A Study in Revenge (15 page)

“Chymical?” Lean repeated.

“ ‘Chymical’ is just a variation of ‘alchemical.’ The wedding story is an allegory, a sacred wedding, the joining of opposites to create a new, unified element.”

“Are the Rosicrucians heathens of some sort?” Lean asked.

“No, just look at his name—Christian Rosenkreuz. The symbol of the order, the Rosy Cross. They were definitely proponents of Christianity, but with a belief in ancient esoteric truths that over the ages have become lost to mankind. They thought that if they could decipher these ancient teachings, through the kabbalah and other means, they would bring about a reformation in human understanding of the physical and the spiritual aspects of the universe.”

“Rather grandiose ambitions,” Grey said.

“The early seventeenth century was a period of religious warfare, with terrible suffering and instability in Europe. People were entranced by the thought of an elite group: scholars, philosophers, and alchemists who claimed to be ready to usher in a new era of enlightenment.”

“We’re still waiting,” Lean said.

“Which is why, in time, other groups took inspiration from the Rosicrucians,” Leadbetter said. “The movement influenced the practices of the Freemasons and the evolving Scottish Rite. In recent years new hermetic societies have claimed to be the true heirs to the secret learning of the Rosicrucians.”

“Even though it all may have been a hoax, you said, and this Rosenkreuz may have existed on only a few anonymous pamphlets,” Grey said.

“Perhaps. Though some oral accounts claim to support the truth of Rosenkreuz’s life. They say that as a young boy Rosenkreuz was the last descendant of a doomed noble family all put to death as heretics by the German Inquisition. He was spirited away to the safety of a monastery,
where he was educated in the beliefs of the Cathars. According to legend, Rosenkreuz went along on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he discovered esoteric wisdom from a variety of Arabian and Persian mystics and sages.”

“Seems I’ve heard a story along those lines before.” Lean cast an uneasy glance toward Grey, who ignored him.

“He created the secret Fraternity of the Rose Cross upon his return to Europe, spreading his teachings to an elect group during his lifetime. It is said that one hundred twenty years after his death his body was discovered by one of the Rosicrucian brothers in a sarcophagus hidden in a secret underground chamber. The body was still perfectly preserved. He’d had the interior of the stone door to his tomb engraved with the very year that his hidden chamber was to be discovered.”

“According to unsubstantiated reports, of course,” Grey said.

“Of course,” Leadbetter agreed. “Most scholars dismiss such tales and assume that the anonymous authors of the manifestos were actually prominent historical figures, such as Francis Bacon, wishing to espouse certain doctrines without fear of retribution.

“Yet others, including the modern occultists, take the more fantastical position that not only did Rosenkreuz truly live, he later reappeared in various guises. Most notably these folks point to the Count de St. Germain. A nobleman, adventurer, and alchemist, he appeared in the royal courts of Europe throughout the 1700s, never aging, always decked out in gold and jewels, speaking with firsthand knowledge of events from centuries earlier. He was rumored to have achieved the ultimate alchemical goal of producing the philosopher’s stone.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Lean asked.

“The one true goal of alchemy, the supreme achievement. The azoth, the alpha and the omega unified, the substance that grants mastery over the ability to turn base metals to gold. The elixir of life.”

Leadbetter continued to turn pages as he spoke. “Here we go—Rosicrucian symbols. Not strictly speaking, since most of these are old alchemical designs and not specific to the Rosicrucians. The symbol you have there is that of mercury, one of the most important alchemical symbols. The ideal of transformation, mercury is both the one thing while containing all things. A dual nature unified in one element.”

Leadbetter’s finger landed on a small image that looked exactly like the one on Grey’s paper. “So there’s your answer, though I’m not sure why Chester would ever be interested in that page.”

“We think someone else put him up to it. Either for pay or by threat. Likely the same person who’s responsible for the murder of his old friend up in Portland,” Lean explained.

“In that murder some rather ominous occult markings were left in conjunction with the dead body, and Chester Sears knew that. It could explain why he was nervous when he came to you. Occult markings would seem to be within the realm of your academic interests, Mr. Leadbetter.” Grey motioned to the nearby stack of books. “Rather a surprising number of titles among your collection relating to spiritualism, ancient religions, and the occult.”

“I told you I was removed from the ministry over a matter of fundamental disagreements with my superiors in the church. Show too much interest in a topic, dare to believe there might be some questions worth asking instead of dismissing everything out of hand, and you’re deemed some sort of heretic.”

Grey drew a pencil and a small notebook from his pocket. He sketched quickly, then presented the drawing to Leadbetter.

“How about this figure?”

Lean recognized it as the charcoal face marked outside the room where Frank Cosgrove’s burned body had been deposited. “The devil?” he suggested.

“A common misconception. No, that’s not Satan. It’s Baphomet.”

“Beg your pardon?” Lean said.

“Baphomet. Don’t be surprised never to have heard of him. He’s essentially a fabricated pagan deity.”

“As opposed to what?” Grey asked. “A genuine pagan deity?”

“Point taken,” Leadbetter said with a chuckle. “I suppose it’s all a matter of pedigree. The name didn’t appear until the eleventh century. The Crusaders mention the Saracens calling upon Baphomet before battle. It’s not difficult to recognize the origin of the term as European ears mistaking the name of the Muslim prophet Mahomet.

“Two hundred years later, King Philip IV of France wanted to break the power of the Templar Knights. He ordered their simultaneous
arrest, without warning, throughout the country on October thirteenth, 1307. The original Friday the thirteenth, just so you know. Most of the accusations against the Templars were the same sketchy charges routinely made against Philip’s political enemies: heresy, idolatry, spitting on the cross, and sodomy. The name Baphomet comes up, under severe torture, in several of the Templar confessions. It becomes one of the primary accusations—that they worshipped a pagan idol in the form of a preserved head or skull they called Baphomet. The name would have remained as something of a historical footnote if not for Éliphas Lévi.”

“The occult author,” Grey said aside to Lean.

Leadbetter nodded. “Yes, one of the most prominent of the modern ceremonial magicians. Helped spur on the revitalized interest in magic and the occult this past half century. Around 1850 or so, he wrote his first of many books on the occult,
Dogma and Ritual of High Magic
.”

The former minister selected that same book title from his top shelf and opened to the frontispiece. “This is his drawing where he pictured Baphomet as a Sabbatic Goat.”

The picture in the book showed a winged human body topped with a bearded goat head. Between the two great horns, a torch emerged from the head. A five-pointed star was emblazoned upon the being’s forehead. The body displayed a pair of breasts, while a rod entwined by two snakes rose from beneath a robe that covered the figure’s pelvis.

“That’s not supposed to be a picture of the devil?” Lean asked again.

The older man shook his head. “Certainly some similarities to what you might see of the devil in places such as tarot cards. But Lévi actually saw the image not necessarily as a religious one but rather a symbolic depiction of the absolute. Male and female, light and dark, justice and mercy. All in unity and harmony. The pentagram points up as a symbol of light toward the torch, the flame of enlightenment. The flame of the soul rising above the base matter of the body, the one hand points up toward a light moon, the other one down toward a dark moon, in equilibrium and universal balance. Quite a bit of symbolism here, really.”

Lean had been studying the picture while Leadbetter spoke. Of all the peculiar and unsettling elements in the image, one baffled him the most. “That rod, rising out of his … loins, what is that?”

“Mercury’s staff, the caduceus. Mercury, or Hermes, is considered
the symbolic male. Also, as I mentioned, mercury is the fluid metal, very important in terms of occult or alchemical thinking as the primary transformative element. Other alchemical symbols are present in the figure as well. See the words tattooed on his inner arms:
solve
and
coagula
—‘dissolve’ and ‘congeal,’ two of the vital transformative processes in alchemy.”

Lean clapped his hands together. “There’s a possible link, then, between this picture of Baphomet and Sears’s stolen image. They both relate to alchemy—mercury in particular.”

Grey held up a cautionary finger. “That’s not certain. Whoever drew the image in Portland may not even have known exactly what he was drawing. He attached the words ‘Hell Awaits.’ He’s mixing his symbolic metaphors. It’s amateurish. He may have meant to draw the devil and produced an image of Baphomet by chance, without understanding the distinction. He may have had no inkling whatsoever of any connection to alchemical imagery.”

“It wouldn’t be a major surprise for someone not an expert to make the mistake,” Leadbetter noted. “Much of the modern work on ancient occult wisdom has become something of a mishmash of ideas. But anyone familiar with Éliphas Lévi’s work would know of the man’s fascination with alchemy.”

“Understandable,” Lean muttered. “Who wouldn’t want to be able to spin straw into gold?”

“Lead into gold, not straw,” Grey corrected him. “You’re thinking of Rumpelstiltskin.”

Leadbetter chuckled, then said, “Actually, in his defense, Lévi followed a more philosophical view of the subject. He viewed the Great Work of alchemy as much more of a spiritual endeavor rather than a physical, metallurgical one.”

“So if he’s not after gold, what then?” Lean asked. “What you said before, something about the elixir of life? The goal’s immortality, is it?”

“The Great Work, the philosopher’s stone, the elixir of life, the highest level of enlightenment. Perfection.” Leadbetter flipped ahead in the pages of Éliphas Lévi’s book of magic.

“Elixir? Is it a drink?” Lean asked. “I thought it was a stone.”

“Your confusion is understandable. It’s called a stone, but descriptions
of its appearance vary. It may be best to think of the word ‘stone’ as a metaphor. It is, after all, meant to be a mercurial, transformative substance embodying opposite properties, including solid and liquid.”

Leadbetter regarded Lean’s still-perplexed face for a moment. “Maybe the author’s own definition will help. Here it is: ‘The Great Work is, before all things, the creation of man by himself, that is to say, the full conquest of his faculties and his future, the perfect emancipation of his will.’ ”

Lean gave an unsatisfied nod. “I’ll just settle for its being a metaphor.”

“The Great Work,” Grey said quietly, recalling something. “Would I be correct in expecting that someone like yourself, deeply interested in such arcane studies, would have occasion to meet and converse with a variety of others interested in the same matters?”

Leadbetter nodded. “There are various groups and societies who study spiritualism and whatnot. There’s even an actual church of sorts, the First Spiritual Temple here in the city.”

“Have you ever come across a man by the name of Dr. Jotham Marsh?” Grey asked.

Leadbetter flinched. “Why do you ask? Are you a friend of his?” The older man’s voice went up in pitch as if he were physically uncomfortable.

Grey offered a sarcastic smile. “More of an acquaintance, you might say. I’ve heard him use that phrase—the Great Work.”

The older man regarded Grey closely. “Not a man you want to be overly familiar with, if you want my advice.”

“Why do you say that?” Grey asked.

“He’s a man of great … ambitions. And perseverance. Not the sort you want to cross swords with, so to speak.”

Leadbetter was visibly agitated at the turn in the conversation, and Lean was sensitive to the older man’s feelings. Lean felt the prolonged confinement in the cramped, musty basement apartment overcoming him. Furthermore, the realization was dawning on him that Leadbetter could ramble on for hours and not tell them anything firmly related to their inquiry into the deaths of two thieves.

Grey retrieved his paper from the desk before the detectives thanked the deposed minister for his time and made their way out onto the street.
A horse-drawn railcar passed by at the corner, and Lean glanced up at the telephone wires that ran along the street poles. The images helped his mind vault forward by centuries, from an age of secret societies and alchemical manifestos to the comfort and certainty of the present day.

“A lot of information to digest, but I’m not sure it gets us any closer to who pulled the trigger on Frank Cosgrove or who scared Sears enough that he’d risk a deadly jump off a building.”

“You’re partly right,” Grey said. “We’ve gained no decisive information on the meaning of those images Chester Sears was attempting to steal. Leadbetter’s ideas about alchemical symbols aren’t much more convincing than Professor Horsford’s accounts of Viking runes.”

They paused to hail a hansom cab as Lean lit a cigarette.

“However,” Grey continued, “his identification of the ashen face from the house on Vine Street is interesting. The name of Baphomet is not exactly common knowledge among Portland’s criminal practitioners. But we do know one expert to call on when the subject of occult ritual intersects with murder.”

G
rey let himself into his front hallway, with L
EAN
close behind. The door to Mrs. Philbrick’s rooms on the first floor popped open, and the landlady appeared in the frame.