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                      SEX, LIES, AND NECROMANCY

                                  by

                    Daniel Parsons and Brandi Weed

         The right to be heard does not automatically include
                   the right to be taken seriously.
                        -- Hubert H. Humphrey

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Inside Mr. Samuels' office, everything was in chaos.  There was a huge
pool of blood soaked into the carpet and splashed on the southern wall
of the room, and some strange symbols had been finger-painted on the
wall above.  The file cabinets were yanked open, with their contents
scattered about the floor.  The desk drawers had been pulled out and
dumped.  And someone had painted a moustache on the portrait of the
Dali Lama on one wall, in blood.
     Ardrin and Janie walked in, staring.  Angel stayed in the hallway
to ask Mr. Hartree one last question. "Sir, I would like to thank you
for including us in the inquiry into the assault on Mr. Samuels.  You
may rest assured we will do our very best."
     "Yes, certainly.  It would be very poor judgment not to let you
put your abilities to use for us, and I'm sure you're eager to do so.
Now, I want you to do a thorough job of it, and report your findings
directly to me."
     "Oh, gee, can we?" Ardrin muttered.
          "Hey," Janie said, looking at the file cabinet, "there's
fingerprint dust all over."
     Angel blinked in confusion, and looked up at Hartree. "Sir, I
understood we were to search Mr. Samuels' office as part of the
investigative team.  Has someone else been here before us?"
     Hartree stared blandly at Angel. "Agent Breed, surely you have
not forgotten the proper procedures."
     Angel swallowed a bit. "It's Braithe, sir."
     "Yes, certainly, Braithe," Hartree harrumphed.  "The key here is
redundancy.  Three teams will go through every scene of the incident,
in sequence, to insure that nothing is missed."
     Ardrin grunted, "Yeah, right.  Let's do it."
     After Hartree had returned to his office, the three fell to
looking through the room.  The bloodstain was nearly three feet across
and already mostly dried; there were three strange symbols, and what
looked like the beginning of a fourth, on the wall above.
     "Mr. Samuels must have fallen here" Ardrin mused. "Do you think
he surprised them while they were ripping the place apart?"
     "I don't think so" Janie said, looking under the papers scattered
on the floor. "See?  There's more blood over here, but it's under all
the papers.  I think they walked in, he saw them, got stabbed, then
fell by the wall."
     Angel moved some more of the papers away from the desk, exposing
more spatters and drops. "That seems logical.  Actually, I think it's
more serious than that.  There's a considerable quantity on top of the
desk as well, more than just splashes like those droplets there on the
floor.  We know Mr. Samuels often meditated sitting on top of his
desk; I suspect they walked in, saw him sitting there, and attacked
him on sight."
     "That's pretty vicious."
     Angel raised an eyebrow. "Ardrin, I would have thought it obvious
by now that we are dealing with a vicious and bloodthirsty group of
people.  Do you remember the attack at Mikleway?  Obviously, these
people have considerable resources, and we know they are quite willing
to do anything to further their goals."
     "I can't think they're as bad as all that." Janie paged through
some of the files on the floor. "I mean, if Finger is involved, they
can't be terrorists.  He's just a smuggler."
     "If Finger is in charge of the organization.  He may not be.
What if he's part of something bigger?"
     "Ummm... maybe." Janie picked up a cord with seven large balls
strung on it and looked at it curiously.
     Ardrin pointed at the wall. "Anyone have any idea what language
this is?"
     "I haven't the faintest idea."
     "Me neither.  It looks vaguely like some kind of magic symbols."
     "Yeah, kinda.  Figure we got some cult doing this?"
     Angel shook her head. "They couldn't have the resources."
     Janie frowned in puzzlement. "I don't think Finger's file
mentioned any religious stuff."
     "How about Ash's?"
     "No, nothing of the kind.  Just a... stabbing." Angel smiled a
bit. "What a fascinating coincidence."
     When they were through searching the office, they found that just
about everything connected with their case was gone.  They also turned
up some incense, some books on Zen mysticism and Ta'i Chi, and a small
dagger made of glazed pottery.  "I wonder what this is?" Angel mused
aloud.
     "I remember reading an article on religious fakery a while back,"
Janie said. "In Nepal, they sometimes put on show at the monastery by
having somebody throw knives at a statue of the Buddha, and they break
instead of hurting the statue.  Those little things are supposed to be
how they do it."
     "How curious.  Do you suppose it was Mr. Samuels'?"
     "Maybe.  I think he said he spent some time there once."
     "Yeah, right," Ardrin finished copying the symbols off the wall
and put his notebook in his pocket. "I don't think we're going to find
much else here.  We should look through the rest of the building and
find out just how they got back here.  I'd really like to know, 'cause
this place is pretty tight and we should know what we're up against."
     "An excellent idea, Ardrin.  Besides, the longer we can put off
making a report to Hartree, the better."
     Janie grinned. "He got to you too, huh?"
     "I wouldn't exactly say that he got to me, Janie.  It's just... I
understand that the head of a department must distance himself from
his subordinates to some degree. I approve wholeheartedly; otherwise,
one may make rash decisions based on emotional responses, rather than
a balanced judgment of the larger picture.  But Mr. Hartree seemed
more concerned with not letting his pipe go out than the fact that
dear Mr. Samuels may be dead right now."
     "Angel, he's a bureaucrat to the bone.  I don't think he has a
soul.  You probably couldn't get an emotional reaction out of him if
you hit him with a brick."
     Ardrin laughed. "Let's go find a floor plan."
     They went to the division's clerk first, but he couldn't help
them.  A trip down to the records department also proved fruitless;
they were told they'd need special clearance to see the building
plans, as they were understandably a well-kept secret.
     "I suppose this means we're going to have to see Mr. Hartree
after all," Angel sighed. "Well, it's just one reasonable request."
     But Hartree, after they had to wait two hours to see him, did not
see the request as being reasonable. "The plans of the building?  Most
certainly not; those cannot be handed out to just anyone."
     "But sir, we need them to conduct our investigation.  Without
them, we have no way of finding out how Ash and Finger got into Mr.
Samuels' office."
     "It would be an unjustifiable breach of security, which has been
compromised enough today, I think we can agree.  Now surely, you must
have been able to come up with an alternative."
     Janie said, "Did the building cameras pick them up?"
     "I'm afraid that hasn't been determined yet.  I shall personally
inform you when the boys have gone through all the tapes."
     "Wasn't there anyone watching, sir?"
     "I'm afraid that is classified information, Agent Breed."
     "But everything we need is classified."
     "I'm afraid I cannot help you with that.  The protocols under
which this organization are run are very specific on this point, and
we must abide by them."
     Hartree gazed blandly at them from the other side of his huge
polished desk.  They sat and stared at him, quite unable to find
anything to say.  Finally, Ardrin spoke.
     "Let's bail."

                            *     *     *

     Angel sat in the back of the car and fought back a fantasy of
throttling Mr. Hartree.  Of all the miserable, inadequate excuses...
snapping out of her reverie, she nudged Janie. "How much further."
     "We're almost there.  Why are we going to Oxford again?"
     "The library.  They have a huge section on occultism and ancient
superstitions.  We will find something on those symbols there or
nowhere else in the world.  The only other collection that even
compares to it is on the other side of the Atlantic."
     "Yeah, I guess.  I went to a technical college; we never had much
of that fun stuff in our library."
     "It really isn't much fun.  Some of it is rather disturbing."
     Ardrin looked back over the seat. "Say, how are we supposed to
look up a couple of symbols that aren't even English?"
     "We shall ask one of the librarians, or if that fails, the
faculty of the college.  I'm sure someone will know something."
     Going to Oxford was like coming home for Angel; the other two
were completely lost.  She still had her library card, so Angel
escorted her companions in, and they commenced grilling the librarians
about the symbols.  But they drew a blank; none of them had ever seen
the strange little symbols before, or anything like them, and could
offer no help.  Finally, one of the librarians took pity on them and
offered to take them up to see a man who might be able to help them.
     "His name is Professor Merryweather.  He's a bit difficult at
times, but there's really no one to match him when it comes to old
symbols and runes.  I'm sure he'll be able to help, if you ask him
nicely."
     "Thank you, ma'am, thank you." Angel smiled with relief. "By the
way, what do you mean by 'difficult'?"
     "Well, he's a very proud man, and many of us on the staff don't
enjoy his company because of it.  He may seem a bit stiff, but
sometimes these older professors can get that way."
     "Oh, brother," Janie mused. "What's this guy's field?"
     "Metaphysics, dear.  Ah, here we are."
     The librarian knocked on the door of a small office. "Hello,
Professor?  There are some nice people here who'd like to see you
about something.  I believe it's urgent."
     They could all hear someone moving around inside, but no one came
to the door for a long time.  Finally, the door opened, and a long,
hooked nose poked out, followed by a large pair of brown eyes, which
crackled with vitality. "Yes, what is it?"
     "Hello, Professor.  My, you're looking well today.  These are
some people who have come all the way up from London, and want to know
if you can help them with some magical symbols they say they found.
Oh, and they say they're with the police."
     The door opened the rest of the way.  Professor Merryweather was
the last sort of man you'd expect to be named Merryweather; he looked
so Semitic you'd swear there couldn't be a drop of Anglo-Saxon blood
in him.  He was quite short, with very dark skin and thin black hair.
His eyebrows were very thick, and made his large, luminous eyes seem
even more striking and powerful. "Come in.  Have a seat.  I trust this
won't take long."
     Angel entered and sat primly. "Certainly not, sir.  I won't take
up any more of your time than is necessary."
     Janie ambled in and looked over the bookshelves covering one
wall.  Ardrin plonked down next to Angel and brought out his notebook.
"Thank you, sir, now we were wondering if you recognize these marks?"
he slurred, for about the thousandth time that day.
     Merryweather snatched up the notebook and put it under a strong
light.  "Where did you find these?"
     Angel said, "We are from MI5, professor, and I'm afraid they are
connected with a case whose nature we are not at liberty to divulge.
Do they seem at all familiar, sir?"
     "You have some really super books here, prof."
     Merryweather glared up at Janie. "What was that?"
     "Oh, nothing, sir." Janie swallowed a bit and looked for a place
to sit down. "Just admiring your books, sir."
     Merryweather continued to examine the symbols, brow furrowed with
concentration, until his face suddenly broke out into a small, sharp
smile. "I believe I can identify them."
     Ardrin silently rolled his eyes. "Great.  What are they?"
     "Unless I am very badly mistaken, they come from the magical work
of Aleister Crowley, that infamous fake of the last century.  He had
many pretensions to this business, though real talent eluded him, as
it always does those who walk that path.  The first symbol means,
simply, 'we'.  The second and third form the verb 'to watch', which
would have been modified by a fourth symbol which appears to be
incomplete.  I would hazard a guess that, as a whole, they would mean
'We are watching you', or some other such melodramatic missive.
     "We are watching you?" Ardrin took the notebook back and
scribbled it down.
     "Yes.  I am quite positive.  I made a study of Crowley's work,
and found it to be almost totally without merit.  The only thing of
worth to the whole business is his masterful manipulation of symbols
and other obscurities to fool the credulous into thinking he actually
knew something.  His use of the ignorance of others is perhaps only
matched by Mohammed, Jesus, Hitler, and Margaret Thatcher."
     Angel raised an eyebrow at the mention of Margaret Thatcher, but
said nothing. "Thank you, professor.  You have been most helpful."
     Merryweather smiled his tight little smile. "Of course I have.
Do feel free to interrupt me again, if you must.  Perhaps you might
come up with something vaguely challenging from wherever you got this,
though I doubt it."
     "Certainly, sir.  Anytime."  The agents left quickly, with
Merryweather staring them out the door, still smiling to himself, as
if greatly amused.
     "Well, that guy was a prick."
     "Ardrin, at least wait until we're out of earshot."
     "And do try to watch your language.  I've been getting very tired
of it.  Can't you say anything without swearing?"
     "Yeah." Ardrin grinned. "It's lunch time."
     Angel looked at her watch. "Oh, we've worked right through tea
time!  I hadn't even realized it!"
     "Must be from worrying about Samuels.  But I'm hungry.  Let's go
get something to eat."


Daniel Parsons                                             Brandi Weed

                   Questions or comments to bweed@muddcs.claremont.edu