Josephine’s experience, where an occult fraternity had secret names, like Mercury or Jupiter , there were also hierarchies and titles and inner and outer circles. This was clearly the inner circle of something-or-other … except perhaps for the young man in the turban, who had the air of a novice, a supplicant, eager to please. There would usually be a circle within the circle, two or three individuals who were first among equals: they might be very quiet, or they might boom and fizz with energy, but in either case they would be the sort of person who commanded attention. Atwood and Jupiter both fit the description well enough.
Uranus and the young man in the turban sat down on either side of Josephine, and took her hands in theirs. The old man’s hand was dry, and the young one’s hand was damp.
Atwood sat across the table. He winked, then sat back, his face obscured by a lamp.
Josephine counted nine lamps, each glowing a different shade: golden orange, aquamarine, damask-red, sap green, amaranthine.…
The business-like man in the black coat set up a camera on a tripod. Then he lit incense in a little brazier and sat down between Atwood and the Indian man, placing his hands over theirs.
“Your bloody chairs are bloody heavy, Mercury.”
“Quiet,” Jupiter said. She walked around the table.
The pale young man in the turban leaned in close and whispered. “I know that look. I’m new here too.”
“Hello. You must be, ah…”
“Saturn.”
He had an odd, nervous laugh. She smiled politely.
“It’s all a bit odd, isn’t it? But Lord At—that is, Mercury’s company has the most intriguing reputation. Doesn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met. Sorry. I’m rather nervous, frankly. One wants to make a good impression. Do you have any notion of what we’re supposed to do ?”
The scent of the incense filled the room. It was pungent; sweet and oily. Josephine’s head began to swim.
“I don’t know,” Josephine said. “They’re very secretive.”
Another nervous laugh. The camera clicked.
Jupiter sat. “You, and you.” She was looking at the camera, but she seemed to be addressing Josephine and the anxious young man in the turban. “Decide now: stay, or go. There is risk in staying. It will not be great, if you follow instructions, but it is there. I tell you this because there must be trust .”
Josephine said nothing. She was a little alarmed; but she’d heard that sort of dire warning before. Mrs Sedgley often warned of the great peril that the members of the Ordo V.V. 341 faced, peering too deeply into the spirit world.
“I will stay,” said the man in the turban.
“I did not say speak. I said stay or go. I hope you can follow instructions better than that ! Now, look at the cards in front of you.”
In front of Josephine was a white card, with three symbols on it. There was a black hexagram—somewhat off-kilter, in a way that appeared deliberate. Beneath it was a small circle, violet striated with black, and then a sort of cone made up of whirling lines. Mr Turban’s card was roughly similar.
The camera clicked again.
“Please,” Jupiter said, “Understand that our methods must be very precise. Everything must be done in the proper moment and in the proper way. We are engaged in a great experiment.”
“Tonight,” Atwood said, “we swim the aether.”
“That,” Jupiter said, “is a characteristically unhelpful way of putting it. We are engaged in a project of scientific investigation—you may consider it essentially astronomical—though we work not with telescopes and spectrographs, but with the will alone—will and perception. Do you understand what Mercury means by aether ?”
“Our new Venus is a scholar,” Atwood said, smiling. “Of course she does.”
“Ah,” said the man in the turban, “I think I read about this; something about electricity, or, or, I think I read about a scientist chap electrocuting a frog? Or was it a cat?”
“Nonsense,”
Uranus and the young man in the turban sat down on either side of Josephine, and took her hands in theirs. The old man’s hand was dry, and the young one’s hand was damp.
Atwood sat across the table. He winked, then sat back, his face obscured by a lamp.
Josephine counted nine lamps, each glowing a different shade: golden orange, aquamarine, damask-red, sap green, amaranthine.…
The business-like man in the black coat set up a camera on a tripod. Then he lit incense in a little brazier and sat down between Atwood and the Indian man, placing his hands over theirs.
“Your bloody chairs are bloody heavy, Mercury.”
“Quiet,” Jupiter said. She walked around the table.
The pale young man in the turban leaned in close and whispered. “I know that look. I’m new here too.”
“Hello. You must be, ah…”
“Saturn.”
He had an odd, nervous laugh. She smiled politely.
“It’s all a bit odd, isn’t it? But Lord At—that is, Mercury’s company has the most intriguing reputation. Doesn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met. Sorry. I’m rather nervous, frankly. One wants to make a good impression. Do you have any notion of what we’re supposed to do ?”
The scent of the incense filled the room. It was pungent; sweet and oily. Josephine’s head began to swim.
“I don’t know,” Josephine said. “They’re very secretive.”
Another nervous laugh. The camera clicked.
Jupiter sat. “You, and you.” She was looking at the camera, but she seemed to be addressing Josephine and the anxious young man in the turban. “Decide now: stay, or go. There is risk in staying. It will not be great, if you follow instructions, but it is there. I tell you this because there must be trust .”
Josephine said nothing. She was a little alarmed; but she’d heard that sort of dire warning before. Mrs Sedgley often warned of the great peril that the members of the Ordo V.V. 341 faced, peering too deeply into the spirit world.
“I will stay,” said the man in the turban.
“I did not say speak. I said stay or go. I hope you can follow instructions better than that ! Now, look at the cards in front of you.”
In front of Josephine was a white card, with three symbols on it. There was a black hexagram—somewhat off-kilter, in a way that appeared deliberate. Beneath it was a small circle, violet striated with black, and then a sort of cone made up of whirling lines. Mr Turban’s card was roughly similar.
The camera clicked again.
“Please,” Jupiter said, “Understand that our methods must be very precise. Everything must be done in the proper moment and in the proper way. We are engaged in a great experiment.”
“Tonight,” Atwood said, “we swim the aether.”
“That,” Jupiter said, “is a characteristically unhelpful way of putting it. We are engaged in a project of scientific investigation—you may consider it essentially astronomical—though we work not with telescopes and spectrographs, but with the will alone—will and perception. Do you understand what Mercury means by aether ?”
“Our new Venus is a scholar,” Atwood said, smiling. “Of course she does.”
“Ah,” said the man in the turban, “I think I read about this; something about electricity, or, or, I think I read about a scientist chap electrocuting a frog? Or was it a cat?”
“Nonsense,”
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