"Yes, I know. I've been thinking about it."
"So when?"
"Soon." But he was starting to feel ambivalent about the whole thing. On the one hand, he was deeply intrigued-how could he not be-by what he had accessed during his ride. It had been a killer surge. So the urge to explore, which had always fueled his RV adventures, was very much present.
On the other hand, he had not exactly enjoyed the experience of going insane. And if he could give the drowning bit a miss as well, that would be fine with him too. Even more to the point: after this particular ride, when he finally got back to reality, his brain had continued to feel mauled-like a rugby ball after a hard season. This had never happened to him before and it was scary. He couldn't help feeling that if he slammed the ride again, he would be like a mad scientist injecting himself with his own untested and possibly lethal formula in order to see if it works.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask you." Frankie was gesturing at his bandaged wrist. "What happened there?"
"I had a run-in with a rabid cat, last night. At Monk House."
"Oh, I remember that cat. Black, was it?"
"Nice pet. It almost took my hand off."
She smiled. "I'm sure you must have teased it."
"Teased it?"
"Well, when I visited the house it was purring and rubbing itself against my legs. A real sweetie."
He opened his mouth to reply but at that moment a shadow fell across the table. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry I'm late." Isidore, dressed in a pink tank top, his hairy, thin, white legs sticking out from a pair of lavishly printed swimming trunks, was grinning down at him. In his hand he held a sleek tan-colored briefcase. Brief-case and swimming trunks made for a rather interesting sartorial statement.
"You're very late."
"Traffic was a bitch, what can I say? And I used the Pringle can at Pittypats before I came. Guess what; the idiots are still using their WEP default settings." Isidore winked at him.
"Pringle can?" Frankie looked mystified.
Gabriel shook his head in warning at Isidore. Of course he knew that Frankie was aware what his chosen field of profession was these days, but no need to remind her of its more nefarious aspects. "Pringle can" was their code name for the very sophisticated directional antenna they used for targeting wireless systems.
Isidore flopped into the chair opposite. Holding out his hand, he said, "Mrs. Whittington. A real pleasure."
Frankie, looking a little startled, took the hand. "Thanks. But please call me Frankie."
"Frankie. That's a cool name."
She smiled, clearly charmed. "Thank you for helping me."
"No problem." He reached for the briefcase and threw a glance at Gabriel. "I managed to get quite a lot of stuff about the Monk sisters from the Internet. I'm not sure how helpful it will be, but for what it's worth, here it is." From the briefcase he extracted an orange folder. Placing it on the table in front of him, he opened it and blinked owlishly at the contents.
"Anything on that coat of arms, the Monas?"
"Not a coat of arms. A sigil."
"A what?"
"A sigiclass="underline" a seal, or a device that supposedly has occult power in astrology or magic." Isidore spoke in the deliberately patient voice of someone having to explain something to a not-so-bright student.
"You don't say. So what are we talking about here, witchcraft?"
Isidore pursed his lips. "Well, witchcraft is such an emotive word, don't you think?"
"Oh for goodness' sake, Isidore. Get on with it. What the hell is it?"
"OK, OK." Isidore made a placating gesture with his hand. "First of all, the full name of this sigil is the Monas Hieroglyphica: the hieroglyphic monad. In 1564 it was used by one Dr. John Dee as the frontispiece for a book he wrote on mysticism, which includes all kinds of obscure references to numerology, the Kabala, astrology, cosmology and mathematics. Heavy stuff. By all accounts it is a work of mind-boggling complexity and Dee managed to write it in a mad frenzy over a period of only twelve days. This guy was a Jedi, I tell you."
"But what does it represent?"
"The Monas is several astrological symbols all bundled into one. Dee believed it to represent the unity of the cosmos."
"I still don't get what it is."
"Well, this is not just a symbol, understand. It is a seal infused with actual astral power. It not only talks the talk, it walks the walk. So not only does it reflect the unity of the universe, it is an actual tool with which to unify the psyche itself. And it's a symbol of initiation. Anyone who carries this mark on him is signaling that he is transformed."
"Alchemy." Frankie's voice was quiet. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Personal transformation."
Isidore looked at her, his gaze keen. "Yes. You know about this stuff, then."
"Alchemy was one of Robbie's great passions. He read tons of literature about it. I've always wondered why he had that thing tattooed on him."
Gabriel looked from Isidore to Frankie and back again. He felt left behind, as though they were speaking some foreign language, deliberately keeping him in the dark. "But alchemy is turning lead into gold, isn't it?"
Isidore shook his head. "That's only part of it. Alchemists were really involved in transforming the soul. Even the body. There are reports of alchemists becoming immensely old. Those who didn't get poisoned by the chemicals they were handling, that is."
"So who was John Dee?"
"Ah, now this is where it gets interesting. John Dee was your poster boy Renaissance man. He was a mathematical genius-his work anticipated Newton's by almost a hundred years-and without his mapmaking skills the most important naval explorations of the Elizabethan age could not have taken place. Furthermore, he was an adviser and a secret agent to Queen Elizabeth I. His spy name was 007. Neat, huh?" Isidore grinned, enjoying himself.
"Fascinating. So what?"
"Patience, my son. All will be revealed." Isidore nodded sagely and Gabriel bit his tongue.
"Among his many interests," Isidore continued serenely, "Dee had a deep and abiding fascination with the occult, which, in those days, was pretty risky, believe me. It could get you burnt at the stake before you could say abracadabra. Dee sailed very close to the wind indeed. The Monas Hieroglyphica is really a book on magic. Furthermore, Dee was an information freak, an absolute addict. He was not a wealthy man, but at one stage he had gathered in his house the most impressive library in the whole of Britain. Knowledge was his potion… or his poison, depending on how you look at it. He may have overdosed a bit. Turned gaga. He ended up thinking he could communicate with angels and became a laughingstock among his peers. Very sad, because he was seriously brilliant."
"All of this still does not explain why the Monk sisters have the Monas plastered up all over their house. You can hardly turn around without tripping over that emblem."
"Sigil."
"All right, then. Sigil."
"I think what we may have here is an example of ancestral pride."
"You mean…?" Frankie leaned forward, eyebrows raised.
Isidore nodded with the smugness of a magician pulling an especially plump rabbit out of his hat. "Minnaloushe and Morrighan Monk are direct descendants of Dr. John Dee, the greatest mind of the Elizabethan era."
Frankie leaned back slowly. "Impressive."
"I'll say. I wouldn't mind an ancestor like Dee myself. That kind of genius in the gene pool is robust enough to survive the ages."
"No, I mean it's impressive that you managed to dig all of this up."
Isidore tried his best to look modest. "I have a small talent for-"
"Snooping," Gabriel interrupted. "Being nosy."
"No, it's healthy curiosity. Being aware. I'm sort of a Renaissance man myself."