“I’m sorry, old chap,” he said. “You’ve lost me already. What was that about amalgamation?”
Carnacki laughed.
“I thought that might confuse matters. The symbolism was obscure even when it was written. But all we need to concern ourselves with is the larger picture. We all exist together in one huge womb that is the universe, the macrocosm, while we inhabit the lower regions, this Earth, in our daily lives, the microcosm. Alchemists were convinced that they could transcend both states, both above and below, both life and death. It came to symbolize the transformation required to reach illumination and eternal life.”
“Illumination?” Jessop asked, clearly perplexed.
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Carnacki said smiling. “I just wanted you to get some idea what I was getting into. As I have already said, the tale has only just begun to unravel.”
He allowed us time to light fresh smokes then, settled in his chair once more, he continued his tale.
“I found another picture I recognized in the book. Solutio, the heading above the picture read. It showed a tall figure with two faces, one old, one young. The young one looked over a winter scene, the old one over summer. The bottom half of the figure seemed to be melting into a deep black pool, but both faces were smiling.
“It was the same as I had seen in the stained glass, only this time the figure looked thinner, more feminine. But I knew something of its import. This was one of the main steps in the great journey. The active principals from the microcosm are subsumed and dissolved by oil of mercury, the last vestiges of the old removed, preparing the way for the rise to the new beginning in the macrocosm.”
“The remainder of the folio was as I have already described, a series of pictures describing the steps of alchemy. I do not pretend to understand it all, but even so, I failed to see how it helped in any way with my investigation. I tossed the book aside in disgust. It hit the side of my cramped bed and fell to the floor. As it did so, the spine of the folio split, revealing a folded sheet of paper cunningly hidden inside. I removed it as carefully as I was able. It was a short note, undated and unsigned.
“I hae done whit wis requested. Something hae been brocht back. Whever it be fit fur the task will hae to be seen. She is confused and sair afflicted, but it is her. There is nae doobt o’ that. It is a great blasphemy, but it needed done, and I am content to await the accountability of God alone. It will be wurth a’ the trials if it brings the end o’ tyranny and the return o’ that which wis taken from us.
“As you can imagine, that did not enlighten me to any great extent. An examination of the paper showed it to be of a similar date to the Concordances, but more than that I could not ascertain.
“By now it was well into the reaches of the night and I had more than enough to think on. I spent the hours through until morning in fitful sleep on a bed that was scarcely worthy of the name. As soon as the sun came up I rose, made what ablutions I could, and went in search of some breakfast.
“The housekeeper was in the kitchen, and proved as irascible as before. I was unceremoniously served with a thick porridge that looked like gray paste but was surprisingly tasty, and a pair of smoked kippers that were as divine as anything ever served in any fine hotel in town.
“I thanked her profusely, but still she did not soften . . . not until I mentioned the child, Lisabet.
“ ‘I have no time for you poking around in the lady’s room,’ she said. ‘That girl is the only reason I stay in this godforsaken place. A sweeter child you will never meet.’
“And at that I do believe I saw a tear in the housekeeper’s eye. But when I looked again, the steely glint had returned. I tried to ask about the back room on the second floor, and the calf-bound journal, but she brooked no discussion of either that, or the bogle.
“ ‘It is the laird’s place to tell any stories, not mine.’
“She would say no more, and as I moved around the lower floors of the castle I realized there were no other servants there for me to question. I resolved that I would put my questions to the source, the bogle itself, that very night.
“That left me with a day to fill. I took myself off for a walk around the castle grounds. The laird kept a fine garden, full of plants drawn from all quarters of the globe, and the views across the valley were clear and bright on a fine sunny day such as this. Later I left the castle itself and wandered into the small town that butted up against the main exterior wall of the grounds. Several locals eyed me warily, but I managed to loosen tongues in the local inn when I spent a guinea buying those present some ale and whisky.
“Yet again my attempt to find information was to be foiled. All present had indeed heard of the bogle in the castle, but theories about its origins were as many as the number of flagons I had bought. There was only one statement that stayed with me as I returned to my small billet. It was something the landlord of the inn said as I left.
“ ‘ ’Tis a shame we only have the laird and the bairn,’ he said. ‘For yon castle is fit for bigger than that. ’Tis fit for royalty.’
Carnacki stopped, tapped out the pipe in the grate and refilled it.
“I wonder if any of you are beginning to understand what was ahead of me?”
Arkwright raised a hand, like a boy in a schoolroom, but Carnacki waved him down.
“No. Let us save theories and explanations until the story is done.
“Let me just say that as I waited for night to fall, I was starting to have an inkling as to the nature of the bogle.”
“I began the evening by setting up the pentagram in the child’s bedroom. I was by no means sure that any such defenses were necessary but discretion is usually the better part of valor. I overlaid the electric pentacle on the pentagram, attached it to the battery, and settled down to wait, eschewing the child’s chair this time, preferring to sit inside the pentagram on the hard wood floor.
“And once again I did not have to wait long. I was still on my first pipe when the air chilled and soft footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I do not know whether it was the presence of the pentagram or not, but this time the mist that came through the doorway seemed more solid, more in a shape representing a human figure. And there was something more—the faintest hint of a high heady perfume.
“The mist entered and again paid no heed to me. As it drifted over to the child’s bed the azure valve brightened slightly, but there was none of the blazing intensity I would have expected had the apparition been less than benign.
“The odor of the perfume grew stronger still, and beneath that, something else I recognized; the dank dead smell of the grave.
“Whispers came from within the mist as it loomed over the bed, and I had to strain to make out the words.
“ ‘It was mine by right,’ a soft voice said. ‘Mine by birth. She shall not have it again.’
“As the figure turned away from the bedside it brushed against the outer edge of my electric pentacle. The azure valve brightened and at the same instant the mist thickened until it had taken the form of a tall, painfully thin figure. A woman stood looking sadly back at the small bed. She was dressed in a long black robe of a thick velvet, and a hood partly obscured her features so that all I could see was a flash of white at her cheek and a thin, aquiline nose. As she turned further the robe encroached on my defenses. She jolted as if struck, the hood fell back, and by Jove I took one heck of a fright I can tell you.