The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx (28 page)

The sequential adjustment of several other panels uncovered a hidden compartment containing a polished brass key. Taking it out, Adam shifted more of the panels in a seemingly random pattern until at last the center panel slid aside to disclose the lock for which the key had been designed.

Adam turned the key in the lock and reclaimed the metal weight of the casket from Philippa, lingering to Close and secure the door while she proceeded through a short vestibule passage to open another arched door. Beyond lay another vaulted chamber of a size similar to the wine cellar, its white-washed walls gently illuminated by the glow of an ever-burning lamp suspended by bronze chains from a boss at the center of the ceiling. Directly beneath the lamp stood a square, waist-high altar in the form of a double cube, centered on a large, fringed kelim rug and shrouded to the floor under the drape of a deep blue altar cloth. To the right of the altar and facing it was a high-backed armchair made from golden oak, its seat and oval-shaped back upholstered in blue velvet of the same shade as the altar cloth.

A narrow doorway in the right-hand wall of the passage gave access to a small sacristy chamber. Philippa had already gone inside with her lamp, but Adam proceeded to the temple threshold first to pay his respects, already beginning to focus his intentions for the work ahead. When he joined her a few minutes later, Philippa had put aside her caftan for a sapphire blue soutane and was operating a small, bronze-handled hand-pump to fill a creamware porcelain ewer with water.

Setting aside the casket, Adam stripped off his quilted robe and donned a soutane like hers, buttoning it close at the throat like a priest’s cassock and closing a cincture of the same deep sapphire around his waist. He was already wearing the sapphire signet ring that was both the emblem and the tool of his calling as an Adeptus Major, and now he laid around his neck the Qabalistic stole of High Adeptship, black on the right side and white on the left, with a tiny red Maltese cross appliquéed over the joining of the two colors, recalling the
Beauceant
banner of his Templar heritage. On other nights, for other workings, he might have crossed the white side over the black and secured the ends under his cincture, symbolizing Mercy restraining Might, the Priest-King offering self in sacrifice to Deity; but tonight he let the ends hang free, for he was to be the instrument of that Deity, standing as the Middle Pillar between Might and Mercy to mete out a restoration of the Balance set awry by the dark working of the Lodge of the Lynx.

Clasping his hands before him, with the sapphire of his ring pressed lightly to his lips; he offered as a prayer the motto adopted by the Templars when they had numbered only nine Poor Knights in the Holy Land.

Not to us, Lord, not unto us, but unto Thee be the Glory!

When he turned back to Philippa, she was waiting with the creamware ewer and a matching basin, a pristine linen towel laid across one forearm. He came to her and let her pour water over his hands, inhaling the fragrance of attar of roses, then dried his hands on the towel and offered her the same service.

Her ring flashed in the lamplight, sapphire and gold fashioned like a scarab, the ancient Egyptian symbol of eternal life. Adam’s father had bought it for her shortly before their marriage, not knowing then or ever that she was called to additional service besides that of physician, wife, and eventual mother. The pectoral hanging on her breast had been a later acquisition, but of far greater antiquity, bought at auction to celebrate Adam’s birth—blue faience and enamel depicting a Horus hawk clutching a solar disk between two ostrich plumes, wrought in Egypt in the XXIst Dynasty. Sir Ian Sinclair was never to know that the soul looking out through the wise eyes of his infant son and heir had treasured the ornament as a sign of royal priesthood.

Adam drew himself back from the memory as Philippa laid aside the towel, himself tipping the basin over a piscina set into the wall, returning the water to the earth whence it came. While she carried several other items into the temple, he retrieved his
skean dubh
from the pocket of his dressing gown, tucking it temporarily into the front of his cincture.

She returned and they were ready. Lighting a new beeswax taper from the little papyrus lamp, Philippa led them in, Adam following with the metal casket. This time he halted just inside the doorway, leaving Philippa to kindle the beeswax candles that stood in mirror-backed sconces on each of the temple’s four walls, making the responses in his mind as Philippa saluted each of the quarters and invoked their protection. The eastern wall bore a painted fresco of the Tree of Life, with the eastern candle set in the place of Kether, the Crown. Just before that wall stood a more conventional Christian altar, though they would not use that tonight. The glow of the candles picked out points of silver from the ceiling overhead, where the vault had been overlaid with a mosaic of stars.

She finished her circuit and extinguished her taper, laying it in a little niche to the right of the doorway before advancing between the center altar and the chair. Facing east, and bowing low in reverent acknowledgement of the Divinity she and Adam both served, she addressed herself to that Presence in the words of the Psalmist of Israel:

“The day is Thine, and the night is Thine; Thou hast prepared the light and the sun.”

A light breath of air stirred through the chamber, quickening the candle flames so that they flickered and danced with brighter intensity. Rising up from her obeisance, Philippa turned then to her left to gaze at Adam, hands upraised to the level of her shoulders and palms turned upward.

“The Lord is in His holy temple,” she announced. “Draw near with faith and reverence, that our work may find favor in His sight.”

Thus invited, Adam approached the altar, passing to the east of it, opposite Philippa, to sink to one knee in a deep genuflection that mirrored the attitude of a knight swearing fealty to his liege lord, the casket on his knee. As he rose, Philippa folded the blue cloth back from the altar to remove it, revealing a white one of fine damask linen beneath.

She finished folding the cloth and slipped it onto one of two specially constructed shelves built into the base of the chair, then shook out a much smaller square of linen cloth, just the size of the altar top, which she spread over the white damask. Two small silver bowls followed, containing salt and clear water. These she set to one side of the altar where, after bowing briefly over her clasped hands, she pointed the first and second fingers of her right hand at the vessel containing the salt.

“I exorcise thee, creature of salt, by the living God, by the holy God, by the omnipotent God, that thou mayest be purified in the Name of Adonai, Who is Lord of Angels and of men.”

She traced a cross over it, followed by an encompassing circle, then lifted the bowl to eye level between her two hands.

“Creature of earth, adore thy Creator. Thus be thou consecrated to the service of the Light, that thou mayest turn away the Darkness and bring purification to everything that feels thy holy touch. Amen.”

After placing the bowl of salt to the right of the cloth, she bowed low to the altar, then pointed her first two fingers at the bowl of water.

“I exorcise thee, creature of water, by the living God, by the holy God, by the omnipotent God, that thou mayest be purified in the Name of Elohim Sabaoth, Who is Lord of Angels and of men.”

Again the circled cross, before raising the vessel of water as she had raised the salt.

“Creature of water, adore thy Creator, and thereby be consecrated to the service of the Light, by that Name Which is above every name, before Which every knee should bend and every tongue give praise. Amen.”

When she had set the bowl of water to the left, she bowed again to the altar, then used her ring-hand to trace first a cross, then a pentagram, and finally an ankh in the air above the linen square. To Adam’s heightened senses, the figures seemed to hang on the air in afterimage as he set the casket in their midst.

He drew the
skean dubh
from his waist as he circled around to the left to take his place before his chair, Philippa moving in harmony so that she ended up standing directly opposite. Conscious of her strength ready to augment his own, he unsheathed the
skean dubh
and set sheath and blade to left and right of the casket before opening its lid.

The envelope made a creamy contrast against the casket’s lining of sea-blue silk. Plucking it out, Adam tore the end across and carefully pulled the contents out by the edge of McLeod’s handkerchief, letting all of it settle into the casket. A further careful prodding with his
skean dubh
lifted away the folds of silk to expose to the light of the hanging altar lamp what was left of the origami lynx, along with the curled slip of paper bearing McLeod’s signature and the ragged strips of Styrofoam.

A crackling surge of unseen energies attended his action, centered on the casket, resistance already rising in response to his intent. Well aware of the sudden tension building there, Adam laid his blade across the width of the casket and spread his left hand above it, inhaling a deep lungful of air and focusing an invocation for protection and guidance. As he opened himself to the Divine Will, invoking the Middle Pillar, all apprehension fled before a wondrous sense of abiding calm.

Anchored in this calm, he slipped effortlessly from prayer into deeper trance, the sharpening of his perceptions bringing ever-clearer vision of the sheer malignancy surrounding the contents of the casket. The evil it exuded was like the stench of brimstone. Keeping it at bay with his left hand, he laid the
skean dubh
aside and took up the little bowl of consecrated salt, invoking the authority of the One in Whose Name it had been blessed. He uttered that Name under his breath as he dashed the salt over the contents of the casket.

With a corrosive sizzle like a spatter of hot grease, the paper that had formed the lynx began to curl in upon itself. Black burn marks peppered the golden paper, spreading from fold to fold. A sudden, lurid flare burst forth, along with a puff of dirty smoke. As it mantled and spread, Adam suddenly found himself looking through a window in the smoke.

A large room lay beyond, furnished like a Victorian library, with four mist-shrouded figures gathered around a table at the center of the room. By the light of a branched candelabra one of the four was drawing a scalpel across his left thumb, letting the blood drip into a small glass jar already partially filled. At least one of the others had already made his bloody offering, and pressed a ball of cotton between left thumb and fingers. Other paraphernalia on the table declared this the session which had created the lynx charm. A crow-quill pen lay to one side, and a flash of gold at the leader’s elbow seemed to be the very piece of foil-backed paper used to fashion the origami lynx.

His gaze sharply narrowing, Adam attempted to catch a closer glimpse of the leader’s face. Before he could do so, a dark shape with outstretched arms reared up before him, a sullenly glimmering tore about its neck and lightning bolts in both hands. In reflex, Adam’s hand moved in a warding gesture. The image vanished in a blaze of white light.

He heard Philippa give a little gasp. For a moment, he could see nothing but the after-image. When his sight readjusted itself, nothing remained of the contents of the casket but a stinking smear of glowing ash and melted Styrofoam. Even the inside of the casket itself was gone, the silk lining burned cleanly away and the wood beneath it charred back nearly to the metal.

To complete the purification, Adam took the vessel of consecrated water and poured it along the length of the casket. Steam boiled up, far more of it than warranted by either the size of the fire or the amount of water. The stench of blood and brimstone dissipated swiftly, giving way to a faint fresh fragrance like the scent of clean snow. When it cleared away, in a last small puff of white steam, the casket was empty and dry, a shell of beaten metal.

Breathing a thankful sigh, Adam bent forward slightly to survey what was left, spreading his palms over the casket to verify that the work was complete, then sank to his knees in relief mixed with weariness, leaning his forehead gratefully against the edge of the altar as he offered up wordless thanks for the intercession of the Light.

* * *

Half an hour later, after returning the temple to order and divesting themselves of their ritual attire, Adam and Philippa had returned to the library for a belated and much-needed supper of hot stew, crusty French bread, and cocoa. Huddling close to the fireside, for she was still feeling the chill that invariably followed in the wake of a difficult working, Philippa studied her son’s face for several minutes, trying to fathom his reaction to the events they had just witnessed. When he did not seem inclined to speak, she set her mug of chocolate aside and laid a tapering, blue-veined hand on his knee.

“You don’t appear to be deriving much satisfaction from the night’s work,” she said quietly.

Adam shifted his gaze from his mug to the flames on the hearth. “I’d be better pleased if we were any the wiser for it,” he said. “We’ve neutralized the immediate threat to Noel, but that doesn’t alter the fact that the security of the Hunting Lodge has been breached. They’ll try again, and they’ll expand their net once they figure out that I’m involved—and Peregrine. The situation was already difficult enough without our being hampered by our enemies knowing much more about us than we do about them. “

This bleak statement drew a grimace from Philippa. “Weren’t you able to learn
anything
about those who took part in the making of that charm?”

“Little beyond what Peregrine’s sketches had already hinted,” Adam said. “There were four of them, who apparently all contributed to the blood used to letter out the charm, but I couldn’t get a look at their faces. And right at the end, there was something else there to make sure that I couldn’t—something non-human. I couldn’t get a look at
it,
either—and I’m not entirely sure I would have wanted to—but the torc was there again. And lightning bolts. “He shook his head, controlling a shudder.