When Robert awoke, Terri was eating a sandwich. Horace was sitting with her at the dining-room table, sipping a glass of water.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Terri shouted. ‘Ready for breakfast?’
‘What are you having?’
‘I’m having lunch. It’s noon. You’ve been out for eighteen hours.’
He stretched. His senses were especially sharp. He felt himself move with ease and grace.
As Terri walked away from the window to get coffee for him, he saw her flare with light against the dark wallpaper. Arcs and inverted Vs like the Chrysler around her head and shoulders. He blinked, but it didn’t go away. He sat down, spine straight, feeling his head balance perfectly on his shoulders. Thrills of energy coursed along his belly, his limbs.
The coffee was delicious. When he placed his hand on Terri’s back, she was electric. He felt animal heat, coursing power.
‘Your hands are hot,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘It’s the coffee cup.’
‘No, it’s you.’
Her transformation had been miraculous. As soon as Horace had taken her hand in the General Society’s lock room, her despair and fear had begun to melt away. He looked into her eyes. Felt her perceiving him.
‘Horace and I talked a lot while you were asleep. We may all still get through this.’
Horace brought him the newspaper, suggesting he catch up on events in their fair city since he’d last been conscious, and went into the living room.
There had been protests at the New York Public Library after they left, an attempt to attach a banner to one of the lions, a ruckus, arrests verging on the indiscriminate. Many more arrests down near Ground Zero. Running cat-and-mouse games between cops and various flavours of protester, most peaceful, a handful not.
Above all there was speculation about shots fired at police cars near the Lincoln Tunnel. A police sharpshooter was said to be under investigation. A protester who had scaled one of the light towers near by was not thought to have been involved in the incident.
Investigations continued.
No dead. No reports of injuries.
Horace returned. ‘We must leave. While we three are together, and while I have the core, the Malice Box, as you call it, Adam and the Iwnw will find it difficult to harm us. Where do you think the next waypoint is? It will be Number 121. The clue is as follows:
‘For endless sight, climb into the light
The fire and the gold await the bold
To beat the clock, you must scale the rock
Then sally forth, and telescope north
To rescue love – or kill
it Pass the Trial by Spirit
Robert snapped out of his reverie. ‘If the pattern that I showed you yesterday holds, it would be somewhere around Rockefeller Center. Radio City.’
Horace nodded. ‘Things are accelerating.’
Robert could feel it too. A gathering impetus. The coming hours would resolve it. He felt ready.
‘We start where we left off yesterday, on the spine,’ Horace said. ‘That reminds me…’ He motioned for them to follow him and went into his study. Against one wall, in a glass case, was a three-foot-tall model, in bronze, of what looked like an ornate, Deco-style watchtower. Along the top were three coloured lights.
‘If it were lying down, it would look like a mummy case,’ Robert said. He saw there was also a framed drawing of it, a design plan, on the wall. Terri put her hands on bothand concentrated.
‘This is an architect’s model of the traffic towers that used to run along Fifth Avenue, seven of them, as I told you. Quite beautiful. They have all been destroyed, alas. Take a close look at the top, between the traffic lights.’
Robert leaned forward. ‘Good God. The spiralling snakes.’
‘Precisely. The caduceus.’
‘This keeps showing up, Horace, but what exactly is its significance? I get snatches of it – I half see it fitting into the trials, the city, the Tree of Life – but then it eludes me again.’
‘Myths record, sometimes in distorted ways, the clashes throughout time between the Iwnw and ourselves over the rightful ownership and control of the Path,’ said Horace. ‘The fact is, the motif of the snakes spiralling along the staff is an image of the Path, just as the Tree of Life represents it too, from another perspective. The caduceus is a kind of magic wand, carried by the Greek god Hermes, whom the Romans called Mercury – the interpreter of the gods, the guide to the underworld, the patron of roads and boundaries.’
Robert saw flashes of underground water, streams under Manhattan – impressions that had struck him throughout the trials. He remembered feeling water twisting and snaking under the city, saw the course of Water Tunnel Number One along the vertical spine of the Tree of Life pattern, remembered the Native American belief in the serpent Manetta who dwelled in the streams under Fifth Avenue.
‘How do the snakes represent the Path?’
‘They stand for the powers that you acquire as you complete the trials,’ Terri said, ‘ascending from below to above, climbing from the primitive energies – killing, fucking, the pursuit of power – to the higher ones – compassion, creativity, healing. In terms of your trials, from St Paul’s Chapel and Ground Zero up through Union Square to Radio City. You can think of the staff as your spine, and the energies as travelling up it from the base of the spine to the skull. The wings at the top represent the spirit taking flight when the Path has been completed.’
‘Why two snakes, though?’
‘The powers of earth, water, fire and air, of ether, mind and spirit, all have a shadow side,’ Horace said. ‘To complete the Path you must weave together at each stage the negative and positive aspects of each power. The raw force of the killing energy is destructive, for example, but you cannot walk the Path without it – you must yoke it to a higher purpose and draw strength from it. Without its power, you will not survive the rest of the Path. The spiralling snakes, switching back and forth on each side of the staff, represent the plaiting together of such polarities – good and evil, female and male, order and chaos. The central spine represents the balance between them.’
‘But what are they doing on those traffic towers?’
‘Hermes was the god of roads, so it would make sense to include his symbol on traffic towers along the city’s principal avenue. Consider too that when these beautiful towers were withdrawn, another figure was used to ornament the city stop lights.’ He pointed to a figure covered with an exquisitely embroidered cloth. Robert raised it to reveal a figure in cast bronze, about eighteen inches tall, wearing a distinctive hat and holding a winged wheel in his left hand.
‘Mercury.’
‘That’s right. Truly we follow the path of Hermes.’
As they were about to leave, Robert noticed photographs of himself, Adam and Katherine on the corkboard by Horace’s desk. ‘What are these, Horace?’
‘As I told you, I have been watching over you for many years, Robert. Over all three of you. I am your Watchman. Adam and Katherine have worked very closely with me at different stages to bring you through this experience. Now we must leave.’
Robert checked the GPS programme as he stood on the sidewalk. Terri and Horace waited for the car they’d ordered in the lobby behind him, under a great Seal of Solomon set in the ceiling. Twin pillars topped by shining orbs graced the monumental front of the building.
The Quad pointed south-east, less than two miles.
At the New York Public Library, Horace insisted they enter by the main steps. He took them left, along the main corridor to a door at the end on the left-hand side.
‘The Periodical Room,’ he announced and led them quietly in.
Apart from a staff member at a counter, no one was there. The room, fitted in wooden panelling, was ringed with paintings of newspaper and publishing buildings of the early twentieth century, set in arches and frames as if they were windows. Robert saw the green-and-blue McGraw-Hill Building, the New York Times tower at i Times Square in its original stone facing, the old Newspaper Row opposite City Hall Park, when the World Building was still standing.
‘Take a few minutes before we begin and consider these paintings,’ Horace said.
They sat in silence for perhaps five minutes. Robert felt Horace holding them in his mind with great love.
He took a deep breath. ‘Horace, what is the seventh trial?’
Horace took both their hands and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he spoke. ‘The final trial will give you the potential – just a chance – of stopping the detonation of the Ma’rifat’. Without it, you will have none. The Trial by Spirit is a test of your capacity to forgive, to love, to surrender yourself entirely to the ocean of divine love in which you are both a single drop and the vessel holding the ocean itself.’
Robert would pass the trial if he demonstrated, in his actions and words, that he had utterly given himself over to the requirements of the Path – that he had developed a mind as calm as a mirror, a heart devoid of fear, a spirit brimming with love, Horace said. Anything less and he would die.
Robert would recover a seven-sided or seven-pointed key.
‘And then you will be on your own. Though we will be with you, there will be little more that I, or anyone else, can do to help you face the Iwnw and their creature, as you must. Now let us begin.’
He got up and walked briskly to the door. As they tried to keep up, he led them back along the corridor, through the entrance hall and then left down a staircase to the library’s exit on to 42nd Street.
Directly across the street as they came out of the library was a white stone arched gate, carved with figures of the zodiac. At the bottom of the left-hand column, Robert inspected the Gemini twins. They looked unearthly.
‘Think of this as a sacred gateway or passage leading you to the final trial,’ Horace said. He took them under vaulted Guastavino arches into the ornate lobby of the building, the Salmon Tower, where even the mailboxes were small works of art in bronze, and directly through on to 43rd Street. Looking back, Robert saw an identical carved arch in white stone, with the same zodiacal figures.
‘Onwards,’ Horace boomed.
They walked to Fifth and swept past the corner of 44th Street, where they had met Terri the previous afternoon.
Pressing on northbut not stopping, Horace pointed to a brightly coloured frieze in deep reds, greens and yellow atop a tall building on the east side of Fifth. ‘On top of the French Building up there,’ he shouted. ‘Griffins, in a faience sunrise! See? Body of a lion, wings and head of an eagle, tail of a snake. Known for finding gold and buried treasure! On the west face at the top, a head of Mercury, the Messenger, set in a gold bursting star! The gate is inspired by the Ishtar Gate. Ishtar is Inanna, Robert.’
‘I am the creature of light. I remember.’ He saw. He understood. He felt power surging through his body.
Horace charged ahead. ‘Keep moving!’
They quickly came to 47th Street, where, on the west side, at the entrance to the Diamond District, two light towers rose in the form of stylized octagonal diamonds set atop criss-crossing metal spars.
‘Robert, it’s just like the light tower at the Lincoln Tunnel! Want to climb it?’
‘Keep moving, Horace.’
He heard Terri suppress what might have been a laugh.
Bronzed Art Deco footings set into the sidewalk around the trunks of trees signalled that they had arrived at Rockefeller Center. Up ahead, on the opposite side of the street, soared the octagonal coned steeples of St Patrick’s Cathedral. On the left, they passed the Maison Française, its façade embellished with sinuous female forms in bronze, and came to the promenade that led directly west to a sunken plaza – the site of the ice rink in winter – guarded by a gleaming gold statue of Prometheus, eternally stealing fire from the gods. At the end of the promenade, framed by the surrounding buildings, reared the main skyscraper of Rockefeller Center, the GE Building, or 30 Rock, its steepling setbacks sharply shadowed by the blazing sun overhead.
‘I can’t get a signal for the GPS,’ Robert said, wiping sweat from his forehead. ‘But I’m sure it’s here. We need to go down.’
As they descended, Robert saw on the right a gilded figure of Hermes set into the facade of one of the buildings, a golden caduceus in its hand.
In front of the GE Building the signal returned. ‘It’s here,’ he said. But something was odd. He looked again at the altitude reading: over 800 feet. That had to be at the very top of the tower.
He showed it to Horace. ‘The old observation deck. That’s the only thing it can be. But it’s been closed for twenty years.’
‘It wouldn’t maybe be the Rainbow Room? That’s pretty high up.’
‘No, I don’t think so. The Rainbow Room – where many years ago I proposed to my darling late wife, I might mention – is on the 65th floor. The observation decks were on the 69th and 70th floors. They were stunning. Designed to feel like an ocean liner. There is a photograph taken from there, in the old days, of Manhattan lost in clouds… just the tips of the Chrysler Building and the Empire State and a couple of others piercing the sea of mist… it was breathtaking.’
‘Access was cut off when they expanded the Rainbow Room. A tragedy.’
‘They don’t let the public up to the Rainbow Room until five o’clock,’ Terri said. ‘We don’t have that kind of time. We’ll find a way. Follow me.’
Dazzling glass-brick and polychrome sculptures representing Wisdom, Sound and Light loomed above the entrance in contours of deep maroon, blue, beige and gleaming gold, above a passage from the Book of Isaiah: Wisdom and Knowledge Shall Be the Stability of Thy Times.
As they entered, Terri dialled a number on her cell phone. ‘Jay? Hi. It’s Terri, from… yes, you remember? How are you? Well, I’m in a predicament here…’ She turned away from them so they couldn’t hear. After two minutes she returned, beaming. ‘Jay’s a comedy writer. He works upstairs,’ she explained. ‘He’ll be down in a minute.’
‘And he remembers you from – ?’
‘Never mind. It was a Boîte à Malice job. Just think of him as a very tall man with a sense of adventure.’
They waited by the elevator banks, which were clad in polished black granite and bronze. Turnstiles and security staffin green uniforms barred their passage.
Jay, who looked very amused to be visited by Terri and her friends, came down and took them through the formalities of guest access. He was indeed very tall.
‘I can take you up as far as the 65th floor, then it’s down to subterfuge,’ he said as they waited for a car to descend to the lobby. ‘There were supposed to be police sharpshooters on the roof for the Republican Convention, but I heard they didn’t show up.’
They emerged into the Art Deco twilight of the 65th floor lobby. A backlit abstract design of waveforms and circles cast a ghostly wash of light from their left. Black-and-white floor tiles reflected zebra bands of darkness and subdued lighting around the columns. Voices suggested staff were working in the bar-and-grill area in preparation for the evening shift.
‘There should be emergency stairs,’ Jay whispered. ‘If it’s anything like our floor, they’ll be this way.’
They found the fire stairs and made their way quietly up as far as the door to the 69th floor, whichwas padlocked. ‘It’s closed up there, no need for regular access like the occupied floors,’Jay said. ‘You’re a great woman, Terri, but I’m not breaking a padlock.’
Horace elbowed him gently aside. ‘If I may be allowed…’
He removed a jeweller’s loupe from his pocket and examined the padlock. Then he took a small leather wallet from his pocket and selected two long, thin metal tools. ‘My days in the OSS were not entirely wasted,’ he said, as the lock gave a deep click and opened. ‘Nothing broken. Up we go.’
They came out into the open air and stopped in awe. The whole city was laid out at their feet. The skyscrapers and towers of downtown formed an island in the distant haze, bisected by the needle of the Empire State Building and, beyond, the ocean. To the left, peeking from behind the Met Life Building, glistened the arcs and spire of the Chrysler.
‘Keep going up, it’s better from the 70th,’ Horace hissed, and led the way up a staircase that took them one floor higher.
They emerged on to a narrow deck, just radio antennae above them and waist-high, arched iron railings between them and the deck below. Lengths of dismantled scaffolding and construction bric-a-brac lay stacked against the door of a disused elevator shaft. To the north lay the receding expanse of Central Park, the great Reservoir shimmering at its furthest extent.
All around, they could see for miles and miles. It seemed they could see for ever.
Horace whispered: ‘Do you have the clue, Robert?’
He read it out:
‘For endless sight, climb into the light
The fire and the gold await the bold
To beat the clock, you must scale the rock
Then sally forth, and telescope north
To rescue love – or kill it
Pass the Trial by Spirit’
‘There are no telescopes,’ Horace said angrily, looking along either side of the deck.
‘They’ve been ripped out.’
‘It says telescope north,’ Terri said. ‘Can you find where the north-facing ones used to be? Maybe there are holes where their moorings were?’
Jay looked on, entirely bemused. ‘So is this what you do for fun, Terri?’
‘Honey, I so entirely do other things for fun.’
Horace let out a whoop of discovery. Robert rushed to his side. ‘There are several places where they used to be, you see? Check them. Check them.’
Robert started at the east end and worked towards Horace, who started from the west. Robert got to it first. It was a plastic bag wrapped in electrician’s tape, with a box of some kind inside.
‘Let’s open it downstairs,’ Robert said. ‘We can’t be caught up here.’
Horace nodded and put the bag in his pocket. He looked up at the radio aerials, then turned slowly around once on his heel, taking in the memories.
‘When did your wife pass on, Horace?’
‘The same year this was closed.’
Robert left him alone for a few moments, ushering Jay and Terri back to the staircase that led to the lower deck. They went down.
Then they heard a cry of pain and alarm from above.
‘Stay here,’ Robert told Jay. ‘Don’t move.’
Terri and Robert rushed back up the stairs and ran towards the eastern end of the deck. Against the backdrop of the Chrysler Building’s shining spire and the bulk of the MetLife tower, Robert saw a figure in black crouching over the unconscious form of Horace, going through the old man’s jacket pockets. A masked face looked up as Robert shouted ‘No!’ at the top of his lungs.
It looked like the same figure who had attacked him on the subway, eyes flaring with poisonous yellow light.
Seeing the lengths of scaffolding by the old elevator door, Robert grabbed a four-foot metal tube as the black-clad figure rose and advanced towards him. The man held the seventh key and the Malice Box in his gloved hands. As they stared at each other, he put them into a zippered pocket on his trousers.
‘Terri! Help Horace,’ Robert shouted. Then he charged towards Horace’s attacker, swinging the steel pipe through the air in a violent arc aimed directly at the masked head. The figure ducked and rolled under Robert’s swing as Terri ran past them both to the supine form of Horace. Landing by the pile of scaffolding, the figure picked up a steel pipe and stood up brandishing it like a sword.
They stared at each other, each anticipating a killing strike at any moment, treading nervously to firm their footing, gripping and regripping their weapons in the humid air. Keeping his eyes on his opponent, Robert shouted: ‘Is he alive?’
‘Yes, but he’s not coming round,’ Terri answered.
Robert sank his mind deep down into his core, reaching for the powers of earth and water, fire and air, ether and mind. He willed the raw strength of his fight in the subway to return to his limbs. He breathed deeply in and out, summoning his new-found gifts, seeking the higher harmonics that would let him into his opponent’s mind.
Nothing happened.
Moving like a striking snake, the black-clad figure darted forward and brought his steel pipe down in a vertical stroke at Robert’s head. Robert twisted to one side and deflected the weapon with a glancing blow. He drove an elbow into the man’s belly and spun to one side, then wheeled around in a half-circle, sweeping horizontally with the pipe at hip level as though trying to slice his attacker in half.
The black-clad figure jumped back and kicked at Robert’s lower back as the blow swept by, knocking him off balance. Then he leaped forward again and aimed a roundhouse strike at Robert’s head. Robert raised the pipe and met the attack with a blow of equal force in the opposite direction. Metal slammed into metal with an explosive, high-pitched ring, the jarring impact almost shattering his arms. Both men, momentarily stunned by the force of the blows, let their weapons drop to the ground, their very bones vibrating. The attacker recovered quickly, and with a snarl of anger threw himself at Robert, who blocked a punch with his forearm and punched right back at his face. Robert’s blow made no impact. Gloved hands closed around his throat. Calling deep within himself, Robert again found no strength. All he had was his own bloody-minded determination not to lose. It would have to be enough.
‘Come hell or high water, you will not prevail,’ he hissed. He clamped his hands over those of his attacker and tried to prise them free. He could see Terri still bowed over Horace, working on him urgently.
Robert stared into the masked face and saw death coming for him again, the yellow sickly light of his attacker’s eyes flaring with red-and-blue filaments and shifting slowly into a magnetic, dead black core.
Then he heard Terri’s voice. ‘Let him go!’
The grip loosened slightly on Robert’s throat.
‘Try me,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t die that easily. Come and get me, you bastard!’
The black-clad figure threw Robert aside, and he slipped down on one knee, gasping. Instantly a boot kicked him in the ribs, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He rolled away, his lungs in spasm, straining to breathe.
Terri bent down and picked up Robert’s weapon, flailing with it at the face of the attacker. Robert saw the steel pipe ignite, twin snakes of blue flame flaring along its length as Terri drove the tip towards the groin of the man in black. She narrowly missed as he jumped backwards in the direction of the railings.
Terri advanced on him, lightning coursing up and down her weapon as she slashed the air with it, aiming for his belly and chest. The assailant turned and jumped up on to one of the stone mountings that held the railings in place. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Malice Box, the core of the Ma’rifat’.
‘This decides what happens, nothing else,’ the figure shouted, brandishing it. Robert recognized nothing of Adam’s voice in the guttural, anguished words.
Robert saw his chance. He ran forward past Terri and took a flying leap at the black figure, smashing into bone with juddering force and carrying him backwards into the air. Robert twisted, trying to land on his feet and half succeeding as he slammed into the tile of the lower observation deck, fifteen feet below. He felt his ankle crack, then he rolled to a halt against the Gothic railings of the lower level.
The black figure fell several feet from him, landing hard on his back. Something flew from his grip and shot through the railings.
Robert felt no pain, and then as he tried to rise, a snake of fierce, nauseating fire tore through him. A shrieking whistle filled his ears. He retched violently.
‘Robert!’ Terri was shouting to him from the floor above. He could barely hear through the pain. ‘The major key! You must get the Malice Box!’
She was pointing frantically. Beyond the black figure struggling to his feet, Robert saw the glinting red-gold drum resting on a metal ledge on the other side of the railings, inches from the edge.
He couldn’t do it. He was in too muchpain. He was too frightened. He’d reached his limit.
‘Robert!’
Now Terri appeared in the 69th-floor doorway, the scaffolding pipe still in her hands, Jay behind her. The black figure made to attack her.
Robert forced himself to his feet and launched himself again at the figure, knocking him spinning. Robert landed inches from the Malice Box on the other side of the railing. New pain shot along his leg to the top of his skull. Burning, sickening pain.
Jay and Terri advanced on the figure in black. Terri pressed her weapon against his forehead, snakes of crackling blue fire flaring again along its length. She held him immobile. On her instructions, Jay reached into the figure’s pocket, extracting the seventh key and handing it to her.
To his joy, Robert saw Horace appear in the doorway, looking pale but determined. He immediately shouted to Robert: ‘Get the core!’
Robert reached through the railings. He couldn’t reach it.
He pulled himself up and reached over. Still couldn’t reach it.
It was a drop of more than 800 feet.
He pulled off the leather belt of his trousers, climbed over the railings and formed a loop around one of the Gothic arch metal fittings on the other side, twisting the belt in a figure eight around his wrist.
Drenched in sweat, he reached for the Malice Box at the edge of the metal ledge. Still he couldn’t get it. He lay along the ledge, pushing forward with his legs; then, with his fingertips, he touched it and dragged it towards him with his nails. He grabbed it and squeezed it in his left fist.
Then his foot slipped, and he fell.
Muscles tore in his arm and side as the belt took his full weight. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed till his voice gave out.
Sheer terror filled his soul.
He searched in the deepest part of himself for a glimmer of the powers of the Path. Nothing. Failure.
He felt a hand grab his wrist. Then two hands. He felt himself pulled up. His left hand was locked in paralysis around the key. Hands reached under his armpits, heaved him skywards, up over the railings.
He collapsed on the observation deck, Jay and Horace looking down at him. Then Terri shrieked as the figure in black suddenly twisted and kicked her staff aside, launching himself towards Robert and scrambling for the core.
Jay tried to tackle him and took a kick in the stomach, folding to the ground. Then the attacker wheeled around behind Jay, grasping him by the throat with both hands.
For a moment the dark figure stared at them, standing completely still. Then, with cold deliberation, he broke Jay’s neck with a dry crack. Jay’s body gave a violent spasm and fell to the ground.
‘I am not Adam,’ the figure in black shouted hoarsely. ‘Adam is dead. This is what awaits you all if you stand against Iwnw.’
He turned and ran for the doorway, vanishing into the interior of the building.
‘Let him go,’ Horace shouted as Terri made to chase him. ‘Come here.’
Terri turned reluctantly and knelt by Jay, looking imploringly at Horace.
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do for him either. They will pay for this. Now help me with Robert.’
She nodded in silence.
Terri and Horace ran their hands over Robert, feeling his arms and legs. It was as though they were setting his bones. He felt a glow of warm heat over his whole body, rising to white-hot intensity in his ankle, his right arm, his ribs.
‘We must get away from this place as soon as Robert can walk,’ Horace said.
Robert felt fractured bones knitting together in his ankle, searing light flowing through his body. He gasped in pain.
Then Horace was still for a moment, reaching out into their environs with his mind, gauging the whereabouts of their attacker, and of the building’s security guards.
‘I see a route for us if we move quickly,’ he said. ‘Robert, that will have to do.’
Their descent took fifteen nerve-racking minutes, moving from stairwell to empty elevator and back again as both Horace and Terri scouted a course for them. They emerged on to the street just as alarms began to sound inside the building.
Horace immediately broke left, towards the north, taking them across 50th street. To their left, the red neon signs outside Radio City Music Hall broadcast in bold vertical letters the name the whole centre might once have had: RADIO CITY.
Horace took them into the west entrance of the International Building and straight through to the lobby on the other side.
Robert was stunned. It was aglow with golden light, the whole room sheathed in metal panels and suspended leaves, lit from below, of gently moving gilded steel.
Horace spoke to them both in soft but urgent tones. ‘I am very sorry for your friend’s death, Terri. This is a war, and he was an innocent victim.’
‘He didn’t ask to take part,’ Terri said. ‘Who attacked us? The terrifying thing is that if it was Adam, I couldn’t feel him at all. If it was him, he wasn’t there; he was completely corrupted.’
‘I don’t believe that was Adam,’ Horace said. ‘I believe Adam is still fighting. I think that was another of the Iwnw, one of the three we met at Grand Central. He failed, though. We still have the core and the seventh key. The only way to make Jay’s death meaningful is if we halt the detonation of the Ma’rifat’.’
‘But I failed the trial,’ Robert said.
‘Did you?’
‘I tried to call on the powers of the Path. I couldn’t get anything.’
‘The trial is not yet over. It is a necessary part of the Trial by Spirit to know despair, to be abandoned by every power one has. It helps us make our peace with death. Let us see whether you have lost your higher senses. Stand in front of one of the columns and look up,’ Horace said. ‘Observe what it becomes.’
He did as Horace suggested. As he looked up and stepped slightly to one side and the other, the shadows thrown on to the ceiling formed angular shapes, and then suddenly made a perfect triangle atop the column. It became an obelisk. At that moment Robert saw a huge surge of energy, in red-and-yellow light, burst from the column and flare around the pyramidion at its summit. He jumped back from the column as though he’d been kicked, covering his eyes.
‘Shit!’
‘You are still awakening,’ Horace said. ‘Too fast, for most people. You will experience a period of great discordance and doubt. Now we must go on.’
Robert’s head was bursting with pain. ‘Fuck! You might have warned me!’
Terri took his arm and led him out after Horace. They came out behind Lee Lawrie’s giant Atlas iron sculpture, facing St Patrick’s Cathedral, and headed north.
On the corner of 51st Street, looking east, Robert caught a glimpse through his tearing eyes of the glorious spiked summit of 570 Lexington, the GBN offices.
Then Horace was hounding them to go faster. Terri and Horace eachtook one of Robert’s arms as they walked.
‘The pyramidion sat atop the obelisks and the pyramids,’ Horace said. ‘It is a small pyramid in its own right, and may often have been sheathed in gold. The word for it was ben-benet, derived from the sacred ben-ben stone, which represented the first island of creation, the first fragment of land to pierce the primeval waters.’
‘It must have looked like the tips of those skyscrapers poking through the clouds,’ Terri said.
‘Yes,’ said Horace reflectively. ‘Yes, it must have. And shortly we shall see another representation of it, one that is at the very heart of this quest. And you will understand more.’
They passed St Thomas’s on the left, Horace’s backup location if Robert had missed him at Grand Central.
Then they were passing the black and gold of Trump Tower, the Art Deco masterpieces housing Tiffany’s and Bergdorf Goodman on the east side of Fifth Avenue, and they were into Central Park.