 CHAPTER 6 (section 1) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee The stairwell was dark, a little musty and claustrophobic. Adrian could bearly walk upright and forward. Occassionally, his shoulders brushed the sides of the wall or his head would come in contact with the ceiling. Behind him, back where the first floor study was supposed to be was complete blackness. The shelf had been successful in blocking out all light. Up ahead, he saw Simone’s dark form following the more distant form of Thomson who was in turn following some very distant source of light. He wondered what would happen if he tripped. A horribly mangled neck and crushed bodies, he mentally summarized. A door from up ahead suddenly opened spilling out a war orange light. It was a much larger room filled with even more books—the ones that couldn’t fit in the above study, he speculated. The walls were the stark foundation, hard dark gray granite paved with slightly lighter mortar. The shelves were aged slabs of wood, varnish peeling, and suspiciously resembling wine racks. The books weren’t piling the floor in this room, but there were cardboard boxes filled with odd and mysterious objects. The strange carving that Simone had discovered earlier in the hidden third story room of the Greenville mansion was stashed visibly in a box near the door. With a flourish, Thomsom placed down the tray on another desk which seemed remarkably clear. Only an old fashioned ink well and a tiny desk lamp stood in the way. “Come sit!” he said motioning them toward the desk. “Have some refreshment.” He went over to the corner to dump some books that had been sitting on two rickety wooden chairs. He hauled them over and again motioned with his hands. Adrian sat, wondering if the chair would give out from underneath his weight. It held. Simone grabbed a cup of tea, eyeing the sandwhiches but made no move to touch them. “So I suppose I should come out, in the open.” Thomson chuckled nervously, taking off his glasses and carefully wiped them. “I’m a historian, you know. History fascinates me.” He placed his glasses back on his nose. “I don’t expect you to be excited about it, but I’m paying you so...” “Get to the point, Mr. Thomson,” Adrian cut him off, in part because he was afraid that if he had to sit any longer, the chair really would give way. It creaked dangerously whenever he shifted his weight. “Ten years ago, I came across a manuscript in the Elanne public library which gave a reference to a local club of some sort that was in existence approximately three centuries ago. At the time, I didn’t think much of it so I let it go. I had taken some notes, but they had lain buried in a forgotten drawer for about five years.” “So five years ago was sort of a turning point in my career. I had been working on a paper about post-depression Elanne and it just wasn’t working. So in fit of frustration one weekend, I decided to clean out my study. You probably know that I wouldn’t let the staff get near anything in the study. They wouldn’t now how to file my notes. I have a very peculiar filing system, you see. At any rate, I came across my notes again and I was instantly intrigued. I wondered if such a club was still in existence about seventy years ago. At least today the club or society is probably defunct. I have never heard of it my whole life in Elanne.” “It was called ‘The Dark Viper’ or ‘Il Viper Scuro’ in Italian. So I figured, it must be some sort of organization founded by some Italian immigrants that came in the beginning. But there was just one thing that was wrong with this whole scenario. Three hundred years ago, this land was populated by Native Americans. What group of The Dark Viper would be here at the time? The only European visitors at the time were Portuguese, French, or Spanish explorers. But wait, just because an organization had an Italian name didn’t mean that all its members were Italians.” “I went back to the book in the Elanne public library, but it was just my luck that someone else had checked it out. In fact it was never returned. It just disappeared. But I had my notes, and a few weeks later, I was able to check out some manuscripts that happened to be housed in the local history section of the Ridgefield University’s vast Osborne Humanities Library.” “It turns out that The Dark Viper was some sort of secret underground organization that extended through Europe and possibly beyond that. Some from that group had rebelled against the ones in Europe and had decided to set up camp in the New World when it was generally known that there was vast land for the taking. The Dark Viper was originally an esoteric organization, very similar to the Masonic Order, yet even more secret. Any mention to them in texts were oblique and rare. I really had to dig for any sort of clue.” “The rebel group in Elanne were disillusioned of their European breathen since they had seeped themselves into the ‘sin’ that constituted of the occult and hypocricy. Remember the witch trials in Europe? In Salem, Massachusetts? All the accusers were supposedly high ranking members of various secret orders, The Dark Viper among them.” “But I think they were mostly just well-off extortionists, scaring their potential victims with threats of injury, death or worse. And of course when superstition wore off as the years passed, the Dark Vipers just disappeared. I bet they couldn’t keep up appearances. I mean, who believes in boogeymen and ghosts nowadays?” At that Simone took a large gulp of tea and replied. “It seems plenty of people. That’s how we make our living.” Thomson waved his hand in dismissal. “No, I don’t mean that. You make your living debunking hoaxes and catching the unscrupulous criminal behind them. No, I did not hire you to fight real ghosts. I hired you because I think you will not back down if what you’re up against is trying to convince you that it is a ghost.” “Even though they resorted to tricks,” he continued, “the members of this society weren’t totally immune to visions of grandeur and superstition either. They thought they had the power to conjure up spirits to help them control the physical world. As you can see from all the objects that I have gathered in my numberous cardboard boxes, these are all related to my last five years of research. What you see are what the Dark Vipers considered essential tools, totems as you will, to aid them in spirit summoning. God awful trinkets, but of much historical value.” “But I am in search of a much greater thing. Something that will make my paper complete, will give me the boost. I’m not above sensationalism, you know, and it would be even better if the whole thing was true. So what I’m looking for is an artifact that has been vaguely referred to as ‘The Rose.’ It was supposedly very important in the Dark Vipers’ annual mass summonings. I am not quite sure what it is. It might be a book or an actual tool. It could be some sort of compass. It might even refer to a stone or gem of some sort. But I do have some information of where it might be found.” “If you already have the information, what sort of use do you have of us? You could easily go and get it yourself,” said Adrian. “Believe me, I have tried, as Greenville. The particular person told me that he did not have it, that he didn’t know what I was talking about. But that was when weird incidents started happening, swerving cars, strangers accosting me. Silent phone calls. Letters that were addressed to me but had no return address nor any content on the inside. I was afraid and so changed my name. I thought it was over. And then yesterday, I got this in the mail.” He pulled out a drawer from the desk and handed an envelope over to Adrian. The envelope looked like it could have come from any nearby office supply store. The address to Mr. Thomson was typed. The stamp was generic and the postmark was from the local post office. There was no return address. The envelope was sealed, but as he held it up to the light, he realized that it was empty. “Did you tell anyone of your deception besides us?” Simone said. He shook his head. “No one. Not my wife. Not my son. The housekeeper I have now only knows me as Mr. Thomson. Well, perhaps my lawyer, but he’s held in strict confidentiality.” “So who was this guy who’s supposedly in possession of this historical object you’re trying to find?” Simone questioned further. “He lives in the area, does he not?” “Sherman Johnson is an eccentric. I wouldn’t be surprised if he one to send threatening blackmail and thugs. He lives up in the northern district of Elanne. I’m sure you could find his address with your connections.” “Nevertheless, we would like to have the address that you have on file,” Adrian said. “Very well.” Thomson pulled out another sheaf of paper and jotted down an address and handed it to him. “Johnson is strange. I wouldn’t put it past him if he had moved.” “And so we are to track Johnson for you.” “And get ‘The Rose’.” “What if Johnson doesn’t have it?” Simone cut in. “Just get it no matter what. I can pay your fees. If Johnson doesn’t have it, then maybe some Dark Viper imposters have their hands on it. It’s simply a matter of extracting it from them.” “What if the real Dark Vipers still exist?” “They don’t,” replied Thomson succinctly. “I do my research.” Afterwards, when they emerged from the undergound crossbase posing as a basement room, the historian called for Mrs. Kinsey the housekeeper to show them out. She limped ahead of them, seemingly indifferent of their departure as she was of their arrival. But Adrian had the strange feeling that they were being watched as they walked all the way down to the car parked on the curb. “I don’t like this,” said Adrian. “Thomson or Greenville or whatever his name is, is a harmless eccentric,” said Simone as she climbed into the drivers side. She revved up the engine. “If he has money to throw away on a fruitless history research project, let him do it.” He just nodded and let his partner drive. “I suppose our first course of action is to find this Sherman Johnson.” She winced as she breaked at the red light. “God, my head hurts.” When the light turned green and she pressed on the gas pedal she continued, “It must be the lack of sleep finally getting to me. I never have mi...” But she never finished the sentence. She had slumped over the driver’s wheel. |