“Ah, I see,” the driver answered, looking a bit more tamed at his passenger’s abruptness. It seemed that revealing that he knew his destination was a place of ancient magical rites and world-governing forces with a high-class membership had slightly frightened the man. But if it frightened him into silence it was a good thing, thought Penekal. He had enough on his plate as it was.
They turned into a more secluded part of the city, a residential area with a few synagogues, churches, and temples among the three schools situated in the vicinity. On the street, the presence of children lessened gradually and Penekal could feel a change in the air. Houses grew more opulent and their fences more secure under the thickness of lavish gardens where the street meandered. At the end of the road, the car turned onto a small side avenue belonging to the grand building that peeked out through harsh security gates.
“Here you go, mister,” the driver announced as he brought the car to a halt a few meters away from the gate as if he were wary to be within a certain radius of the temple.
“Thank you,” Penekal said. “I shall call you when ‘am done.”
“I’m sorry, mister,” the driver objected. “Here.” He passed Penekal a business card of a colleague. “You can call my colleague to pick you up. I prefer not come here again, if you don’t mind.”
Without another word, he took Penekal’s money and pulled away, speeding up hastily before he even reached the T-junction to the other street. The old astronomer watched the brake lights of the taxi vanish around the corner before he took a deep breath and turned to face the tall gate. Behind it, the Masonic Temple stood brooding and silent, as if it were waiting for him.
20
The Enemy of my Enemy
“Master Penekal!” he heard from a distance on the other side of the fence. It was the very man he had come to see, the local master of the lodge. “You’re a bit early. Wait, I’ll come and open for you. Hope you do not mind sitting outside in the fresh air. The power is out again.”
“Thank you,” Penekal smiled. “I have no problem getting some fresh air, sir.”
He had never before met Prof. Imru, Head of the Freemasons of Cairo and Giza. All Penekal knew of him was that he was an anthropologist and the chief executive of the People’s Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites, recently having been involved in a global tribunal on archaeological crimes in North Africa. Although the professor was an affluent and powerful man, his personality proved to be very agreeable and he made Penekal feel at home at once.
“A drink?” Prof. Imru asked.
“Thank you. I’ll have what you have,” Penekal answered, feeling rather silly with rolls of old parchment under his arm here in the solitude of natural beauty outside the building. Unsure of the protocol, he kept to smiling cordially and keeping his words reserved for answers instead of statements.
“So,” Prof. Imru started as he sat down with a glass of ice tea, giving the other to his guest, “you say you have some queries about an alchemist?”
“I do, sir,” Penekal admitted. “I am not a man to play games, for I’m simply too old to have the time for subterfuge.”
“I can appreciate that,” Imru smiled.
Clearing his throat, Penekal dove right in. “I was just wondering if currently the Freemasons are perhaps engaging in alchemic practice that involves… uh…,” he struggled with the formulation of his query.
“Just ask, Master Penekal,” Imru said, hoping to sooth his visitor’s nerves.
“Are you perhaps busy with rites that could influence the constellations?” Penekal asked, narrowing his eyes in a wince of discomfort. “I realize how it sounds, but…”
“How does it sound?” Imru asked curiously.
“Unbelievable,” the old astronomer conceded.
“You’re speaking to a purveyor of grand rituals and age-old esoterica, my friend. Let me assure you, there are very few things in this Universe that are unbelievable to me, and precious little that is impossible,” Prof. Imru revealed proudly.
“You see, my brotherhood is also an obscure organization. It was founded so long ago that there is practically no record of our founders,” Penekal explained.
“I know. You are from the Dragon Watchers of Hermopolis. I know,” Prof. Imru nodded assuringly. “I am after all, an anthropology professor, my good man. And as a masonic initiate, I am fully aware of the work your order has been engaged in all these centuries. As a matter of fact, it locks in with much of our own rites and bases. Your forefathers followed Thoth, I know, but what is it you think is happening here?”
Almost leaping up in enthusiasm, Penekal placed his scrolls on the table, unrolling the maps for Prof. Imru to scrutinize. “See?” he panted anxiously. “These are stars that have fallen from their seats in the past week and a half, sir. Do you recognize them?”
For a long while Prof. Imru silently regarded the stars marked on the map, trying to make sense of them. Finally he looked up. “I’m not much of an astronomer, Master Penekal. I know this one is very important in magic circles, also present in the Codex of Solomon.”
He pointed to the first star Penekal and Ofar had marked. “It’s significant in alchemical practices from France in the mid 18th Century, but I must confess, as far as I am aware, we have no alchemist working at the moment,” Prof. Imru informed Penekal. “What element is at play here? Gold?”
Penekal answered with a dreadful countenance, “Diamonds.”
Then he showed Prof. Imru the news links of the murders near Nice, France. With a low tone, quivering in urgency, he disclosed the details of the murders of Madame Chantal and her housekeeper. “The most prominent diamond stolen during that incident, Professor, is the Celeste,” he groaned.
“I have heard of it. Some miraculous stone of higher quality than the Cullinan, I have heard. But what is its significance here?” Prof. Imru asked.
Penekal looked terribly drained, the professor noticed, a demeanor that had visibly grown darker since the old visitor learned that the Freemasons were not the architects of the recent phenomena. “The Celeste is the prime stone that can defeat the collection of Solomon’s seventy-two diamonds, should they be used against the Magician, a great sage of terrible intention and power,” Penekal explained so rapidly that he had begun to run out of breath.
“Please, Master Penekal, have a seat here. You are exerting yourself too much in this heat. Take a moment. I will still be here to listen, my friend,” Prof. Imru said before suddenly falling into a state of deep contemplation.
“W-wha… what is it, sir?” Penekal asked.
“Give me a moment, please,” the professor begged, frowning as his recollection burned. In the shade of the acacia trees that sheltered the old Masonic building, the professor paced in thought. While Penekal sipped his ice tea to cool both his body and his worries, he watched the professor mutter quietly to himself. At once, his host seemed to snap out of it and he turned to Penekal with a peculiar look of disbelief. “Master Penekal, have you ever heard of the Sage Ananiah?”
“I have not, sir. Sounds biblical,” Penekal said, shrugging.
“The Magician you described to me, his abilities and that which he uses to wreak pandemonium,” he tried to explain, but his own words failed him, “he… I cannot even think this, but we have seen many absurdities coming to truth before,” he shook his head. “This man sounds like a mystic encountered by a French initiate in 1782, but it cannot be the same man, obviously.” His latter words sounded frail and uncertain, but for logic. That was something Penekal understood greatly. He sat staring at the intelligent and righteous leader, hoping to have formed some sort of allegiance, hoping that the professor would know what to do.