked down at his leg and was stunned to find the wound had stopped bleeding, the raw jagged flaps already beginning to reform and heal. Rolling onto his back, he lay still. The stone beneath him was warm and comforting, its surface heated by the light, and he closed his eyes as his body relaxed inside the womb like cocoon. Breathing deeply, he tasted the slightly perfumed air, its subtle fragrance infused with the scent of

514 roses. All pain from his ankle had now gone, and moving against the warm stone, he let the heat suffuse his battered body, his muscles slowly relaxing as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, a tremor ripple through the surface of the platform and the rock beneath his body shifted slightly under his weight. Looking down, he was shocked to find his fingertips sinking into the granite, its surface crumbling like sand beneath his touch. With a mounting sense of panic, he realised his legs were also beginning to disappear as the huge platform slowly dissolved into dust. Scrabbling for purchase, he dug deeper into the crumbling rock, only to sink further below the surface. Frantically attempting to keep his head above the choking sand, he craned his neck upwards as the swirling dust closed in around him. Soon, only his nose was visible above the sandstorm and then he was gone. Simon woke with a violent spasm. Drawing in a huge gulp of air he sat bolt upright on the sofa and looked down at his bandaged foot. Relieved to find it still firmly attached to his body, he began to wipe away the beads of sweat that dotted his brow. Rising from the sofa, he hobbled his way across the living room towards the bed. Lying on top of the mattress was the sleeping figure of Penny, her small trainer clad feet drawn up to her chest as she slumbered. Sitting down beside her, Simon began to stroke her long black hair. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. Hi, baby, sleep well? Penny offered a weak smile I had this awful dream, Si. Tell me about it, I just had a real-doozy myself. Penny sighed. Not really surprising, under the circumstances, is it? She sat up and kissed Simon on the cheek. Ive got a bit of a headache, theres some aspirin in my bathroom, she explained climbing off the mattress. Simon lay on the bed and listened to the rain beat its incessant-tattoo on the large bay windows. Closing his eyes, he tried to take stock of the last 48 hours.

515 Things had moved with incredibly momentum, the events blurring into a random set of impressions that would loom uninvited into his mind. Terrible images such as Harrison convulsing as he slowly drowned, or the young girls face just before the tube train had rolled over them, memories even his drinking could not eradicate. Simon opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. He was suffering from post-traumatic shock he knew the symptoms. If they dont catch this bastard soon, he wont have to bother killing me. Ill be too busy checking in to the local mental institution. This has got to be the worst ten days of my life. He sighed. The worst and the bestIlove her. That was the truth of it; he could no longer deny his emotions. Despite his age, despite his world-weariness, despite his cynicism, admitting his feelings sent a tremor of euphoria coursing through his body. He was not a child; he had been fortunate enough to find love in this world. Yet as trite as it sounded, Penny was different. She made him feel strong, confident, and at the same time able to show his weaknesses without fear of ridicule. She was his equal in a way his wife had never been. It was so pathetic it almost made him laugh. Of all the epiphanies a human being might have, perhaps the worst was the realisation their life had become nothing more than a miserable clich, a tawdry, redundant plot line that would be rejected by all but the most third rate soap opera. As if on cue a two-note melody rang out from the living room as Pennys mobile received a text message. Too exhausted to make the painful journey, Simon waited for her to return. Hey baby, youve got mail, maybe its Lowson, he called as she appeared in the doorway. Maybe theyve got some news on Leo? she said. Penny took her phone from the coffee table and began to read the message. After a few seconds,

516 her face grew pale and she started to tremble. Oh Jesus, its from them! she wailed, throwing the phone away like it were a hot coal. Simon grabbed the mobile from the bed where it had landed and frantically read the message: Lowson is dead/ We warned you/ Brother Corbett is with us/ We warned you/You are alone/We warned you/There is a bomb in your hotel room/ Goodbye. Get out, Penny! he bellowed leaping from the bed, his injuries forgotten. GET OUT OF HERE, NOW! Simon threw himself across the bedroom, cushions and chairs scattering in his wake. Reaching the door, he fumbled with the chain-latch, his panicking fingers failing to grip the small piece of metal. Steadying his hand, he finally managed to unhook it from its cradle, but the door remained locked. Push the button, Si, push the button! Penny yelled. Simon punched the button at the centre of the circular doorknob and they both scrambled into the corridor. Simon noticed the empty armchair across the hall. Where the fuck is, Ellis? he shouted looking at Penny. Weve got to warn the other guests! Get to the fire exit, quick! Grabbing Pennys arm they scrambled down the corridor towards the fire exit. Passing a small red box secured to the wall, Penny used the metal hammer mounted above the box and broke the glass. Punching the button, the corridor echoed to the sound of the hotels alarm system, its shrill cacophony exploding all around the building. Simon had gone ahead and opened the fire doors. Cmon, they can hear that! he shouted. Just GO! Penny sprinted to Simon and he bundled her into the fire escape. Im right behind you, he assured her. The alarm quickly roused the hotels other guests, and Simon and Penny were forced to slow their descent as the stairwell jammed with panicking human beings.

517 Penny clasped Simons hand and eventually they reached the ground floor and the exit, where a large crowd had already gathered on the pavement. Keep going, Penny, we dont want to be caught in the blast, Simon warned. Still clutching Pennys hand, they began to thread their way through the milling crowd and along the road. Weve got to tell the police about the bomb, Si, said Penny. Lets get across the street first, Simon insisted. They crossed the road, its traffic now slowing to a stand still in order to watch the unfolding drama, and stopped outside a newsagent. Have you got my mobile? Penny asked. Jesus, yeaah, its in my pocket. Simon reached into his jeans and handed Penny her phone. Opening the mobile, Penny dialled 999 and put it to her ear. At that moment, the passenger door of a parked Ford Mondeo swung open and the burly figure of Detective Inspector Corbett stepped onto the pavement. Corbett stood with his hand inside his jacket pocket, the stiff barrel of a gun protruding menacingly through the dark material. Put the phone down, darlin, he growled. Penny hesitated for a second. This isnt my fucking dick! Corbett barked savagely. Put the fucking phone down! Penny looked at Simon as a tiny voice on the other end of the mobile enquired, Hello caller. Which service do you require? Better do as he says, Penny, said Simon. Do it! commanded Corbett. Penny flipped her phone shut and looked at Corbett. Now, give it to me, he demanded walking towards her, slowly. Penny handed Corbett her phone and he put it in his coat pocket.

518 Now the both of you get in the car. He indicated to Simon, you in the back. Corbett looked at Penny with contempt. And you, Wonder Woman, I want you up-front, with me. What is this all about, Inspector? said Simon. Shut it, you long streak of piss! Corbett snarled. In the car, MOVE! Simon calculated the odds of getting to Corbett before he could pull the trigger and concluded he had more chance of waiting for the rain to rust the weapon away in Corbetts hand than he had of moving with any speed. He shook his head and limped slowly towards the parked vehicle. As he opened the back door and climbed in, Penny gingerly brushed past Corbett and opened the passenger door. Corbett watched them closely as he made his way around the front of the car his hand still tucked inside his coat. Getting into the vehicle, he closed the door. All nice and cosy? he said with a smile. Penny blinked back tears. Please, Inspector, whats going on? she stammered. Dont give me the fucking waterworks; you know exactly whats going on! Corbett shouted. Both of you do, he said looking at Simon. Or just one of you does; either way Im going to find out. Ok, this is probably my best chance, when hes close and his back turned, just keep him talking. We havent got a goddam clue what youre talking about, Inspector, believe me. The thing is, I dont believe you, Corbett hissed. Now you, he said to Penny, put your hands together and lift your wristsDO IT! Penny instinctively jerked her hands out in front of her and Corbett removed a pair of shiny stainless-steel handcuffs from his coat pocket. Placing them around Pennys wrists, he squeezed them closed. Ahh, theyre too tight! she cried. Now! Simon lunged forward and threw a punch at Corbetts face.

519 The punch connected, but Corbett flicked his head away from the incoming blow and pulled his gun from his coat. Taking the weapon by its barrel, he swung the heavy butt at Simons head, driving him back into his seat. Rising forward, he threw back Simons arms and delivered two savage punches in quick succession to his upturned face. Simon groaned momentarily and then lay still. Little cunt, Corbett spat viciously. Still, I only had one pair of handcuffs. He smiled and turned back to Penny. You fucking sadistic pig! she screamed into his face. Corbetts hand lashed out and struck her hard across the cheek leaving a livid red mark. Penny took the blow in silence, her eyes flashing with fury. Now, now, Miss Marshall, youll smudge your make up if youre not more careful. Corbett turned the key in the ignition and eased the car out into the slow moving traffic. What dyou reckon? he said. Shall we have a blast of the old siren, might get us where were going a bit quicker.

520

Chapter Thirty Five

I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt. I am lean with seeing others eat. O, that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone! Then thou shouldst see how fat I would be.

Dr. Faustus Christopher Marlowe

Climbing from the backseat of Corbetts car, Simon staggered to his feet and looked around. Reaching out his hands, he turned them palm-upwards and was shocked to discover it had stopped raining. Above his head, flat grey clouds, like shards of broken slate, peeked out between anvils, behind them were higher clouds vaulting halfway to a luminous full moon. By the light of the moon, Simon gradually began to make sense of his surroundings. A couple of hundred yards ahead of him were the two redbrick cottages, flanked by the small coppice of birch trees. The cottage on the left had its door open a crack and a dim yellow glimmer of light seeped from within. Simon touched his face, and looked at his fingers; they were wet and sticky with blood from the

521 deep wound across his forehead. Shit, its bad. Turning back to the empty car, a wave of dizziness swept over him. Falling to his knees, he threw up into the grass, his vision swimming as he fought against unconsciousness. Crawling on his hands and knees he got back to the car and collapse on the back seat, his body bathed in a cold sweat. Serious concussion, at least, maybe a fractured skullpossible internal bleedingits bad. Placing his hand down for support, he levered himself into a sitting position and began to take deep breaths. After a while, he could focus his eyes and he crawled out of the car and got to his feet. Staggering to the drivers door, he hauled it open and climbed in. Opening the glove compartment, he began to search for something he could use as a weapon. Finding only the usual dog-eared maps and logbook, he slammed the compartment shut in frustration. Dragging himself back across the seats, he stood up and looked into the car. It was the 1970s, Simon was ten and Reagan and Carter were chasing villains down the mean streets of South London, kipper-ties flapping over their shoulders, Were the Sweeney, son, and we avent had our dinner, episodes of Colombo and Starsky and Hutch, Jim Rockford limping away from another fight. He always kept a spare gun under Falling to his knees, Simon reached inside the vehicle and began to search underneath the drivers seat. Sweeping in a wide arc, his fingers made contact with something hard and cold, and pulling back his hand, he found he was clutching a small revolver. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he examined the weapon closely, its surface a matt-blue steel that seemed to absorb the moonlight. Strangely, the gun had no hammer, just a smooth rounded edge that led along the body to the pistols snub-nosed barrel. Staring into the chamber, he was relieved to see the glint of brass bullet casings. Clutching the black rubber grip, he held the weapon out in front of his body and staggered

522 towards the cottages. The door of the left hand building was still open, and as Simon drew closer, he could hear the sounds of raised voices. You fucking BITCH! Ill fucking KILL YOU! screamed Detective Inspector Corbett, his voice wracked with fury. Simon pushed the door open to find Penny cowering in a corner of the room, a bloodstained Corbett advancing towards her, his arm tugging his gun from his coat pocket. Behind him, a wooden hatch was open in the floor, revealing a large rectangular hole. Beside the trap door sat a hurricane lamp that cast the room in a flickering yellow light. Blood streamed from Corbetts nose, his features contorted with rage. YOU FUCKING BITCH! he screamed, blood spraying from his mouth. Without thinking, Simon lifted the gun, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in his hand, and flame spat from the barrel, but Corbett failed to react and kept on advancing, his own weapon now pointing at Pennys head. The impact of Simons second bullet, however, stopped him in his tracks. Corbett slowly turned towards Simon, who pulled the trigger for the third time. Coughing once, the detective looked down at the smoking perforations in his overcoat. Moving the garment aside, he gazed for a moment at his blood soaked shirt and trousers and then turned his attention back to Simon. Sucking in a ragged breath, he tried to raise his weapon, but his arm refused to co-operate. Tilting his head slightly, he gazed at his useless limb and then dropped the heavy gun to the floor. Swaying visibly, Corbett raised his head and stared into Simons face. Youblindstupidcunnnt, he whispered, a bubble of blood popping at the corner of his mouth. His final assessment completed, the burly detective smiled and then toppled backwards into the open-hole, his body landing seconds later with a sickening thud. Simon! Penny screamed. He was going to kill me; it was him it was him! she wailed, the

523 words stumbling forth in a stammering torrent He killed them all, even sergeant Lowson! Simon dropped the revolver and limped into the small room, its cramped interior now filled with smoke and the smell of cordite. He works for those bastards in the school of Night, hes Portinaris agent, Si! Hes a fucking mason. He killed Lowson? Simon asked, bemused by the information. Yes, Penny sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. As Simon drew closer, she noticed the blood dripping down his face Oh, Simon, look at the state of you. Yeeaahhe got me pretty good earlier in the car, he admitted. You dont look so good yourself, what did that bastard do to you? Penny offered a crooked smile Lets say he didnt like my positive attitude, she said. Oh, baby, look at your eye, and, Jesus, your lip, Simon whispered. Its nothing compared to you, we need to get you to a hospital. Simon pointed at the open trap door. Not before Ive seen whats at the bottom of this goddam hole. Simon, we need to get you an ambulance straight away, Penny insisted. The ambulance can wait; Im looking down that goddam hole. So if you would be so kind as to carry me over to it, I would be most obliged. Giving up the argument, Penny took Simons arm and together they made their way to the open trap door. How did Corbett find it? asked Simon. He knew it was here all along, Si. He stamped on the floor and found it as soon as we arrived, but he didnt want to get his hands dirty, so he took off my handcuffs. Thats when I broke his nose and he gave me these. Penny indicated to her injured face. Luckily, thats when you arrived.

524 So, Corbett was a member of the School of Night? Yes, you were right, Portinari did set up Uncle Nicolas; they had the rings all along. The Order has been trying to decrypt the cipher for centuries. Corbett explained it all in the car on the way here. Until one day good old Uncle Nicolas comes along and cracks the code. Be careful, warned Penny as they approached the open trap door. Peering inside, the light of the hurricane lamp revealed a flight of rough stone steps that disappeared into inky darkness. We need a torch, this thing is useless, said Simon. I saw one in Corbetts car, said Penny. Ill go and get it; you stay here and dont fall in. Penny returned a few moments later brandishing a long torch by its black rubber handle. See told you, cops always have one, she said pressing the small button on the torches side. Pointing into the hole, the bright beam illuminated a steep staircase that finished at a rough stone floor. Lying at the base of the staircase was the bloody corpse of the Detective Inspector Corbett, his right arm twisted grotesquely behind the back of his neck. Penny bit her lip. So the local legends are right, she said. Theres only one way to find out, Simon announced. Taking the torch from Penny, Simon made his way to the hole and turned around. Holding onto the edge of the open trap door, he began to descend the steep granite steps. Be careful it looks slippery, Penny cautioned. Simon grinned, his teeth stained with blood. Dont worry, baby, Im like a mountain goat. Pointing the torch ahead of him, Simon made his way down, counting each step as he went. Upon reaching number thirteen, he arrived at the bottom. Stepping over Corbetts body, he pointed the torch back up at Pennys anxious face. Okay, its slippery but pretty safe if you go slowly, Ill point the light at the steps as you come down. And bring the Hurricane lamp it might help.

525 Taking the lamp, Penny slowly made her way down the stairs until she and Simon were both safely reunited. Ahead of them lay the entrance to a long tunnel. Shining the torch, Simon illuminated slick moss covered walls. Sweeping the ceiling, he revealed the stubby fingers of stalactites, water dripping from their tips like milky dewdrops. Its a priest run, said Penny, her eyes wide with amazement, just like it says in the local legends. Where Priests Flee, Simon added aiming the torch directly down the tunnel. Wait, Si, my lace is undone. Penny lowered the Hurricane lamp and bent to retie her shoelace. How long do you think it is? she asked looking ahead into the murk. How far is it to St Marys the Virgin? About half a mile, roughly, Penny estimated. Simon pointed the torch. Well I cant see the end, so it must be pretty long. Okay Im done. Penny got to her feet. Ill leave the lamp here, Si; itll be a beacon for us on the way back. Following the torchlight, they made their way down the dank passageway, its roof scant inches above their heads. Every few metres they found themselves forced to duck as they passed a particularly long stalactite, while, beneath their feet, its stalagmite sibling caused them to slip and stumble on its smooth slippery surface. I still cant see the end, said Simon. Pennys eyes darted to the ceiling As long as the going stays like this, I think I can manage, she said. If it starts to get any smaller or the roof looks like it might cave-in, Im going back. It doesnt look like it gets any smaller. Simon waved the beam around the circumference of the tunnel. See, it looks okay. Slowly they continued along the passage, its dank aroma filling their nostrils, their feet squelching on the thick carpet of sodden sphagnum matting the floor. Penny suddenly noticed the torchs wavering beam.

526 Its getting really cold, are you alright, Simon? she said anxiously. Im kinda dizzy, baby, but Ill be okay, he reassured her. Wait, what is that? He pointed the torch straight ahead. Is that something? Looks like something, Penny confirmed. Lets hope it isnt just a dead end. No, no, look its a door. I think youre right. As they approached, the torch light revealed a large wooden door. Simon reached out a trembling hand for the rusty iron loop that formed the door handle and with a creak from its ancient hinges the door swung open. Sweeping the torch in a wide arc, he revealed a small stone cubicle, its walls slimy with moss and lichen. At the centre of the cubicle stood a rotting wooden table, in the middle of the table was a large black wooden chest. Is this for real? Simon whispered. Is this what the School of Night was searching for? He turned to Penny. Nicolas was so close, Penny; just one goddam cottage away. Im too scared to open it, you do it, Penny said looking balefully at the wooden chest. Crap, it even looks like a pirates treasure chest. Okay lets get this over with, Simon announced decisively. Limping into the small cell, he pointed the torch at the wooden trunk and yanked at its rusted metal hasp. Grabbing hold of the trunks lid, he prised it open, his eyes wide like saucers, and gazed into an empty box. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the confined space of the cell, its roar echoing off the walls and reverberating up and down the tunnel. Simon felt a red-hot fist punch him in the small of his back and he slammed into the table. His legs buckling, he fell to his knees dragging the empty trunk with him as he collapsed to the floor. Dropping the torch as he fell, it clattered to the wet stone, where it bounced a number of times

527 and then came to rest. Lifting his head, Simon could see the silhouette of a figure standing in the doorway, a pair of grubby trainers visible in the torches beam. Bending down, the figure picked up the torch by its black rubber handle and placed it beneath their chin, its light distorting their features like some grotesque Halloween lantern. Boo! they exclaimed.

Chapter thirty-six

"Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me. Anthony & Cleopatra Act V, scene (ii) lines 282-83

Penny? Simon choked through a mouthful of blood. Penny lowered the torch from her face Well duh! she sneered. Whod you think it was that prick Corbett? Not Portinari, Puh-leeese, hes too busy trying to stay in the closet. Penny... Simon coughed. Is that all youve got to say, Simon, after all of my efforts? It wasit was you.allalong? Speak up, sweetie, youre getting a little faint, and my ears are still ringing. Penny waved Corbetts gun in the air This heavy thing was a lot louder than I anticipated. It wasit was you? Yep, all of it, she admitted proudly. Dr. Harrison, Paul, Ivy, poor Sergeant Lowson, but not of

528 course dear old Detective Inspector Corbett, I didnt kill him that was you, Simon, if you remember? Just after you kidnapped me from the hotel and forced me at gunpoint into the street. Where did you get that gun, by the way? Oh, it doesnt really matter I suppose in the end it just makes it all the more believable. Anyway, lets see, okay, you had your gun and forced me from the hotel, but I managed to set off the fire alarm in an attempt to get away. It did no good, of course, and you got me outside where we met the valiant Detective Inspector Corbett. I begged you to stop, but you forced us both to get into his car and drove us back to Lordship Manor. Once there, you forced us from the vehicle and made us open the trap door you had discovered days earlier. The valiant Detective Inspector tried to stop you, and in the struggle, you shot him. Of course, I jolly well tried my best, but you savagely beat me, before forcing me down into this horrid tunnel. Fortunately for me our heroic Detective Inspector wasnt quite dead and somehow he managed to crawl along, and with a last ditch effort, shoot youOr something like that; at least thats what Ill tell the police. Course Ill have to drag Corbett all the way back along the tunnel. Penny sighed. Do you see, Simon, what an awful lot of effort this has all turned out to be? AndNicolas andHarriet? Simon whispered. Penny raised her eyebrows Funny story, she said. I was going to off them, but my car really did breakdown that stormy night, and by the time I arrived in the morning Detective Inspector Reagan was already snooping around. Then he went and found that frickin suicide note, after I had already prepared a perfectly good one myself. Ththe SchoolOfNight? Oh, thats all complete nonsense, Simon, they really are just a bunch of sad old sods who like to dress-up and raise money for charity. You didnt believe all that rubbish about secret assassins did you? Uncle Nicolasffound pamphlets So what, theres all sorts written about the freemasons, most of it total bollocks. Then again,

529 maybe they do have a secret order of assassins, who knows. But if they have, they had nothing to do with this. Sad Sad? Penny repeated. Its heart breaking, Simon, but youre fading, she chided. Sadlier Oh, Ralph Sadlier, right, sorry. Yes, well, it is a bit complicated, and I dont know if youve got the time really. Penny considered for a moment and then came to a conclusion. Then again the least I can do is furnish you with some kind of explanation, she said amiably. But, where to begin? She looked up at the ceiling and scratched the side of her head with the barrel of Corbetts gun. Okay, well, let me just say, this isnt the first occasion Ive been involved in, err, somewhat unsavoury activities. Actually, my first murder was about fourteen years ago, fourteen years and seventeen days, to be exact. I was thirteen and euphemistically referred to as an early developer. You know the type, first period at eleven, boobs by the age of twelve. I didnt flaunt it, you understand, not like some of the slags in my year. At that age, I was still a shy, naive little girl. Anyway, this kid in my class, Darren Constance was his name, everyone used to call him Cuntstance. Not to his face, of course, because hed kill you, he was the worst bully in our school, twice the size of the other boys. He had a moustache when he was ten for gods sake, Penny shook her head at the memory. So, dear old Darren takes quite a shine to moi and one day decides to follow me home through the park. You can guess the rest; he grabbed me, threw me into some bushes and began to rip at my clothes. He punched me in the stomach and winded me, before throwing me to the ground, and then he got on top of me and began to pull up my dress. I just went limp and didnt utter a sound as he unbuckled his trousers and got out his tiny little cock. Shoving it between my legs, he began to thrust-up against me as he slobbered into my face. Luckily, my would-be rapist was still relatively inexperienced and he only managed to force

530 his dick between my locked thighs; still this was enough, and eventually he spilled his filthy muck and got off. Penny fell silent and her eyes narrowed. Thing is, she whispered, her voice both intimate and cunning, he made the mistake of turning his back, and as he did up his trousers I grabbed for the plastic shopping bag inside my coat pocket. My mum always wrapped my sandwiches up in one and after lunch, Id put it in my pocket and take it home for the next day, anyway, I sat up and flung the bag over his head, pulling down hard on the airtight plastic. He waved his arms about, but I bunched in tight and wrenched on the bag with all my strength. Eventually he began to tire and collapsed, but I kept the bag tightly wrapped around his head as he fell and then sat on his back for several minutes until I was sure he was dead. At that moment, a calm voice spoke to me. Looking around I could see no one hidden in the undergrowth, yet still the voice remained. It told me, in a kind, yet insistent tone, to undo Darrens trousers and pull them over his ankles. Without questioning the instruction, I unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them below his knees. Now remove his pants and pull them down, the voice said. Reaching out my hand, I tugged at his stained y-fronts until they were resting just above the roll of his trousers. Now put his hand over his penis, the voice instructed, and leave the plastic bag over his head. Following the orders to the letter, I arranged his corpse, brushed off my dress, and stepped out of the bushes onto the path. Penny looked down, she seemed confused, as if still expecting to find a torn and muddy school uniform. Reaching out her hand, she touched her jeans, and began rolling the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. They found him a few days later, and of course no mention was made of the plastic bag, this was years before the internet made autoerotic asphyxiation fashionable youve got to remember, so, the headmaster brought us all into a special assembly and told us Darren had had a tragic accident. No one really cared as we all hated him anyway, but as I sat there in the crowded hall, the voice came back. Do you see? it whispered. No one is watching. As long as youre careful, no one is ever watching. And do you know what that means? it asked full of sly malevolence. No. I replied aloud, drawing looks from those around me, and the voice

531 answered. It means you can do anything you want. Youremad Simon whispered. With terrifying speed, Penny stepped forwards and planted her trainer into Simons stomach. Simon doubled up from the blow and she grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back violently. Dont you EVER call me THAT! she screamed into his upturned face, her lips speckled with saliva, her emerald-green eyes demented with fury. You piece of fucking FILTH! Penny released her grip and took a step backwards, leaving Simon to wrap himself into a foetal position his laboured breath sucking noisily across his teeth. Eventually, he uncurled from his ball and slowly dragged himself across to the ancient table, propping himself up against one of its legs. There he rested his face ashen and slick with sweat. Penny stood in silence and watched his progress. You dont sound too good, Simon, she eventually concluded, all traces of rage now gone. Perhaps you should have a little nap? Fuck you. Simon hissed his voice thick with blood. Yes, you did, Penny winked. But, Im still telling my life story, well get to that later, she promised. So where was I? Oh, yes, Id popped my cherry, so to speak, with Darrens death, but I was still technically a virgin. I decided it was a bit weird to have murdered someone but not actually had a proper shag. I mean, call me old fashioned, but. Penny rolled her eyes comically. Anyway, I met this guy at some party and got him drunk and dragged him upstairs. God he was shit. I mean really, such a disappointment for a girl, and, youll be glad to know I didnt kill him, although god knows I should have, just to save some other female having to suffer his fumbling performance, anyway, now I was sixteen and no longer a nave innocent. I had the body of a young woman and the mind of a wolf. Jesus, Si, you dont know how easy you are as a gender. Once I understood the inherent power my looks gave me, I played you like the single-celled organisms you are. A flash of nipple here, a glimpse of thigh and, oh the things I could get you to do. As if sucking a dick is such a big deal, but for the promise of such delights, I could make you

532 do anything. Beg, little puppy, roll over, thats a good boy, do you want a treat? Penny mimicked throwing an imaginary stick at Simon. Do you want mummy to tug at your little willy until you go to sleep? she sneered. And dont think youre any different Mister high and mighty doctor; the first time we met you spent more time looking at my tits than you did my face. God, you were so easy. you, Simon hissed. Penny smiled slyly. Yes, youve already said that; youre beginning to repeat yourself, Simon. Perhaps its something to do with your age, she reflected. Then again, for a middle-aged man youre not a bad shag. You certainly know your cunnilingus, and believe me thats a rare skill in this day and age; most of you go at it with all the enthusiasm of chowing down on a bowl of cold sick. But you, I thought you were trying to get back to the womb. Penny laughed. Dont get me wrong; Im not complaining. Jesus, Simon, youre leaking onto my shoes. She looked down at the growing pool of blood now only inches from her trainers and took a couple of steps back. Im always amazed at how much blood there is in the average human being, she commented idly. Anyway, I was growing up, discovering the ways of the world, and my place in it. Whatas amurderingsociopath? Pennys face darkened. I warned you, Simon, she whispered. Dont make me get upset; I was telling a story, the least you could do is show the common courtesy to listen. Simon exhaled a long ragged breath. Bemy guest, he said lifting his blood soaked hand in a spasmodic wave. Bemyguest. Thank you, so, I was at Uni, and there I met Ruben. He was doing a degree in computer programming and we met at a party. He liked my tits and I liked his drugs, it was a match made in heaven. Eventually, we both graduated and moved to Crouch End, where he dealt skunk and I spent his money. I killed his best friend, Perry, when he came on a little too strong one afternoon Ruben was out, I spiked his drink with crushed up microdots and suggested we go for a little stroll in the local park. A flash of thigh, and he was trotting off like a good little boy, with me Fuck

533 close behind. I could tell when the acid was kicking-in because he started to go pale and sweaty, he tried to front it out, but I took his hand and led him into the bushes that skirted the small boating lake. He staggered along, and I told him all the naughty things I was going to do to him, as I pulled him into the undergrowth. Once out of sight, I led him to the waters edge and got him onto his knees, facing the water. He was burbling something about swirly-colours and pointing at the oily surface of the lake when I shoved him in. He struggled, but my weight was on top of him, and I held his head under the green, scum-filled pool until eventually he stopped moving. Getting off his body, I crawled onto the muddy bank and sat looking at his floating corpse. At that moment, the voice came back. It told me to wait until I was slightly dry, then climb through the bushes and emerge further down the path. Then it told me to go to the nearest charity shop and purchase a coat, there was one on the High Street it informed me, a fact I had previously not known. Listening to its wise council, I waited twenty minutes and then left the lakes side. When I got home, Ruben remarked on my new coat, and I told him Id bought it at a charity shop. Then I went and had a bath; I didnt like to lie to Ruben. Please, PPennycall, an ambulance Simon begged through chattering teeth. Theres stillsometime Are you going to let me finish my story our not? Penny demanded. Because the more you interrupt, the longer it will take, and then it will be too late for your stupid little ambulance to save you, she said petulantly. Please..pp Simon stammered. Hush, simple-Simon, Penny soothed. Everything will be all right, she said in a childish singsong. Now where was I? Oh, yes, Perry. Well, when the autopsy discovered how much LSD was in his bloodstream, the police concluded he fell in while he was tripping. Every one agreed he always did like his drugs. Still, you shouldve seen his mother at the funeral; she was distraught, poor woman. I did all I could to console her, of course, but she was heart broken. A few months later she stepped in front of a tube train, terrible really. Penny sighed. Anyway, a

534 couple of uneventful years go by, Ruben deals weed and I get a crappy job as a freelance reporter. I wouldve been about twenty-three, and it was at this point my mind turned to the little matter of my dear old Uncle Nicolas. I hadnt seen him for many years, but after my poor mother and father died in that tragic house fire, I felt the need to get back in touch with my remaining family. Penny paused and began idly stroking her chin with the barrel of Corbetts gun. Actually, thats something of a lie, she admitted. To tell you the truth, Id rarely stopped thinking about good old Uncle Nicolas; not since the day he ruined my life. Simon took a deep breath and lifted his head. Did he buy youthe wrong Barbie at chr istmasss? he hissed. Ha-ha-ha, my, we are still the witty one, Penny trilled. But then you always did view him through rose-tinted spectacles, she said with contempt. You were his golden boy, the legendary Doctor Simon Fry MD. God how he used to bore us with your fucking exploits! Pennys face wrinkled in disgust. So youve saved a couple of babies, big deal. Didnt you ever consider the irony of the abortion clinic next door, where they were sucking them out with a vacuum before chucking them in the incinerator? Christ, I dont know how many times we had to endure the reading of your tedious letters, but dont get me wrong, thats not the reason I wanted to kill Nicolas that is a far bigger crime. Okay, Simon! Penny kicked Simons legs. Wake up; its not time to die, just yet, so wake up. Because, believe me, you are going to want to hear this next bit. Im awake youcrazybitch, Simon goaded. Pennys eyes became slits and her body tensed, You really are trying to test my patience, arent you? she said calmly. But, seeing as youre a blood relative, I suppose Ill let it pass. Okay, as youre awake, heres some family history you might not be too familiar with, it is a tale of four brothers, Sebastian, Peter, Phillip and the eldest sibling, Nicolas. Philip had a son, which he named Simon, Peter had a son, which he named Paul, Sebastian had a daughter, which he named Penny, and Nicolas had no children at allWow! That rhymed. Penny smiled and shook her head seemingly amazed at her own verbal ingenuity.

535 Now, heres where it gets interesting, remember your mother, the pretty lady who drowned when you were a little boy? Well, cue drum roll, she was having an affair. Bull...shit Simon sneered. No, actually, its not bullshit, Simon, it happens to be a fact. Your mother was having an affair and your father discovered her illicit liaison. Thats right; he found out. Now, obviously, he wasnt very pleased, but unlike most men, he found it in his heart to forgive her. Unfortunately, she also became pregnant. Bull...shit So you keep saying, but just because you cuss at something, doesnt make it any the less true. Yes, Simon, your mother grew pregnant and your father decided on an abortion. Why do you think they went on that long-weekend to Devon while you stayed with Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Harriet? So she could get rid of the little bastard inside her. Fuuck youyou fucking crazy bitch. Oh just be quiet, Simon, and listen, you may learn something. Your mother had an abortion and that is why she drowned. The surgeon screwed up and nicked her perineum; she died of internal bleeding. Ive seen the coroners report, the real one, not the one Uncle Nicolas had fabricated by one of his medical cronies. Of course, your father was devastated, not least of all because he was having an affair himself at the time, with, cue second drum rollnone other thanTa-da, my mother! Simon shook his head. I dont believe you, he whispered. Thats not really my problem, Penny said casually. Im just telling you the facts, how you deal with them is your business, and the facts are your father was screwing my mother. Now, as is the way in these tangled webs we weave, my mother also fell pregnant, but she refused to have an abortion, convinced she could tell my father it was his. After all, she had fucked his brother, how different could any child be. And nine months later, voila, I was born. Simon looked at Penny. Whichmakes us?

536 Penny smiled and nodded her head. Yes, thats right, now youre finally paying attention, she said with vicious triumph. Were not cousins, Simon, were brother and sister.

Chapter Thirty-Seven
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. . . . Antony And Cleopatra Act 2, scene 2, 232237

Penny moved her arm and illuminated Simons grey sweating face. He was lying tucked into a foetal position, his hands pressed into the gaping wound in his stomach, the thick dark blood oozing its way between his greasy fingers. His lips stretched back exposing his teeth in a rictus grin and his body shook with convulsions. Can you taste the blood in the air? Yes, it makes me feel sick. You sound like the little girl I saved all those years ago, have the courage of your convictions. But he didnt need to die, we couldve just scared him. Scared him, what do you think we have been doing for these past days? We have thrown him beneath a moving train and watched as he nearly fell from the London Eye, did you really believe all this was to scare him?

537 He survived, he deserves to Deserves, deserves? Deserves to go back to his failing marriage, deserves to inherit a small fortune, deserves to live in a house that is rightfully ours? He deserves nothing. No, youre wrong, we, he could He knows too much and he will not keep his mouth shut. He deserves nothing. But Idont wantI What is it girl? Stop youre mewling; there will be time for tears when it is time for tears. Yes, butI think, I Ah, I see. Do not sully me with your infantile notions, discard your misplaced affections and remind yourself of all that we have achieved. He does not love you. He is a man. Will you really sacrifice yourself on the altar of your own vanity? He does not love you. He is married. You are young. He is a man. He does not love you. But you might be wrong. I was alive before this solar system was born and I will exist long after it has perished. I have witnessed the birth of gravity and the first beat of time. I rule beyond creation, destruction, the past, the present, the future and all finite things. I have a thousand titles. I am Bhowani Devi, The Destroyer, Sati, The All-Pervasive, Rudrani, The Black Mother, Parvati, Chinnamastika and The Mother. I am Kamakshi, The Black Goddess, and Uma, and Absolute Night, and Menakshi and The Terrible. I am Himavati, Night of Destruction, Kumari, The Black One, Black Time, Mighty Time, Dark Mother, Kali the Destroyer and Treasure House of Compassion. Iplease I know who you are. Yet you still doubt me? No, its not thatI Desist; we have wasted enough time, finish your story and we can be on our way. II cant remember what I was saying. You were telling him about your mother. Perhaps when you utter the words you might remember But

538 why we embarked upon this journey. Now hurry, we still have much to do. Penny lowered the torch from Simons face and took a deep breath. The voice was right. It was always right. Burying her doubts, she cleared her throat and continued. Okay, well, I was telling you about my mother, the woman who slept with your father, remember? Simon didnt answer. So, mother had her baby, and of course it was a healthy little girl whom she named Penelope. And Penny grew up in a happy and loving home; until one day, when she was five years old, her wicked Uncle Nicolas got very, very drunk, and had an argument with the man she supposed her daddy. Awful things were said, secrets betrayed, for you see, your father had been foolish enough to go to his older brother, Nicolas, for advice, and taking his wise council, had let my mother keep the baby. I suppose after the tragedy with your mother, they werent too hot on abortions. Good news for me; bad news for my mother; because wicked Uncle Nicolas wasnt able to keep his big trap shut, and for some reason, seven years later, he thought it wise to scream the truth of my biological inheritance straight into my fathers face. Father refused to believe it at first, but it gnawed away at him, until finally he forced my mother to have a blood test. When he received the results, vast shutters came down, never to rise again. He could no longer bear anything to do with me. Each time I came into the room, I would remind him of my mothers betrayal. Each time he looked into my emerald-green eyes, he could only see those of his brother reflected back at him. Mother tried to make me understand, but she was a broken woman. She eventually gave up her job and began to drink heavily, spending her days staring at the television. My father simply ignored her; as long as she was still capable of making him food, he went to work and went to bed without a word. I soon adjusted to our filthy house and my dysfunctional parents, and by the age of seven I was making my own meals and even ironing my own school uniform. You see, I

539 lied to you about my mum making me sandwiches for school, I did it myself, like I did everything else in my life. Your father left the country just days before I was born, so you avoided the fall out, and, of course, Uncle Nicolas conveniently forgot to mention it in any of his letters, so you see, Simon, you have no idea. Simon lifted his head. Bbuut we What, fucked, screwed, made love? What can I say? Cousin, brother, what difference does it make, this wasnt about you, remember? This was about me and what I want. Andwhat do...you want? Tell him child. Penny smiled. Revenge, silly, pure, cold naked revenge, she said. Its one of the reasons I took up my mothers surname, Marshall, I wanted nothing to do with this filthy family. I wanted to show the world she somehow still existedI loved her. Penny fell silent. Oh mother, why did you have to shatter so easily? Because, little one, she was not a warrior like you. But, what if I dont want to be a warrior, what then? You have no choice in the matter, as we all have no choice. You are a warrior. Now continue if you must, but hurry we have lingered here long enough. Penny sighed. He deserves to know. Do not anger me child. Im going to tell him anyway. I wanted revenge and so I devised a little plan. First, I had a fake suicide note and a will made, naming me as the sole benefactor obviously. I was going to let myself in with the keys Id had made, overdose Nicolas and Harriet, leave the suicide note by their bed, and then put the new will in a drawer in his desk in his study. Slipping quietly back out, Id turn up again in the morning and become distraught upon hearing the devastating news. As it turned out, I had to do

540 some swift improvising. Luckily, you were into pursuing Nicolas researches, so it was easy enough to rope you in on the treasure hunt. You plantedtherings? Not only planted them, but also had them made and inscribed with the cipher. The fact Nicolas had them carbon-dated means nothing when you know I delivered the results of the tests, but not until after Id got the little shit Sinclair to knock-up some forged documents. Give a scientific name and some headed notepaper: no one asks too many questions. You remember Sinclair, the shifty looking Librarian we met at the School of Night. Black hair, dandruff, you remember? I first met him at Uni where he was a teacher in the History department. Penny paused. He was quite useful overall, she reflected. Despite his dreadful personal habits; especially as he ran a small vanity-publishing agency that scammed idiots for books theyd never see printed. I think he murdered his wife, you know. He was up for assault and battery charges which shed filed against him, but a couple of weeks before the trial, she had a tragic-accident on the ski-slopes of France. Mhh, forgive moi for having a suspicious nature, but that sounds like something, well, like something Id do. Penny grinned. Anyway, some years after leaving Uni, I was doing a job for the Guardian when I bumped into Sinclair in Clerkenwell. He invited me for a drink and over the course of the evening told me he was now working for the School of Night as their Chief Librarian. He wanted to get into my knickers, of course, but there was noway that slimy perv was getting anywhere near me. To tell you the truth, I think he got off on the frustration. I even caught the little shit going through my knicker draw. Hes still got the scar from that one or would have if he wasnt currently a pile of ashes. Despite his seamier side, his knowledge was invaluable in getting the right bait to trap Uncle Nicolas. You see, I wanted revenge, but I still had to decide upon the most appropriate method. I knew I wanted to humiliate the hateful old bastard and show the world what a fraud he was, but how best to achieve this. Fitting revenge, I realized, would be to make a mockery of his lifes work, to destroy his precious bubble, his so-called reputation as a historian.

541 So, when Sinclair, in a bid to impress me probably, told me about Ralph Sadlier, his links to Lordship Manor and the pamphlets accusing the School of Night of harbouring a secret order of assassins, it was as if the pieces of a very large jigsaw were finally coming into place. The rest was an amazing bit of fluke that Ruben found on the internet. Id already explained to him the stuff Sinclair had revealed, and my plan to scam Nicolas out of his house, Ruben thought it was a great idea. Consequently, he began to trawl the web for anything he could find on Ralph Sadlier. One night he came across a message on a genealogy website from someone researching the Sadlier family. This nutter claimed Hamnet Sadlier had murdered William Shakespeare and written the plays. Ruben called me into the front room whooping with excitement, and as he thrust the printout under my nose, I instantly understood its potential. Over the next few months, we began to weave our little conspiracy around the Sadlier family and William Shakespeare. Discovering the various rumours concerning Elizabeth I, I suggested the notion that Sadlier and Elizabeth had a child together and then fostered it onto the Shakespeare family. Ruben thought it was a winner and we soon added more and more fantastic elements to the tale. We changed the onus of the original blog from Hamnet to Ralph Sadlier because of his links to Lordship Manor and our family. Sadlier really did leave the house to Edmund Fry in his will so we ran with that fact. To add a bit of spice, I commissioned Sinclair to manufacture a fake diary using a cover from a Tudor bible we bought in an auction and some blank sheets torn from the pages of documents in the British Library. Eventually, we had enough to make a convincing fake, and using a recipe for ink from the period; Sinclair began to write Edmund Frys account of Shakespeares true lineage. I must say he did a fantastic job, for a twat, certainly good enough to fool Nicolas and Harrison. Next, we discovered the fact Shakespeare left money in his will for five gold rings, and Ruben, being a big Tolkien fan, insisted we add them in to the story. I mentioned it to Sinclair and he suggested we inscribe something cryptic on the inside of the rings, so I went home and made up a verse. Ruben said it was too obvious if it was in English, so why not use a cipher. I told you he was a computer-programmer. Anyway, I went back to Sinclair and

542 he thought about it, before coming up with the obscure form of Gematria hed found in Agrippas thrilling page-turner. Obviously, I then had to adapt the verse somewhat, so theyd fit the numerical cipher, but eventually we created The Shakespeare Cypher as Ruben liked to refer to it. To be honest the verse on the rings never really had to make much sense, just as long as it was enigmatic enough to keep Nicolas guessing. Then, one day, I remembered the cottages and this tunnel and thats when I came up with the lines we finally had inscribed on the rings. Just one of the many little twists and turns I devised to keep Nicolas preoccupied, dangling the carrot out of reach as he plodded along, his faithful sidekick, Dr. Leo pass the duchy Harrison, a stoned and bemused Watson to his arrogant Holmes. Together, they would slowly plough themselves under in the mass of lies and half-truths I had carefully prepared. I knew I would eventually kill Nicolas of course, but I wanted to play the game until I decided it should end. Penny lifted Corbetts heavy gun and stared at the dull black metal. I didnt even bother having the fifth ring made, as I knew Nicolas would be dead before I would need it. That was my final twist of the knife, just in case I died in a real accident before I had completed my mission. Can you imagine, after all my planning and effort? So I deliberately made sure there were only four rings, thus, in the event of my demise, Nicolas would spend the rest of his life searching for something that didnt exist! Penny laughed. You see, even from beyond the grave, Id have my revengeActually, that sounded a little melodramatic, didnt it, do forgive me, but under the circumstances, I think some melodrama is not entirely out of place. So, armed with a copy of Shakespeares will, the ring, and the dairy, I went for a visit and planted them in the attic at Standon Lordship. It didnt really matter in what order Nicholas found them and after a couple of months he finally discovered the diary. I had to feign amazement of course, Jesus; Id dropped enough hints about clearing out the attic. Anyway, he was typically vociferous about his remarkable find and obviously already hooked. Course, this was something of a long game, as I intended to lead him on a merry dance, ruining his reputation with nonsense about Shakespeare and illegitimate heirs to the throne along the way.

543 Simon drew in a ragged breath. Butits all true he coughed, blood spilling from his lips. True? Penny stopped to consider Simons words. You know something, maybe it is. Maybe it is all true. Ive been thinking about that quite a lot lately, and after reading the dynamic duos book, I think you might be right, how bloody weird is that? We made it up, I know we did, The Shakespeare Cypher, the gold rings, the diary, all of it; yet maybe the nutter who wrote the blog Ruben found was actually on to something, isnt that totally brilliant! Penny began to laugh uproariously, Corbetts gun waving in the air. I thought I was ruining Uncle Nicolas career, when actually, it wouldve been his greatest triumph! Soisnt.thatenough? Penny stopped laughing and thrust the torch into Simons face. Enough? she spat with contempt. What, in the leaving your mark for posterity sense? Oh, grow-up, Simon. Sure, I could claim the discovery as my own, maybe I still will; I have all of Nicolas original files, but to be honest, who really cares? There might be a few-quid in it, but no history book can compete with some lurid, third-rate potboiler full of sex and violence. Ben Eltons a best-selling author, for fucks sake. Ben Elton! Penny shook her head sadly. No, Im not really interested. Besides, the fact its true doesnt stop my over all plan. In fact, if it is true, making sure no one ever finds out just adds that extra turn of the screw. Uncle Nicolas greatest triumph goes forever undiscovered. I like that idea. The thought of it will keep me warm on those long winter evenings. Portinariheknows Portinari, Penny dismissed. He knows nothing. I told you hes just Branson-lite, a jumped-up little yuppie who happens to run a freemasonic Order. Dont let the mumbo-jumbo fool you, he simply uses the organisation to further his business empire. Why do you think half its members are multi-millionaires and media-types, not to mention top cops and High Court judges? Okay, hes up to his neck in corruption, hardly surprising as he is a successful capitalist scumbag, although, Ive got to admit the stuff Haries found was interesting. I managed to persuade him to

544 give me his duplicate-files just before I paralysed him and set fire to his bed. I might use them at a later date if I need some extra cash, Im sure Portinari wouldnt want them to fall into the wrong hands. So you see, Simon, Ive come out rather well in all of this, especially when you consider Ive been largely winging it for the last ten days. Take for instance the tube incident. After Id shoved the girl and you both tumbled onto the rails, I thought you were a goner, but, oh, no, somehow you manage to survive. Seriously, I was lost for words. When I saw you in the hospital with just that little bump on your head, I didnt know whether to laugh or cry. Then when I sent the video clip of Harrisons death, by the way did you like my Satan voice? Penny asked proudly. Its just a simple voice-scrambler Haries found for me. Thats a point, she reflected, I forgot to mention how I first met Haries. Oh, dear, this is all getting very complicated. I do hope youre keeping up. You see, I was doing an assignment for some scummy Redtop and they were using him to collect info on a premiere-league footballer and his dodgy sex life. Haries took an instant liking to my breasts, and I soon discovered just how much he knew about surveillance and surveillance-equipment. Naturally, when I decided to set my plan in motion, I remembered the dodgy Private Dick and got him on-board. He supplied me with the virus I installed on Nicolas laptop. Poor old Detective Sergeant Lowson, he merely triggered the programme when he pressed save. Dont worry, the police wont find a thing; the virus effectively shreds the computers hard drive. Anyway, after the incident on the Underground, there you were clambering around the London Eye, and this time I was sure youd had it. To tell you the truth, I wasnt sure if youd take the bait. Why do you think I had my back turned, so you couldnt see it was me talking to you on the mobile obviously. Pre-recorded message and a bomb, come on Simon, its Mission Impossible for gods sake! Werent you just the teensy-weesyist bit suspicious? Luckily, being the decent humanitarian you are you couldnt stand-by and watch all those people die, not to mention little old moi. Penny blew Simon a kiss. But once again, somehow, you bloody survive. I seriously began to wonder if you were some kind of cyborg sent from the future. She laughed. Anyway, with Haries on board, I now had my own little Sadlier-style cabal.

545 Obviously, I had to reward them from time to time, but you know yourself, suck a mans dick and theyll cross-burning lakes of fire for you, and really, it is such an inconsequential act. Still, thats men for you in a nutshell, inconsequential. Penny fell silent only the sound of Simons ragged breathing filling the chamber. Tell him what I have taught you. Tell him the truth about his gender. You ask what he deserves. He deserves the truth. Penny smiled. The voice was right. The voice was always right. Just what is it with men and their penis? she shrugged. You all think its so fucking unique and special, Jesus, some of you even give it a name, when in reality its just a flap of skin that dangles between your legs. Maybe, if you used the large flap of skin between your ears more often youd be a lot less pathetic. Then thats men all over, isnt it, just because you shout the loudest, you think that means your right, when all it really means is youve got the biggest mouth. You bellow youre fucking opinions, thinking the volume somehow adds weight to your argument, yet you sound like nothing more than mewling infants. You hide behind your size and your muscles terrified of the women you supposedly adore. Yet you create gods and religions and enact statutes and laws to keep us in our place because you are so terrified. But nothing can take away that fear, nothing. Until you accept us as for what we are, you will always be bound in the vicious cycle of love based upon domination and misogyny. He is the man-child. He is small and puny and he cannot make life, he can only destroy. But not all men are like that You speak with the voice of an infant. No, I speak with the voice of experience. Ruben wasnt like that, he wasgentle. Ruben thought nothing of taking Nicolass house and fortune, he was prepared to destroy a man's career for the sport. He was the man-child. But I dont hate men, only some of themIwant to tell him that. You are allowing sentiment to cloud your vision. We need to leave this place and establish our

546 alibi. Penny opened her mouth before the voice could persuade her otherwise. Dont get me wrong, Simon, I love men, she said. No, truly, I do. I love the smell of their sweat. I love the stiff wiry stubble on their faces. I love the hard-knot of their muscles. I love the rough grip of their hands. I love their simple honest needs and their joy at being alive. You have gone this far, now tell him the rest. No. Tell him. Penny looked at her shoes. Tell him. All right! she shouted. Most of all I love men because I can read them like an open book, are you satisfied? Truth is often painful. You are a warrior it is your lot. Why Simon began. Why are weall like bbbooks? he managed to stammer. Penny looked down as if she had just remembered the dying man at her feet. Why are we all like books? she repeated automatically. Becausewhen wereopenw.w.werered Penny laughed a dry hollow laugh and blinked back tears. She was a warrior. Pain was her lot. Finish your tale time is short. Im going to, just let me think! Penny screamed. Leave me alone for a minute and then well go. Her angry voice echoed down the tunnel and she fell silent. She was a warrior. Pain was her lot. Penny swallowed hard and continued with her story. Perhapsperhaps it couldve been different, but once Id started the momentum began to build until it seemed beyondmy ENOUGH! You will not abase yourself in front of this man-child. Have you forgotten our agonies

547 so soon? Continue with your tale so you might remember. No, I dont want to; lets just goyou said we should go. Finish your tale; you need to hear it as much as the man-child. Lets just leave him and go. FINISH. Penny flinched at the command. Her chest felt heavy and she found it hard to swallow, yet she knew the voice was right. The voice was always right. I think I mentioned Ruben was a computer programmer, she said quietly, and he soon got me up to scratch on my IT skills. I learnt to hack deep inside the programmes, and with Haries connections and equipment, I presently had Nicolas house bugged. I even sent him an email, which surreptitiously installed a Trojan onto his hard drive that notes every keystroke and relays the information straight to my laptop. Every word Nicolas typed, I was able to read, not to mention using his laptops built-in camera and microphone whenever he was online, which was twenty-four-seven after I installed a modem for him. You see, Lowson was right, you can bug someone using their laptop, isnt technology wonderful? It was all going swimmingly, trouble is, unlike the other two reprobates, Ruben had something of a conscience, and he began to realise this might all end in something more serious than ruining an old mans reputation and scamming him out of his house. He started to drop very unsubtle hints and generally became very oversensitive. Penny nodded her head sadly. To be honest, I think he was more than a little suspicious concerning the circumstances of the tragic deaths of my mother and father, she admitted. And well he might be, seeing as I murdered them both. I let myself in, as I still had a key. I knew I had to deal with my father first as my mother would be too drunk to hear anything anyway. Creeping up the stairs, I entered his bedroom; his loud rhythmic snoring informing me he was fast asleep. Now heres the clever bit...Woo hoo! Simon! Penny waved Corbetts gun in his direction. Are you still with us? Simons hands pressed into the ragged exit wound in his abdomen, warm blood leaking through

548 his fingers to join the small lake in which he now lay. He knew he would be dead soon. Strangely, the thought no longer terrified him. His body no longer shook and the throbbing pain was growing weaker, more distant, as an icy numbness inched slowly up his body. The light from Pennys torch brought him back to the world, and lifting his head, he looked directly at his sister, her body a faint silhouette behind the torches merciless beam. Lowering the torch, she brought the light up to her face. Staring into her dead, shark-like eyes, Simon knew she was quite insane. Youwont get away with it, he challenged. Youll mamake a mistakePeoplepeople like youalwaysdo, he sneered. People like me? Penny asked falling for the bait. YeaahFUCKING INSANE, HOMICIDAL, PSYCHOPATHIC BITCHES! Simon screamed with every last reserve left in his body. Penny visibly flinched at the outburst and took a step back. Yknow, people likeYou DONT YOU DIE, DONT YOU FUCKING DIE! Penny screeched her body now a blur as she rushed at Simon. Slamming the side of the torch into his upturned face, he fell sideways under the impact of the blow and lay prostrate on the stone floor. Jesusbaby, he gurgled his voice thick with blood. Was it somesomethin I said? Penny stood over Simons body Corbetts gun pointing directly at his head, her index finger flexing on the trigger. You see, there is your love. Now do you understand? He detests you, he loathes you, he fears you, he does not love you. Hehe doesntlove mehe fears me That is how it should be. You are a warrior. But I You fooled yourself and now the scales have fallen from your eyes.

549 Yes youre right, he doesnt love mehe never did. He is man-child, he does not know how to love, only how to spread his seed. The voice was right. The voice was always right. Penny laughed bitterly and dropped the weapon to her side. Taking a couple of steps back, she stood and contemplated Simon, her face a mask of contempt. Wooahthat wasintense, he whispered. Youre lucky, Simon, Penny said controlling her emotions with great effort. WeI need you with only the one bullet-hole, otherwise the story wont work. Thas me, Simon moaned lifting his blood soaked hands. Lucky. Now youre just feeling sorry for yourself, Penny scolded all traces of anger gone. You are an incredibly lucky man, Simon; you have a successful career, a nice house, not to mention your lovely wife, Anne. How is she by the way? You havent really mentioned her much over the last few days. He is married. You are young. He does not love you. Pennys face contorted into a sneer. Jesus, it didnt take you long to forget her, did it, she taunted, all those years of marriage gone in a flash of a fanny. Tell me, Simon; is it actually biologically possible for men to be faithful? She sighed. Men, you do anger me sometimes, and in the immortal words of Dr David Banner, you really wouldnt like me when Im angry. Penny brought Corbetts gun up to her face and scratched the tip of her nose with its barrel. She had allowed her emotions to cloud her vision. She had mistaken his lust for love, but no longer. The voice had shown her the truth and she would no longer question its consul. The voice was right. The voice was always right. I think I was explaining about killing my mother and father before you so rudely interrupted. You see, if you kill someone before the fire, by placing a pillow over their head say, then the coroner will find no smoke in their lungs and as most people die of smoke inhalation thats just

550 asking for trouble. You could drug them. That works, as long as you dont overdose them of course, but theres still the chance of traces in the stomach or bloodstream, which again isnt good. However, if youre very clever, like me, you do a bit of research and discover the pressure points on the human body. You know the places where nerves and tendons bunch together. Youd be amazed at what you can do with well-placed jab of your fingers. Pain obviously, then theres temporary numbness, involuntary twitching, blindness, unconsciousness, muscular weakness, paralysis, none of them very nice. There are hundreds of pressure points on the human body, but traditionally only thirty or so are useful in combat. Course, I wasnt going to need any of those on the sleeping figure of my seventy year old father, for that particular job I used an acupuncture needle. What you do is lift it out slightly, thrust back in quickly, and rotate it anti clockwise, to reduce the Qi flow. Penny gave a demonstration of the manoeuvre with her free left hand. Now, there was a dude called Chang-San-fen back in China in the thirteenth-century, and besides being taught martial arts by his father, he also studied acupuncture and Qi gong. Acupuncture, you know thin needles that puncture specific points on the body and affect the bodies internal organs, the brain and nervous system. As a doctor, Im sure I dont have to tell you that, but what you might not know is good old Chang-San-fen was convinced that he could use this same knowledge to affect an opponents organs brain and nerve system in combat. After decades of refinement, he eventually created twelve forms, known as The Twelve Qi Disruption Forms of Wu Dan Mountain. Isnt that ingenious, and what a great name, anyway, despite the funky title, it mainly involves waving you hands around in order to disrupt your opponents Qi before you break their neck or snap their spine. However, Chang-San-fen also used acupuncture needles. Now as I explained, if you turn them anti-clockwise you traditionally reverse the Qi flow, but if you do this in combination with the right speed and pressure you can effectively shut off the flow and cause serious injury, paralysis, or even death. You see where Im going with this? Penny thrust the torches beam at Simon.

551 Exactly, if you put an acupuncture needle into the right spot, which in this case is the Glabella, the bit at the top of the nose where it meets the forehead just between the eyes, then you cause complete bodily paralysis. Granted it only works for about twenty-minutes or so, but thats more than enough time to set a building on fire, and now of course your victims paralysed but still alive and breathing, which is good for the coroners report. However, the really clever bit is the acupuncture needle itself just melts in the blaze leaving not a trace. Even youve got to admit thats bloody ingeniousSimon! Penny lightly kicked Simons legs with her foot. Are you still listening? Simon lifted his head and looked at Penny. Bababy youtalk too much.

552

Chapter Thirty Eight

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act V, scene (v) lines1928

Penny shook her head. Well thats gratitude! she exclaimed. Here I am giving you the benefit of a lifetimes experience and youre just bored. Ive a good mind to not tell you the rest of my story, she scolded. Hurry, the sight of him brings me to anger. You were righthe just used me. You are young. He is married. He used your body to erase his guilt. So there was never any other outcome? You are a warrior. He is a man-child. There was no other outcome. He ispitiful. He is a man-child. Shall we just leave him? No, we must be sure, finish your story and that should suffice.

553 Penny cleared her throat. Okay, well, seeing as your not really interested Ill try to make it brief, so, Ive killed my mother and father and Ruben has become suspicious. Perhaps it was my lack of grief. On the other hand, the fact the first thing I did with the insurance money was go skiing in the Dolomites mightve set alarm bells ringing. It doesnt matter, in the long-run poor old Ruben had to go, and one night I got him really drunk and he had a little accident on the stairs. Pennys lips trembled and she turned away from Simon. Dropping her head on her chest, her whole body seemed to deflate and she began to cry. Tragic really, she said through her tears. He was making his way to the toilet and tripped, broke his neck instantly. Ill always miss him of course. We were together for nearly eight years. Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes. It doesnt really matter; she said bitterly, what matters, is, in the end, it didnt count for that much, or certainly not enough. You are a warrior. Pain is your lot. Butbut Idont know if I can stand it. You have stood it for decades and you will stand it for decades more. You are a warrior. Pain is your lot. You know I loved him, you know Yes, I know, we loved him. And he loved us. He was a Man-child, I know! Penny hollered. He was incapable of love, I understand! Penny turned to Simon. Ruben forced my hand, Simon; you must believe that, she said, the words coming out in a tumbling rush. What he didnt understand was I truly loved him. Her face darkened. Thats another thing I can never forgive Nicholas for; he made me kill the one man I ever loved. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her eyes wide and fierce. He destroyed everything, one single man and he destroyed everything, one single man. Penny laughed. Still I repaid him in kind, although what ever I did would never really settle the

554 debt I owed him. I strung him along for years, enjoying every moment, until finally, when he began digging around in the cottages I knew it was time to bring the proceedings to an end. Oh, actually youre probably wondering how I knew about the tunnel. Well you see, Uncle Nicolas was very guilty about his drunken outburst, and so he and Aunt Harriet used to visit my house sometimes when father was at work. Obviously, being the coward he was, Nicolas would park up the road and send poor Harriet to ring on the door. I mean thats the other thing, no one ever stops to consider Harriets role in all of this, could you imagine being married to Him? Christ, you were at the bloody funeral. Harriet had a handful of relatives and friends; all the rest were there for Nicolas! She spent her life constantly subsumed beneath the weight of that old bastards arrogance and bombast. What a waste of a life, living in his shadow when in fact she was the decent one. She used to collect me and let me stay at Lordship Manor. Harriet was so kind, wed bake-cakes and blackberry-and-apple pies; she showed me how to make jam, and even our own ice cream. I tell you, Simon, they were some of the few occasions I was genuinely happy. Harriet gave me thatDuring my visits, I would often wander-off on my own and play in the grounds, including the two little cottages. They were my very own full size Wendy-houses, and Id take my dolls and stage elaborate tea parties. One day, as I was pouring Pink Ted a cup of orangesquash, I accidentally knocked over his cup and then watched in amazement as the bright liquid disappeared through a crack in the floor. Pouring more of the juice into the same spot, I watched it drain away along a thin line, before hearing it splash onto something solid some distance below. I was intrigued but said nothing to Harriet or Nicolas it was my little secret. Over the summer months, I came back again and again, and by the following year, I was strong enough to open the heavy trap door. I spent most of a morning excavating mud and dirt and then using one of Nicolas garden forks; I prised the metal tongs between the trap doors edges and pulled it open. Terrified of the dark, I didnt venture down the steps for the rest of that summer; I simply closed the trap door and covered it back over with earth and leaves. Throughout the winter, my childish imagination conjured all manner of fabulous adventures that might await me upon descending

555 into the gloom. Finally, one hot July day the following summer, I prised the trapdoor open, and steeling myself, walked down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, I discovered the tunnel. It took another couple of days before I was able to muster-up the courage to walk the whole length, but finally I decided to stop being such a baby and just do it. I had to force myself every step of the way, expecting any second for the roof to fall in, or worse, some hideous cave-dwelling creature to drag me into its lair. Finally, I made it to the wooden door and discovered this cell. If you look to your right, Penny indicated to a small hole in the wall with the torches beam. Youll see the entrance to St Marys the Virgin church, which stands directly above our heads. Sir Ralph Sadlier lies buried above us and just to our left. Obviously, this was an escape route from the church for when it got a bit iffy. When I originally found it, it was empty apart from the table; the wooden trunk was my idea. I found it in a junk shop and put it down here a few years ago. I didnt really know what to put in it, but I thought it might add a nice touch if the old-bastard actually found the trap door and made it this far. At one point, I was toying with the idea of using a small bomb triggered when you opened the lid, so you were lucky there. As I said, I never told Aunt Harriet about this place, I think at that time in my life I needed something special and exciting, something that was all my own, and after the Darren incident it went from my mind, as you can well imagine. However, when that little shit, Sinclair, mentioned the links between Ralph Sadlier and Standon Lordship suddenly an image of my old secret tunnel popped into my head and I knew it would have to be part of the story. Actually, if Im honest, Sinclair was very useful overall. For instance, using various examples of Nicolas handwriting, he forged a will naming me as sole heir to Standon Lordship. The plan, as Ive explained, was to overdose them both and place the will in Nicolas study, how was I to know Aunt Harriet had a bloody brain tumour, who could factor that in? Then Nicolas invites you over for Christmas, which you only accept for gods sake. After all these years now, you decide to come back and visit. Well, I dont have to tell you I was livid. Especially when Nicolas told me, Paul and Ivy were also invited. Can you imagine? Obviously, under the circumstances, a certain amount of improvisation was required, so I decided to bring

556 my plan to its conclusion slightly earlier than I had expected and suicide Nicolas and Harriet the night we all arrived at the Manor house, but, like I said, my bloody junk heap of a car broke down. Well after that, things went from bad to worse, and when MacIntyre read the will I realised I had no other choice but to kill all of you. Id already prepared tons of stuff about the School of Night and Freemasons for the final phase of Operation Nicolas, you saw some of it on the creepy slide show we watched in your hotel suite. I intended it to drive the old bastard over the edge, especially after following him for months and breaking into Harrisons bookshop. That was the real clincher, when Nicolas discovered the rings had been stolen you shouldve seen his face. I dont know how I stopped myself from laughing. So you see I was determined all my effort would not go to waste. I stole Harrisons notebook from his pocket in order to get us all to London, but that turned out to be a waste of time because you wanted to go and see the diary anyway. After we checked into the hotel, I had a bath if you remember. Thats when I sent Dr. Harrison the text telling him we had killed Nicolas and Harriet and he was next unless he delivered all his notes, papers and the diary. I told him to collect the stuff from his shop then go and wait back at his flat for our call, but the tenacious old bugger came to the hotel instead. Luckily, we were out or that couldve been tricky. Still, he really surprised me; I almost admired him for it. Isthat why yyou murderedhim? Simon said with contempt. No, silly, I murdered him because it added plausibility to the story. All that stuff about mysterious assassins and freemasons, it needed the icing on the cake. But youwhere withme Not the first night. We got back late after our meal and I went to bed. Except of course I didnt. I waited for you to crash out and then sneaked out. I then called Dr. Harrison using the voice scrambler and told him to meet me at the twenty-four hour Burger King in Piccadilly Circus in half an hour. As he left his flat, I approached him with a friendly wave, and before he could react, jabbed an Acupuncture needle into his face. Paralysed, I dragged him into my car and drove him

557 to my flat in Crouch End. The rest you watched in glorious Technicolor. Course, after that we were shagging most nights, so it wasnt quite so easy to slip away, but luckily you were so drunk most of the time it didnt present that much of a problem. Especially combined with the extra painkillers I used to grind up and spike your drinks with, not to mention the natural effects of having your dick drained. What was that phrase I heard? Penny raised her eyes to the ceiling. Oh yes, Manaesthetic, thats right, Manaesthetic, she repeated, most amusing and yet so bloody true. Actually, at this point you might be asking yourself how I managed to get in and out of the hotel without being captured on CCTV. Well, I dont know if you remember, but when we first met, I mentioned I did a spot of rock climbing. Actually that was something of an understatement, Ive been doing it for years and believe me Im pretty bloody good. Ive got all the gear, including an auto-locking rappel, beautiful piece of kit that works just like a car seat belt and locks down the rope when rapid force is applied, I just clipped a karabiner through one of the railings on my balcony and gently descended into Hyde Park. So you see, Simon, sneaking away in the dead of night didnt really present much of a problem, although Detective Sergeant Lowson was a close one. Climbing down in broad daylight was a risk, but luckily the rain covered my tracks and I put a couple of extra tranquilisers in your coffee just to make sure, but still I only just made it into your room as you began to stir on the couch. You were crying out, having another one of your nightmares, as I darted to the bed and pretended to be asleep. Jesus, what a rush, obviously I kept it under control, but hey thats what Im good at. You are a warrior. Penny offered a merry wave of the torch to emphasise her point. Paul and Ivy were pretty easy, as Id already clocked their alarm code on one of my griefstricken visits to their house after my parents died, and good old Haries kindly supplied me with a set of lock picks and master keys. The clever bit was changing the chip that controls the engine in Pauls Beamer. I dont know if you are aware of this, Simon, but most modern cars are prettymuch controlled by onboard computers. The more expensive and complicated the car the more

558 expensive and complicated the computers. Pauls beamer was a thirty grand penis extension, and a main CPU controlled most of its vital functions, including the brakes, the fuel supply and the rev counter. Well, thats just asking for trouble in my opinion, really, its a recipe for disaster. I simply reprogrammed an identical chip to cut the brakes and massively over rev the engine when the car reached forty-five MPH. You can imagine the outcome on a steep hill. I know they say MacDonalds is bad for you, but thats ridiculous. Penny laughed at her own joke. Whats wrong, Si? Lost your sense of humour? Iloveyou, Simon said quietly. Penny stopped laughing and froze. He said he He is a liar. He is a man-child. He would say anything in order that we might spare him. But hes dying, why would he lie if hes dying? It is because he is dying that he lies. He can tell you once had feelings for him. He is sly and clever. He wishes to turn your emotions against you. You saw his true face moments ago when he cursed you and called you mad. That is his truth; his words are a waste of air. But the way he looked at me the way he held mecan all that be lies? Remember the way he looked when he spat his hatred into your face. Yes, I remember. Love Me, Penny laughed the sound brittle and sharp. You dont love me, Simon; youve only known me for ten days, how could you possibly love me? You loved fucking me. She emphasised the word with a sneer. Youre confusing love with lustin the end, you all do. She looked down at her shoes and the dark pool of blood she was standing in. Anyway, we were discussing my little scheme, not the vagaries of love, she said taking a step back. To be honest I dont think we have the time to go into that subject. Dont worry Im nearly finished, I was telling you about Paul and Ivy wasnt I. Well, they were goners, but I had another unexpected

559 problem. Unbeknownst to me that little shit Sinclair had met the valiant Inspector Corbett at a lodge meeting. You see Corbett really was a Freemason; he really was in the School of Night. Not as an assassin, or anything silly like that, but to further his career, like all the other coppers who are members of the lodge. Now, Corbett thought it would get him in with Portinari, if he wrote a little tome on the Lodges founder, Ralph Sadlier. I know! Penny squealed. What are the odds? This was about two years into my little sting you understand, and I had no idea Sinclair had this deal on the side with Corbett to publish his grotty little book. Imagine the cheek of the little sod thinking he could pull the old vanity publishing scam on a copper, what an idiot. I only found out when Sinclair texted me with the news Corbett had been in touch and told him about Nicolas research. Corbett wanted him to check out the facts, and Sinclair thought he could make a few extra quid now the police where involved by blackmailing me for a larger percentage of the loot. Big mistake, I had no intention of sharing a thing with that little pervert from the very beginning. It was only a matter of time before he had a fatal accident in his home; his text just confirmed the date. When I arrived at his house, I mentioned the ring you had found in Nicolas hand and the strange fact that, as far as I was concerned, I possessed all of the rings after I had stolen them from Harrisons shop. From the little turds squirming reply I could tell he knew more than he was admitting. It didnt take me long to persuade him to reveal the truth. Penny paused. And do you know what? she asked with genuine indignation. The conniving little shit had only gone and made another bloody ring. Can you believe that? Contacting Uncle Nicolas a couple of weeks ago, he posed as a fence and offered to sell the ring back. Nicolas jumped at the chance and handed over a hundred grand for the thing! God some people, how on earth Sinclair thought he could hide the fact from me is unfathomable, and surely he knew what Id do when I found out. That second ring really threw me for a while, I have to admit, but it was obvious it could have only originated from someone within my little cabal. Ruben and Haries were dead, so logic dictated Sinclair was the only suspect, especially as he had manufactured the original rings. Obviously, I had to do his mother as well, but thats the brutality of war for you. Penny sighed.

560 Tragically, you will always get some collateral damage. I did him on the same night as I did Pauls car. What you might call a double whammy, left him paralysed in his bedroom and placed a lighted cigarette on his mattress. ClClassy Pennys face fell and her eyes became dark slits. Have you ever watched someone burn to death? she whispered. Watched as their hair blazes like straw, watched as their clothes melt to their flesh, watched as their eyes run like broken eggs down their black-bubbling cheeks? She laughed. No neither have I, but youve got to admit that sounded bloody convincing. I told you, I was on something of a strict timetable; I had no time for entertainment. I had to get back to my darling, Simon, remember. You were sparko on booze and pills, so thankfully I had quite a lot of time. Still, I got to their place in Highgate, did the bizzo, went to visit Sinclair and got back, all in less than two hours thanks to my trusty Bonneville. My, I have been a busy girl havent I? Phew! It makes me quite tired just talking about it. Penny swept the torch past her brow and wiped away beads of invisible perspiration. And its not over yet, Ive still got to carry Corbetts body all the way along the tunnel, and hes not exactly skinny. Then I have to call the police and explain away this mess, plant the fake will, which, incidentally, is signed and dated November 2007, and will therefore legally over rule the current one, and then move all my belongings into my new home. Busy, busy, busy, Penny sang merrily. So I think thats about itI mentioned I murdered Haries didnt I? Its so hard to remember in all the excitement. He had to go because I couldnt trust him. Obviously, I told him nothing about my ultimate plan concerning Uncle Nicolas, but I was sure he followed me from time to time. Besides, he kept asking awkward questions about all the surveillance equipment and the dodgy computer programmes. I made the mistake of getting him too involved, you see, when I had him befriend Harrison and offer his services researching Portinari; I was going to use him as a conduit to really put the frighteners on the pair of them, but to my surprise, Haries discovered real dirt on Portinari that far exceeded our fantasies. Just another of the many, frankly ridiculous,

561 coincidences this whole affair has engendered. Really, Simon, between you and me, I dont think
Ill do something quite so ambitious again, obviously, you need to put in the hours for the big rewards, but this whole thing has really
taken it out of me

Pennys voice began to fade and Simon was no longer cold. The pain in his stomach had gone and his shivering had subsided, the contractions slowing as the gaps between each spasm grew longer and longer. Soon, her voice was lost completely beneath the rushing in his ears, its throbbing hum strangely comforting, and he gave himself over to its mesmerising call. Packed my bags and bound for the night train. It doesnt matter it doesnt matter. Idly, he thought of his wife, Anne, her hazelnut eyes and her sly smile, her quick wit and her passion. It is only at the end he finally understood how much he truly loved her. Simon closed his eyes and with a long protracted sigh was borne away on the swirling eddies of The River. Penny fell silent. Simon, she called. Simon! she bellowed. Stepping into the pool of blood, she crouched down and reached out her arm. Simon, please! she screamed shaking him violently, his head lolling from side to side. Eventually she gave up and relinquished her grip, leaving Simon to fall into the dark red pool. Penny got to her feet and stepped out of the claustrophobic cell. Sobbing once, her hands dropped to her side and her head collapsed onto her chin, her face obscured beneath a curtain of black hair. Slowly her body began to convulse and she began to weep, quietly at first, but soon her agonized wailing reverberated up and down the tunnel, up and down the tunnel. You are a warrior. Pain is your lot. You are a warrior. Eventually, her grief subsided and she lifted her head. With great self-control, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pointed the torches beam into the waxy, pallid face of her dead brother. The voice was right. The voice was always right. Goodbye, she whispered.

562

~
Making her way up the gravel path to Standon Lordship, Penny reflected on all she had accomplished. After three years, its finally over. Weve done it, all the planning, and the luck It was not luck. Have you not learned? Luck is a word used by fools who do not understand the nature of things. You are a warrior, you ride the waves, you take the opportunity and you seize the day. Now we have punished the loud-mouthed, selfish, arrogant man-child who ruined our life. Feel proud of our victory, but do not consider yourself, you are a warrior, sometimes you are defeated and sometimes you are victorious. It is your lot. Quite a lot of people had to die this timemaybe it got a bitout of hand. The path chose, the outcome chosen. What does that mean? Does that even make any sense? The officers of the law thought they were warriors. They chose the possibility of blood spilled when they donned their uniforms. They were man-child; they thought they could win using their size and their muscles. They engaged you in open combat and they were defeated. Sinclair was a despicable sexual deviant who murdered his own wife. He deserved nothing. The private detective earned his living from the misery of others and Harrison was an arrogant fool. Simon Still he blinds you. Perhaps, little one, under different circumstances we might have been a real brother and sister, but not, unfortunately, in this life. Our familys secrets and lies made sure of that. The path chose the outcome chosen. "For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, Penny called, visiting the iniquity of the fathers I know, but

563 on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate me. It should be carved on our tombstone. Let our deeds be our monument. Penny stopped walking and considered the words. The voice was right. The voice was always right. Simons death will be the hardest to bear; she knows this in her heart, but time was a great healer. It wouldve been nice if he had explained where he had found that gun, presumably, Corbett had an illegal spare in his car, it doesnt really matter she could wing it shed done it before. Besides, only Simons fingerprints were on the butt, so that was fine. She fired Corbetts gun only once and made sure she wiped it clean, before placing back into his already stiffening fingers and repulling the trigger, which should satisfy forensics. Dragging his corpse down the tunnel hadnt been easy, but it was worth the effort, all that remained was to phone the police and make her statement, suitably distraught of course. If anyone should get suspicious when the new will was discovered naming her as sole heir, so what? Sinclairs forgery was perfect, and a signed and dated will is a legally binding document. As for his back up files, leaving them in the desk at his office wasnt exactly the brightest of moves. Anyway, once she was the new owner of Standon Lordship people could say what they liked. You need evidence for a crime, and that was back at the hotel in the form of Sinclair and Harrisons mobile phones. Not to mention a couple of DVDs full of incriminating files, programmes and images, along with the mini printer she used to make the label on the second envelope. All of it tucked away in Simons suitcase, just waiting for the ever-vigilant forces of law and order to stumble across them. They wont be very amused, either, when they discover the body of WPC Ellis in Pennys bathroom, her throat slashed from ear to ear, and Simons Swiss army knife dropped carelessly on the blood-splattered floor beside her. Shed used a memory stick to store and run her various programmes, so her laptop was clean, and then shed surreptitiously dropped the memory stick in the fire exit at the hotel crushed under the

564 heels of hundreds of panicking guests. She was in the clear as far as that was concerned. The planted evidence, combined with her harrowing testimony, would be more than enough to convict a dead man, and you know what they say about those. On top of that, she had some juicy material, with superb blackmail potential, on Portinari, which she could use at a later date. Not to mention the little matter of the identity of the true author of Shakespeares works now that was unbelievable. Of all the incredible coincidences, serendipity and plain luck this little adventure had engendered, that had to top them all. She had invented a story and it turned out to be true. Ralph Sadlier really had written the works of Shakespeare, just like that nutter in the blog said. Only Nicholas wouldve taken such nonsense seriously. Any other self respecting academic wouldve laughed it off as a bad joke. He was an arrogant man-child we underestimated him, but not as much as he fatally underestimated us. Penny smiled, her body suffused with a warm glow; all in all, she was justly proud of her achievements. Arriving at the front door, she reached into her jacket and took a large key from her pocket. Still smiling, she turned the key in the lock and the heavy door swung open. Lifting her leg, she took her first step over the threshold as the new owner of Standon Lordship. At five and a half inches in length, the .50 Caliber high velocity tungsten-tipped 'spitzer travelled at a speed of two-thousand eight-hundred and fifty feet per second. Made up of a solid lead core, surrounded by a copper jacket and an aluminum tip, which fragmented upon impact, the bullet entered the back of Pennys skull, making its way through her cerebellum, thalamus, and corpus callosum, before finally exiting through her right-frontal lobe. Pennys head simply exploded, her skull vaporised in a mist of blood, bone and brain matter. With just the bottom half of her jaw remaining, she spun in a graceful arc, before her legs buckled and she collapsed onto the gravel.

565

~
The assassin began to disassemble their weapon, carefully placing each component of their Barrett .50 M82A1 into specially shaped foam housings tucked inside a long black attach case. When each compartment was full, they closed the lid of the case and reached into their jacket. Removing a mobile phone, they pushed a button and put it to their ear. This is Peregrine #1, tell control I have successfully eradicated the infestation and request a clear up squad to fully sanitise the area. Repeat, request a clear up squadthat is correctyou have the location. Ending the call, they turned the phone over and removed the battery. Retrieving the rectangular SIM card from its housing, they took a lighter from their pocket. Passing the SIM card through its orange flame, they took the charred remains and buried it in the sodden earth at their feet, covering the small grave with a layer of damp leaves. Returning to the mobile, they replaced the battery and put it into their jacket pocket before taking the attach case from the ground. Stepping out from the concealment of a row of bushes, they zipped their jacket closed and made their way towards the main gates.

566

~
There is a telephone call for you Mr. Portinari, an attractive young woman informed the businessman with a smile. Thank you Natalie; Ill take it in my office, Portinari replied from behind an elaborate mask, its features those of a large hawk. Sorry Jonathon, he said turning to a tall man whose portly frame bursts against the confines of his salmon pink Satan costume. Im expecting a rather urgent call, so if youll excuse me. Satan laughed. Yeah, cool Jules, he said, the small L.E.D.s in his red devils horns blinking in unison. Dont wowry about me, Im enjoying watching Wussel try and chat up that bird. Satan indicated across the crowded ballroom with his pink plastic trident. Portinari turned his head, and together they watched a skinny man with long frizzy hair, dressed as Dick Turpin, thrusting his hips in the direction of a young woman dressed as a mermaid. The mermaid was obviously unimpressed at the display and turned to leave, forcing Turpin to fumble at his trousers in a drunken attempt at removing his penis. Actually, maybe Id better go over and have a chat, Satan commented his pink mask mercifully hiding his embarrassment. Might be a wise move, Portinari remarked. Adding, And do tell Mr. Brand that, old fashioned as it may seem, protocol states he keep his cock firmly ensconced within the confines of his ludicrously tight jeans. Oh, and Jonathon, do watch that young man, I fear his association with your good self might one day prove to be your undoing. With that, Portinari turned on his heels and made his way across the ballroom, stopping to briefly shake a hand, or plant a kiss on a cheek as he manoeuvred through the bustling crowd. Approaching a man dressed as Guy Fawkes,

567 Portinari took him by the arm and whispered into his ear. Come with me, Jack, I think you might find this interesting. Together the two men exited the crowded ballroom and made their way up the staircase to Portinaris office. Once inside Portinari walked to his desk. Removing his mask, he lifted the receiver of his telephone and put it to his ear. Portinari, he began, the infestation is eradicated? Thats excellent. Did they get the whole nest? Splendid, as you know once vermin get a hold, they can be almost impossible to deal with. Okay, well, thank you, Rebecca. Putting the receiver back onto its cradle, Portinari turned to his companion. Rat problem, Julian? asked Guy Fawkes, removing his mask. Portinari smiled. Not any more, Jack, he announced walking to the drinks cabinet. I think a drink is in order. What will you have? Detective Inspector Cawood placed his Guy Fawkes mask on Portinaris desk and took a seat. A scotch, no ice, he said. So thats the end of the devious Ms M. Yes, she really was a piece of work wasnt she, Portinari said pouring scotch into two glasses. Good lord, Jack, who would have thought shed get the better of Corbett? Corbett was too emotional, said Cawood flatly. He let himself get angry when Lowson died, big mistake. Talking of which, that was most inconvenient, Portinari frowned. Luckily I have other loyal brethren firmly ensconced within the Metropolitan police, or the badly mangled corpse of a young police officer found within the confines of our building might have caused some controversy. He handed Cawood his drink and took a seat behind his desk. Theyll put it down to a tragic accident, Cawood observed sourly. Precisely, and obviously inform the media after Christmas, otherwise this evenings celebration might seem in, somewhatbad taste. Quite, Cawood snapped his voice tight.

568 Oh come on, Jack, dont pull the old, no one kills a copper routine. Marshall murdered four other people to our knowledge, yet somehow they arent as important? Cawood scowled. She also did PC Ellis. Ah, yes I was forgetting Ellis, Portinari conceded. Look, youre right to be angry, Marshall was a very dangerous person, but at least in the end she received some kind of, well, justice. Cawood downed his scotch in one mouthful and put his glass back on the table. She died to protect your money, he said. True, her death does put to an end some rather outrageous allegations concerning my business empire. Im sure a sanitation squad is clearing her flat as we speak. Another scotch, Jack? You sound like you need it. Portinari smiled and got to his feet. So tell me, he asked reaching into the drinks cabinet. What would you have done in my shoes? Cawood considered the question for a moment. Julian, I never want to be in your shoes, he stated bluntly. Well there you are then. Portinari handed Cawood his refilled glass and sat down. Even you admit its not easy, so many balls to keep in the air, so many plates to keep spinning. The last thing I need is a devious homicidal psychopath with incriminating evidence out to blackmail me. He paused. Actually thats pretty much the last thing anyone needs. Why didnt you stop her before she killed so many people? Cawood demanded. You had people tailing her, you had people monitored her, you knew her every bloody move. Thats not entirely true, Jack. Okay, I knew about her from both you and Corbett, but neither of you thought to mention she was a homicidal maniac. Corbett had his suspicions, but his money was on Fry, not Marshall. But you mustve known after she did Harrison. Not one hundred-percent, she always wore a motorcycle helmet, remember? Although god only

569 knows how she managed to avoid the Hotels CCTV. But I will admit I had my suspicions. So why didnt you do something! Cawood shouted, bringing his fist down hard on Portinaris desk. Let me remind you, Inspector, Portinari began icily. Ms Marshall was, at the time, under investigation by the Metropolitan Police, an organisation whose sole purpose is to conduct such enquiries. I, on the other hand, am a businessperson; my job is to increase my wealth. I am not a vigilantly service that metes out rough justice. I think you are perhaps confusing me with Batman. You couldve acted sooner, at least told Corbett of your suspicions. I did precisely that, and Corbett took it on board, but he still favoured Fry, and besides I had to find the whereabouts of the files Marshall had received from that annoying little shit Haries. So you stood by while she murdered her way through half of fucking London! I have already explained that perhaps you should be redirecting your ire against the Metropolitan police service, Inspector. Please let us not retread old ground. Portinari drained his glass. It has been a stressful number of days and I do not wish to loose my temper. He got to his feet and headed for the drinks cabinet. Cawood shook his head slowly. Lifes a bitch. You know, Jack, Ive often been struck by how completely absurd life can be, Portinari mused ignoring the other mans anger. And the repeated occurrence of what Karl Gustave Jung termed, synchronicity or meaningful coincidence. Take the last few weeks for instance. First, I get a call from your good self, informing me of the tragic death of the current owners of Standon Lordship. Obviously, as a property intimately connected to the illustrious Mr. Sadlier, our Lodge likes to keep a watchful eye on the house and its residents to ensure they respect its history. After all no one wants the place converted into a theme park or one of those bloody awful adventure weekend places. Not unless youre the one doing the converting, Cawood muttered.

570 Portinari smiled indulgently. You see, Jack, underneath that dour demeanour of yours beats the heart of a Captain of Industry, I am impressed. Yes, Standon Lordship has much potential, with the right investment it could be something quite spectacular, and of course, now all the members of the Fry family are sadly no longer among the living, the building will go to auction, leaving me to step in to the brink. Odd to think, if it wasnt for Marshall, a woman hell bent on my destruction, I would not be in the fortuitous position I now find myself. Synchronicities Jack meaningful coincidence. A few days later I get another call from Brother Corbett informing me he has one of the gold rings mentioned in William Shakespeares will, and, if this was not enough, evidence to suggest our Orders illustrious founder, Ralph Sadlier, actually wrote the sonnets and plays using Shakespeare as a cover. Returning to his desk Portinari handed Cawood his glass. Now believe me when I say, even as current Grand Master of the lodge, I had never heard of such a suggestion. In fact, my first reaction was one of derision. But, after no small amount of research conducted on my behalf, by some very clever people, well, lets just say there is considerable cause for suspension of ones disbelief. Who cares, no one actually reads bloody Shakespeare, Cawood dismissed. Not a fan of The Immortal Bard, Jack? You have to do it at school, and then you ignore it for the rest of your life, unless they do some modern film version with Leonardo Di Caprio. Portinari laughed. I take it your literary tastes run more to Andy McNabb, or that other chap, what is his namedoes all those tedious books about lawyers who inadvertently end up working for the Mafia? Cawood ignored the remark. To be honest, I wouldve thought youd see the money in it, Julian, he said. Money, ah, I presume you are talking about the lucrative Shakespeare authorship industry. Well you see, Jack, I own numerous publishing houses, as you know, and many of them specialise in

571 such ephemera as the Shakespeare authorship debate, or the healing power of crystals, or leylines, or indeed any number of the specious claptrap that clogs the bookshelves these days. So, on the contrary, I see the money in keeping the mystery well and truly alive. That figures, Cawood shrugged. Isaac Newton was a clever chap, Portinari said idly. He saw the universe as a giant machine, and he had the equations to prove it. The universe was nothing more than a vast engine, turn the handle and it would act in a completely predictable fashion. You see how comforting this idea was, Jack. In effect, Newton had invented a cosmic crystal ball that held up the possibility of predicting the future, and there the matter rested for some centuries, with any irregular behaviour in the system put down to some random outside agent, some malign force acting on the perfect mechanism. Until, in the same year man landed on the moon, a devil was found in the detail, a devil that would plunge the universe into chaos. Edward Lorenz, an American meteorologist, was studying cloud formation, and like his contemporaries, he believed his equations could accurately predict the weather. Yet strangely, as he used the equations they made no useful predictions whatsoever. He had discovered The butterfly effect. You may have heard of it, you sneeze in Cricklewood on Wednesday and you make it rain in China three weeks later. Basically, Lorenz had proven that even when you have a simple equation, of which you know every single detail, it can still produce random, unpredictable results, without the need for any outside agent. Tiny imperfections, immeasurably small changes, increase exponentially, until they produce random activity, chaos. The Newtonian dream was dead, centuries of scientific certainty, gone. The stable universe, it turns out, was just an act of faith. Chaos is woven into the very fabric. It lies at the heart of the basic laws of physics, and yet, paradoxically, it is this very unpredictability that allows nature to make its infinite variety, from the whirl of a snails shell, to the prints on the tips of your fingers. Portinari raised his hands and moved them apart. Chaos and Order, Jack, two ends of a spectrum, he said lifting his hands like imaginary scales.

572 Chaos and Order And where exactly do you fit in, Julian? Cawood asked. Well for a start, Ms Marshall was certainly working on the side of unpredictability and chaos; indeed she was perhaps one of its finest agents. However, she is not without precedent. I dont suppose you are too familiar with ancient India, Jack, but it seems rulers of that nation often used women as sex-assassins. There were three types, the beautiful girl who feeds you poison, the girl fed poison since birth, a little each day, until she is a toxic death trap, and the girl who has been deliberatley infected with cholera or syphilis. Looking a Marshall, she seems to fit all three categories. Portinari smiled. For myself, I see my role as an impartial observer, albeit one who intervenes from time to time if the situation warrants. Such as when your moneys at stake, Cawood said icily. Obviously that would be one reason, and a very valid one I might add, however, there are occasions when I have been moved by other considerations, not least empathy for my fellow man. Is that why you helped me, Julian, empathy? Portinari raised a solitary eyebrow. I helped you, Jack, because I respected your superior, and because I believed in your innocence. Cawood grunted. Do I detect a hint of cynicism in your neanderthal response? What other motive could I possibly have had? Cawood drained his glass and placed it onto Portinaris desk. So, is there anything else, Julian? Portinari turned his drink in his hand, the motion sending small cubes of ice bouncing from side to side in his glass. In a rush, Jack, off home to wrap those last-minute presents for the young ones I assume, or perhaps spend some quality time with your loving wife? Cawood bristled.

573 Do try to remember how much you owe me, Jack. After your little indiscretion all those years ago, you should have received an extensive prison sentence. You certainly would not still be a serving member of Her Majestys Police Service. Cawoods jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Dont look at me like that, Inspector; Im not judging you, I merely mention the very large debt you owe me. Dont worry, this is not an attempt at blackmail, good lord, what kind of monster do you think I am? No. I merely wish to clarify, we are, each of us, not without sin, caste ye the first stone? You know I was innocent, said Cawood brusquely. We are not discussing your guilt, Jack, just whether anyone, other than my good self, would believe your innocence. You certainly didnt think so at the time, which is why you came to me for help. Cawood shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Oh for gods sake, Jack, lets not fight after all these years; have you not reaped the rewards? You have your own house. You dine well. You drive a nice car. Can you be thankful, just for once, that you didnt go to prison? Has the alternative really been so terrible? Cawood laughed aloud, the sound wry, not bitter. Taking his Guy Fawkes mask from Portinaris desk, he placed it over his head and got to his feet. Remember, remember, the fifth of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot, he intoned. I see no reason why gunpowder, treason should ever be forgot. With that, he offered a polite bow and made his way to the door.

574

~
Portinari picked his I-Pod from his desk and pushed menu. Fiddling with the device for a few seconds, he placed it back into its dock and Billie Holidays Stormy Weather spilled from speakers hidden within the walls of his office. Dont know why theres no sun up in the sky, stormy weather, since my man and I aint together, keeps raining all the time. Taking a seat behind his desk, he pushed a button on a small rectangular consol and leaned into a speaker mounted on its top. Rebecca, do come in, he said. Some moments later, there was a knock at the door and an attractive young woman with long auburn hair entered the room. Ive got those documents, Sir, she smiled walking towards Portinaris desk. I think we can dispense with the Sir, Rebecca, after all it is Christmas, said Portinari also smiling. Getting to his feet, he met the young woman in the centre of the room and the couple locked in a tender embrace. Reaching out his hand, Portinari placed it over Rebeccas stomach. And how is my son and heir? he asked with affection. It might be a girl, Julian, she said gently. And if she is as beautiful as her mother, I wont mind a bit. Portinari reached for the manila envelope clasped in Rebeccas hand. So, finally the information we have been waiting for, he grinned. Portinari made his way back to his desk. Taking an ivory handled letter opener, he sliced open one end of the envelope and emptied its contents onto the table. A single folded sheet of paper fell onto the desk. Somewhat confused, he pushed open the envelope and peered inside.

575 Oh, I was hoping for something a little more spectacular, he shrugged, never-the-less. Unfolding the sheet of paper, he began to read its contents. As he read, his face showed no perceptible signs of excitement or wonder, but when he had finished he sat down in his chair. Is there something wrong, darling? Rebecca asked concerned at Portinaris sudden change in mood. Wrong? he repeated as if a little dazed. No, nothings wrong, he smiled. Dont worry; good news often affects me this way. Perhaps you would be so kind as to make a cup of tea, while I deal with this? Rebecca sighed. Okay, but thats the last business call, its Christmas Eve, Julian, even you must get some time off for good behaviour. She leaned across the desk and kissed Portinari on his cheek. Five minutes, darling, I will be five minutes and then we can reconvene the merriment, he assured her. When Rebecca had left his office, Portinari picked up his telephone. Obtaining an outside line, he dialed a number. Yes, could you put me through to Mr. Grey please? I am well aware what day it is, but I think youll find he is waiting for my callCassian? Its me, JulianAfter three, one, two and three. Portinari pushed a button on the telephones base. Thats better, now we can talk freely Congratulations on your clean up operation this morning, Rebecca tells me it was another perfectly executed contract, therell be a nice Christmas bonus in the post. You can spend it on your delightful daughterYes Ive just read it, and you are sure its accurate? And that idiot Jonson concurs? Oh, he did, did he, the original documents? You have seen them for yourself and can verify their authenticity? Well, I must confess, I am more than a little gob-smacked. It would seem a rather eccentric old gentleman was rightOh, dont worry, he is no longer in the land of the livingCertainly not, Cassian, I didnt even know the gentlemanHowever, under the circumstances you know what to doYes, all of them, burn them, we dont want any mistakes.

576 Also, have a sanitation squad nullify the infestation before it can spread, including Johnson, we dont want him mentioning the matter after one too many Cuba-Librasoh, and have someone keep an eye on Detective Inspector Cawood, Ive got a sneaking suspicion he might have come to the end of his useful service with our organization. Offer him the usual retirement package. Portinari laughed. Yes, the comprehensive packageOkay, Cass, Ill be in touch in the New Year. Portinari placed the receiver back onto its cradle and picked up the sheet of paper. Bending beneath his desk, he retrieved a small metal dustbin. Emptying its contents onto the floor, he stood up and took a silver cigarette lighter from its green onyx base. Pushing down on one end of the lighter a flame appeared and he slowly moved it towards the paper in his hand. Placing the dancing flame beneath the sheet, the paper curled as its bottom edge ignited. After a few seconds, it was ablaze. Opening his fingers, he dropped the burning sheet into the metal dustbin. In no time at all, it was nothing but a pile of smouldering ashes.

577

Detective Inspector Cawood walked down the long winding staircase, as he descended his hand reached inside a pocket in his costume and retrieved his mobile telephone. Touching its screen, he accessed the menu and navigated his way to a folder marked, entertainment. Opening the folder, he scrolled down until he came to an option entitled Record Sound. Opening the sub-menu he accessed a folder named, Recorded Sounds and pressed play. Putting the phone to his ear, he could hear Portinaris voice, its mellifluous tones captured perfectly by the mobiles inbuilt microphone. Cawood smiled and stopped the playback before placing the telephone back into his pocket. He knew it would mean the end of his career, not to mention a considerable prison sentence, but over the last few months, he could no longer face himself in the mirror and he had begun to start drinking again. Not huge amounts, but he knew it would only be a matter of time. He had done so many bad things; hurt so many innocent people, while standing by as the guilty went free. Portinari had done this to him turned him into nothing more than another one of his watchdogs. Bark, bark, little doggie, your master is calling. Hed hated the man from the moment theyd met, and even though his Guvnor was trying to do him a favour, trying to keep him from loosing his job, and worse, Cawood cursed the day he had shook the businessmans hand. Cawood knew he was innocent; hed never taken a bribe in his life before hed met Portinari, but he was the only one. Even his own wife would not believe him, and slowly he had turned to the bottle for support. He didnt blame Margie for taking the kids he wasnt a fit father. For years, he weathered the uncomfortable birthdays and Christmas, the bitter silences, the barely repressed anger, but perhaps worst of all, perhaps most damning; the fear. He would never forget the look on his childrens faces, could never repress the bitter memory of them flinching at his touch.

578 He had done so many bad things; hurt so many innocent people. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he always suspected Portinari had been only to willing to put his neck on the line for a complete stranger. Obviously, the bastard had assured him it was due to his close friendship with Haskins, his old guvnor, but it never entirely rang true and his coppers instincts wouldnt let it lie. Over the years, he had made surreptitious enquires of his own, until he was pretty certain Haskins and Portinari had set him up. He couldnt blame the old man; he was up to his neck in corruption charges at that point himself. He shouldve seen the obvious signs, but he had other things on his mind. Blind, uncomprehending panic tends to have that effect. Over time, hed forgiven his old Guvnor, looking on him as much a victim of Portinaris scheming as he himself was. Cawood knew exactly who was to blame and how to deal with them. To this end, he had accumulated quite an impressive array of evidence on Mr. Julian Portinari MBE, implicating the cunt in activities ranging from tax evasion to murder. This evenings conversation would tie the package up nicely. He had a juicy contact working for The Independent, and, of course, he was going to publish everything online for the delectation of the conspiracy theorists and nutters, just to add a little spice. He didnt fear Portinaris inevitable retribution, the only reason he hadnt broken the fuckers neck this very evening was the thought of the bastard torn to pieces in a media he helped create. That would be a far more fitting a punishment; one Cawood might even find some pleasure witnessing from his prison cell. He smiled. After a career spanning three decades, it was finally all over. Then again, if he was honest with himself, things had never really been the same after George Carter had died. Christ, that was over twenty years ago and Cawood still missed his old Detective Sergeant. He could understand Corbetts rage, indeed condone it, after all the man who killed Carter screamed for two days beforeCawood shrugged. He had done so many bad things.

579 Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he turned and looked up. I go, and it is done; the bell invites me, he said in a loud clear voice. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell, that summons thee to heaven or to hell. Turning back to the foyer, he made his way past the noisy ballroom and headed for the main entrance and the street beyond. To hell, he whispered. To hell.

THE END

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