Take me back to the pines on the Brocken, where the dark powers meet
…
So said a very discontented Le Stryge; and my friend Jyp the Pilot grew pale at the mention.
A low rumble startled me out of my dark memories. Not far away an inner door was being locked back, to let some bulky furniture be carried out of an inner room. I looked through, and saw that the room beyond was much larger than this one and its ceiling was the great glass dome. Men in their shirt-sleeves were bustling around, evidently preparing for something; they were clearing the place, rolling back the carpet, even. Surely this could have been done earlier, before people arrived; so why wasn’t it? Unless it was something secret, so secret that
it could only be prepared under the cover of the party. The floor beneath looked like marble, sounded like it as they laid out jugs and bowls – no, vessels and ewers, fantastically ornate things of gilt or gold with an indefinable air of age. There was gold in the floor, too, in mosaic patterns inlaid into the marble, one great central shape that looked familiar. Only familiar wasn’t friendly, given some of the things I’d seen; where had I ever run into
that?
The Nazis, now, did they have any other symbols beside the swastika? But as I sidled closer, straining to make it out, I almost jumped out of my skin. A hand landed on my shoulder, a great flipper of a thing, and turned me irresistibly around. A pair of slightly bulging blue eyes stared down into mine, and the glitter of rage was sudden and sharp.
‘
Stephen? Teufelschwanz, was machst du Verfluchter in diese Stelle?
’
‘Well, hold on a minute, Lutz – you invited me, didn’t you?’
The eyes wandered an instant, and then his tone was mild; but in men like Lutz mildness doesn’t come naturally. ‘Yes. Yes, of course, I am sorry! To the party,
gewiss natürlich!
Though I had given up hope of your arriving! But to this? I am sorry, Stephen, but this is a meeting of a particular – what is the word? Of a Lodge. A private one, that it was convenient to hold in conjunction with the
assemblage
below. How on earth did you come to be admitted?’
‘Fraülein Inga-Lise brought me here to find you, that’s how!’
‘Ah …’ His whole countenance changed. ‘She had no call to do that. The silly girl! She must have assumed, because you were arriving so late, that it was for this alone. Hmph!’ He huffed a moment, rubbed his hands, and looked at me slightly askance. ‘I will have to have a word with her. The fact is, I am a little annoyed. You and she between you have somewhat deflated a surprise I was hoping to prepare for you. Specially for you.’
‘For me?’
‘Why, yes. I was hoping that I could invite you – and please do not laugh! – to enter this very Lodge! Perhaps even this very night! And here you have forestalled me!’
I drew a deep breath. Time to tread very carefully. ‘Lutz … that’s a real honour. And extremely kind of you. Only … well, perhaps it’s for the best. You know how often
I’ve been invited to join the Masons? But I’ve always had to refuse. It’s a company tradition – no fear, no favour.’ I thought of my old boss Barry, never joining any of his beloved Jewish societies, but somehow I didn’t feel like mentioning that to Lutz. ‘We stop short at the Rotarians, more or less. So …’
Lutz snorted good-humouredly, though his eyes still glittered. ‘You and that company of yours! There you are, you see, I knew I vould need time to tell you about us, as much as I’m allowed to. For this could be very important to you, Stephen. The Masons, that is a petty thing, a local thing. We also are related to Freemasonry, Stephen, but in the much older tradition of the continent. Much older and more powerful, descended from Lodges that numbered among their members Mozart and the Emperor Joseph II. We have long been accustomed to number men of power among us, the more enlightened men of their time. Governments have been made or toppled in our salons, kings overthrown, fortunes made and destroyed. In times of turbulence or war we offer a shelter, an understanding, a constant mutual help that goes beyond mere national boundaries.’ His voice sank. ‘And to those with the imagination to grasp it we offer a knowledge of the forces that truly underlie the world. I say no more of that for now, but it is there.’
I was walking on eggs. ‘It sounds fascinating, but principle—’
‘You?’ he woofed. ‘You are old enough to know that principle is what you make it. And principle is not everything with you, is it?’ He chuckled, and passed me another champagne glass. ‘Veuve Cliquot, and not for my noisy young friends downstairs to gulp. Though you know, Steve,’ he chuckled, and I thought he was going to dig me in the ribs, ‘we could show them a thing or two. We who work hard, we also play hard – I already know that is true of you! Those girls I’ve seen you with – uh? Well, after hours here …’
He raised his eyebrows, making those pop eyes look round and impish. ‘You take my meaning?’
I glanced around, and he gave a chortle. ‘Oh, not with this lot, no, not these old
Katze!
They are just along for the ride –
verstehn? So gut.
But I can promise you an experience that will turn you inside out, Herr Ratspräsident – inside out. There are girls, beautiful girls who – words fail me. It must be experienced.’
Internally I winced, but I still didn’t want to offend him outright. I sought for an answer along
the right lines, a gentle turndown that wouldn’t give him any excuse for immediate offence. ‘Lutz, I … I’m impressed as hell. But, on the whole, you know how it is? I prefer to roll my own.’
He stared at me for an instant, then let loose a thunderous guffaw. ‘
Jo, g’wiss, und wer soll denn den papier lecken
, hah? And are you careful always with the filter-tips, hah-hah-hah? Well, I can respect that. But you must be careful, Stephen, lest you turn down knowledge. For nobody has enough of that.’
‘Believe me, I know. Maybe if you feel able to talk to me some more about it. Some other time, maybe. Right now I’m kind of tired, harder to persuade about anything …’
‘
Aber natürlich.
But it is getting late, and—’ He glanced around. The men in the next room were looking at us uncertainly; so were the guests. ‘You understand? If you do not join tonight …’
‘Of course I understand, I don’t want to get in anybody’s way.’
‘Fine, fine. Of course you may join the party below, no? Then I will see you out myself.’ He turned and loosed a blast of instructions to the others – not in German, it sounded more like Polish or south Russian. The men scurried back into the next room, and I saw several of the guests, or Lodge members or whatever they were, moving as if to help, with a growing sense of urgency. I caught one last glimpse of that complex inlaid floor, but at once Lutz put his arm to my shoulders and shepherded me out. We took a shorter way this time, down darkened stairs and past closed doors, avoiding the row below, but just as I thought I would be ushered out of a side-door, Lutz suddenly diverted us through the main hall. He stopped there to introduce me to one or two people, not very relevant ones, it seemed, and then scooped me away. My car was already waiting, motor running and lights on, and as I clambered in Lutz stood over me woofing unnecessary instructions for getting back to town. He seemed determined to take care of me, and stood waving after me as I pulled away across the gravel forecourt to the drive. Again the lights rode with me as I moved through the grounds – some sort of sensor mechanism, I guessed, so as not to ruin the night with glare, but it made me feel exposed. Which was ridiculous, but the hair under my collar crawled. As if I was being
watched … as if something was following me among the shadows. I couldn’t shake it off. I touched the brake, glanced around.
Just beyond the car an overhanging rhododendron twig leaped and flew up, landing on the bonnet in a shower of leaves. I braked violently, and something else sang down and threw up a spatter of gravel at the driver’s door. I more or less stamped on the accelerator; no mistaking what
that
was. Just as the car lurched forward an intense green point glittered on the windscreen; then there was another whine through the open window, past my ear, and a rear window crazed. I ducked, changed up like a maniac and saw two more gravel fountains spout around the car. Then I was at a bend in the drive, and nearing the gate. The gatekeepers sprang up, and I half expected them to leap into my path with machine pistols; but instead they flung the gates open with as much of a flourish as before, so I hardly needed to slow down. I sailed through with a nonchalant wave, half expecting a bullet in the back, and saw their faces stiffen as they registered the crazy cracking on that rear pane. Too late; I was through, away and down towards the village. But it wasn’t till the cobbles of its main street rumbled under the tyres that I slowed down and stopped, shaking, to wonder just who the hell had been after me with a long-range laser gunsight.
I couldn’t have offended Lutz
that
much; or if I had, there were a hundred easier ways he could have disposed of me, and not on his premises either. And he wouldn’t have let me slip through that gate, not Lutz. But whoever it was had missed. Could it just have been a warning? I reached out and touched the shattered window; another centimetre and that would have been my head. Warnings don’t come that close. Which meant that our sight-wielder was an assassin all right, just not a very good one – lack of practice, maybe, at least in real-world situations.
I drew breath and started the car up again, heading for the
Autobahn;
these winding little lanes were unnerving now. At every bend I kept expecting to see that green glimmer again, and then – nothing. But on the
Autobahn
I could build up a bit of speed, and be harder to hit, impossible in traffic. The
Einfahrt
sign, which normally made me chuckle, looked like the gate to paradise when I reached it, and the bumpy concrete-block surface, a legacy of the Third Reich, rumbled with safety and security. I’d been shot at more than most people, and if anything I liked it even less now; every miss brought that inevitable hit one statistical notch nearer. I put my
foot down and let the car’s power take over, snatching me up and sweeping me away. I’d have liked the road a bit less empty, for cover’s sake, but at least I could open her up.
It was the roar from beside me that caught my attention, the sound of a fast car being pushed; and it was too close. I glanced around, saw the dark saloon loom up, the window slide down. The sight of the slingshot almost made me laugh, till I realized its purpose. A bullet in a crashed driver’s head causes comment, but there are a hundred ways a lump of jagged metal or stone could have got there. Frantically I ducked, wrenched at the wheel to swerve away – and screamed aloud.
The big black truck which had been quietly minding its own business some way ahead had become a roaring, swinging monster right in my path, driving me towards the outer lane, the concrete lip of the road and the blackness beyond. I swung the car, braked, and the truck smashed into the concrete in front of me, rebounded in a spray of chips, and here was that bloody Merc again! I swung right, only to see the truck wheels loom above me like whirling mincers, too close to avoid now. There was a thudding crash, the broken back window exploded – and the Merc, cutting in towards me, burst off them like the ball off a roulette wheel. As I struggled to steer into my long skid I saw it leap the centre and go skidding along the crash barrier, then overturn with a noise like crumpling tin. I pulled the car round as the truck bore down on me, clamped down hard and felt some two hundred and fifty horsepower take hold of the road and heave. Friend or foe, the truck couldn’t even hope to keep up. It fell away behind, and good riddance; there’d been nothing accidental about any of this. The wind from the empty light behind whistled savagely; it would have been my side window, and probably me, if it hadn’t been for that truck. I’d been shaking earlier; now I was just plain and fancy furious.
It was nearly two when I pulled back into the hotel, causing the sleepy night porter to goggle at the sight of my car, with its side stove in. I’d stopped to report it, not that it would do any good, but it would keep the hire company off my back. The police were politely sceptical, asking if driving on the right had not by chance confused my lane discipline, and squaring up
to breathalyse me – until they found out where I’d been. One mention of Lutz and C-Tran, and it was yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir, which isn’t supposed to happen, but does. That put me in an even filthier temper, and to avoid another set of explanations I said I’d park the car myself. I trundled around to a suitably obscure corner in the shadows at the side of the hotel, and that made me think of 1726. I looked up at her window, but the light was off. I resisted the temptation to rush up there and wring some more explanations out of her, though; the best thing for me would be getting out of here, fast, and back home, to find some more reliable advice. And somehow, during all this lunatic pursuit, my subconscious had placed that strange symbol on that beautiful floor, and disturbed me deeply in the process. I wished it had been something like a swastika; that I could almost have comprehended, loathed but related to history, to purely human horrors. But the last place I’d seen a shape like that was among the ghastly tangles of obscene carving on the high stern transom of the Wolfship
Chorazin.
A geometric five-pointed star, set within a double circle of inscription, an emblem of ill intent, a pentacle.
Though this one had been filled with what looked like odd mosaic patterns …
I stopped suddenly, turned round. Something had moved behind me, something like a momentary flicker of light, a rustle of movement to go with it. When I spun around again it stopped, then sounded again, louder. Over the bonnets of the parked cars something flowed, barely visible except against their mirror polish, a faint misting that moved in tendrils, amoeba-like. Now I could see it in the air, just, as the lights glimmered on it. There was that sound again – not a rustle exactly, more like a faint hoarse exhalation. It looked like nothing at all, and yet the feeling grew on me that it would be a very bad idea to have that clammy cloud wrap itself about me. I backed away, and saw it seem to rear up, facing me, an invisibility no more than a shimmer against the stunted trees behind and their single low lantern – and then, shockingly, whiter, thicker, as mist flowed back into it from all around. It was gathering itself into a thick misty cloud there; and I turned and ran. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the thing move, too, gliding forward, on my tracks, glittering among the parked cars, flowing over their cold metal like a caress. It was fast, too, but I was faster; I made the front, and practically fell through the glass doors as they soughed back. The porter
was contemplating me with fascination.