Respice ad me et Salvi eritis, Omnes fines terræ, quia ego Deus et non est ultra absque eo – then beneath the quote was Fratres Seminis.
At the back of the book stamped on the endpaper was the very same circular symbol that Cavell was interested in. I had no idea what the symbol meant—if it was a monogram or binders mark, but with some study I could quickly decipher the Latin verse.
“Interesting,” Cavell murmured as he leafed through my book.
“This was a Christmas gift?”
“It appears so. It was waiting on my desk when I arrived home. It was rather a surprise.” I explained.
“Do you know who sent it?” There was a hint of accusation in his tone.
“N… no.” I stuttered and sat with my back straight. “I do not expect acquaintances to give me gifts. I want for nothing and I encourage all to give to the poor box in my parish church.” I blustered. I did not want him to think that my support or affections could be bought by the giving of fripperies.
However, come to think of it, it appeared that I was currently blessed with unexpected gifts, for Sebastian also left a gift for me after our liaison. His gift was an item I had longed to own for the past thirty years—The Staff of Asklepios. The black stone phallus had been excavated from a temple site on a Greek island and now took pride of place in a display case in my secret room. Although I was unhappy about how the Staff was obtained I was overjoyed to now possess it and wonder at its possible magical powers.
Sebastian ran his finger over the line of verse, and then recited,
“Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth, for I am God, and there is none else. That’s Isaiah 45:22.” He said.
“You read Latin?” I also read Latin in my youth but it was my worst class and the remembrance of it faded with the years.
“Of course I read Latin. One never forgets a lesson branded with pain—I endured more than one beating with a Latin textbook!” He replied morbidly. Cavell’s schooling must have been hellish.
Sebastian’s fingers checked the spine of the book, and then he turned every thin wordless page and trailed a finger over the symbol on the endpaper. He pursed his lips and grimaced in puzzlement. After a long moment, he closed the volume with a sharp snapping sound. Cavell placed the book on the table
“What is the significance of that symbol?” He met my concerned gaze.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t know, but currently, it’s all I have to go on”, Cavell harrumphed, making little sense.
“What the devil is this all about, man?”
Cavell did not say a word; instead, he slid the second slip of paper across the table to me as if in explanation. Curious, I picked it up and unfolded it. I discovered it was a sienna photograph of a beatific young man. He sat in front of a mountain scene. He had an upright bearing; his golden curls falling to his shoulders. His garments appeared to be of embroidered silks. This boy was most certainly of noble stock, but from the backdrop used in the setting, he was not British.
“Have you ever seen him before?”
I stared at the angelic face.
“A striking young man, is he not?” Cavell observed.
“Indeed. He looks familiar, but for the life of me, I cannot recall where I have seen him. Who is he?”
“His name is Baron Leopold Freiherr Von Liebenstein. He is the twenty-two-year-old son of Baron Maximillian Von Liebenstein of Thüringia, in Germany.”
“What is your interest in him?” I wondered if the boy or his father was Cavell’s current mark.
“I have a certain indirect way to be approached for assignments. My contacts in the demimonde encouraged a meeting with the young Baron’s companion, a Herr Wilhelm Krause. I met with Herr Krause and he told me that Baron Maximillian permitted his son to take a year in London before completing his studies. He was to sow his wild oats and get any untamed notions out of his head before he took on the serious business of learning his duties as heir to the Thüringen Barony.
Herr Krause accompanied young Baron Leopold to the capital and they took an apartment in Hampstead village. He said that his charge embraced London society and attended many parties, but then Leopold came under the spell of a charismatic older man, and weeks later the boy left the apartment and vanished.”
“Goodness!” I interrupted, “What happened to him?”
“Herr Krause has not seen his charge in six months and all communication to his family has ceased. Krause could not keep the Hampstead apartment without his master’s means, and so he is in dire straits, living in a tiny room above a haberdashery shop on Cheapside. He is responsible for Leopold and cannot return home to his family without his charge, alive or dead.”
I sat back in my chair and shook my head. That telling was rather troubling. London is known to swallow a naïve man whole. But if young Baron Leopold’s body had not yet been dragged from the Thames there was still hope the man was alive and unharmed.
“What I want to know is why did this Herr Krause not seek assistance from the police?” I blustered.
Sebastian let out a mirthless laugh, “Can you imagine the international scandal if the newspapers got
