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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 8

The window blinds were rolled down and the closed sign was set on the door, an act that had made Albert wince. In the shop were Albert, Morag the dog, Sir John, Marie, Miss Henderson, and an elderly gentleman with a long grey beard.

“So, then,” said the old man, “I’m Diarmuid Mac Dubh. I daresay you’d like some sort of explanation?”

aa-closed“So, Then…”

There was a general murmur of assent although the question seemed rhetorical. Mac Dubh sighed and started to speak.

“So the history books have it that I died 300 years ago in a fire which destroyed my house and killed my family. All that remained of my life’s work were some glass oddments which were undamaged by the blaze and have been kept, until recently, in the British Museum. Some of these facts are not entirely accurate, as I’m sure you can gather.

“First, let me tell you a wee bit about alchemy. You see, the Great Work takes exactly one hundred years. Completed correctly, it elevates the alchemist beyond the corporeal form, transports him to the angelic world and brings him in contact with God. The Summum Bonum, also known as the Philosopher’s Stone or the Red Stone is a mere side effect, not the goal. Nevertheless, the powers of the Stone, to extend life and create gold, are necessary to prolong the alchemist’s life and to allow his time to be devoted to the Great Work. So first, one must find a master willing to gift some of the Stone. Then the alchemist may attempt the work himself.

“As for me, my first attempt, ending three hundred years ago, ended in catastrophe. I was a mere 121 years old and my daughter, Morag, was my apprentice. You see, I had given her some of the Red Stone meant for me, so moved had I been by her mother’s death. As the work neared completion, a small amount of the Red Stone appeared. I was ecstatic, and I leapt in joy. Alas, in that moment my concentration on the Great Work was broken and success became failure. The apparatus flared violently and the flames caught the house. The three of us, Morag, myself and our dog tried to escape. I grabbed Morag and dragged her from the wreckage of our home, my skin burning. When I was outside I realized I had taken the dog by mistake and my daughter was still inside. In despair I threw the some of the Red Stone into the burning house to try to save her.

‘Her body was destroyed, but her soul somehow …  migrated … to the dog. She spoke to me immediately, asking what had happened. I realized we would have to hide, or else she would be killed as a demon. We ran from that place.”

Diarmuid looked at Morag with tears in his eyes.

“My poor daughter, we have been running ever since,” he said.

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 9

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 7

Albert Cunningham was sitting in his shop behind the counter reading the newspaper. The dog was snoring quietly near to his feet. The quiet sounds of customers not buying anything filled the shop. Suddenly the tinkle of the bell announced arrivals and Albert looked up. The gentleman, wasn’t he a knight, and the French lady from the other day were coming in along with a younger lady that seemed somehow familiar. The knight was looking rather the worse for wear and the young lady looked rather stern. Albert remembered where he’d sent the knight at that point.

open-1“Oh Bugger!”

“Hello, Albert,” said the young lady. “I don’t suppose you remember me. It’s been a few years.”

“There’s a vague familiarity,” he said. “Was I overly familiar with your mother a few decades ago?”

“No,” said the lady, “I’m Felicity Henderson.”

“Old man Henderson’s daughter?” said Albert.

“Exactly!” said Miss Henderson.

“Oh, Bugger,” said Albert, and Miss Henderson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over the counter. The dog jumped up to look at the events, and Marie looked askance at the dog.

“Do give him my best regards,” said Albert in a gargled voice, “and let him know I shall return the money presently.”

“I ain’t here for him,” she said. “I’m here for them.”

She pulled Albert’s head toward the older couple to illustrate.

“Good day to you both,” said Albert.

“You sent poor Sir Jennings here on a right wild goose chase to that den of thieves in New Malden. Worse, he was practically force fed alcohol and swindled out of a not inconsiderable sum of money by the very gent you sent him to. He handed over a large slice of cash for a collection of beer bottles.”

Miss Henderson held up a bag which made a loud clinking sound. Sir John winced slightly.

“Well, he won’t be the first gent who handed over a large sum of money for beer bottles,” said Albert, “even if they are usually full.”

Miss Henderson pushed Albert’s head down onto the counter with a small thump.

“Albert, you may as well tell them, especially now,” said the dog. “I don’t think these are criminal masterminds.”

“You ain’t met her old man,” said Albert to the dog.

“Excuse me,” said Sir John, “is this hangover getting worse or did the dog speak?”

They all looked at the dog.

“Are you sure about this,” said Albert.

“They trusted you,” said the dog to Albert, “or at least the witch did. And now that … well, maybe they can help.”

“Very well. Gentlefolk, Miss Henderson, let me introduce Morag Mac Dubh,” said Albert. “Morag, you’d better go upstairs and get your father.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 8

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 6

The public house was gloomy and a pall of smoke filled every inch of it. Sir John walked to the near empty bar and sat down. The place was filled with menace and bad humour.

“Good job I didn’t bring Marie,” he said to himself. “Goodness knows what might happen to her in this place.”

A sour looking fellow with a bowler hat loomed from behind the bar.

“Good evening, sir,” he said, the pleasantry doused in contempt. “How may I help you.”

“I’d like a half pint of your finest ale and, if you know, the whereabouts of one Mister Bobblewit,” said Sir John.

The publican’s eyes rolled and then darted to the right of Sir John. A decrepit looking man of indeterminable age and long greasy hair was sitting there staring in front of himself.

“Whadyawanimfor?” said the man, slurring the words.

“I’m hoping Mister Bobblewit can assist in helping me find some artefacts,” said Sir John. “Do you know where I might find him.”

“Buy us a drink and I might tells you,” said the man, turning to Sir John and showing his pockmarked face.

“A drink for this gentleman,” said Sir John to the publican, who was just returning with Sir John’s beer, holding it at arm’s length as if it was infected.

“No, no, no!” said the long haired man. “You gotta buy US a drink. You and me. Can’t you speak the English? Two whiskies.”

“Er, two whiskies,” said Sir John to the publican, and turned to the long haired man. “So, you know where he is?”

The long haired man looked pointedly at the barman and waited. When the two whiskies arrived he drank his in one slug, then indicated to Sir John to do the same.

“Thass besser,” said the long haired man. “Now, you buy two more whiskies and sit in that corner there and I shall send Mister Bogglewit to youse.”

aa-ch-6-color“Bottoms Up!”

Sir John did what he was told and sat in a corner conspiring to be even shadier than the rest of the bar. After a short while the long haired man came and sat down next to him.

“You’re Mister Bogglewit?” said Sir John.

“Yes, indeed,” said the man and grabbed his whisky. “Bottoms up.”

He drank the drink in one shot and stared at Sir John until he did the same.

“So, what’s your name,” he said, “and don’t tell me your real name.”

“Er … my name is Patrick,” said Sir John.

“Well, Peter,” said Mister Bogglewit, “how can I help.”

“I said my name was Patrick,” said Sir John.

“But it ain’t your real name,” said Mr Bogglewit, “so why do you care? Tell you what, get another drink in Percival and tell me what you need.”

Sir John returned with two more whiskies which were drunk rapidly. Sir John was beginning to suspect he would be drunk rapidly, too. He decided for the bold approach.

“I am looking for the lost Diarmuid of artefact Mac Dubh,” he said. Something seemed wrong with the sentence, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Mister Bogglewit nodded sagely.

“The pretty bits of glass, yes I knows what you wants,” he said. “The question is, have you got the money?”

“Two more whiskies, on the house,” said the barkeeper dropping two drinks in front of the men. He winked at Mister Bogglewit when Sir John was knocking his drink back.

“I am fully prepared to go the paying price,” said Sir John. “In fact…”

“Wait!” interrupted Mister Bogglewit suddenly. “Shh! Do you hear that?”

Sir John listened to the murmuring chatter in the bar and watched the table spin a couple of times.

“I don’t hear anything?” he said.

“No,” said Mister Bogglewit looking around suspiciously, “me neither. You wait here and I’ll get the goods.”

He went away whilst Sir John sat reeling in his chair. He was pleased to have solved the case and thought he was making a genuine friend with Mister Bogglewit. He considered telling him this fact when he next came back. Mister Bogglewit appeared in the seat next to him with a bag. There was a sound of chinking glass from inside.

“Here you go, friend,” he said. “For you, a mere 5 pounds.”

“Thank you, friend,” said Sir John, gleefully handing over the money. Thank you very much indeed.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 7

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 5

A rotund, shabbily dressed man with a day’s growth of beard sat behind the shop’s counter. He was leaning on it and looking at the shelves filled with a myriad of unusual and tasteless decorative items. A large brown dog slept languidly next to him.

Sir John and Marie came into the shop.

“Are you Albert Cunningham?” said Sir John to the man.

“Maybe” he said, his eyelids heavy.

“You’re not sure?” asked Sir John.

“I’ve got an inkling,” said the man. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to me and then we can see if it becomes an opinion.”

“I’m Sir John Jennings, paranormal investigator,” said Sir John, “and this is my wife, Marie.”

The man’s back straightened involuntarily.

“Welcome Sir Jennings!” he said. “Just for absolute clarity, you are in no way connected to the revenue offices or the London constabulary.”

“Well, I think one of my maids is…” started Sir John.

“Non,” said Marie. “We are not either of those things.”

“Oh, French,” said the man, “Enchanted! I am Albert Cunningham, owner and proprietor of this fine establishment. How may I assist you in fulfilling your hopefully myriad and expensive needs.”

“We’re looking for some stolen artefacts, with a possibly magical provenance.” Said Sir John.

aa-ch-5“Five Shillings!”

At this point a young man entered the shop. He was carrying a large bag and started walking toward the counter. Albert Cunningham started coughing.

“I am afraid sir that I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of articles from disreputable sources as I would never procure something in that manner,” Albert said loudly to Sir John. The young man quickly left the shop, looking startled.

“Look,” said Albert, leaning close to Sir John, “despite my apparent reputation, I don’t deal with anything that isn’t legitimate. But, as they say, I might know a gent who can help. If you tell me exactly what you’re looking for and perhaps purchase an item from the emporium, I may be able to guide you on your way.”

Sir John leaned in, too.

“We’re looking for artefacts belonging to Diarmuid Mac Dubh which were stolen from the British Museum.”

Albert looked carefully around him.

“Who are ‘we’?” he said quietly.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” said Sir John equally quietly.

“Well then, sir, we are at what your wife might call an impasse,” Albert said.

Marie put down a small porcelain pagoda.

“’Ow much for this … Folly?” she asked. Albert grinned.

“Five shillings,” he said. “And if I were you, I’d go to the Royal Oak in New Malden and ask for Mr Bobblewit.”

Sir John handed over the money and the Jennings left the shop, taking the little porcelain building with them.

“So,” said Albert when they left, “the Foh-Lie boys are after them as well.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 6

*Thanks to The Graphics Fairy  for today’s lovely image of a pagoda.

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 4

aa-ch-4“Remain Anonymous”

Marie and Sir John sat one side of a large ornate desk. Behind the desk was large chair and behind that were drapes and a large picture of an austere man. The real life man appeared from behind the drapes and smiled at the Jennings.

“Good afternoon, Sir John, Marie,” he said, “how may I be of service? I was intrigued by your communication.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Anglestone,” said Sir John and Marie nodded. “We were most interested in your knowledge about Diarmuid Mac Dubh. We are conducting, ah, an investigation regarding some artefacts of his.”

“Aha!” said Lord Anglestone. “You were at the British Museum, yes? Well, at least one mystery is solved. I have retained some investigators to look for the missing artefacts. They mentioned that there had been a mix up. May I ask who you are investigating for?”

“I believe our employer wishes to … remain anonymous,” said Sir John, mildly embarrassed.

“No matter,” chuckled Lord Anglestone, “I was merely curious. I can’t keep old Diarmuid to myself can I? He is something of a family obsession. I inherited it from my father, rather like my title. You know of course I have written a book on the fellow”

“Why is he so interesting?” asked Marie, “And why would someone steal these artefacts.”

“Well,” said Lord Anglestone, “he is an intriguing chap. Seemingly self taught, although there are rumours of contact with Robert Fludd, another alchemist. Worked all his life at this alchemy business, which is really just a fancy word for chemistry. In that regard he was years ahead of his time. He invented a large amount of laboratory apparatus that was revolutionary at the time, and is now commonplace. Of course, doing all these experiments at home had certain risks, which he fell foul to. There was a fire at his home, and he was killed along with his daughter. The wife had died years before, I believe.

“As for the artefacts, they have attracted a certain macabre fascination with those who believe in ghosts and other such hocus pocus. Because he was an alchemist, you see, they believe they can use them to create what they call the Summum Bonum, the sum of all good. It is known more commonly as the Philosopher’s Stone. It is rumoured to be able to turn lead into gold and extend life. All nonsense of course, but intriguing that a man of Mac Dubh’s intelligence was taken in.

“And now, tragically, the artefacts have been stolen, as you know. I have some men on the case, the very best. You’re welcome to help of course, and we could share what we know.”

“Thank you,” said Sir John, “perhaps if we find anything of note we’ll update you and vice versa.”

“Of course!” said Lord Anglestone. “I only hope these priceless artefacts are found before they are damaged. But thank you for your time, I look forward to speaking again with some news.”

Lord Anglestone escorted Marie and Sir John out of the room then wandered back to the desk.

“Well, Frater Gravitas Maximas,” he said, “it seems that we are both getting our wishes.”

An obese man with a strange amulet, a sphere in a coil, came out from behind the drapes. He stared obsessively at the door where the Jennings had just left.

“Indeed we are, Frater Princeps,” he said. “Indeed we are.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 5

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Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

And ironically we forgot that today we were due to post a chapter of our latest thriller. We can only apologise, mumble something about Nanowrimo taking over our life and offer this picture of us projecting a shadow onto a 16th century Venetian wall in Crete by way of recompense. Rest assured, your fresh chapter will arrive tomorrow.

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 3

“Anglestone … Anglestone …” said Sir John looking through a small booklet. “Yes, he has a telephonic device! Marie, I shall call and arrange a meeting.”

Sir John left the parlour and Marie sat and continued with her crochet. There was quiet for a while and then a knocking on the front door. Marie heard footsteps that sounded like the maid, Miss Henderson, and then the door was opened. There was a fearful shrieking from the maid then a series of thumping sounds. Sir John’s voice joined the cacophony and shouts and thumps came up the hall to the parlour. The door swung open and Sir John and Miss Henderson came through with a strange figure between them. It was smaller than a man and was covered with a thin white skin. Its face was smooth and blank with just two manic looking eyes and and a small slit where a nose might be. The creature was shrieking and wailing as Miss Henderson hit it from time to time. It started clawing at its face, grabbing the skin at the neck and peeling it back. Marie looked in horror as it peeled off its face to reveal…

“Mr Bosch!” said Miss Henderson, releasing the figure.

The vampire bent over and took great gasps of air for several minutes. He waved the white leather helmet he had been wearing at the others in the room, seemingly by way of explanation. Marie helped him into a chair as he got his breath back. Eventually, he was breathing normally.

aa-ch-3“Mr Bosch!”

“I was just passing by and though I’d drop in,” he said.

“Don’t you live on the other side of town?” asked Sir John.

“Yes, it was actually quite a struggle to pass by,” said Phlebotomous, “especially as I was wearing this experimental day-time suit. It was rather hard to breathe.”

“I’ll make some tea,” said Miss Henderson, who left.

“So,” said Phlebotomous casually, “how have things been? Any new cases that might need helping with.”

“Well,” said Sir John, “we do have a new case…”

“Mon cher,” reproached Marie gently, “it is supposed to be secret.”

“I’m sure Phlebotomous won’t tell anyone,” said Sir John.

“How could I?” laughed Phlebotomous and looked down.

“Well, to be discreet,” said Sir John, “we are looking for some magical objects that have been stolen.”

“Oh,” said Phlebotmous, “then you should go to Albert Cunningham’s Second-Hand Emporium in Croydon. He often has knowledge of missing occult artefacts.”

“He is a clairvoyant?” asked Sir John.

“More of a receiver of stolen goods…” said Phlebotomous.

“Well,” said Sir John, “we are seeing a Lord Anglestone tomorrow to assist. Maybe we’ll see this other gentleman the day after.”

“I’m not sure I’d call him a gentleman,” said Phlebotomous, “but now I know what you’re looking for. I presume Diarmuid Mac Dubh’s artefacts have been stolen from the British Museum again.”

“Again?’ said Marie.

“It seems to happen every century or so,” said Phlebotomous. “No idea why.”

“Fascinating,” said Sir John as Miss Henderson arrived with the tea.

“I wonder,” said Phlebotomous, looking mournfully at his leather helmet, “if I might impose upon you to let me stay until sunset?”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 4

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 2

“And this is where the exhibit was,” said the curator to Sir John and Marie. “It had recently been moved to this more prominent location to commemorate the 300th anniversary of Mac Dubh’s death.”

They were all in a large room in the British Museum, roped off from the general public. It contained glass cases on every wall and several display cabinets in the middle. They were all filled with a myriad of religious artefacts from around the world. It was one of the cabinets that the curator was indicating.

“May we…?” asked Sir John.

The curator indicated assent and Sir John and Marie went over to the cabinet.

“I must admit, I thought it would be harder to convince them to show us,” whispered Sir John to Marie. “Especially as we were vague about who we were investigating for.”

They arrived at the cabinet. The glass had been broken and there was a noticeable gap where some objects had been.

“I’ll look with the ectoscopic glasses. And see if you can, er, sense any magical activity,” said Sir John. “You can do something like that can’t you?”

“A little, when the magic is active,” said Marie. “This may be too long ago.”

Sir John donned a pair of unusual glasses then peered into the cabinet. He looked carefully over the edges of the broken glass.

“I don’t see anything,” he said. “Have you found any evidence.”

“I suspect a goddess was involved,” said Marie.

“Oh?” said Sir John. “Who?”

“Her, I think,” said Marie indicating a statue of Athena. “She has been used to break the glass. You can see she has been moved and she has glass on her ‘elmet.”

aa-chapter-2“May We?”

“Fascinating,” said Sir John. “So, I don’t think we’re dealing with a master of the paranormal. Or indeed a connoisseur of art. It’s a pity we don’t know what these artefacts look like. I’ll ask the curator chap.”

Sir John wandered over and spoke to the curator who left the room. Marie looked at all the statues and icons and images, at all the varieties of human belief. The curator returned and Sir John gestured her over.

“This is the book on Mac Dubh by Lord Anglestone. But you know him of course,” the curator was saying, “as he is our patron. And here is a picture of the artefacts.”

Sir John and Marie looked at a collection of glass and metal objects, which looked like the chemistry set of a deranged scientist.

“Where did these come from?” asked Sir John. The curator looked bemused.

“Well, these artefacts are all that was found at the site of the conflagration that killed Mac Dubh,” he said.

“Marie, come with me I have an idea,” said Sir John and walked back towards the cabinet. Once there he explained.

“What if we try and use magic to find them?” said Sir John.

“I’m not sure,” said Marie. “What do you have in mind?”

“I want you to concentrate strongly on the image we just saw and then do some … magic thing … to make the objects become found,” said Sir John.

Marie looked dubious but closed her eyes. After a couple of moments she said “trouver”. At that moment the curator threw the book at her. Both she and Sir John jumped out of the way.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said the curator, turning red. “I have no idea what came over me.”

Sir John picked up the book and looked at Marie.

“Partially successful,” he said.

At that point another man came and spoke to the curator who looked shocked and walked over to them.

“I’m terribly sorry, there has been a misunderstanding. We thought you were associates of … someone else,” he said. “I’m afraid you really shouldn’t be here and I must escort you back to the public areas.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 3

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Shewing Stone

enoch

Todays picture was taken at the British Museum about a year ago. It is the collection of objects used by John Dee and Edward Kelly for their famous “spiritual conferences”. We won’t attempt to list their exploits here, but safe to say they are worthy of a little research. It was quite a thing to look into the obsidian mirror and wonder what else had been “seen” in it. We were also moderately amused by the little headphone symbol and wondered if the information was in Enochian.

This collection of interesting artefacts was one of the inspirations for our current story, but for the sake of clarity we should point out that Elizabethan conjurer John Dee is not Elizabethan alchemist Diarmuid Mac Dubh.

Due to some necessary travel and merrymaking, we shall be forced to post Saturday’s chapter tomorrow, as we shall be indisposed. We hope that this change to your weekend does not discombobulate you too greatly.

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 1

Sir John and Marie were sitting in the parlour. Sir John was reading The Times and Marie was crocheting.

“Marie,” said Sir John, “why do you do that by hand? Couldn’t you just magic it into something?”

Marie looked warmly at her husband. There had been many of these questions recently after he had discovered she was a witch, but she didn’t mind. Not too much anyway.

“No, mon cher,” said Marie, “I don’t think it works that way. Also, it wouldn’t give me any pleasure.”

aa-1“Sounds Intriguing!”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Miss Henderson, the maid, entered.

“Good evening,” she said. “There are some people at the door to see you. They wish to speak to you about a matter of some brevity.”

Sir John looked blank.

“Might that be a matter of some gravity?” he said.

“It may well be that, too,” said Mrs Henderson. “I did not ascertain that. Shall I show them in?”

Sir John indicated his assent and two men and a woman entered. They all looked rather grave. One of them, the eldest man, spoke first.

“Good evening Sir Jennings, Mrs Jennings,” he said. “We are representatives of an organisation that wishes to engage your specialist services to investigate a most terrible crime.”

“Sounds intriguing,” said Sir John, rubbing his hands in glee, “but please tell me who you are.”

“Our real names will not be divulged,” said the elder man, “but I am Frater Magnificus and this is Soror Beatitudinum and Frater Ipsum Lorem.”

The two other nodded, maintaining their dour expression.

“We represent the Fraternal Order of the Light Incarnate,” continued Frater Magnificus.

“Folly?” said Sir John.

“We prefer to say Foh-Lie,” said Soror Beatitudinum.

“I thought maybe it was a reference to the Fool tarot card,” said Sir John.

Frater Magnificus and Soror Beatituidnum both gasped.

“Frater Lorem Ipsum is only a Parvulus grade,” said Frater Magnificus. “He is forbidden to know or hear of such things.”

“But you can buy them in the shops,” said Sir John.

“Please,” said the Soror, looking pained. “No more!”

“Sorry,” said Sir John. “Please continue.”

“There has been a theft,” explained Frater Magnificus, “from a most famous building. A theft, sir, from the British Museum itself! A theft of profound import for all those who are interested in the spiritual arts. For the items stolen are the very tools and artefacts of Diarmiud Mac Dudh.”

“He was … an alchemist, wasn’t he?” said Sir John, “Elizabethan or thereabouts?”

“Indeed,” said Frater Magnificus, “a man of some knowledge and power.”

“Well, it’s thrilling stuff,” said Sir John, “but surely it’s a task for the constabulary?”

“Sir,” said Frater Magnificus, “what I tell you now I tell you in the strictest confidence. Frater Lorem Ipsum, you must leave the room now. And perhaps Mrs Jennings…”

“Stays,” says Sir John, “Believe me, she is invaluable.”

“Very well,” said Frater Magnificus, “then I must ask you if you have heard of an orgnanisation called Draco Virida? I imagine not, very few have. Like us they are a secret society. But unlike us, they seek not truth, but power. Power by any means. Indeed, power by the worst means. We have carried out a divination and we believe that it is they who are behind the theft, they that intend to use the artefacts to some terrible end. Sir John, we ask you and your wife to help us find the artefacts and stop whatever awful, evil crime these perverted, demented swine intend to commit.”

Miss Henderson, who had walked in a little earlier, gave a little cough.

“Would anyone care for tea and cake?” she said.

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 2