Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (6 page)

Moses the proprietor was none too pleased as the unrelenting knocking on his front door woke his sleeping family. He wielded a wooden baton and had a bayonet tucked in his sash. A money-lender was often a target for desperate thieves and Moses was a cautious man.

“Okay, okay,” he called from inside. A small peephole allowed Moses to see the caller but he did not recognise the tall, thin man standing outside. The fact that this man was wearing the robes of a priest did nothing to instil any trust in Moses. He shouted through a small crack in the door.

“Who is it? What do you want at this time of night?”
“I wish to speak with the man called Moses Bauer,” replied Isaac. “I have a letter of introduction from the King of Prussia himself.”

Isaac pushed a wax-sealed envelope under the door. Moses picked it up and broke the seal; concern washed over him as he recognised the seal to be that of Frederick II. He was wary but what could he do?

“Come in,” he said, standing to one side as he opened the door.

Isaac entered and warmed himself next to the remaining embers that had survived in the large fire dominating the small but tidy room. He took off his gloves and placed them on the wooden table in the centre of the room and rubbed his cold hands together.

“What can be so important that a king would need a poor, hard-working Jew at this late time of night?”

“His Royal Highness has recently decided that he is destined to unite the kingdoms of Prussia.”

Isaac made his statement, getting straight to the point, and then looked around the room nonchalantly.

“How does this concern me?” Moses looked puzzled.

Isaac continued to look around the rest of the house, wandering into the small back room where he could see that Moses conducted his business. Moses had a feeling that he was looking for something in particular. His hand fell down to the bayonet tucked under his tunic, as he prepared to confront this man on his true intentions. The cries of a child momentarily stopped Isaac’s snooping.

“Ah, yes. I believe you have a new baby boy. May I inquire his name?”

Moses felt even more concerned and with no desire to discuss his family with a stranger, he carefully pulled out the bayonet for Isaac to see.

“No you may not. Now, are you going to tell me what you want?”

Isaac barely acknowledged the appearance of the weapon.

“The king needs money.”

Moses paled.

“Don’t fret. I can see you have little or no money.”

Isaac casually picked up a small ledger that lay on the desk next to a catalogue of silks. Moses was deeply regretting letting this stranger into his home.

“As you say, I have no money. I cannot see what help I can be to his Highness,” said Moses

“You will soon have money.” said Isaac.

Confusion replaced the concern on Moses’ face. Isaac’s robes fell to the side revealing a tunic that Moses recognised to be that of the Jesuit order.

He continued, “Let me explain. As servants of the Lord Jesus Christ we are forbidden from charging ‘usury’ on the money we lend, or interest as you would call it. Yet many states expect us to fund them in some campaign or other: France and Spain want money to aid their war with Austria, Catherine in Russia wants to build another palace, Sardinia and England need to buy boats to defend their shores. All this costs money, money we have. My masters have no qualms in lending this money out but feel it is unfair to do so without the possibility of increasing our yield. As an astute businessman I am sure you see the injustice of this.”

Moses nodded, saying nothing.

“Of course they offer tributes if they are victorious and many, such as the Spanish and Portuguese will convert thousands of savages to the Christian faith. But as a man of commerce you will understand this doesn’t cover our costs or improve the welfare of the state. Papal policy says we should exclude non-Catholics from benefiting from our fortunate abundance of wealth, but us Jesuits, well, we believe all men are God’s children. Still, we don’t wish to upset the loyal countries or the bishops. Do you understand what I mean?”

Moses knew exactly what he meant. The Roman Church’s concern was for souls but what use were souls if not to gain profit and power?

“So, what do I get for my soul?” Moses joked.

Isaac took off his hat and held it across his chest. “I am here to propose an alliance: we will underwrite loans that you will manage. For all intents and purposes the borrower will only see you as their benefactor. Our portfolio of, shall we call them ‘clients’, shall be passed to you. A position in the palace as Frederick’s banker will lend credibility to your role. To keep it discreet you will only communicate with me concerning these matters.”

Moses was not yet convinced and asked, “Why me?”

“I have looked for you for a long time, Moses. You are a fair man, an honest man, a clever man and a good father. If not for the cruel laws controlling Jews you would be a rich man in your own right. Now, I cannot promise that your life will become one of luxury but I will promise you this: the child who I can hear crying will have a great gift bestowed upon him, and his children will have opportunities that most Jews could only dream of. He will be in a position to pioneer a new kind of banking using stocks, bonds and sureties allowing them to be impervious to the tactics that have historically stolen hard-earned wealth from the Jews. What I will teach you will enable you to create a dynasty more powerful than all the kings and emperors on earth and will one day bring your people back to the Promised Land.”

Moses eyed Isaac for a moment before going into the back room and returning with the good wine.

Over the next few weeks Moses met with Isaac each day, finalising strategy and rates. He received a letter from the Palace offering him a position at the Royal Court. Moses was still cautious but had begun to believe. He thanked God for this miracle, which would drag his family out of poverty. After years of struggle and strife perhaps he was about to be rewarded, and why not? He was a good man who honoured God. Isaac had suggested that he might need to change his surname to avoid any anti-Semitic discrimination. Bauer was a good name but Moses saw the sense in this. As a tribute to his ancestors Moses had always displayed the red shield above his shop. He decided this would be the new family name, Red Shield, or Rothschild as it is in German. After only six weeks Moses and Isaac were trading with the house of Hesse, secretly funding the Spanish and French alliance as well as their opponents, the British and Sardinians in the battle of Villafranca. The issue of whether this was morally right did concern Moses at first but his concern faded as his wealth began to grow. Moses soon learned that in most wars and battles the only true victors were the financiers.

With everything in place and months after their first encounter Isaac met Moses one more time. He handed him a leather-bound book embossed with a symbol that Moses at first mistook for a fleur-de-lis. On further inspection the symbol was closer to a three-leaf clover but even more curious was its title
Ledger of transactions
written in south-western Yiddish, Moses’ native tongue.

“You read Yiddish?” Moses asked.

“Yes and I wish for all written transactions to be scribed using your dialect, is that acceptable?”

Still none the wiser, Moses simply nodded.

They said their goodbyes and before Isaac left he received an unexpected hug from the money-lender. 

“From today I will conduct business through my agent. Her name is Emilie Du Chatelet. She will carry a parchment with this symbol on its seal.” He pointed to the symbol on the book. “You must only use this ledger to record our transactions and always in your south-western dialect. I will return before your son’s bar mitzvah and we will discuss the gift I promised for him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Moses said but he really didn’t understand; he just thanked God for his good fortune.

The streets of Frankfurt were bare and it was late. After leaving Moses for the last time Isaac headed out of the ghetto and into the main town. He made his way through the dimly lit streets, between the shops, up the cobble streets and past a tavern where a small light indicated some late-night drinking was occurring.

Isaac became aware of a form in the shadows following him. He reached down to his side feeling for the handle of his sword. Ahead he saw a narrow alleyway and decided it would be an ideal place to confront his stalker. Isaac sped up and pulled his sword as soon as he turned into the alley. He waited in the dark, sword in hand, but nobody appeared.

Then a voice from behind startled him.

“Tut tut, Isaac, you are slipping.”

Isaac spun, aiming his sword in the direction of the voice. In front of him a young girl, no more than sixteen years old, stood still, the sword pushed against her throat. With one look at his pursuer Isaac lowered his sword.

“Amitiel.”

“Hello Isaac.”

“I saw the comet last night, I thought that would be one of you Arc Hon.”

He placed his sword back in its sheath. Amitiel pulled her hood down, revealing pale skin and bright-green eyes, her long blond ringlets accentuating her angelic appearance.

“We need to talk, Isaac.” She indicated towards the street. “I noticed a light on in the tavern and I must admit to a thirst, shall we?”

They headed for the tavern and found the door unlocked but the place empty. A large barman looked none too pleased when the two entered his bar.

“We’re closed,” he said as they approached the bar.

“We are two weary travellers in need of a drink,” replied Isaac.

The barman decided he needed to try a less polite approach. “Fuck off and rest your foreign arses somewhere else. I am closed.”

Amitiel stepped out from behind Isaac. “You are very rude fat man. I have travelled far this night and I am in need of a drink. When I am in need of a drink my patience is very limited. So please, two glasses of wine and some wood for the fire.”

The barman laughed at the young slip of a girl. “Over my dead fucking body. Now little girl, g…”

Amitiel’s stiletto blade pierced the man’s Adam’s apple and exited the back of his head, cutting his sentence short. Isaac locked the tavern doors as she dragged the man’s body behind the bar. She then took a bottle of red wine and two glasses and tucked a log for the fire under her arm. They sat at the table nearest the fire. The angelic face showed no remorse as she wiped blood from her blade before replacing it into a sheath tied to her thigh.

“So Isaac, I see you are going into commerce.”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s the future. Anyway, why the interest? I thought
Watchers
only got involved when there is a breach?”
      “I’m curious, just humour me. I have not had an intelligent conversation for some time. Living amongst these saps can be so boring. Come on, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is to rule the world.”

Both laughed.

Isaac raised his glass and Amitiel joined him.

“To world domination.”

“So you think this Jew will help you win?” asked Amitiel.

“Well, I’m tired of nurturing and wet-nursing psychotic warmongers, emperors, and fucking kings who can’t wipe their own arses. Even worse, religious leaders who think they are God’s voice on Earth, for fuck’s sake. So, I am ahead of the game. Reuben was right, this world is too big now. No one will ever rule through fear or retribution. The masses will only really worship one God and that’s the one that feeds their greed: money!”

Amitiel nodded, impressed. “Yes, I believe you have a very cunning strategy there. It’ll be interesting to see how Reuben responds. He is convinced whoever dominates Europe will become the Host.”

“He’s right but I doubt Zeb or Asher would agree. Don’t tell them, will you? The longer they waste their time with the slanty-eyed fuckers, the better. Anyway, we have all night to exchange gossip now that you’ve convinced our landlord to be more hospitable. But my curiosity is getting the better of me… why are you really here, Amitiel?”

“Two reasons: firstly Simeon. We can’t trace him. We think he may have gone native and renewed.”

Isaac was shocked. “He what? Renewed…? Why would he do that? He won’t know who or what he is!”

Amitiel refilled the glasses and sat back. “Simeon has developed some sort of perverted affection for the homo sapiens. He recently returned to Gheisthelm and appealed to the Council. He claims the humans should have their own champion, and that it was always the Demiurge’s plan for mankind to rule the physical world, not Djinn.”

Isaac gulped, nearly choking on his drink. “He has lost it! Tell me they refused.”

“Yes, they declined after a certain amount of deliberation. A little bit too much deliberation if you ask me. Anyway, Simeon was not happy, he threatened to conspire with the saps and mentor a native champion, one who he claims will have the Vril from all thirteen in equal parts.”

“What did he mean?”

“Well, if a human was to have equal Vril from all the thirteen it could give him certain advantages, but it is just a theory and thought to be near impossible, as the proverb goes, like finding a needle in a hay field.”

“Haystack.”

“Field is bigger. Chamuel, however, thinks differently. He has done his calculations and he thinks that by the late twentieth century one such person could exist. This is only a few hundred years away. We need to find Simeon before then and return him to the Corona, just in case Chamuel is right.”

“But like you said, he may have renewed. If he has then he must have had help… free will and all that. He wouldn’t break that rule. He would have had to find a mother prepared to allow him to possess her unborn child, which even for humans is a difficult exchange. If that is the case then none of us would be able to find him; that really would be like finding a needle in a hundred hayfields, a thousand.”

“Exactly. He must have had human conspirators and he would have needed to reveal at least some of the secrets of the Djinn to them. Although we do not think he has renewed yet, only that he has threatened to do so.”

“Yes, well, that is a mess, but if I’m right, it’s your mess, not mine.”