Incredible Spy Detective. Poets and Liars. Stella Fracta
suddenly became curious about what she’ll say if he dumps the whole truth at her, as it is: that he’s been tailing her for a month already, that MI6 had prepared him to win her trust the best way he can, that he knew her biography, the toothpaste that she brushes her teeth with and the beauty shop in Moscow where she gets her enormous long nails done once every three weeks – regardless of her travel arrangements …
That he must become her lover, make it so she brings him into the circle of Poets – for him to find out why this alchemical publicity was initiated.
He could offer her to work together, could recruit her, threaten her – but she was the kind of cat to walk alone, unable to be scared even by threat of torture and death.
She’s more cunning than he thought – more cunning than his superiors expected. She wouldn’t have looked at him like that if she hadn’t realized that an agent might be sent to her.
Alexandra may be giving him the go-around … In any way, he’s both the prime contractor and the expendable supply. To feel anything personal – from hurt to disappointment – was beyond the bounds of his professional skills. He really does have everything he needs to avoid being fooled.
He doesn’t understand what he’s looking for – even if he was given clear instructions. It’s never easy with people, that’s a fact – but when the players get too far ahead of him, the playing becomes torturous and strenuous.
With her, it was as if Richard was reaching for the moon, but wishing for distant stars that had long died, and the light years distance only brought to eyesight memories of their life.
“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to work you up!” Alexandra exclaimed.
Richard jumped.
The rules of the genre … Even she recognizes them.
“Everything’s fine, I just got lost in thought. Shall we take a walk?”
5. Nigredo
[Great Britain, London, Soho]
At the headquarters of MI6 on Cambridge Circus, known as ‘the Circus’ in the agency’s parlance, a real circus was unfolding. Richard was presenting his monthly report, recounting everything he managed to gather during the observation period, detailing recent events – his encounter with Stella Fracta, their Domodedovo-Heathrow flight, and their morning breakfast.
He was trying to explain that she was anything but an international spy, not an evil genius – but a genius.
What she told him was a refrain in each of her texts, as if she left her mark on everything she touched. He didn’t forget to mention the red notebook, either.
“The system of symbols is the terminology with which a person describes reality – both existing and imaginary,” Richard said. “It’s a tool for organizing space—”
His colleagues stared at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes. Some had taken the course on alchemy with him, others were there as lecturers, but judging by their reaction, they all understood nothing. Richard felt like they were mocking him.
“The Great Work is not a recipe for transforming metals into gold, it’s not a recipe for creating the philosopher’s stone, and the philosopher’s stone is not a stone, but an artistic representation of that which fulfills one’s innermost desire. The philosopher’s stone is red because the color red symbolizes becoming, unity, quintessence.”
Primitive zombie flicks came to Richard’s mind: the collective intelligence, the lack of conscious thought … To the creatures who glared at him standing next to the projector screen, it didn’t matter what he was saying – they wanted to eat his brain. He paced back and forth at the end of the oval glass table in the center of the conference room, explaining to them that it was all simple – yet they were seeing something of their own.
“Mercury and sulfur in the alchemist’s parlance represent the two natures of matter, feminine and masculine, creation and destruction, and their union yields salt, but not the salt kind of salt, not even mercury sulfide, but rather uncertainty – like entropy in information theory.”
The formula, common sense, a consistent picture painted. Incredible!
“The Great Work is an algorithm for constructing oneself from scratch, as one was designed by the creator – to become. It’s an algorithm for refining one’s environment, because only the natural flow of things creates stable, resilient systems. Becoming is to fulfill the mission, it’s not money or triumph or world domination—”
Who was he talking to? Strange, frightening, foolish. They were looking through him, they didn’t hear a word he said – however much he paced in front of the whiteboard, waved his hands, pointed his fingers: one, two, three, four.
“The four stages of the Great Work are represented by colors, and each stage and color is a step of evolution. Alchemy is internal transformation—”
They’ll say they heard this all before – and that everything he was repeating is clear – and, at the same time, unclear. Why did he understand – and they didn’t?!
“Nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo – black, white, gold, and red – are represented by processes of decay and purification, construction and creation, gaining wisdom from the advice of the wise and the final becoming in the name of service.”
Richard was having a nightmare – him, speaking into nothingness. What stage is he on? The ground is slipping out from under his feet, the familiar world is crumbling, it’s as if he begins to doubt everything.
A devilish science, this alchemy! No wonder people flee from it – from its destructive power, from the shock of its revelations!
Richard tossed and turned in sweat-soaked sheets, visions blended with reality. Dreaming or awake, is he trying to explain something to someone, dreaming or awake, does he suddenly understand, grasping awareness by the tail, like an elusive chimera, the damn Ouroboros – the serpent biting its own tail?
He wanted to scream and cry for help, he wanted to shriek with joy as loud as he could, to share this sudden realization with the entire world.
He understood.
All kinds of things went on in the Circus headquarters, in rooms designed to resemble apartments or comfortable hotel rooms – meant for both permanent and temporary residence. Richard was the type to never make noise, he never even tossed in his sleep – because self-control is a skill that’s impossible to lose or forget.
He sat up sharply on the bed, air escaping from his lungs with a wheeze, burning his throat – as if he had been screaming in his sleep, like under torture.
He couldn’t remember what he had understood. What kind of devilry was this – a theatrical stage, a conference room table, trying to explain alchemy to MI6 agents in front of a crowd clad in medieval garb – he had no idea. Normally, his work-related nightmares were different … They were rare – because he never remembered his dreams – and specific, understandable, frightening only because he failed and let everyone down.
If alchemy, nevertheless, was true, then he was still at the very beginning of the journey – in the black void of nigredo, in the burnt up, broken, bitter, and frightening nothingness.
He wrapped himself in damp blankets, wiped nervous sweat from his forehead, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
If need be, he will offer himself up for experiments on the alchemical slab – but for now, he remains in his own genre.
This better turn out to be a cold-induced fever, he thought, sinking into viscous sleep. Perks of government service – good insurance. Both for the living and the dead.
6. Liars
[Great Britain, London, City of Westminster]
“They