The Fool - Chapter Eighteen =========================== I - I am running through pale moonlight down a gravel road across some nameless, barren terrain. I can hear the howling of dogs and wolves, and another call too, which I do not recognise. I sense with a horrible certainty that there is something nameless and hideous in the darkness behind me. I keep running. The road I am following is narrow, with many twists and turns, and coming over a rise in the ground, I find I can trace its path from here to the horizon across the uneven, blasted soil. The road seems to lead directly between two towers, some way ahead of me. They stand tall and forbidding in the moonlight, some strange light burning from a single window at the top of each. Above the towers and between them, there is a crescent moon, increasing. I stop running for a while and stand there staring at the moon. For an instant the moon resolves into a hugely handsome face looking sideways with infinite patience and compassion, then I hear more howls and cries from behind me and the vision fades. I start running again. I would like to visit the towers, but I cannot, must not stray from this road. Nor dare I get lost, or take a wrong turning. I have no idea how or why I know this, but the sense that I absolutely must follow this road, come what may, to the end, is overwhelming. I keep running. II -- I wake, covered in sweat and exhausted, with just enough time to wash and dress without being late for work. It is Tuesday. I remember that I am a programmer now, and I am glad. My body aches, and I wish I could do some yoga, but I have no time. I leave the house. People seem to eye me suspiciously on the bus, but I ignore it, and stare furiously at my newspaper. I keep reading the same article over and over again, my head spinning in disbelief. "Bad Pills Killed Brighton Death Pair" "Jason Reeves and Annie Fry, the couple found dead in a Brighton car last week, were poisoned by a bad batch of ecstasy, according to a preliminary coroner's report revealed by the police yesterday. "We're 99% certain that Reeves had been dealing in ecstasy and other drugs," said a police spokesman, who confirmed that good progress was being made with their enquiries and that they expected to make an arrest soon. Police were unable to confirm or deny whether they were making any connection between the death of the couple and their involvement in the satanist Society of Mysteries organisation, but they were able to tell us that they had spoken to several members of that organisation and that they were satisfied that they had pursued that line of enquiry fully." It hasn't really hit me properly that two people have died. Everything seems utterly unreal. III --- The feeling of unreality strengthens as I sit at my desk, sipping at coffee, staring at the database specification before me. My task is simple enough, and broken down into chunks, doesn't look like it will take too long. I don't know what it means, but I don't need to know what it means. I just need to perform my allotted task. What else can I do? Just as I am about to start writing some code, the computer beeps at me, and I realise that I have just received my first actual non-test email at this new logon. I also realise that I need to turn that beep off immediately, which takes a little time, though I eventually figure it out. The email is from Peter Chapman, who is writing to tell me that he will be mainly out of the office for the next few days, and that I should carry on with my task and prepare a report for him for Friday. "Also," he writes, "I understand from our mutual friend Dora that your interview with Brighton CID ended with a satifactory conclusion for all parties, and I hope you remembered the advice I gave you yesterday." I stare blankly into space. He gave me some advice yesterday? I don't think I recall that. Unless he meant not breaking the non-disclosure agreement, in which case, that's fine, I didn't. IV -- I spend the rest of the morning coding, and take a late lunch, feeling flushed with the satisfaction of having written a little code that works. The caff is much emptier than normal, and much quieter. My egg, bacon, sausage and chips seem heartier and more wholesome, somehow. Even the tea is stronger. I resolve to take late lunches more often. I stare at the crossword for a while, but realise that I have not brought a pen with me. Leafing through the paper instead, looking for something to read, I find a short article about moon bases. Apparently, one scientist is arguing that a permanent manned base on the moon should be set up as soon as possible, while another seems to be pretty certain that this will not happen in the next twenty years, and that key technology required for such a base doesn't actually exist yet. "That's what I'd like to do," I think. "I'd like to go and live on the moon." Then I think of Beth, and all at once my sense of satisfaction deflates to nothing. As far as she is concerned, I might as well be on the moon. Returning to my desk, I try and stop thinking about Beth. I fail. The afternoon passes slowly and painfully. V - Just as I am about to start thinking about beginning to get ready to check the clock again to see if it is yet time to leave, a woman who I have not seen before approaches my desk. "Hello," she says. "You must be Adam. I'm Julie, Colin's PA. Good grief, where has Peter put you? There's no-one else here. Anyway." She hands me an envelope. "This came for you in internal post." "Thankyou," I say. "Er, who is Colin?" "Colin is Peter's boss. Colin Godfrey. You probably haven't met him. Or anyone else, if I know Peter." I nod. "That's about right," I say. She shakes her head in disbelief. "He's just terrible, that man. Really. Anyway," she says. "You've been shown the coffee and the stationery cupboard, haven't you. If you need anything else, let me know. Julie. Extension 2345." "Thanks," I say, wondering what I might possibly need. After all, I have a computer and coffee. I have been ceremonially shown the location of the stationery cupboard. I would disconnect the phone but suspect such behaviour is likely to be frowned upon. "Anyway," says Julie, with emphasis, then stops. "Well," she says. "See you," and goes, leaving me struck with the sense that I have missed something, but I have no idea what, and I put the thought out of my mind. There seems to be an envelope in my hand. I open it. VI -- "Society of Mysteries Study Group Mystery Hall, 91, Flowertree Lane, London N1 Entrance free to all members of Bull grade or higher. Suggested donation £5. This week: 6:45pm -- Opening of the Liberorium Sancti 7pm -- Fr. H. - The Mystery of the Lion 8pm -- Sor. S. - Staring into the Abyss - Some Things To Avoid 9pm -- Fr. T. - The Planets - Saturn 10pm -- Closing of the Liberorium Sancti Please arrive no later than 6.45 for the opening ritual. Latecomers will not be admitted to the study sessions. Thankyou for your understanding in this matter. In Spiritus" I am assuming this is from Peter Chapman, unless there is a whole network of Society of Mysteries members abusing the company's internal post system. I check the envelope again, and while it is definitely addressed to me, there is no clue as to the identity of the sender. Oh of course it's from Peter Chapman, I think, exasperated with myself. I also realise, with a slightly sinking feeling, that of course I am going to go to this meeting, even though I haven't really decided yet what I think about the Society of Mysteries. I have nothing else to do. Simon is right. I should get out more. It also occurs to me that if I leave promptly, I will arrive too early again, and have every reason to spend the intervening time in the pub. This thought cheers me and sustains me through the last fifteen minutes of the day, which I spend reviewing the code I have just written by staring at it fixedly, and occasionally running it again. Yes, the bit I have written still works. Tomorrow I will add the other bits. VII --- I am in the pub, working on my second pint, having finished the first one at precisely 6.47, and realising that as a latecomer, I would no longer be admitted to the study session, whether or not I was able to tell them the Name of the Bull. I am feeling lonely and maudlin, and the alcohol isn't really helping matters. I light a cigarette and blow the smoke straight out without inhaling. It tastes foul. I inhale properly, and it still tastes foul, but less foul. I will have to hear Frater Hermanubis' discourse on the Mystery of the Lion at some other time, I think, but it is no good, I am not finding myself amusing. In fact I am not happy with myself at all. I finish the pint, feeling a strong urge to go and get a third, but knowing it will only make me miserable. No. I will go home, I will eat something, and I will have a quiet night. I will read. Or something. VIII ---- Dora's book contains an article on the Mystery of the Lion. "The Lion," she writes, "symbolises all that is proud and noble, all that is strong and generous, and at the same time, all that is arrogant and lazy. While it is not assumed that a member of the Order of the Bull Grade will have any knowledge at all of the matters contained in the Mysteries of the Society, the grade of Lion is not given to an aspirant until certain tests have been passed. "These tests are based on the material in Chapter One of the Book of Mysteries, and the Rite of the Mystery of the Lion has been constructed in order to ensure that it will be essentially meaningless in both its symbolism and its structure to anyone who has not read and understood the Book of Mysteries material. It takes a brave soul to begin to pull aside the veil and begin their journey on the path of Mysterious Knowledge, which is why it is particularly fitting that the Lion be the first grade of the Order for which the actual work of pulling the veil aside must be begun. If you are reading this and you have not read the first chapter of the Book of Mysteries, please do so now." IX -- I put the book down. I am feeling miserable and empty. I am in no mood to pull aside the veil and begin my journey on the path of Mysterious Knowledge. I am wondering if the off-licence will still be open. I look at the clock. Yes, it will still probably be open. That doesn't mean I have to go to the off-licence, it just means that it will still probably be open. I pick the book up again, and search the contents page for the Book of Mysteries. It doesn't seem to be there. I check the index, and there are many references, all of which seem to talk about the Book of Mysteries as a seperate book. I thought Dora had told me that her book contained everything you needed to know for the Outer Order. I am not impressed. I look at the contents page a second time. What is 'Summary of the BoM'? I look it up. Aha. Summary of the Book of Mysteries. Chapter One consists of two pages of notes, symbols and tables. It begins with the Hebrew alphabet, the signs of the zodiac, the planets, and the Ten Sephirot of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, but then it loses me completely in a miasma of correlations and attributions. One more thing to check. Yes, here, at the back of the book. A list of further books available directly from the Society of Mysteries, the first of which is the Book of Mysteries, only available by mail order, hardback, twenty pounds. I think I understand the Order a little better now. X - Before I go to bed I check my email. Fourteen spam emails plus something called 'USOM List Special Update'. Must be that mailing list. "Rumour has it that a certain daughter of a certain Archpriestess of Venus Myrionymous was taken by police for questioning regarding the recent tragic deaths of two of our Brighton members. Rumour also has it that she was released without charge. Of course, it is not rumour, but established fact, that there is no law in this country against performing certain actions in a certain order with certain preparation, with certain more or less guaranteed results, so there is little that our certain daughter could have been charged with anyway. Of course, we are also aware of the existence of a certain law of karma, which we do not believe anyone can escape, no matter whose daughter they are. LUX ET PAX Fr. D.S." I read it with a growing sense of shock. I am horrified. What on earth is D.S. trying to suggest? Does he really thing that Beth killed Jason and Annie? I thought I read in the paper today that it was definitely bad pills. What nonsense.