‘Then it wasn’t stolen?’
‘The theft of intellectual property by illegal copying is a crime.’
‘Yes of course but one that’s hard to prove. What exactly was copied?”
‘Stolen. It’s a manuscript.’
‘By you?’
‘No, no. It dates back to the early seventeenth century.’
‘Then it’s no longer in copyright.’
‘But it’s mine. I am the owner.’
‘I think we would find it difficult to make much of a case out of that. I’m sorry, we’ll need something better, stronger.’
‘But the use to which it was put, to discredit me, blacken my reputation.’
‘I shall need to see it before I can go any further, decide whether to take your case, whether I think you indeed have a case.’ I see him wilt but I’m determined to get back the initiative in this interview.
‘Surely I qualify as a lost cause.’
‘Even with a cause that seems lost I have to see at least a chance of winning, otherwise I wouldn’t make a living.’ There’s no need to tell him about the night job. ‘I work on a no win no fee basis you see.’
‘I’m willing to pay you a retainer, just for your advice and…and support. Since this began I’ve felt very isolated, alone.’
‘You’re not married?’
‘No, and you?’
I hold up my ringless left hand. ‘When can you let me have the material?’
He opens his briefcase and takes out a thick wad, bound in a blue plastic cover. ‘I have a copy here.’
‘How do I know it’s the same as the original?’
“You’ll have to trust me. The original is in cipher. This is a kind of translation.’
‘You know the one thing you must never do is lie to your lawyer.’
‘I’m well aware of that. And in any case where would be the point?’
‘And this is the same document as was stolen from your briefcase, copied and returned?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Who do you believe stole it?’
‘Oh I know. It was the secretary of the Temple of the Latent Christ.’
‘The Temple of Christ?’
‘The Latent Christ. That’s what they call themselves.’
‘The name of the secretary?’
‘Mary-Ann Molders.’ He spells it out for me.
‘And she went to the dean and made the allegations against you that led to your being suspended? Were they of a sexual nature?’
‘She alleged that I was encouraging students to take part in rituals that had a sexual element.’
‘Did you?’
‘I told them about allegations in which alchemists were lumped together with witches. Both were prepared to predict the future, like present-day newspaper astrologers. Both made their living by supplying potions, love philtres, the Viagra of the day. All substances were permissible in providing what we would now call pharmaceuticals. Poppy, mandragora, meadowsweet, St John’s wort, sedatives, hallucinogens were all perfectly legal. Substances and procedures for affecting the minds and bodies of people and animals were sold all the time. Some of them were harmless, some to us would be disgusting, others are now outlawed.’
‘Did Mary-Ann Molders accuse you of encouraging the use of illegal substances as well?’
‘She did.’
‘Do you yourself use drugs?’
‘Like many people, I have used them. I’ve smoked some pot.’
‘And did you advocate their use?’
‘I might have been, shall we say, a little iconoclastic in my approach. I wanted my students to think, not just to accept what they were told.’
‘Would you say your style inclines to the satirical? That you like to provoke? That perhaps you are anti-authority?’
‘I believe a university education shouldn’t be a matter of spoon-feeding material into students’ heads. Life is more complex than that.’
I sense a certain arrogance in Dr Adrian Gilbert. ‘At the moment I can’t see that you have a legal leg to stand on to take an action to a tribunal.’ I watch him sag a little. Why am I saying this? There’s nothing in the in-tray. I need the money and I need to practise my profession, my craft. I pick up the plastic folder. ‘I’ll look at this and consider what you’ve told me and be in touch. I may make some enquiries of my own.’
‘Thank you, Ms Green. I am most grateful. How much do I owe you so far?’ He’s taking out his cheque-book.
I hesitate. But the rent is due at the end of the month.
‘The Law Society recommends standard minimum fees. I think we should stick to those.’
‘Of course.’
I tell him the rate per hour for a practising solicitor of four years’ standing. He writes the cheque without a quibble. Now he has me signed up, he thinks. We’ll see.
As soon as he’s out of the door, I open the typed document and read: The Memorial of Amyntas Boston.
This is the true memorial of Amyntas Boston now confined to Salisbury gaol for witchcraft, the which I deny, and writ in cipher as my father used for his own receipts, which is the common practice among those who call themselves the Sons of Hermes. Some would say that I am a witch by birth since they allege my father practised necromancy. He was a learned man, a magus and a chemist but no cheat or cozener or in league with the evil one. The countess would have had him live in her house as others did, the better to consult with him in her own laboratory, but he would not, for he valued his freedom too much and his pursuit of the philosopher’s stone. So he brought me up to labour alongside him, not at the furnace or the bellows, for which he had his laborant Hugh Harnham, for he said the heat of it would blacken my skin and the fumes cause me to faint, but in wiping his brow and limbs, and bringing him food and drink as he sweat much. For in seeking the stone that is the in principia of transmutation, he said only heat would do the trick of turning base metal into gold, and all things into each other, according to the laws of mutability. As the poet Spenser has it that ‘e’en the earth Great Mother of us all’ does change in some sort even though she be not in thrall to mutability, and if the earth why not all things else. It wants only the key to unlock and enter the innermost mystery. For this work I was clad only in my shirt and britches with wooden sandals to raise my feet above the hot cinders of the floor.
As there are those who keep watch for comets all night so my father laboured many hours together, for they who seek the stone, the adepts, are possessed by this search and nothing is for them beyond it, except that they must gain their bread as others do. And for this, which was the preparation of unguents, plaisters, syrups, and draughts to summon Morpheus, I took my full share to free him for the Great Work.
I therefore learned all that he could teach me of these mysteries so that when he died and the countess summoned me and demanded of me what skill I had, I could answer truthfully that, except for