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This did not seem like the posture of a
guilty person but it could be an act, of course.  Still, Tiferet had given an
opening, Jake would follow it up.

‘They...  So there are others, are there? 
Now come on.  Tell me the truth.  Who are they?’

‘Patience, young man.  Patience.  There is
a great deal happening here and this is an occasion when too much knowledge
could be a bad thing.’

‘No, listen to me, Tiferet.  This has gone
on long enough.  I’m fed up playing games.  I’ve been threatened three times so
far.  My uncle’s dead, you’re after my ring and...’

Tiferet’s eyes lit up.

‘You’ve been threatened.  Tell me.’

Well, he’d done it now.

‘You don’t know?’

‘No, of course not.’

Jake looked at the other’s eyes.  They
radiated conviction.  Was it possible that he was telling the truth?  If
Tiferet had been the culprit then his acting was perfect.  All right, he would
tell him what had happened.  See how he reacted.

Tiferet listened and, with an
uncharacteristic show of good manners, hardly interrupted

‘So, you say you believe that they have
your cuff-links.  Yes, you could be right.  They could be utilised in ritual
magic.  How brave do you feel?’

‘Pardon.’

Tiferet was quite convincing.  Maybe...

Shit.  He had to know.

‘Listen to me,’ the other continued, ‘I
know how to counter the effect but I think it would be more sensible not to
alert them that you are able to fight them.  Do you feel able to withstand
another attack?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘At the moment they cannot do you any
harm.  It is all just an illusion.  I want you tonight to face them again.  You
must find out what that creature is.’

‘The creature?’

‘Yes.  That monster that attacked you in
your dream.’

‘But, isn’t that an illusion?’

‘No I do not think so.  If they are to
succeed in their endeavours my enemies need a supernatural patron.  I believe
that you have seen the demon.’

‘But surely?’

‘No.  I am certain of it.  I must learn
what power they have tapped into.  That may at least give me an idea how to
beat them.’

This was crazy.

But Tiferet seemed to believe all he was
saying.  Could it possibly be the truth?

‘All right.  You’ve told me this much. 
Tell me the rest.  Why are these stones so important?’

Tiferet looked at Jake as if trying to
decide and then, after a few seconds pause, he began to speak.

‘What do you know of Kabbalah?’

‘Not very much.  I know that it is Jewish
mysticism but the Rabbis treat it as forbidden knowledge that you cannot learn
until you are over the age of forty or something.’

‘That’s right.  But do you know why that
is?’

Jake shrugged his shoulders.

‘Ever heard of Shabbatai Zevi?’

‘Wasn’t he a false messiah, or something?’

‘That’s right.  What is interesting is how
it all came about.  In the seventeenth century world Jewry was steeped in
mysticism and everything seemed to point to the coming of the Messiah.  In 1666
Zevi already believed that he was the chosen-one but this was confirmed when,
in that year, he met with another mystic, Natan of Gaza.  Nathan of Gaza had
already received a vision in which God had appeared to him and Shabbatai Zevi
figured very prominently in it.  It was Nathan who managed to convince the
world that the long awaited Messiah of the Jews had arrived.’

Jake wondered where all this was leading
but he decided not to interrupt.  Tiferet had a fascinating manner.  No doubt
he was an excellent lecturer in his chosen field.

‘Over the next few years world Jewry,
accepted the truth of the claims until the final disillusionment when Zevi
converted to Islam.  It was as a reaction to these events that mysticism lost
its popular appeal and became condemned by the Rabbinate.’

Jake nodded, ‘So this guy, Zevi, was the
turning point?’

‘That’s right.  Many years ago I made a
particular study of that era.  My interest was the motivations of Zevi and in
particular, Nathan of Gaza.  I could not believe that these events happened in
a vacuum.  I became convinced that there had to exist a book or books that gave
rise to a prophecy that the Messiah was coming at that time.  Eventually I
found it.

‘A name that I doubt you will have come
across is Abraham Abulafia.’

Jake shook his head.

‘Abulafia was a thirteenth century mystic
who had also been called Messiah in his lifetime.  My teacher, Scholem, talks
of Abulafia as the founder of the school of prophetic mysticism which in many
ways is similar to the Eastern methods that we all know; yoga and the like.

‘Abulafia was able to enter into a
trance-like state and, in that condition, he had visions and prophesies.  A
prolific writer, Abulafia wrote books that were manuals on the method of
achieving trances and he also expressed his prophesies in detail.

‘Branded as a heretic and accused of
flirting with Christianity and paganism, after his death, the Rabbis tried to
bury his teaching.  Some of his books were destroyed and others hidden away by
his followers.

‘I learnt that he had written of the
coming of the Messiah and that in a bastardised version of his work the seventeenth
century was shown to be the time.  Whilst I could not locate the original text
I discovered that certain scholars had it in their possession at about the same
time as Shabbatai Zevi lived.  I also discovered that they tried to carry out
the ritual that Abulafia had described.’

‘What ritual?’

‘That, young man, is an excellent
question.  Without the complete text it will be impossible to know.  I have
some idea, however, of what the ritual was designed to accomplish.  To
understand that you need some knowledge of Midrash and the Zohar.  I assume
that you have studied neither?’

Inwardly, Jake felt annoyed by the other’s
air of superiority but, on the other hand, it was patently obvious that Tiferet
was quite accurate.  Other than a few childrens’ fables Jake knew absolutely
nothing about the Midrash and the Zohar; other than that the latter was the
ultimate forbidden book of Kabbalah.

Tiferet nodded, ‘I see that I am correct,
hm.

‘All right.  I will explain.  Midrash is
basically a homiletic commentary on Torah.  It elaborates on the sacred texts
and illustrates them through the use of stories and fables; moshals, as the
Rabbonim
^[7]
call them.  The first part of the Zohar also elaborates on the text but from a
mystical approach.

‘One idea that first appeared in Midrash
and was later developed in the Zohar is the concept of the primordial Light. 
As you must know, on the first day of creation, Hashem (God, to you) said “Let
there be light, and there was light.”  On that day, however, the sun, moon and
stars had not been created; therefore, the light created is not the natural
light of which we know.

‘This primordial Light was put away by
Hashem for the sole use of the righteous in the World to Come.  The Light is in
many ways identical with the Shechinah, which can be defined as being the
tangible spirit of the Creator.  It follows that in the days of the Messiah the
world will be illuminated by the Light.  Abulafia, I think, discovered a way of
harnessing that Light and by bringing it here using it to create Messiah.

‘The ritual was the method to be used.’

‘And you say that in the seventeenth
century they tried it out?’

‘Yes.’

‘And…?’

‘And perished for their presumption.’

There was a pause and Jake waited
expectantly.  There was so much to assimilate but Tiferet’s manner had the ring
of conviction and Jake was rapidly becoming convinced of the veracity of his
companion.  The Professor, however, remained silent and it was left to Jake to
ask the obvious.

‘If they all died.  How did you learn what
happened?’

Tiferet looked at the younger man with
disdain but made no attempt to reply.  Jake felt suitably sheepish.

‘All right.  You’ve told me about Ab,
Ablaf...’

‘Abulafia.’

‘Right.  You’ve told me about his ritual
but what is all this to do with me?’

Tiferet shook his head in obvious despair.

‘Don’t you listen to anything?  Think. 
What did I tell you yesterday?’

‘Only about the stones in the
breastplate.’

‘And…?’

‘Pardon.’

Tiferet’s exasperation was palpable. 
‘What did I tell you the Choshen Mishpat contained?’

It was Jake’s turn to be puzzled and he
waited for the Professor to explain.

‘Choshen Mishpat is Hebrew for the
Breastplate of Judgement or, as some translate the term, the Decision
Breastplate.  It was so called because it contained the Urim and the Tumim that
were used to question the Almighty.

‘Abulafia’s ritual needs the breastplate
for two reasons.  One; to ask Hashem for the Light and two; as a protection
against the divine force that was being released.  It was for that reason that
the High Priest wore the Choshen Mishpat when entering the Holy of Holies in
the Temple.  Without it, he would surely die.

‘Now do you understand?’

It was a coherent story but it was one
which Jake was unable to prove for himself.  For that matter there were still
things he did not know.

‘Well?’ demanded his companion
impatiently.

‘Assuming what you say is true.’

‘Do you doubt me?’

(As if that was the greatest insult under
the sun.)

‘No, but there are still one or two
things...’

‘Go on.’

‘Why are you after the stones?’

‘I already explained that to you.’

‘Maybe I missed it.  Tell me again.’

‘There are those who wish to take the
power for their own ends.  I must stop them.’

‘Why?  From what you’ve said Abulafia’s
ritual was used to bring the Messiah.  Surely...’

‘How little you understand.  That was
certainly the aim of Cordozo.’

‘Who?’

‘Jacob Cordozo.  It was he who affected
the ritual in the seventeenth century.’

‘Ahh.’

‘Something happened when the ritual
failed.  The breastplate was torn apart by the forces that were released and
the stones thrust through time and space.’

‘What?’

‘Later.  Just listen.  Three of the
stones, I believe, remained with Cordozo.  You have one and each of the two
matching goblets contain the others.  The rest vanished.’

‘Where?’

Tiferet just shook his head.

‘Something else happened but I do not know
what.  That creature you saw in your dream could well be a product of that
ceremony.’

‘But...’

It was the Professor’s turn to look a
little sheepish.

‘I used to have a student; a brilliant
scholar, called Alexander Lapski.  I told him my theories.  It is Alex who is
trying to locate the stones with the intent of controlling the Light for his
own ends.  I think it entirely possible that he has allied himself with your
creature.  What I do not know is the creature’s motivations.  Alex’s are
obvious.’

‘And, what about me?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?  You are the only
direct male descendant of Jacob Cordozo.

‘What we have to learn is why this Cherry
Linford is so interested in the cup.  Is she with Lapski or has she some agenda
of her own?  Will you help me?’

Jake looked at the other.  It did sound
plausible; but there were still gaps?

‘Hold on.  You said the stones have been
thrust through time and space.  What does that mean?’

‘You know so little.  According to Midrash
this was not the first Earth that Hashem created.  There were (I suppose you
would call them) prototypes that were destroyed.  When this Earth was finally
created God created six further Earths on different planes as well as seven
heavens.’

‘But this is like so much pagan
mythology.’

‘Of course.  Do you really think that we
Jews are so different from the rest of the human race?  Mythology is mythology
but, like all legend, there is a grain of truth in it.  The other nine stones
found their way into the other Earths.  To claim them, that is where you must
go.’

Jake shook his head.  This was rapidly
entering the realms of fantasy.  He tried not to show his incredulity but it
was clear that Tiferet had picked up on it.

‘All right, Professor.  But you have a
fourth stone.  Where did that come from?’

‘Is that not obvious from what I’ve been
saying?  I took it from another Earth.’

Jake could not believe his ears, ‘And how,
may I ask, did you manage that?’

‘There are ceremonies and rituals of which
I know.  It is possible to reach across the first barriers and take what you
want.’

‘And you’ve done that?’

‘Yes.  You doubt me?’

‘Calm down.  You must admit that this is
quite fantastic?’

‘Listen to me, Jacob Tranton.  I am
telling you the truth.  In time you will see it for yourself.  For now, accept
what I say and know this.  I am not the only one who has reached across the
dimensions.  So also has Alexander Lapski and I believe that he has several
stones in his possession.  He must be stopped.  He must be.’

‘And, if I refuse?’

‘Something has been released.  I do not
know what it is but you have seen it for yourself.  At the moment its powers
are illusions but with the Light!  Who knows?’

Jake believed.

Tiferet was innocent, he was certain of
it.  Which meant that this Lapski person was the enemy.  If there was just one
grain of truth in what he had been told there was enough to make a story that
he could sell with ease.  To begin with, he agreed to meet with Cherry Linford
so that he could find out her interest in the goblet and, if possible to buy it
from her with Ben Tiferet’s money.  So, a hasty appointment had been made for
the early afternoon and, at the agreed time, Jake was sitting in Ben’s hired
car outside the large detached house in which the girl apparently resided with
her mother.  It was quite obvious from their initial telephone conversation
that Miss Linford was not particularly happy to see a reporter.  Whether this
was just because she shunned publicity or because she had something to hide,
Jake did not know.  He was confident that he was enough of a journalist to
decide which it was.  He had claimed, of course, that the meeting was about her
painting and that he was from the local paper.  At least that would be
believable and he did have a press card that could be produced.

Jake had invested his time well and spent
a couple of hours looking at some of Cherry Linford’s work that was currently
on exhibition in the nearby library.  He could not say that he was a great fan
of abstract art but it was clear from the use that she had put to colour that
Cherry Linford was one angry young lady.  The question was, why?  Maybe he
could use that as an opening.

Jake rang the doorbell.

A few moments later he was greeted by a
striking middle-aged woman.  The mother, no doubt.  If he did not know better
he would have said that she was Jewish from her appearance but he guessed that
was most unlikely.  He introduced himself.

‘Cherry is expecting you.  Come into the
lounge.  Would you like a coffee whilst you are waiting?’

‘Thanks.’

Jake followed the woman into the
tastefully decorated room.  This was obviously a house owned by people with
money who took a pride in beauty.  Virtually all the furniture seemed to be
antique and Jake felt quite certain that there was not a reproduction amongst
them.

He sat there on a leather Chesterfield
with his coffee before him and waited nervously for his subject.  A few minutes
later the mother, Hester, as she introduced herself, re-appeared.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Tranton.  Cherry asks if
you would go upstairs to her studio.  I’ll show you the way.’

As Jake climbed the stairs for the first
time he wondered what the artist would be like.  At the auction he had only
seen her from the rear and, based on her telephone manner, he rather expected
an ogre.  The very last thing he thought he would see was a beautiful young
woman but that was just what he saw as he walked through the door.

‘Mr Tranton,’ she stated in a soft, quiet
voice without moving from her seat.

She looked fantastic.  Deep auburn hair
cut above her shoulders and warm skin that seemed to glow with health.  Her
emerald eyes were striking and sparkled with their own magic.  Jake could have
stared at her for ever but he knew that he would have to control himself if he
did not want to appear a fool.

He turned away.  The studio had no natural
lighting at all.  He wondered how anyone could paint in those conditions. 
Surely artificial light gave a different appearance to the colours the girl
utilised.  It was something he could ask during the interview.

The focal point of the room was the easel
before which Cherry sat.  Upon it was something that Jake could only call one
of the most hideous monstrosities that he had ever had the misfortune to see. 
It was awash with reds and crimsons, furious spirals of livid colour that
seemed to say, ‘I hate you,’ and, in some way, Jake felt quite guilty in its
presence.  There was no doubt at all, as much as he disliked abstract art, this
composition was an image of raw power.  Cherry Linford was an accomplished
artist.

As his eyes scanned the walls of the room
Jake saw the prints that hung there.  Nothing of the girl’s work but the images
were equally haunting.  There was Münch’s
Scream
, a painting that seemed
to cut through sanity like a knife and there also were pictures that had been
drawn, painted or even photographed during the holocaust in the Nazi camps of
Eastern Europe.  Pictures of naked and emaciated people; pictures of the dead
or dying, the sick and feeble; pictures that showed the total depravity of
humanity once the beast inside had been released.  If these images were
anything to go by, Cherry Linford’s was a soul in torment.  Why?

Almost overawed by his surroundings,
Jake’s hello was barely noticeable, almost faltering.  The response was
therefore doubly surprising.  Curt, sharp and uncompromising.

‘Let’s get down to it.  I’m a busy woman. 
What can I do for you?’

This was going to be tough.

‘As I explained on the telephone I’m a
freelance journalist.  I read the article in the Times the other week and I’ve
seen your work in the library.  I’m planning an article about artists who paint
to reveal their emotion.  Knowing that you lived locally I thought that this
was an excellent place to start.

‘Take, for instance, the canvas before
you.  What does that represent?’

‘Mr Tranton.  Everything you might ask was
contained in the Times article.  The only logical reason to agree to a second
interview is to publicise my work.  As that is quite unnecessary you will need
a very good reason before I will agree to discuss my work with you.’

(What a little cow.)

‘Miss Linford, you are being unfair.’

‘Am I?  Mr Tranton.  Please.  I have
agreed to see you with the greatest reluctance.  If you have nothing particular
that you wish to say to me perhaps you could leave.’

‘But...’

‘No, Mr Tranton, I’m quite serious.  The
door is over there.’

For the first time in his life, Jake felt
defeated.  His reputation would be shot to hell.  Was there nothing he could
do?

‘Miss Linford...’

‘That’s enough.  Please…Go!’

Jake could see that it was over. 
Reluctantly, he approached the chair and held out his right hand in order to
shake hers.  The girl did not respond but just looked at him coldly.  It was as
he dropped his arm that Jake realised that her manner changed drastically.  Her
eyes had focused on his ring and the look upon her face was one of sheer
astonishment.  There was only one thing it could mean; that she did know about
the stones, but what did she know and, more importantly, whose side was she on?

‘Miss Linford.  Are you all right?’

She seemed confused.  Not really the
reactions of an enemy.

‘Miss Linford?’

‘I’m sorry; I really am.  Whatever must
you think of me?’

Jake looked at her expectantly.  Somehow,
he was not worried by her discomfiture.  He waited for her to begin.

‘Please,’ she started, ‘May I see your
hand again?’

Rather pleased at developments Jake
complied.  He knew better than to give away his interest.

‘What is it?’

‘Your ring.  May I ask?  Where did you get
it?’

‘It’s been in the family for ages.  Why?’

She could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

‘Wait a second, please.  I’ve got
something to show you,’ Cherry said as she rushed from the room and Jake prayed
that she was going to produce her goblet.

At last he heard footsteps and turned to
see Cherry arriving with a deep blue Phillips bag.  She sat down upon the only
seat and lifted out a cardboard box.  From this she produced the cup.

‘Please, take a look at this.  Look at the
stone.  Isn’t it carved like the one on your ring?’

Jake made a show of examining the item. 
Obviously, he knew the answer to that.

‘You’re right,’ he replied, with just the
right degree of wonder in his voice, ‘That’s a coincidence isn’t it.  How long
have you had it?’

Cherry laughed, ‘Since this morning
actually.  I only bought it today in an auction.

‘But that’s amazing.  It really is.  If
you don’t mind me asking, why did you buy it?’

She looked at him with suspicion.

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Why?’ and he knew that he had said the
wrong thing.

‘Mr Tranton, you are a stranger in my
home.  I know that you are a journalist but that does not excuse prying into my
personal affairs.  All right?’

He had to think of something and quickly.

‘I’m sorry.  I really didn’t intend to pry
into your personal affairs but, you see, you’ve made me curious.  I know
something about the background of my stone and I just wondered if you knew a
similar story.’

‘All right,’ she challenged, ‘Tell me. 
What do you know?’

If she was the enemy Jake realised that he
had overplayed his hand but it was too late now.  He would just have to see how
she reacted.

‘The stone goes back thousands of years. 
It is reputed to be biblical in origin.  It’s been in my family since the
seventeenth century.’

The artist smiled again, ‘I’m sorry I
doubted you.  That’s pretty much the way I heard it.

‘Mr Tranton...’

‘Jake.’

She nodded, ‘Jake.  I’ll tell you why I
bought it.  You’ll think me very stupid.  It’s all a bit embarrassing really.’

He waited patiently.

‘You see, I used to have a fiancé.  We
broke up about a year ago.  He had a cup just like this and he told me exactly
the same thing that you did.’

‘What, that...’

‘That it’s biblical and goes back to the
seventeenth century.  He always said that it was one of a pair and now I’ve got
the other,’ and her eyes seemed to light up triumphantly.  There was definitely
something going on here.  Not altogether surprisingly the girl made no attempt
to elaborate and Jake realised that to continue the questioning would only be
asking for trouble.  The important thing was that the fiancé had the second
cup.  Now all Jake needed to know was his identity and, somehow, he doubted if
Cherry would tell him without his being very careful.

‘Miss Linford,’ he tried, carefully, ‘You
mean that there are two of these cups?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But, you see, until this moment, I
thought that my stone was unique.  Did your friend know any more?’

‘No.  He did have a piece of faded paper
with what he told me was Hebrew script over it.  I think he expected the other
cup to also come with a page.’

It was Jake’s turn to be truly surprised. 
He told the girl of the page that he owned.

‘Do you suppose that they’re from the same
place?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.  This is all so
extraordinary.  What do you think they are?’

Jake shook his head, ‘I wish I knew.  Why
don’t we meet with your ex and see if he knows any more?

Her eyes flashed anger.

‘No, no thank you.  I’d rather not,’ and
it was clear that she meant it.

‘All right.  Tell me his name and address
and I’ll go to see him and,’ as inspiration hit him, ‘I’ll tell him that you
bought the other.’

He was right; Cherry Linford had bought
the cup for the simple reason that she did not want her ex-fiancé to have it. 
Something had happened between them and she wanted revenge.  Was that where all
her hatred was aimed?

If you took that away from her, Cherry
Linford was a most pleasant and attractive person and, as Jake found himself
thinking, one that he would dearly like to meet again.  Pity he was married
really.

He looked at the girl who seemed to have
reached a decision.

‘All right, Jake.  I’ll tell you
everything.  Let’s go down to the lounge where we can both sit.’

He smiled, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

She led the way and he was soon back on
the Chesterfield.  The cup of coffee that he had left unfinished had already
been cleared away.  Cherry’s mother, Hester, however was quick to provide a
replacement and she left them alone to their discussion.

‘All right, Cherry,’ (Would she mind him
using her first name?  Obviously not.)  ‘You said you were going to tell me
everything.’

She took a deep breath, ‘I did, didn’t I? 
You know, I’ve hardly spoken about this to anyone.  It won’t be a bad thing to
get it off my chest.  Okay...This is off the record, isn’t it?’

‘Of course.  I’m not taking notes.’

‘Okay.  I once made a big mistake.  It’s
not that I’m racist or anything.  Don’t think that for God’s sake.  But, you
see, I was going to marry a Jewish boy.  He was quiet, a little shy, lacking in
self-confidence, but he was a thoroughly nice person and I really loved him. 
Both of us had severe parental pressure to break up the relationship but we
were adamant; our love would sustain us through any problems our different
religious backgrounds might cause.’

Jake shook his head.  This all sounded so
depressingly familiar.  Why could no-one accept inter-faith marriages?

‘Well, Sam’s parents were the ones who
managed to put the kibosh on the whole thing.  Although they were not religious
they managed to introduce him to this Rabbi fellow.  Tashlich was his name I
think.  Somehow, this Rabbi Tashlich changed Sam and persuaded him to end our
relationship and then...and then...’

But she was not ready to say more.

‘I’m sorry.’

And Jake nodded with sympathy.  It was
obvious that Cherry was endeavouring to keep her emotions in check.  Jake knew
exactly what had happened.  This Rabbi was one who made it his business to
recover backsliders.  They saw it is a great mission in life.  He knew of
people that he had grown up with; childhood friends; who had got into the hands
of such Rabbis.  They spurned their old life and, in many cases, their
families, as they became increasingly religious.  Religious fundamentalism; the
whole idea was sickening.

But that still did not explain Cherry’s
emotional state.  There had to be something else, he was certain of it.  She
painted with such feeling that Jake felt sure that she had to have experienced
something far more traumatic than the break-up of her engagement.  In time
Cherry would tell him.  Now was not the moment.