Chapter 55: Meeting and Mixing
In Which Strephon meets some new people while waiting for the Council Meeting to begin, and wonders what the deuce is taking Tobias so long to park his blessed taxicab.
The air on the far side of the Fairy Gate was cool and just a little bit damp, not surprising since the portal led to a chamber roughly twenty or so feet beneath the Chapel of the Holy Redemption. When the Hidden Council had been formed centuries ago, it was agreed by all the parties involved that the best place to convene would be the convergence of magical forces which had been used as a site for magic rituals long before the contest between the Monks of Augustine and the Priests of Togwogmagog. That the Monks held the hill and had sanctified the site as a holy shrine was an inconvenience, but not an insurmountable one. It took nearly a century to dig a secret tunnel under the hill and excavate a chamber under the shrine. Strephon suspected that the Benedictines of the Monastery were not completely unaware of what was transpiring beneath their feet, but Rome was a long way away and they found it expedient to turn a blind eye towards the Council's existence.
Around the Danish Invasion, in Alfred the Great's time, the Council and the Church came to a formal, if unofficial truce. In order to provide a united front against the Danes, the local Church authorities would cease its persecution of magic so long as the Council limited its activities to the regulation of the supernatural community in the secular sphere and not use their secret chamber beneath the shrine for pagan rituals and nameless orgies. Strephon wasn't exactly sure if the magicians of that time actually were performing orgies, but that was the kind of thing monks would worry about. From a practical point of view, the very existence of the magical nexus meant that magical creatures and humans with an affinity for magic would be drawn to the community, no matter how desperately the Church tried to stamp such things out. It made more sense to have the witches police themselves.
The Hidden Council's chambers had been enlarged since those early days when a half-dozen or so grim-faced mages in robes would gather around the big, black rock which had once stood at the center of the ring of standing stones on top of the hill and which had been secreted away when the monks had destroyed the ring to build their shrine. Now the Council Stone stood as the focus of an amphitheater, large enough to seat about three hundred people and accommodate maybe a couple hundred more if necessary. The public seating area formed an arc, covering about two thirds of the amphitheater. The Council itself sat behind a line of small tables arranged in another semi-circle facing the Stone.
Adjacent to this main chamber was a sort of vestibule, a social area where Council Members, petitioners and other interested parties could mingle and chat before and after the meetings. Due to his background in the clergy, Strephon always thought of this area as the Narthex. He suspected that a lot of the Council's work was accomplished in these small, informal discussions and that the official votes during the meetings were largely a formality. Still, he considered, these formalities had their value as well.
Several people had already arrived, citizens as well as Council members, and Strephon noted that many were dressed for the occasion. The supernatural community of the city was called “The Hidden World” because, for the most part, they remained hidden from the rest of the city. Magical folk usually tried to blend in with the magically-challenged majority; but for that very reason, when they had occasion to be social with others of their kind, they liked to dress up.
He saw a small knot of witches chatting together, a few in Renaissance Faire costumes; a few looking more like Gypsies, and at least one wearing a respectable business woman's ensemble underneath a more traditional black cloak and pointy hat. He saw Thoth, or “Timmy” rather, wearing a sort of Roman toga and topped with a triangular hat like the Pyramid of Cheops, arguing with Bishop Martin, who wore his formal alb and vestments. A morose young man in a black Nehru jacket and sharpened goatee hovered near the table with the coffee urn, observing the gathering crowd like an unhappy ghost.
Strephon felt conspicuously underdressed in his boring suit and tie; adequate for an appointment with his banker, perhaps, but severely understated for rubbing elbows with vampires and sorcerers. Perhaps he should have worn his dinner clothes, as he did at Melchior's party, but he hadn't given himself time to change. He could always create a glamour of something more appropriate. No, he would remain as he was. He was here on business, so the plain suit would have to do.
Only one of the attendees came close to matching Melchior for sartorial resplendence: Sir Hugo Main-Rouge, the city's oldest vampire, who had been around since the War of the Roses and whose taste in fashion remained firmly rooted in the court of Henry Tudor. He kept a small staff of clothing historians to maintain his 16th Century wardrobe. Sir Hugo frowned as he approached, regarding Melchior with the antipathy of a society matron who has just discovered a social rival at a party wearing the same gown. He made a point of ignoring Melchior and addressing Strephon first.
“Why, it's young Bellman,” he said. What the devil is that ghastly contraption you're sitting in? Don't tell me it's some beastly new fad.”
“No, Sir Hugo,” Strephon said. “I fear this conveyance is a necessity. I am not completely immortal as you are. My legs are mortal, you see, and have grown infirm with age.”
Sir Hugo seemed shocked. “Infirm with age? You? Outrageous! Labour Party's to blame, I have no doubt! What's Parliament coming to these days? I shouldn't stand for it!”
“As a matter of fact, I can't stand for it at all,” Strephon said with a wry smile.
“Wot? Wot?” It took a moment for the jest to register, but when he puzzled it out, Sir Hugo gave a jolly chuckle. “Cannot stand for it! Quite good!”
Now Sir Hugo deigned to notice Melchior, appraising him like an art connoisseur confronted with a watercolor of dubious provenance. “And what is this?” he asked.
“This is Lord Melchior Dusk,” Strephon said. “From the Faerie Court.”
“Ah.” Sir Hugo's mustache arched, emphasizing his sneer. “One of them.” He gave Melchior a further perusal before addressing him directly. “Spanish sleeves with a Venetian doublet? Really! Your tailor ought to be flogged!” Sir Hugo bade Strephon a good evening, gave Inanna a polite bow, and then went to find less gauche company.
Melchior was beginning to seethe now. Clearly he was unaccustomed to meeting people who felt superior to him and was not enjoying the situation. If he seriously wanted to participate in the Council, Strephon thought, he would have to get used to it. Perhaps Melchior would become annoyed enough to abandon his Mortal World plots. No, Strephon decided, that would be too much for which to hope.
The witch Strephon had seen earlier, the one in the business outfit and the black cloak and hat, came over to them now, and greeted them with an ingratiating smile which did much to raise Melchior's spirits. “You must be Lord Melchior,” she said, extending her hand. “How splendid to finally meet you. I do apologize for Sir Hugo, he can be terribly blunt.”
Strephon noted the silver brooch pinning her cloak: three moons, each at a different phase and bearing the face of a matron, a maid and a crone to symbolize the three faces of the Triple Goddess Hecate, a symbol used by the International Sisterhood. “I'm Cynthia Vane,” she said. “It is an honor to have a noble of the Faerie Court grace our chambers. I have long said that the Council ought to have the Fae represented. Having you address the Council is a momentous occasion.”
Melchior favored her with a smile. “Yes, it certainly is a tremendous opportunity to reach out between the Mortal and Immortal Worlds. I think it safe to say that you will be presiding this evening over an historic moment.”
More flattery, Strephon thought, but he conceded that this time Melchior seemed to have done it well. Ms. Vane nearly glowed under his approval. Melchior obviously had at least one vote.
“And you must be Justice Bellman,” she said, turning her attention to Strephon. “I've heard so much about you.”
“Just Mister Bellman,” Strephon said. “I retired quite a while ago. It is a pleasure to meet you Madame Chairwoman.”
“Acting Chair,” Ms. Vane corrected. “I'm filling out the remainder of our previous Chair's term. But I expect to be confirmed in the position at the election next Candlemas.”
“Who was the previous Chairman? I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up much on local events.
Ms. Vane made a face. “Ananias Sedge. He passed away a few months ago.”
“Ah. Yes, I remember reading his obituary in the Star. I had no idea he was on the Council.” Ananias Sedge was a local occultist who had started a Neo-Satanist group back in the '70s. As far as Strephon could tell at the time, it was just ordinary early 19th Century Transcendentalism dressed up in occult iconography as a gimmick, and he privately thought Sedge was a charlatan. The man certainly had a talent for self-promotion, though, and for rubbing people the wrong way. Strephon wondered how he had managed to get elected.
“Well,” Vane gave a cautious glance over her shoulder in case anyone besides Strephon and Melchior might be listening in. “De mortuis nihil nisi bonum and all that. But I think the Council is better off with someone more stable at the helm.”
“Undoubtedly.” Might Vane have helped Sedge into his grave in order to move up in the Council? It seemed to Strephon a distinct possibility. But even if she had, that didn't mean she had any connection to Melchior's plot. Or did it? Sedge's death had opened up a slot on the Council which Melchior was trying to occupy. Was this a matter of convenient coincidence, or had Melchior or the forces behind him arranged for the vacancy to open up? Strephon wondered when Sedge died in relation to when Melchior took over Vanir Technologies.
“You can certainly count on my support,” Melchior added, clearly deciding that Strephon had monopolized enough of the Acting Chairwoman's attention and wishing to remind her that he was present too. He did not mention, Strephon noted, that any significant support he could give her depended largely on his gaining a seat on the Council. Very likely, he did not need to.
Ms. Vane looked at her watch and remarked how late it was getting and how she needed to go over some points of the agenda. She bid them farewell and bustled off to bless someone else with the benefits of her efficiency.
Not long afterwards, Thoth strode towards them through the crowd with his long-legged gait. “Bellman!” he cried. “Glad you could make it! And Lord Melchior! Have you given any more thought to what we discussed?”
“I'm not changing my name,” Melchior said.
“Not your entire name. Just adding a middle name. Something to give it some rhythm. I was thinking Poindexter.” He savored the word as if it were a fine claret. “Melchior Poindexter Dusk. It rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?”
“No.”
“It's French. It means 'Right Fist'. Nothing like a bit of French to add sophistication to your letterhead.”
“Merde!” Inanna murmured.
“My point exactly! If you had said that in English, it would have been simply vulgar, but in French it has that certain je ne sais quatsit!”
“If you will excuse me,” Melchior said, “I see Miss Kurayami. I wished to have a word or two with her before the meeting. I'm sure Strephon will be delighted to discuss nomenclature with you.” With that, Melchior made his escape.
Strephon cursed under his breath. He would have liked to eavesdrop on Melchior's conversation with Kurayami. She had just entered the chamber accompanied by a muscular bodyguard wearing a black jacket over a bare, oiled torso. Kurayami herself wore a striking black, sleeveless outfit that seemed to flow from her throat down her body to the floor like a liquid shadow and made her look simultaneously seductive and venomous, like a cobra. Except cobras weren’t Japanese. Like some other kind of serpent then.
He turned back to Thoth. “What is that outfit you're wearing?” Up closer, he could see that the bookseller’s toga was decorated with Masonic symbols and that his pyramid-shaped hat bore a drawing of an eye at its apex.
“You like it? It's Aleister Crowley's interpretation of Mithras' interpretation of Thoth. I couldn't decide which of my past selves to go as tonight, so I decided to come as all of them.”
“It is... unusual. There is something I wished to ask you, though,” Strephon said.
Thoth cocked his head slightly, causing his pyramid hat to tilt at a rakish angle. “Yes?”
“Who the devil is J.R.R. Tolkien?”
“You don't know?”
“The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it.”
“He was a professor of philology at Oxford. After your time, I suppose.”
“Oxford, you say?” Strephon frowned. “Didn't he present a paper about fairy tales at St. Andrews for their Andrew Lang lecture one year?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He wrote a good essay on Beowulf too, as I recall. And a quite decent translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, if I remember correctly.”
“You do. He also wrote a few fantasy novels that enjoyed a bit of popularity.”
Strephon pondered some more. “I vaguely recall a children's book about a dragon and some dwarfs... and there was this little comic fellow who disliked adventures...”
Thoth laughed. “You should come down to my bookshop some time and I'll set you up with a boxed collection. We'll bring you into the Twentieth Century yet, Bellman!”
Strephon noted that Inanna was showing signs of boredom with the topic of Oxford philologists, and saw this as a good moment for a tactical change of subject. “I'm a bit thirsty. Do you think you could get me something to drink, Inanna?”
She welcomed the opportunity to escape, and with a coquettish smile, she slipped away towards the table with the coffee urn and the water pitchers.
Thoth nodded in approval. “Well done, Bellman. Not as subtle as I was, but you succeeded in getting rid of her. Now, what did you really want to talk about?”
“It's about Melchior, of course. I have it on good authority that he is not the moving force behind these nefarious activities. Melchior's game company is only one aspect of what appears to be a complicated plot.” Strephon gave Thoth an abbreviated account of the werewolf collars, the vampire drug and the other incursions of faerie magic in the city he and Cassandra had discovered.
“Interesting. I had heard about some of this, but are you sure that all these little plots are part of a greater one?”
“You tell me. Do you think it a coincidence that Ananias Sedge should die, leaving a vacancy on the Council just about the time Melchioir took over Vanir Technologies and started making a name for himself in the City?”
“It's possible, but it would be more interesting if it wasn’t. What do you want from me?”
“I believe the hand behind all this is someone on the Council.”
“I daresay you're right about that. If they are all connected as you say, they must be controlled by someone with his hands on all the levers.”
“You know the Council better than I. Who do you think this person might be?”
Thoth rubbed his nose in thought. “I can think of several who might be involved with one or two of these little plots, but no-one who might be running all of them.” He broke into a sly grin. “Excepting myself, of course. You did suspect me, didn't you?”
“My dear Aleister. Sorry. Timmy. I still do. But I need to trust someone, and I think I know you well enough to know that even if you were the sinister mastermind behind an evil plot, you would regard it all as a game, and that you would play the game fairly.”
Thoth sighed. “Alas, you have me there. My fatal weakness: my British sense of Fair Play.”
“That and I cannot imagine any of my other suspects trusting you to take all this seriously.”
“There's that too. Well, I will do what I can to help. I will keep my eyes and ears open. And perhaps I can put you in touch with some other sources.” Thoth straightened and tapped his nose in a gesture which suggested a signal to a confederate. Then he turned to Strephon again and said, “But I see Inanna is on her way back. Let me intercept her for you.”
The young man in the black Nehru jacket was cautiously approaching. Thoth beckoned him closer and said, “Why, look who's here! Strephon, I'd like you to meet Apollyon Sedge; the grandson of Ananias Sedge, whom you were just mentioning. Apollyon, this is Strephon Bellman.”
Under the bookseller's encouragement, the young man extended his hand which Strephon shook gravely. “We haven't met, but I believe you knew my grandfather,” Apollyon said.
“Yes. I read about his passing. My condolences.” Observing the lad up close, Strephon could see the resemblance to the elder Sedge. He had his grandfather's jet black hair and beard, styled in a manner evoking Mephistopheles as the Fifth Beatle. He dressed all in black, save for a gold amulet of the head of Bahomet inscribed in an inverted five-pointed star. “What may I do for you?”
Apollyon hesitated. Thoth had already loped off, leaving him and Strephon alone. Gathering his courage, Apollyon said, “As you know, my grandfather's death has left an opening on the Council. I am petitioning the Council for appointment to his seat.”
Strephon chose his words carefully. He did not wish to offend the young man, and knew that expressing how he really felt about the boy’s grandfather would be counter-productive. “Usually the position of Council Chairman goes to someone with a bit more experience.”
“Oh, that Vane bitch can have her Chairmanship. She can go hang for all I care. I just want a seat on the Council. I want to continue my Grandfather's legacy.” His expression had a pleading earnestness which conflicted with the theatrical appearance of his pantomime devil’s goatee.
“And you would like my support.”
“Yes!”
This was going to be difficult. “As you probably are aware, Lord Melchior is also petitioning for that seat. He has requested that I endorse him.”
“But surely you won't! He's a greedy bastard!”
Privately, Strephon agreed. “We have some family connections, and he expects my support.”
“But you haven't committed yet, have you? You haven't! You don't like the idea of putting him on the Council either, do you!”
“I have not yet decided,” Strephon admitted.
“Listen, the Council is already dominated by moneyed interests. Kurayami is big in tech, and all three of the big wolf packs are run by corporate CEOs. And that Vane woman, a politician; of course she'll kowtow to the money men.”
“What about Timmy? Timmy Worpleton, the bookstore owner. He's a businessman too.”
“He... he's different. He always supported my Grandfather. He believed in Grandfather's work.”
Strephon did not doubt this. Considering that Thoth also claimed to have been Aliester Crowley, he probably regarded Ananias as a protege. “Tell me, what happened to your Grandfather's church? The Unnamed Circle, wasn't it? I don't think I've heard much about it in quite a while.”
“Grandfather began shifting his focus in the '80s, about the time of the Thatcher Government. He changed the name of his group to 'The Circle', and it became more of a self-improvement course. But it was still based on Grandfather's principles. It was only recently that things began to go wrong. Dad took over much of the management, and he was always more about the money side than he was with Grandfather's teachings.”
It certainly came as a surprise to Strephon that old Ananias had any principles at all, unless it was “Do As Thou Wilt Shall Be the Whole of the Law.” And even then, he suspected that what Ananias chiefly ‘wilt’ was to make pots of money. It did not surprise him that Sedge fils had similar priorities.
“Anyway, when Grandfather died, Dad sold his interest in the Circle to this big Money Man who has converted the whole thing into an MLM scam.”
“MLM?” Strephon was only half listening. Some more people had come in. There was Lukas Bianka, dressed in a cream linen suit like an American televangelist. He didn’t have to dress up to emphasize his wolfishness; his innate feral charisma would have radiated from him no matter how he was dressed; but his attire did signal power. Then there was a mossy-looking fellow with a shaggy, expansive beard which seemed to merge with his tweed jacket, who went directly to one of the Council seats and sat down. By process of elimination, Strephon guessed he might be Dennis Fell, the writer of comic books. And there was Isaac Masey, the police detective, looking out of place, as if he had just heard of the meeting at the last moment and hadn’t had time to change after work.
“Multi-Level-Marketing.” Apollyon explained. “One of those operations where the whole system is set up to sell a product, but the only way to actually make money is to recruit new people under you. It's like a pyramid scheme. But the worst part is that it makes a mockery of everything my Grandfather stood for. Do you know what they sell now? Cheap Satanist jewelry, Herne the Hunter masks, tacky glass paperweights with fake Atlantean runes. Rubbish!”
Mention of the paperweights brought Strephon’s attention back to the conversation And the masks, too; he remembered the grotesque masks he had seen at the craft fair the day before. “Tell me,” Strephon said in a quiet but urgent tone, “Do you know a sorcerer named Saul Taylor?”
“That bastard! He used to be a member of the Circle back when it meant something. A decent enough mage, I suppose. He has some sort of connection to Belladona Morrigan or one of those witches. He’s a reporter these days, but on the side he’s gone in big on this marketing racket. He’s one of their top men now.”
“Who was this Money Man who bought out your Grandfather's company?”
But just then, young Sedge noticed Inanna on her way back. “Damn. I need to go. Don't forget what I said, will you, Bellman?” Before Strephon could grab his arm and stop him, young Sedge darted off into the crowd.
Strephon attempted to pursue him, but his wheelchair was ill-equipped to navigate social gatherings. He had not gotten terribly far when his path was blocked by a translucent figure that looked like someone had decanted some sixty gallons of water into the form of Ophelia as painted by John Everett Millais.
“Tulaan,” Strephon said, recognizing the river spirit. He had seen her on rare occasions, but they had never spoken. Her kind rarely spoke. This time she did.
“You should not be here, Strephon.” Her voice sounded like ripples against a smooth stone, gentle, yet insistent.
“What do you mean?” Strephon asked.
“Dark clouds gather. The waters rise. Your home is in danger.”
A chill came over Strephon which had nothing to do with the sudden increased dampness in the air. “Could you be more specific?”
“You should not be here.” The naiad did an about face. She did not turn, exactly; she sort of sloshed, and when her body of water resumed its shape, she was facing the other way. She glided away from him, not taking a single step, but rather flowing across the floor, leaving a moist streak which trickled after her.
Tobias came up behind him about this time. “Sorry I took so long, Mister Strephon. I had trouble finding parking and --”
“We have to go back to the house,” Strephon said, firmly.
“But we just got here!”
“We have to go now!” Creatures like Tulaan rarely gave advice and when pressed, granted prophecies only in the vaguest terms. This message was more definite than most. Even if he did not understand it, he could not ignore it.
“But I'm trying to tell you, Mister Strephon! I got back here just as Dad was about to close the gate. He's about to announce that the Chamber is sealed for the meeting. Neither of us are getting out until the meeting is over.”
NEXT: Parliamentary Procedure