Alchemist (87 page)

Since the uncovering of the Dutch secret intellectual society of the 11th Century – The Illuminate – conspiracy theories have thrived. Is there a small group of people, an international intelligentsia, who secretly manipulate and control the world? And who have been doing so for the past eight hundred years? And if so, who are the members?

One day in the year 1622, the inhabitants of Paris woke to find their city walls covered with posters bearing the following message: ‘We, deputies of the principal College of the Brethren of the Rosy Cross (Rosicrucians), are amongst you in this town, visibly and invisibly, through the grace of the Most High to whom the hearts of all just men are turned. We are here in order to save our fellow men from the error of death.' This was considered by most people to be a joke, but we should remember that the Rosicrucian Brethren were credited with possession of the following secrets: the transmutation of
metals, the prolongation of life, knowledge of what is happening in distant places, and the application of the occult sciences to the discovery of even the most deeply hidden objects
.

Eliminate the term ‘occult', and you find yourself confronted by the powers that modern science possesses or is on the way to possessing … According to the legend, already firmly established at that time, the Rosicrucians claimed that man's power over nature and himself would become limitless, that immortality and control of all natural forces were within his grasp, and that he would be able to know everything that happened in the universe
…

Let us consider this notion of a secret international society composed of those of the highest intelligence, spiritually transformed by the profundity of their knowledge, desirous of reserving the right to use their scientific discoveries at the right moment, or else to conceal them for a number of years – such a notion is both an extremely ancient and an ultra-modern one. I would even dare to state that, on a certain level, such a society exists today
.

Though there is nothing to prove that a secret Rosicrucian society existed in the seventeenth century, we have every reason to believe that there is a society of this nature today and that there is bound to be one in the future
.

Scientific research has reached the stage where we can envisage a form of genetic engineering that will ‘improve' living beings, including man himself. The aim of the alchemist's research was the transmutation of the operator himself; perhaps it is also that of the modern scientist
.

After this passage, Monty flicked through several pages on ritual magic. Halfway, her attention was arrested. It was the frog's head again.

This time it was a colour picture, and the robed figure wearing the mask was standing on the rim of an ornate pentacle on the floor of a temple. On the wall behind his head black candles burned in sconces. The caption beneath simply said:

Theutus. (Daniel Judd.) Grand Magister of the New International Satanic Brotherhood
.

The photograph was one among several; others showed an altar; a naked man and woman, each wearing crowns, the
woman holding a chalice; a sinister chiaroscuro image of Aleister Crowley holding his magic wand; a group of women standing in a desert in chiffon gowns, amid steaming cauldrons on tall tripods, their arms raised; a naked man straddling a naked woman inside a circle; and there was a still from the film of
The Devil Rides Out
.

Monty turned to the book's index and looked up ‘Daniel Judd'. There were three references, and she located the first.

Daniel Judd (Theutus) was already an adept in the New Order of Satan when he was initiated into the New International Brotherhood of Satan – probably the most secretive of all the Satanic covens in existence today, and whose roots go back to the past century and possibly further. It is known that Hitler, Himmler and several other leading Nazis belonged to lodges of this coven. Its spread today is a matter for speculation
.

For years rumour has claimed that politicians, high-ranking clergymen, powerful businessmen – as well as members of the police and the armed forces – are numbered among its initiates. But no such evidence exists. There are even rumours of a Satanic Vatican, variously located in the desert of Saudi Arabia or the foothills of the Andes
.

Daniel Judd, the son of fanatical religious parents against whom he rebelled, was recruited into the coven when in his teens. He then had a spectacular rise during the late 1950s and early 60s, becoming its United Kingdom Grand Magister in 1968 at the age of only thirty-four. Strangely, he cannot be traced beyond 1969, the year in which he published
The Master Grimoire of Power and Success Through Satanic Workings.
By his thirty-fifth birthday, he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Judd, or ‘Theutus' as he preferred to be called, claimed that he had magical powers and could make himself invisible, or could shape-change, at will. Rumours abound that he transformed himself into a beast or a fowl, that he went to another planet, that he dematerialized and became part of the energy force of the cosmos, and, more prosaically and even less probable, that he abandoned his occult life and went into industry
.

Monty checked back to the picture she had already seen of Daniel Judd wearing his frog mask. Then she began to search
for the second index reference, on page 138. To her surprise, she found the page was missing. Looking more closely, she could see a sliver of it remaining; the page itself had been carefully cut out. By a souvenir hunter? she wondered.

The frog mask gripped her, despite herself. Like a lot of people, Monty was slightly drawn to the thing that most scared her. Daniel Judd? Theutus? She had come here to learn more about occult workings, to find out more on what Tabitha Donoghue had tried to teach her, to protect herself and Conor. But some instinct told her not to ignore Judd. Or was it just the coincidence of the frog mask?

She looked at her six remaining volumes and realized that one of them was Judd's own oeuvre:
The Master Grimoire of Power and Success Through Satanic Workings
. She began reading the author's introduction.

Since the dawn of time Occult Masters – Adepts – have possessed the power to influence people, to change events and to command whatever they desired to happen. Many of these men and women have been quite ordinary looking, possessing no special physical qualities, and attracting no undue attention towards themselves. It was said of them that ‘Things seem always to go their way.' But whilst most of these Adepts have led lives far removed from the spotlight, some have been among the most famous personages of all time. To the well-informed reader it will be no news that much of human history has been shaped behind the scenes by the secret machinations – good and evil-of the very powerful men and women of the magickal arts
.

Nothing happens ‘by chance!
'

Things that mystify, baffle or terrify us are always caused by someone or something. This is not only axiomatic of magick, but of every true science also. With Ceremonial Magick you can learn to
control your destiny,
rather than being controlled by it. This choice is now about to be yours in the pages of this grimoire
.

On the back cover there was only a woodcut of a frog's head inside a circle, with a small pentagram above. So Monty turned to the contents page and found a list of illustrations, including several of the author.

When she looked up the first one she saw that it had been removed. The next illustration was also missing, and the next. Every single page which carried an illustration of Daniel Judd, except for one, where he was wearing his frog mask, had been cut out.

Increasingly puzzled, she began searching through the indexes of the other books she'd found. Judd's name was in most of them, and in three, references were given for photographs of him. She searched for them with no success.

Every single page that should have shown a photograph of Daniel Judd's face had been removed with surgical precision.

A shadow fell across Monty and she looked up, startled. The duty librarian who had helped her earlier was looking down at her. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘It's seven now, and we're finished for the night.'

Monty nodded reluctantly. ‘Would you like these –?'

‘Just leave them on the desk. They'll be collected in the morning. Are you going to want to come back tomorrow and look at any again?'

‘Yes – I – might do that.'

‘I'll have them kept out. Come and see me when you get here.'

Monty thanked him and made for the deserted lobby. Her boots clicked on the marble floor as she walked, bringing back memories. She had always loved the British Museum, it had been her favourite expedition as a child and she had spent many afternoons exploring it with her father. But right now, like the whole world outside, it felt alien and menacing.

The security guard pushed the door open for her, and the cold draught of the night air struck her face. Then she stopped in her tracks at the top of the Museum's steps. Saw the white car speeding in through the gates, a blue light on the roof and fluorescent stripes down the side.

It pulled up just beyond the bottom of the steps, the rear door sprang open and the interior light came on, revealing he neat, close-cropped profile of Detective Superintendent Levine.

Monty stood, panic-stricken. Make a break for it across the courtyard? But she didn't know how fast Levine could run. She made a snap decision. Better odds, not good, but better, she calculated. She turned and hammered on the door, signalling frantically to the guard who had just let her out. ‘Forgotten something!' she mouthed.

He opened up again, and she barged past him. ‘Sorry! I left something really important!' Then instead of heading back to the Library, she turned left and sprinted up the wide steps to the first floor of the British Museum.

‘Hey!' she heard him call. ‘Hey, m'am, it's closed. The Museum's shut!'

She kept going, up into the darkness, reached the top of the stairs and saw the shadowy statue of a kneeling man and beast that she remembered marked the entrance to Prehistory and Roman Britain.

She ran forward into the first of the Roman galleries; it was pitch dark here, too black to see, just the faintest shimmer from a dim, overhead light source. She slowed to a walk; the only sound she could hear now was the click of her own heels and her breathing.

Keep going straight, she thought, trying desperately to remember the geography of the place. After Roman Britain she should be entering the Early Medieval room, and then she could turn left into the long gallery that led to Ancient Iran.

Instead she stopped dead with a jarring thump that knocked all the wind out of her. She had walked straight into a display cabinet, she realized, feeling its contours, edging around it. There was a shout behind her now, quite dose. Then the beam of a flashlight streaked past her and for a brief moment she could see ahead, and get her bearings.

She broke into a run; keeping as best she could to the left-hand side, avoiding the centre displays. The beam flashed again, striking a Roman head on a plinth directly in her path.
She dodged sideways, then was suddenly dazzled by the beam of another flashlight shining straight into her eyes.

The beam lowered and as she blinked she could make out the silhouette of the guard blocking her path. Before he had a chance to speak, she yelled urgently at him: ‘Did you see them? Two men? They just broke into one of the offices; I chased them this way, they must be here somewhere!' Monty was gambling and she knew it.

‘Heck, no – No I didn't!'

‘Give me your torch a sec.'

As he held it out, with slight reluctance, she snatched it and raced on. With the beam guiding her, progress was far easier and she tore at full sprint down through Ancient Iran into Babylon. Then the Royal Tombs of Ur. As she rounded the Tombs, another guard appeared at the far end of the gallery and she could hear an alarm siren. ‘That way!' she shouted at the guard. ‘They went that way!'

‘No one came past me, miss.'

‘They must have done!' She ran on again, without waiting for his further response; then in her panic she missed the right turn-off she needed and found herself among the Egyptian mummies. Silent bandaged figures stared at her from behind glinting glass. She spun round, disorientated. Twin torch beams were jigging down towards her. She raced back at them, saw the open entrance into Coptic Art, tore through, then down the staircase at the far end into the small North Entrance lobby. A guard was standing by the door.

‘Quick!' she shouted at him. ‘There's been a break-in in Oriental Antiquities. The police are outside, let them in!'

He hurriedly unlocked the door, pushed it open, and peered out expectantly into the night. Monty squeezed past him, looked quickly both ways, then rocketed along the pavement of Montague Place, across the dark, terraced square of Bedford Place and into the bustle of Tottenham Court Road.

She saw a free taxi, hailed it frantically and clambered into the back, pulling the door shut with a slam; then fell into the seat panting so hard she was unable to talk for a moment.

The driver slid back the glass partition. ‘Where to?'

She coughed, gulped down more air.
Anywhere but here
, she
thought. ‘Just drive on for a couple of minutes, then I'll tell you.'

She checked through the rear window, but with the thick wedge of traffic behind it was impossible to tell if she was being followed. Ahead they were fast approaching Euston Road. The Bendix Building was less than a mile away to the right. She leaned forward. ‘Turn left at the Euston Road,' she said, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the building as possible.

Then she leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking hard. Tabitha Donoghue had been through all the protection protocols with her. Purifications. Salt. Lumiel square. Visualization. Incantations. But there was one thing she had not done; in fact, she had poured scorn on it. Right now, Monty decided, anything was worth trying.