He took his chair at the desk.
As the doors closed, he picked up the receiver, and pressed the tiny red button. “Samuel!” he whispered.
“Ashlar,” came the answer, clear as if his friend were truly at his ear. “You’ve kept me waiting fifteen minutes. How important you’ve become.”
“Samuel, where are you? Are you in New York?”
“Certainly not,” came the reply. “I’m in Donnelaith, Ash. I’m at the Inn.”
“Phones in the glen.” It was a low murmur. The voice was coming all the way from Scotland … from the glen.
“Yes, old friend, phones in the glen, and other things as well. A Taltos came here, Ash. I saw him. A full Taltos.”
“Wait a minute. It sounded as if you said-”
“I did say this. Don’t get too excited about it, Ash. He’s dead. He was an infant, blundering. It’s a long story. There’s a gypsy involved in it, a very clever gypsy named Yuri, from the Talamasca. The gypsy would be dead right now if it weren’t for me.”
“Are you sure the Taltos is dead?”
“The gypsy told me. Ash, the Talamasca is in a dark time. Something tragic has happened with the Order. They’ll kill this gypsy soon, perhaps, but he’s determined to go back to the Motherhouse. You must come as soon as you can.”
“Samuel, I’ll meet you in Edinburgh tomorrow.”
“No, London. Go directly to London. I promised the gypsy. But come quickly, Ash. If his brothers in London catch sight of him, he’ll be dead.”
“Samuel, this can’t be a correct story. The Talamasca wouldn’t do such things to anyone, let alone its own people. Are you sure this gypsy is saying true things?”
“Ash, it has to do with this Taltos. Can you leave now?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t fail me?”
“No.”
“Then there’s one more thing I must tell you right now. You’ll see it in the papers-in London as soon as you land. They’ve been digging here in Donnelaith, in the ruins of the cathedral.”
“I know this, Samuel. You and I have talked about this before.”
“Ash, they dug up the grave of St. Ashlar. They found the name engraved in the stone. You’ll see it in the papers, Ashlar. Scholars are here from Edinburgh. Ash, there are witches involved in this tale. But the gypsy will tell you. People are watching me. I have to go.”
“Samuel, people are always watching you, wait-”
“Your hair, Ash. I saw you in a magazine. Are those white streaks in your hair? Never mind.”
“Yes, my hair is turning white. But it’s happening slowly. I haven’t aged otherwise. There are no real shocks for you, except the hair.”
“You’ll live till the end of the world, Ash, and be the one to make it crumble.”
“No!”
“Claridge’s in London. We are leaving now ourselves. That’s a hotel where a man can make a big oak fire in the grate, and sleep in a big old cozy bedroom full of chintz and hunter-green velvet. I’ll be waiting for you there. And Ash. Pay the hotel, will you? I’ve been out here in the glen for two years.”
Samuel rang off.
“Maddening,” he whispered. He laid down the phone.
For long moments he looked at the bronze doors.
He didn’t blink or focus when the doors opened. He scarcely saw the blurred figure who came into the room. He was not thinking, he was merely repeating the words Taltos and Talamasca inside his head.
When he did look up, he saw only Remmick pouring chocolate from a small, heavy silver pitcher into a pretty china cup. The steam rose in Remmick’s patient and slightly weary face. Gray hair, now that was gray hair, an entire head of it. I do not have so much gray hair.
Indeed, he had only the two streaks flowing back from his temples, and a bit of white in his sideburns, as they were called. And yes, just a tiny touch of white in the dark hair of his chest. Fearfully he looked down at his wrist. There were white hairs there, mingled with the dark hair that had covered his arms now for so many years.
Taltos! Talamasca. The world will crumble ….
“Was it the right thing, sir, the phone call?” asked Remmick, in that wonderful, near-inaudible British murmur that his employer loved. Lots of people would have called it a mumble. And we are going now to England, we are going back among all the agreeable, gentle people…. England, the land of the bitter cold, seen from the coast of the lost land, a mystery of winter forests and snow-capped mountains.
“Yes, indeed, it was the right thing, Remmick. Always come to me directly when it’s Samuel. I have to go to London, right now.”
“Then I have to hurry, sir. La Guardia’s been closed all day. It’s going to be very difficult-”
“Hurry, then, please, don’t say anything further.”
He sipped the chocolate. Nothing tasted richer to him, sweeter, or better, except perhaps unadulterated fresh milk.
“Another Taltos,” he whispered aloud. He set down the cup. “Dark time in the Talamasca.” This he wasn’t sure he believed.
Remmick was gone. The doors had closed, the beautiful bronze gleaming as if it were hot. There was a trail of light across the marble floor from the light embedded in the ceiling, rather like the moon on the sea.
“Another Taltos, and it was male.”
There were so many thoughts racing through his head, such a clatter of emotion! For a moment he thought he’d give way to tears. But no. It was anger that he felt, anger that once again he had been teased by this bit of news, that his heart was beating, that he was flying over the sea to learn more about another Taltos, who was already dead-a male.
And the Talamasca-so they had come into a dark time, had they? Well, wasn’t it inevitable? And what must he do about it? Must he be drawn into all this once more? Centuries ago, he had knocked on their doors. But who among them knew this now?
Their scholars he knew by face and name, only because he feared them enough to keep track of them. Over the years, they had never stopped coming to the glen…. Someone knew something, but nothing ever really changed.
Why did he feel he owed them some protective intervention now? Because they had once opened their doors, they had listened, they had begged him to remain, they hadn’t laughed at his tales, they’d promised to keep his secret. And like him, the Talamasca was old. Old as the trees in the great forests.
How long ago had it been? Before the London house, long before, when the old palazzo in Rome had been lighted still with candles. No records, they had promised. No records, in exchange for all he had told … which was to remain impersonal, anonymous, a source of legend and fact, of bits and pieces of knowledge from ages past. Exhausted, he had slept beneath that roof; they had comforted him. But in the final analysis they were ordinary men, possessed of an extraordinary interest perhaps, but ordinary, short-lived, awestruck by him, scholars, alchemists, collectors.
Whatever the case, it was no good to have them in a dark time, to use Samuel’s words, not with all they knew and kept within their archives. Not good. And for some strange reason his heart went out to this gypsy in the glen. And his curiosity burned as fierce as ever regarding the Taltos, the witches.
Dear God, the very thought of witches.
When Remmick came back, he had the fur-lined coat over his arm.
“Cold enough for this, sir,” he said, as he put it over the boss’s shoulders. “And you looked chilled, sir, already.”
“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Don’t come down with me. There’s something you must do. Send money to Claridge’s in London. It’s for a man named Samuel. The management will have no trouble identifying Samuel. He is a dwarf and he is a hunchback and he has very red hair, and a very wrinkled face. You must arrange everything so that this little man has exactly what he wants. Oh, and there is someone with him. A gypsy. I have no idea what this means.”