The library at the Temple Club was located in a round room that was tall rather than wide. In the walls were bookshelves filled with ancient spell books and leather-bound tomes, and tables and chairs made of dark wood and plush red velvet were scattered on the red carpet.
Before me and Priscilla, staring covetously at the ankh we had recovered like it was the One Ring, was Iain Tibet Gladstone, the Templars' foremost expert on the occult. When I first laid eyes on him, my first thought was, "Rasputin?"
In my defense, Gladstone did look like the Russian monk, with his long dark hair and beard. A sickly sweet herbal smell emanated from his black robes, which made me wonder about the extent of his… eccentricities. Still, I suppose that as long as you were good enough at your job, you could get away with a lot, even amongst the Templars, though from what I've heard, Gladstone was still banned from Oxford for… whatever reason.
"Shocking!" Gladstone proclaimed as he held up the ankh to the electric lighting, startling me out of my thoughts. "But, uh… nothing new, or indeed, highly unexpected. Trafficking in occult paraphernalia is older than time. King Solomon had a famous collection, and I'm told Xerxes was a keen hobbyist in his prime…"
"That's not all we hear about Xerxes." A feminine voice said from the entrance of the library.
The voice belonged to a brunette bombshell of a woman, whose wavy hair was cut in a bob that ended next to her ears. She was wearing a red dress that ended above the knee, with a V-neck so low, I had a bit of trouble keep my eyes off her cleavage. The next woman to enter the room wasn't much better in her own black dress, and the two of them looked similar enough to be twins.
"He was a man with a sizable body of work…" The young woman in the black dress said as she slunk up to Gladstone like a cat rubbing its body against the leg of its owner.
"Glimpses of ancient erotica…" Her twin clad in red added suggestively as she too laid hands on Gladstone.
"First edition?" Gladstone asked as he swung his head from one pretty face to another. It was then that the girl clad in red finally noticed me and Priscilla standing awkwardly nearby.
"I'm sorry. Are we interrupting?" The lass in red asked, and Priscilla and I both nodded. Pulling away from Gladstone, the femme rouge gestured to herself and then the girl still at the older man's side as she made her introductions. "I'm Catherine Stuart, and that's my twin sister, Mary."
"I'm Chase Mercer, and that's Priscilla Ross." I said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable as the Stuart twins sized me up. Their lips curled slightly in distaste as their gazes lingered on my clothes. So what if I couldn't afford to wear Armani suits? As long as my clothes did the trick, I was perfectly fine with them. "So, uh… You were saying, sir?"
"Ah yes, the black market!" Gladstone said, snapping out of his female-induced haze. Something in the glint of his wild eyes changed, the kind of change that heralded the moment when the teacher talks about something they actually like. "Our technological evolution is something of a myth. The most powerful items in the world are all very old. Very, very old! Unfathomably old, and equally priceless.
"Redistribution of the wealth began around the time of the Phoenicians, which is in itself, an interesting story. The Phoenicians were cleft from the bosom of the Templars. The two brothers were at the head of our organization, until they suddenly parted ways."
"Over a woman?" Mary Stuart in the black dress spoke up. "It's usually about a woman. How exciting…"
"How droll… Always a bum rap…" Catherine added before Gladstone retook control of the conversation.
"One founded the Brotherhood of Phoenician Sailors, or as they are known today, the Phoenicians, so it could be said that this… despicable practice is our own fault. Undoubtedly why the Templars have always been adamant about policing this trade, Venice directives or not.
Gladstone then shook his head as he stared down at the black ankh still in his hand. "But even the Phoenicians knew the rules! Unspoken rules, mind you, but rules, nonetheless! These items should never find their way into reckless hands, no matter the offer! I mean, the alternative is… disaster!"
"Well…" Catherine said as she turned towards the entrance of the library to leave. "I think we could all use a stiff drink after that!"
"Splendid!" Gladstone said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, smacking his lips. A few minutes later, we were seated at one of the tables, sipping at our drinks. While everyone else was enjoying their cocktails, I sipped at a nonalcoholic Roy Rogers made of fizzy cola and deep red grenadine syrup, letting the conversation fall to a low murmur.
"Chase? Chase!" I suddenly heard Priscilla call from someplace both far and near, and I refocused on my surroundings. Looking at the concerned faces of the adults at the table with me, and the long empty cocktail glass sitting in front of me, I realized just how far gone I had been.
"Huh? Oh yeah… Sorry… Just thinking, is all." I said as I reached for the silver platter holding the cocktail ingredients. As I steadfastly ignored the gazes upon me to focus on mixing myself a new drink, I could hear Mary ask me a question, one that I answered by instinct. "So what about my clothes? They fit me just fine, and that's all that matters. They don't need to be anything special."
"Oh, but dear, they don't suit you at all!" Catherine said. "That shirt and pair of trousers don't do you justice. Trust me and my sister — we're the Templars' What Not to Wear. If you could just come along with us to Covent Garden or Mayfair for one day, we'll have you looking quite fit…"
I opened my mouth to refuse them, but the looks they were giving me with their big eyes and pouty lips left me without the heart to do it. "I'll… consider it sometime."
It was just then that a phone began to ring, and setting down her beer, Priscilla took out her smart phone and held it to her ear. "Hello? Really? But… I see. We'll be there straightaway."
As Priscilla put away her phone, she looked at me with concern in her eyes as she spoke. "It's Sonnac. He wants us in his office."
I nodded as I stood up from my seat and finished the last of my drink in one final gulp. Setting the empty down onto the table, I nodded to the twin and Gladstone before turning to follow Priscilla out of the Temple Club.
"Were I someone of loose morals trafficking in forbidden relics, heaven forbid, Egypt would be quite the honeypot. Its ancient evenings are still heavy with power." Sonnac said as the three of us stood in his office. We were all standing in front of his desk, where a postcard written in neat, inky cursive lay.
Sonnac then picked up the postcard, and I saw that the back with the photo on it was of Egypt's Great Pyramid of Giza. "Stop me if you've heard this one before."
Clearing his throat, Sonnac then began to read the postcard aloud. "I met a traveller from an antique land / Who said: 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert…'"
"It's 'Ozymandias,' right? By Percy Bysshe Shelley?" I interrupted. "What's with the looks? I can know things too, you know…"
"So what's with the poem, sir?" Priscilla asked, getting the conversation back on track.
"Two weeks ago, we received the poem on the back of this unsigned postcard from Cairo." Sonnac said, holding up said postcard in his dark hand. "It is, and always has been a warning, concerning gods and god-kings thought left to the shadow of history, or to Romantic poetry.
Setting the postcard back down onto the desk, Sonnac then added, "In an entirely unsurprising coincidence, we have been petitioned by the Council of Venice to respond to a matter in Upper Egypt. A great evil is rising in the sand. That's actually what was a written. 'A great evil.' Clearly, this requires our particular touch…"
In other words, we were going to be kicking down doors where angels feared to tread. It was then that Priscilla asked another question. "Sir, it's only been two weeks since our last deployment. Surely there are other operatives who can take care of Egypt…"
"Rest assured that I fully understand your concerns, Miss Ross." Sonnac said smoothly as his gaze glanced back and forth between me and Priscilla. "However, as we are short on agents…"
"I'd do it even if there was someone else available." I spoke up. "Downtime's great and all, but I'm not just gonna sit on my ass and wait for the world to end."
Sonnac regarded me carefully as Priscilla looked at me with doubt in her eyes. Finally, after what seemed like several geological ages, she sighed and turned her head towards Sonnac. "So can we expect backup from the other secret societies?"
Sonnac nodded. "The Council are ineffectual, but they take their peacekeeping responsibilities seriously. Deathly seriously. The other societies will eventually be forced to respond, but we should lead by example. This is one of the places civilization began. Let's see to it that civilization doesn't end there. You'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir." Priscilla and I both intoned.
Later that evening, I was eating supper at the Temple Club's kitchens, partaking in a family meal along with the rest of the kitchen staff. It was your typical meat-and-two-veg British dinner, but elevated to be more fitting with the class of the Temple Club. As per usual, I had finished well before the others, and had already placed my dirty dish in the sink. As I watched the others from a distance, I heard a voice come from out of sight. "Monsieur Mercer?"
I turned my head to see the head chef of the Temple Club standing before me, dirty dish in hand.
If the other chefs at the Temple Club were made of iron, then Roland Beauregard was made of titanium. Originally from rural France, years spent studying various cuisines around the world and running high-end kitchens had beaten the French out of his accent and the nonsense out of his tall, thin frame. Hell, the only way he could've been more intimidating was if he had been wearing black armor covered in spikes instead of chef's whites.
"Oh, sorry, Chef." I apologized as I moved out of the way so that Chef Beauregard could put his dish into the sink.
Bar the clatter of the china plates in the sink, there was an awkward silence for me that lasted for a few seconds as I tried not to make eye contact with those icy blue eyes of Chef Beauregard's. Then he spoke. "It's your last night with us, isn't it?"
"Yes, Chef." I answered simply as water began to pour out of the faucet, and I watched as Chef Beauregard's hands moved with lightning speed.
"Sonnac informed me you're going to Egypt tomorrow. Fine cuisine, Egyptian. Legumes, vegetables, fruits… But you're not going there for the produce, are you?"
"No, Chef."
"So how was your time with us?"
"It was difficult at first, sir, but I feel like I've learned a lot." I answered honestly, not sure where this conversation was going.
"Good." Chef Beauregard said simply as he turned the faucet off and wiped his hands dry with a nearby towel. I hadn't realized that he had already finished. "I'm glad you learned something. Life in the kitchens is hard, as it is in the real world, but it's a far better teacher than most. Just try not to lose yourself in the sands, est-ce que tu comprends?"
"Oui, monsieur. Je comprends." I spoke. Chef Beauregard nodded as he turned around to head for his station.
"Good. Now you'd best report to your station at the garde manger. Supper will be starting soon."
"Yes, sir." I said, and I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch as I turned around to head to my station.