The Alchemist’s Code (3 page)

“Ok, go ahead, no problem.”

*

Bruno was gone for nearly an hour – sixty minutes during which I tried to put together the pieces of the strange experience and decide whether I should attend the appointment that the unknown girl had proposed. Should I go or not? And what could she want to tell me that was so important that my life depended on it? Of course, in recent years I'd had a fair number of adventures in the mysterious world of those esoteric disciplines that so intrigued me, often getting myself into trouble and dragging poor old Àrtemis along with me. I'd seen with my own eyes the ancient rituals still practiced by secret societies, found amulets with unknown powers and studied codes that would have been better left to rot in forgotten libraries. Recently, however, I'd decided that I'd had enough of all the trouble running so many risks in pursuit of legends and dreams had got me into. I considered myself lucky to have had a chance to peek behind the veil of appearances and to investigate the most hidden aspects of knowledge and reality. My passion for alchemy had drawn me into the fascinating world of the transmutations of minerals, thanks to hours and hours spent coughing among the fumes of the small workshop I had at home, the crazed treasure hunts I had undertaken in the company of my friend Sante – a completely crazy retired Maltese sailor with an obsession with esoteric archeology – had led me to discover mysterious artefacts and the traces of lost civilizations, and, finally, being a member of the Freemasons had introduced me to various Hermetic doctrines.

But enough was enough. Now I just wanted to live in peace for a bit and dedicate myself to my work, and especially to my wife.

The little adventure that morning, though, had brought back all the anxiety and tension that I'd experienced during those dangerous incursions into esotericism. The girl's behaviour and especially the note she had put in my pocket had started to tickle my sixth sense.

At a loss as to what else to do, it occurred to me that I could tell everything to my close friend Oscar who, as luck would have it, was a police commissioner, and so I called his mobile. When a recorded message informed me that the user was not at that moment available, I tried calling the office directly.

The receptionist was categorical. “I'm sorry, but Commissioner Franchi is out of the office at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Just tell him that Lorenzo Aragona is looking for him.”

That was that, then – I was going to have to decide for myself. I didn't want to say anything about the note to anyone, not even Bruno. He would have taken me for mad if he found out that I was willing to listen to a girl who had run away after being knocked down.

To be honest, I should really have let it go. It was starting to look a lot like some kind of practical joke.

*

When Bruno returned, his angular face wore its usual aplomb, and the uncharacteristic concern which I had seen appear in his eyes had vanished.

“Everything ok? Has anybody been? Anybody phoned?”

I shook my head. “All quiet. Apparently, when you aren't here, nothing happens and nobody comes.”

“Funny – very funny.”

Bruno sat down at his desk and began to make phone calls and update his files, but I couldn't keep my agitation in check, and kept getting up and wandering around between the furniture and objects on display in the shop. I had decided that I wouldn't go to the appointment, yet I couldn't help but think of the accident, the girl and that phrase: ‘your life depends on it.'

In any case, once 18:15 came around, I set off for my car. “I'm going home, dear partner, I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure you do too at some point.”

“Strange as it might seem to you, somebody does actually have to sort out the paperwork. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I got in and made my way to Piazza dei Martiri, then crossed Via dei Mille and finally took Via del Parco Margherita. I was nearing the intersection with Corso Vittorio Emanuele, when a large black SUV, which was parked on the right side of the road, suddenly pulled out in front of me and started dawdling along. After a few seconds I lost my patience and started beeping the horn, and at that point the SUV stopped altogether.

“What the hell?!”

The driver's side door opened and a woman, dressed all in black with a baseball cap on her head, climbed out and strode over to my window. She leaned over and looked into my eyes.

It was the girl on the scooter. This time I didn't even manage to open my mouth. She put a finger to her lips as though to silence me, and quickly placed another piece of paper on the dashboard before returning to her car and driving away.

I was really starting to get sick of all this.

I started the engine and, as I drove, unfolded the piece of paper and read the message.

This treasure hunt was beginning to get on my nerves, but I decided to follow the new instructions: I had to talk to this girl in private and find out what the hell she wanted, so I turned into the garage, which was located a few metres from the intersection, took the ticket issued automatically by the machine at the entrance and drove inside. There at the back of the large car park, I saw the big black SUV. I pulled up next to it, turned off the engine and waited a few seconds. Then I heard the door behind me open.

I started to turn around, but a hand pressed over my mouth paralysed me, preventing me from moving or speaking, and at the same time another hand held up a mobile phone with these words on its screen:

At that point I had no choice but to follow the instructions: it occurred to me that there might well be a gun aimed at my head, and the idea didn't exactly make me feel comfortable.

With some embarrassment, I changed quickly and waited. Another message on the phone screen gave me further instructions.

I did as she said, and a moment later the driver's door opened. “We can talk now. But wait a second until I've got out of here,” she said in a deep, warm voice which betrayed a slight foreign accent.

She started the engine, drove over to the exit and put a ticket into the machine, opening the barrier, then set off at speed along Corso Vittorio Emanuele in the direction of Mergellina. The lights of the gulf to our left slipped by quickly on that cold Neapolitan night.

“We don't have much time, Mr Aragona. You have no idea how long I've been trying to get in touch with you. I've been studying your movements for weeks.”

“Well it's very kind of you to tell me that, but I should tell
you
that I am extremely pissed off. What is this, a kidnapping? Is it money you want? What the hell are you after?”

“Nothing like that. My name is Anna Nikitovna Glyz, I'm Russian. I studied here in Italy, that's why I speak your language. I can't tell you much, only the few things I know, but please, take what I tell you seriously.”

I tried to make out her features in the rear view mirror, but it was too dark and I could only guess at them. She must be very beautiful, though, with slightly wavy blonde hair and those wonderful blue-green eyes.

She looked into the mirror, then, without preamble, said, “Your life is a lie, Mr Aragona.”

I laughed.

“Of course it is!”

“Listen to me, please – I don't know how long I can keep them off my tail.”

“Keep who off your tail? Come on, shall we stop this farce?”

“I'm not kidding, believe me. Your life is like some kind of TV reality show. Your wife, your partner, your house, your shop. It's all fake. They are deceiving you.”

“Who is deceiving me, miss? And who are you?”

The SUV reached the station of Mergellina, then went on to Piazza Sannazzaro, circled round the fountain with the statue of Partenope, and returned to Corso Vittorio Emanuele.

“Listen to me, I have to go. You take the wheel without getting out of the car. They'll be suspicious, but we can still confuse them. Go back to the garage, leave this car there, pick up yours and change back into your own clothes.”

“Hang on a second, what do you mean, you're going? You're going to leave me here like this? Without any explanation?”

She parked in front of Mergellina railway station and, before leaving, turned to face me. Yes, she was beautiful – an uncompromising, faultless beauty. Her face was simply perfect, with full, oval lips, defined eyebrows and a straight well-proportioned nose. For a split second I almost forgot the absurd situation in which I found myself.

“Mr Aragona, is there something you have every day? I mean, something you eat, or drink every day, always at the same time?”

“There are several—”

“I mean something unusual – not coffee or your favourite drink. Think about it tonight and find a way not to eat or drink it any more. But don't let the woman you believe is your wife find out. Behave naturally. I'll be back.”

Without giving me time to reply, she opened the door and disappeared in the direction of the station.

I sat there stunned for a few seconds, trying to take in what she had said.

Suddenly, I was seized with the feeling that all the passers-by were watching me. It couldn't be so, I told myself. The idea that the girl could have invented everything struck me again. Maybe she'd just wanted to get rid of a stolen SUV and had come up with this bizarre way of doing it. That thought made me feel even more stressed, so I decided that the best thing to do was to take the car back to the garage as quickly as possible. I slipped into the driver's seat and headed back to the Parker's hotel.

Once there, I picked up my car, changed back into my own clothes and set off quickly toward home. As I drove, however, my tension only increased: how would I act with my wife? What Anna – if that actually was her name – had said would have been enough to shock anyone. How could I go home and pretend that nothing had happened? The fake accident on the scooter, the messages, swapping cars, and the phrase, “Your wife, your partner, your house, your shop. It's all fake.”

I smiled.

“Come on, Lorenzo – the Russian was just having a bit of fun with you.”

In the meantime I had almost arrived home. I'd never been a particularly attentive driver, but that night I checked repeatedly in the rear view mirror and peered constantly about me to try and figure out if I was being followed, but I didn't see anything, and so, taking a deep breath and shaking my head as though to free it from the memory of that strange experience, I walked in through the front door.

“Àrtemis, it's me.”

“Hi,” replied my wife from inside. Her voice was calm.

I joined her in the kitchen and found her busily preparing Greek meatballs. “Hello, darling, how are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you? I heard about the accident.”

I went white. We hadn't spoken all afternoon, how could she know?

“The accident?”

'Yes. Bruno told me that you knocked someone over this afternoon.”

Ah, she'd spoken to Bruno.

“Oh, it was nothing serious. A girl came shooting out into the road without looking and ran into me. But she was fine, luckily.”

Art stared at me with those feline eyes of hers as though she wanted to penetrate my head. Was she trying to expose my half-truth? After a moment, she looked away and went back to preparing dinner. “Ok, just as well. I'm making
biftekia
, so I'll need another half an hour.”

“Fine, I'm in no rush.”

“In the meantime, maybe you could finally have a look at that box of old junk that I put in your study a few days ago.”

“Yes… excellent idea.”

The box was on the carpet in the study, and was full of objects accumulated over the last forty years. Àrtemis said she had put it there a few days before, but I had no memory of the fact. Among the comic books, broken watches and other useless stuff there were also some old toys which I was very fond of. Àrtemis knew how much they meant to me, so finding them there, ready to be thrown away, annoyed me.

There were soldiers with futuristic weapons and combat vehicles, transforming robots, a bag of Lego bricks and, finally, something that I had almost forgotten – something to which I had been deeply attached as a child: a toy Spider-Man with magnetic limbs.

What a joy to see it again! I thought I'd lost it.

As I looked at it, some strange kind of light flashed before my eyes, followed immediately by something like a frame from a film, filled with overlapping faces and places.

This strange vision lasted a few moments, and then, from that confused, crowded image, a single distinct figure emerged. A face that was dear to me, but that I couldn't quite identify. Someone with the features of a serene-looking old man, who was trying to tell me something. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I was struck by a symbol that appeared and disappeared on his face, a symbol exactly like the one used in alchemy to represent common salt or verdigris. A wheel with four spokes.

I blinked quickly, the vision vanished and I found myself looking at the toy Spider-Man. I looked up and saw Àrtemis standing in the doorway, staring at me silently with a strange light in her eyes. “So? How's it going?”

“Fine… But there are a few things that I'd like to keep.”

“Oh, I was sure there would be. I put them together with the other things because I thought maybe there'd be some you didn't want anymore. I know you're still a kid at heart.”

“They're my mementoes. Look, there's my old Spider-Man. I thought I'd lost him.”