Chapter Twenty-Eight – Variation to Deviation
Lawrence was grateful for being forgiven to receive Bastien in his bed that night. Although the Sun King had cut off his loyal servant in front of his close circle, that didn't mean that he intended to fight Anton openly or for too long. With the apologies required, Bastien had chosen to spend the rest of his evening with His Dark Eminence to soften the earlier blow. Whether that was true or not, it didn't matter to Lawrence. Whether that showmanship was part of the same elaborate plan or not, just the same.
It finally left him some time to peruse and decipher more of Lukas's diary. His anticipation risked getting the better of him as he felt the loose paneling with his fingers. After losing the photograph, he was as wary as he could be.
Maybe it had happened out in the open, in the courtyard. Lawrence stopped for a moment, as he recalled the stable hands and their openly hostile attitude. Nothing said that Veridien selected the help from the best people, morally speaking. When that man had brushed against him, with the intention of making him get out of the way, he must've felt Lawrence's pocket, hoping for an early payday. Pickpockets and cutpurses at Veridien. Who would've thought?
The notebook was in its rightful place. Lawrence took it out and placed it on his desk. How should he go about it? The translation of Lukas's text would take some time, and not all the information inside the diary might prove useful.
There was no point in dallying. Lawrence sat and opened it again. The elaborate sketch of the white oak stared back at him with its angles and careful lines drawn by Lukas's hand. Maybe some of the mystery surrounding the closed doors that intrigued him so much had been solved already by no one other than Lukas.
He truly needed to contain his excitement. Too quick to draw conclusions, and his investigation would be compromised. So, he needed to proceed carefully, without skipping steps.
First things first, he retrieved his earlier transcription of Lukas's text.
Last night, I dreamed that I was in a city I didn't know. I knew I belonged there, yet every street, every corner, every store, was unfamiliar to me. Some say that having such dreams means that you will die soon.
Lawrence began scribbling his own notes and suppositions on the already deciphered text. His own shorthand, his own cypher. The irony wasn't lost on him.
First paragraph:
First note: The victim chose English instead of German, his native language. He couldn't have done this by accident. It is as if he intended for his diary and the key to it to be discovered by someone who'd find the application of the key more natural by simply being a native English speaker.
H.?
Lawrence leaned back. Had Lukas tried to entrust his worries and findings and possible motive for being killed to his boyfriend?
Second note: It is possible for a certain tendency for trusting the occult to be found across the entirety of the text. Caution advised.
Third note: there is an indication that the victim felt in danger of losing his life. Such a possibility also leads this investigator to believe in the high chance of the victim having known his killer and even feared this person before the murder occurred.
There wasn't more he could extract from the first paragraph at this point. He needed to continue, so he returned with as much reserved eagerness as he could muster at the moment.
Lukas appeared to have abandoned the lyrical voice of his first paragraph in favor of geometry and calculations. Lawrence wrote them down dutifully, the numbers, expressed in letters, turned into numbers again. There was a definite correspondence between the various calculations. They were all the same length, and they had to point at something.
He rubbed his forehead, taking in the numbers. Working out a kink in his neck, he continued. Luckily for him, Lukas had written down his conclusions, although spending so much time on numbers and geometrical calculations now felt tedious and a bit like a waste of time.
At first glance, all the angles seem to be exactly the same. But careful consideration gives us something else.
Us? Lawrence stared at the word he wrote on his sheet of paper and went back to Lukas's text. Maybe it was just a way of expressing oneself. But what if Lukas had been sharing his complicated investigation on who knew what with someone else? That put that person, whoever they were, at the top of the suspects list.
The angles vary by one degree exactly. If I draw radial lines from the heart of the oak, the branch angle variation is the same. Each angle of 13 degrees is followed by an angle of 14 degrees, without fail.
1314 is the year Jacques de Molay died and condemned his earthly judges to face the judgment of God.
Lawrence stared at Lukas's explanation. Was Lukas like one of the lunatics searching for the lost secret of the Knights Templar, as much as an invention that had to be? Maybe too much studying at Veridien made one go mad or simply so incredibly bored that he started to search for meaningful conspiracies everywhere.
Finding a direct link between a mundane thing and a significant one…
Ali had said something similar. Lawrence frowned, as the recent memory replayed in his mind. What had Ali said? Something about how some people would find relations and corresponding proportions between the Pyramids and… what was it? Newsstands? No, phone booths. That was it. Phone booths.
According to Bastien, Ali was the resident conspiracy theorist. But for one with such extracurricular activities, his self-proclaimed partner truly showed only disinterest for coincidences that could easily be part of a bigger picture.
So, who was lying?
Lawrence tapped the desk with his fingers. Then he reached for the information on Lukas's friends and foes left by Ali for his perusal. His partner had cleverly hidden the sheet of paper in plain sight, its corner jutting out of a stack of notebooks Lawrence used on a daily basis. As advised, Ali had started with himself.
M. was not close to our subject matter. He got easily impressed by such academic prowess to consider his humble being capable of carrying on a conversation that wouldn't make him appear as a terrible dimwit.
It was difficult to say whether Ali used self-deprecation in such a manner that he came across as benign as possible or something else was afoot.
However, the subject matter was tolerant of A. M.'s mistakes. He had a way of correcting said mistakes by sticking to what mattered. Information. The subject matter never insulted anyone. He didn't understand the concept, or it simply had no place in his complex interior world.
Lawrence rubbed his chin slowly. Was Ali barely a dilettante when it came to conspiracy theories, with Lukas being the redoubtable model never to be achieved?
He needed to pay Ali a visit, preferably unannounced. Checking this conspiracy theorist angle as part of his partner's personality was mandatory.
Later. At this hour, he had no one to ask where he could find Ali anyway.
That was not all. Consequently, Lukas launched himself into complex explanations that mostly involved the Fibonacci sequence, – based on the number of acorns hanging from the branches, and the roots digging into the ground below – especially its application in biology and phyllotaxis.
With a yawn he tried to suppress, Lawrence reached for his giant dictionary. Although he'd been on the fence whether to bring the heavy tome with him or not, his final decision had been the right one.
phyllotaxis n. Botany. The arrangement of leaves on an axis or stem. From Ancient Greek phýllon, meaning "leaf" + táxis, meaning "arrangement, order"
Well, that explained some things. His knowledge of Ancient Greek needed a little brushing off since he hadn't realized the sense of the word right away.
According to Lukas's calculations, not a single line he'd drawn of the white oak was mere happenstance. Lawrence had to admit that he was a neophyte when it came to mathematics if he dared to compare his knowledge to Lukas's notes.
Such a bright young mind. Lawrence took a long look at the neat shorthand displayed on the page. This passion Lukas must have developed toward the end of his short life might not have had anything to do with his passing and especially the manner in which he died. But that ominous first paragraph loomed over the mathematical equations employed with precision by the late Veridien student.
Lukas wouldn't have chosen to hide his findings if he weren't at least aware that someone might want to get their hands on them for some nefarious purpose.
The sequence stops abruptly, Lukas continued in his diary. A broken branch must indicate the breaking of the Capetian line. That was my first assumption, but it bothered me that the sequence had to be repeated so many times only to emphasize a thing known by all.
"Not exactly by all, Lukas," Lawrence murmured under his breath. "You'd have to love history a great deal to remember such things."
I counted all the sequences up to the broken branch. That should have been the thirteenth, which, of course, is in line with the Grand Master's curse. But everyone counts the Capetian generations from the dynasty's beginnings, as it appears as natural. Phillip IV's sons – the twelfth generation – died without heirs. Why such an elaborate introduction to a well-known fact?
Lawrence was beginning to share Lukas's frustration. Indeed, why? Veridien was old but not old enough for its temporary rulers to be unaware of how well spread such information had to be in certain, scholarly circles, at least. But maybe that was part of the problem. Obsession wasn't particular to his and Lukas's contemporaries. Like the postal worker, chasing a fantasy involving an unaccounted for heir of the Capetian line, so many others, with more means and determination, must have done the same.
Historical facts and dates have a tendency to become convenient for the one staring at them for too long, in search of a connection.
Lawrence agreed. While he was supposed to remain objective toward the case and its victim, he couldn't help liking Lukas more and more. The late Veridien student hadn't easily allowed himself to be seduced by a theory. He continued to decipher the text.
But some coincidences are too blatant to ignore. My calculations, regardless of the angle I choose, bring me to this year: 1704.
Thirteen generations from Phillip IV, and we end up here.
Again, the collective pronoun. Unless Lukas considered himself royalty and used the majestic plural—
Lawrence leaned into his chair so abruptly that he risked falling for a moment. He straightened, making the front wooden legs hit the floor with a thud. Bastien was the uncrowned Sun King. Why he? Why not Felix, who was French and part of the Golden Circle? And why was Anton pegged the Dark Eminence behind the King, when he wasn't French, either? Bastien even called him Red.
No, he was reading too much into it. Those were just nicknames, after all. And there was that tidbit of historical inaccuracy between a cardinal and the king he'd served, one generation removed.(1)
What happened at Veridien in 1704? This is what I must find out, Lukas concluded at the bottom of the fourth page.
Lawrence checked his wristwatch. Yes, he would very much like to find out, too, but he also needed to sleep. Failing in his lessons wasn't an option if he intended to continue his investigation without the looming threat of being ejected from the premises by the powers that be.
He stretched and yawned. Hopefully, his dreams wouldn't take him down rabbit holes or Veridien's catacombs. Or to some strange, unfamiliar city to which he belonged without knowing.
Lawrence shook his head. His uncle had once warned him about the obsessive allure of solving a case. Folders upon folders would pile up on his desk, Jakob said, and his mind would still pull him back to the same incident, as if the rest of his cases didn't matter. Coffee, excessive smoking, nothing helped with concentration. But at the highest point of exhaustion, clarity would hit, as if a thought that had been snagged in the deep algae roots of a lake was finally allowed to surface.
"But that's not how the human mind works," he'd argue.
His uncle gave him a long, tired look, his cigarette burned to its butt hanging between his fingers. "We don't know everything, Lawrence. That's the thing. But it's also brilliant. Because it's our ignorance that gets us out of the dark sometimes. When logic fails."
He couldn't say he understood what his uncle had been talking about. And he knew that the more questions he asked, the less he'd understand.
***
A chilly morning welcomed him the moment he stepped into the inner courtyard. Mist easily formed in front of his face each time he exhaled, and Lawrence felt the need to push his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. Unlike the Veridien students who enjoyed braving the cold, even at that ungodly hour, he thought it wise to layer his clothes so he wouldn't suffer needlessly. If the others had something to atone for – imagined sins, most likely – he didn't suffer from such flights of fancy.
A couple of times he attempted to talk to a couple of the few fellow students who enjoyed their mornings as early as possible, but he was pointedly ignored. Ah, the news of how he had overcome the king himself in their little illegal wrestling ring must have spread. Lawrence barely suppressed a grin. Yes, he could be vain sometimes, mainly for silly reasons, and while he considered it a character flaw, he wasn't bothered enough by it to feel an imperious need to correct it.
Being a slightly uncomfortable presence for some people gave him petty satisfaction.
In this case, it did inconvenience him a smidge because he couldn't extract the information he needed. Well, the students milling about in the inner courtyard weren't the only ones he could ask about the information he sought.
To his immediate relief, Earnest was hard at work in the cloistered garden. This time, he wore a heavy dark coat over his work clothes and a wool hat with ear flaps. He waved happily at Lawrence as soon as he noticed him.
"What a morning, isn't it?" Lawrence said, shivering for show.
Earnest rewarded him with a shy smile. "I like the cold. I was born on a day like this."
"That must explain why you like it."
Earnest laughed. "Yes. It must. Breakfast is not until later. Could you not sleep?"
"Seriously? I'd sleep until ten if I could. But I want to tell Ali something before heading to breakfast, and I just realized that I have no idea where his room is."
Earnest continued to look at him with solicitude. Lawrence didn't want to come across as overbearing, but it seemed that he had to be more specific.
"Do you happen to know where it is?"
"Alistair's room?"
"Yes."
"Felix's room?"
"Yes."
"Yes, I know."
"Could you point me in its direction, then?"
Earnest smile proudly and raised his arm. Then he shot it to one side. "South Tower. Upper floor. Their room is nice."
Earnest was good friends with Esperanza, which could mean that he was part of the group of childhood friends Ali had mentioned before. Maybe he hadn't been with them back then, but now he had been welcomed by them without any qualms. It only strengthened Lawrence's good opinion of Bastien and the twins. They didn't seem by far as elitist as most at Veridien.
"Thank you, Earnest. You've been of great help," Lawrence said, returning the gardener's smile.
"I will always help," Earnest promised before they bid each other good bye.
The South Tower. Wasn't that a little à-propos? Lukas, Anton, and Abelard housed in the North Tower, while the French twins claimed the South Tower. Bastien in the most imposing building, right in the middle between them. It would be helpful to know a little about the accommodations of the other members of the Golden Circle. Like pieces on a chess board, were they protecting the King?
***
After his visit to the North Tower under the cover of night, visiting the South Tower early in the morning made a stark contrast. For starters, everything was wider here, with plenty of natural light. Even the spiral staircase leading to the upper floor wasn't as narrow as what Lawrence had grown accustomed to after climbing the stairs to his monk cell every day.
It was also the only place he'd seen so far where they had large pots of plants. Succulents and sturdy bushes made the place feel like a coquettish counterpart of the damp, somber-looking hallways dominating the usual Veridien layout. The mullioned windows had been enlarged, and some of them must have been added later with care for preserving the integrity of the building.
The stairs, made of polished granite, were covered by a rug, fixed under each step with a long and thin stainless steel bar. Crimson, one of the colors of the academy. It gave the South Tower a lavish feel, one suited more for royalty than Bastien's austere and lonely quarters.
A carved handrail offered the occasional visitor the assurance that they didn't risk toppling down the stairs like in a murder mystery. Lawrence admired it briefly and sauntered up the stairs. His hand met the carved finial at the end of the bannister, stopping him.
A lion head. Quite beautifully carved in the dark walnut wood that had been used for making it. A stately-looking guardian, Lawrence thought for a moment.
Only six rooms were located on the upper floor, indicated that they had to be larger compared to others' accommodations.
One opened on Lawrence's left, and Norris walked out, dressed in his Veridien uniform.
"Lawrence," he said right away, without hiding his surprise. "Good morning."
The monastic knight didn't forget his manners, no matter how slighted he had to consider himself after the new transfer's shenanigans of late.
"I'm looking for Ali. I don't know which room is his."
Norris continued to examine him with curiosity as he pointed at the last door on the right. "You'll find him there. Though I should warn you that Ali enjoys late mornings."
"I know. But I have a matter to discuss with him that will suffer no delay." Lawrence stopped for a moment. "Apologies if I come across as too blunt, but after last night, I thought you and your friends would want my head. Garnished with local vegetables if possible."
Norris chuckled and shook his head. "Bastien set us straight. We must be gracious in defeat."
Hmm. How out of character for Norris to accept such a rationale.
"Are you sure? I worry about going against you in arms this week."
Norris's face lit up. "Worry more. It is refreshing to have an opponent who doesn't hurry to fold."
"Doesn't it bother you that I'm barely an initiate?"
"Why would it bother me? We fight with what we're given. And you have a natural talent for fencing. Given the necessary instruction, you will best even people who've been studying for years."
"I never pegged you for a flatterer, Norris."
Norris shrugged and smiled sheepishly. He kept his hand on the door handle as if he couldn't decide whether to close it or go back inside.
A sleepy voice called for him from inside.
Norris winced for a moment, but he couldn't stop grinning. "Viv. He's just… not keen on waking early."
"Are all the rooms here shared?" Lawrence asked.
"Yes," Norris said, protectively holding the door almost entirely closed. "Not as private as individual rooms, but, you know, the luck of the draw."
"I think you are the lucky ones. This is the nicest place I've seen in all Veridien, and I did visit the Rector's office."
Norris snorted before he thought of how valued restraint was at this academy. "That is one place I wouldn't describe as nice."
"Good point," Lawrence agreed. "I'll let you go back to Viv, then. See you around, Norris."
He understood the reason for Norris's unusual giddy countenance. His collar didn't manage to hide the reddish mark on his neck. And Viv's soft reproach from behind the door left little room for imagination.
TBC
(1) A bit of a reminder here – Lawrence understands correctly that Anton is loosely nicknamed after Cardinal Richelieu, and Bastien after Louis XIV. However, Cardinal Richelieu served Louis XIII, the previous king, while Louis XIV had Cardinal Mazarin as his chief minister.