Burton gripped the arms of his seat, giving every indication of barely suppressed excitement. “That’s real interestin’. This Perdurabo asked specifically to speak with me, you say?”
“Yes, Mr. Harris, which is why we’re inviting you to join us in a summoning ritual. No doubt you noticed that the person who escorted you here, Count Sobieski, is, shall we say, not the most sophisticated of men. He does, however, possess one redeeming quality, it being that when he’s under the influence of certain drugs, he becomes a powerful medium. Channelling Perdurabo is too stressful for most—it can cause the heart to burst—but in Sobieski we have a strong vessel through which the angel can speak for a prolonged period.”
“About what?” Burton asked. “Have you received information about Lilistan?”
“Lilistan?”
“Sure! The interspace between the planets, sir, where the angels dwell.”
“Ah, I see. Perhaps Perdurabo has reserved such revelations for you alone.”
Damien Burke said, “Are you willing to join us for the ritual, Mr. Harris?”
“Mr. Dee, I sure am. Yes, sir!”
Burke stood and bowed, “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and prepare the chamber.”
Burton watched the man leave and wondered what had happened to Gregory Hare. Had he survived the collision on the outskirts of Downe Village? It was difficult to imagine so.
“Will you tell me somethin’ about your organisation, Mr. Kenealy?” he asked. “Its history?”
“Certainly. The Marquess of Waterford founded it in 1841, three years or so after an angel visited him in the grounds of his estate. The marquess came to believe that angels hold the key to the advancement of mankind.”
“Advancement? In what way?”
“Spiritually, Mr. Harris. Beresford—the marquess’s name was Henry Beresford—didn’t regard angels as messengers of God. In fact, he regarded the belief in God as a repudiation of responsibility. The human race, he said, should be accountable only to itself. It should feel shame for its many mistakes and pride for its many achievements, abandoning the notion of an unknowable divine plan, to which these things are so often attributed. As for religion, he wanted it dismantled, for it is nothing but a primitive form of politics, enabling an elite minority to control and feed off the masses.”
“This Beresford fella sounds like an astute guy, but what did he think angels are, then?”
“The liberated spirits of humans, sir. He attempted to make the Enochians the seed of a movement he named ‘Libertarianism.’ This had as its basis the philosophies of the Marquis de Sade, which he perceived as the means through which we can cast off the church-imposed moralities that quash the natural expansiveness of the human spirit. We don’t require a supreme deity, he proposed, because we ourselves, like the angel he saw, can become godlike.”
“You say ‘attempted’? So he didn’t succeed?”
“He didn’t. It went wrong about ten years ago, when Beresford tried to recruit a group of influential artists led by a man named Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Rossetti rejected his philosophy and instead formed the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which went on to produce many paintings linking human dignity with Christian religious themes—a direct challenge to Beresford’s ideas. Rossetti was then made the government’s minister of arts and culture. From that position, he was able to influence the Home Office, instigating the repression of Libertine activity. Many Enochians were arrested on charges ranging from lewd behaviour to being drunk and disorderly, but the biggest loss was that of Mr. Francis Galton.”
“Who’s he?” Burton asked.
“A scientist. He joined the Enochians early in ’forty-four and immediately shook things up by introducing to Beresford the idea that angels—he designated the species Supreme Man—must develop at some point in future history, and if they are godlike in their abilities, then they should be able to penetrate the barrier of time, if not physically then certainly mentally. Beresford had long been fascinated by the works of the sixteenth-century occultist John Dee—”
“Dee?” Burton interrupted. “The same name as the gent who just left us?”
“Yes, Mr. Harris. I often wonder whether such coincidences indicate some deep pattern in the substance of time, don’t you? Anyway, as I was saying, the marquess was already well versed in the theories of Dee, who was much obsessed with the summoning of angels, and so responded with great enthusiasm when Galton suggested that angels could communicate from the future. This idea provided a new impetus for the Enochians, and the art of summoning became its primary focus. Indeed, very quickly, the club achieved its first contact with Perdurabo, who, via a mediumistically talented member, instructed Galton in great detail with regard to a new science called Eugenics. This, it was hoped, would give Galton the means to artificially hasten the transformation of man into Supreme Man. Unfortunately, disaster followed. The medium suffered heart failure, and there was no one strong enough to channel Perdurabo again, so Galton was forced to proceed without further assistance from him. The experiments went wrong, Eugenics was banned by the government, and the experience caused Galton to lose his sanity.”
Burton adjusted his face into an expression of concern and confusion. “Hold on there! Are you sayin’ that my knowledge of the interplanetary realm is nothin’ but hogwash? That angels ain’t the supernatural beings I take ’em for?”
Kenealy made a calming gesture and smiled. “Not necessarily, sir. It might well be that you have insight into the nature—or perhaps I should say, super-nature—of future humans.”
Burton said, “I guess. So what happened?”
“After Galton? Not a great deal, unfortunately. From the mid ’forties, the Enochians lacked a medium strong enough to summon Perdurabo—or any other entity, for that matter. There was no progress until the start of this year, when I was approached by Mr. Dee and his companion, Mr. Kelley, who had with them Count Sobieski. They informed me that someone wanted to communicate with me from the Afterlife. I consented to a séance, during which Perdurabo took possession of the count. He revealed his true nature—not a spirit from Beyond but, as Galton had suggested, a being from the future—and told me Henry Beresford’s time on Earth was nearly done and that I should move to take over the running of the League of Enochians. New and influential members would join to support me, he said. Well, I was a lawyer at the time, Mr. Harris, and my career was in tatters after my decision to defend the poisoner William Palmer, in which undertaking I’d failed miserably, so I was very much enthused by this new opportunity. During January and February I started to wrest control of the Enochians from Beresford, and in March was greatly assisted by a man named Laurence Oliphant, who is Lord Elgin’s private secretary. Oliphant’s interest in summoning was inspired by your work, sir, which is how I became aware of you and the enormous contribution you might make to our cause. On the evening of the twenty-eighth of March, Dee, Kelley, Oliphant, Sobieski, and I conducted a séance during which Perdurabo again possessed the count. He informed us that the marquess would die on the morrow and we must now prepare for an undertaking of inordinate significance, upon which humanity depended. He then asked for private audiences, first with Dee and Kelley, then with Oliphant, and finally with me. During mine, he informed me that each of us was being set a task, which we must not discuss with each other. My own was the simplest: I was to close the Enochians to further membership, establish a secret route into the clubhouse, prevent intruders from entering, and follow whatever instructions Dee and Kelley issued. For this, he said, I would be amply rewarded.”