A Grain in the Sands of Time - 12. E.J.C.

Stepping through the cathedral-like entry they spotted a guard and approached him to ask for the administration office. Matt’s German language skills didn’t seem to be lacking any, but it was a bit much to get excited by everything he experienced so Andrew held his awe in check so they could accomplish what they were there for. Truth be told, Andrew felt like he was a spy in a movie and was on some great adventure, just like Jason Borne, or James Bond. It was thrilling. They entered the office around the corner from the guard and once again Matt approached first.

“Excuse me, could you direct me to the archives section of the museum please, where you keep your manuscripts.”

“I’m sorry sir that section is not open to the public.” She was all business, and despite her accent her English was superb.

Matt paused, “Excuse me, could you direct me to the archives section of the museum please.” Although Matt repeated his earlier statement something was different about the way he said it.

“Certainly sir, right this way.” She opened a small door in the counter and invited both of them through.

Andrew was confused and as he and Matt followed the woman through the back hallways of the museum, and he poked Matt in the ribs to get his attention.

“Ow, what are you doing back there,” Matt hissed back at him.

“What the hell was that? First she said no and then she waltzed us through the damn door? What just happened?”

“I just added a little persuasion to the request that’s all.” Matt whispered back.

Andrew thought for a second and then pulled Matt’s arm so he stopped and turned back to face him. Looking as serious as possible Andrew passed his hand before Matt’s eyes, “These are not the droids you’re looking for,” he stated in his best Obi-Wan Kenobi impression. Then he tried to suppress his giggles.

“Really?” Matts expression was full of faux disgust, “A Star Wars reference as we are breaking into a museum. You think this is the appropriate time?” He turned back and followed the woman again.

“Well I thought it fit,” Andrew justified and continued to snicker to himself.

It didn’t take long for the woman to reach the end of a long hallway and pressed a button to an elevator door.

“You can go back now, thank you.” Matt impressed upon her.

“Certainly sir,” she chimed, “you’ll find the archives on level B3.”

“Danke schön,” Matt was as polite as ever. She left them and the elevator arrived and took them down to the floor of the archives.

The elevator opened and showed them an expanse of a room. It must have occupied the entire square footage of the building three floors above them. It was filled with row on row of paper stacks and file folders.

“Well this should be fun,” Andrew sighed. “Want to try the force again Obi?”

Matt gave him a sour look, and scanned the stacks in front of him. It was easy enough to figure out the categorization of the documents was by date. “What was the date of publication of the documents you were reading online?”

Andrew reached into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. “1431 AD."

“Hmmm… this way,” Matt headed off to the left scanning the numbers on the shelves as he walked by the rows of paper. He entered a particular row and asked, “Author?”

“Drukheim.”

Matt stopped and turned back to look at Andrew. “Ansel Drukheim?”

Andrew looked at the paper again. “A. Drukheim,” he confirmed. “You know this dude?”

“Not personally, but someone I know had a connection to Ansel Drukheim. I haven’t heard the name for hundreds of years.”

"He wasn't the original author, if that makes a difference.”

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was a collection of pieces that Durkheim summarized."

Andrew followed again as Matt scanned the shelves and eventually pulled down a large bundle of loose papers tied together in a stack with twine. Matt plopped the sheaf of paper on a metal table at the end of the row and pulled at the neatly tied string bow. He looked down at the flowing hand-written script.

“The Writings of Ansel Drukheim,” he read the title out load. “He wrote it in an obscure dialect of East Slavic. Not many people in Berlin at the time would have been able to read it. In fact,” he pondered, “not many people in the world today would even recognize the language.”

He leafed through the stack of papers, occasionally stopping to read a paragraph or two and pulled out about twenty or so loose leafs.

“What are we looking for exactly that we couldn’t find online?” Andrew inquired.

Matt smiled and held up a sheaf of smaller paper with a clip in the corner holding them together. “This,” he stated triumphantly, and put it on the other papers he pulled from the stack. He then collected the remaining paper back into a neat bundle, tied it up again with the twine, and returned it to its place among the archive.

“You’re not going to take that out of here?” Andrew was slightly aghast at the thought of removing an archive from the museum.

“I am.” Matt said in a matter-of-fact manner, and led them back to the elevator. They walked out of the museum, paper in hand, and no one once questioned their passing. Andrew suspected all along that they would be surrounded by security at any moment.

Once outside again in the warm air and breeze off of the river Spree, Andrew felt like he could breath again. This spy business was exhausting, and he was starving. “I need to eat.”

“Let’s walk over to Alex, we can get a Currywurst.”

“A what?”

“ A Currywurst, it’s a pork sausage smothered in totally bad for you curry barbecue sauce. I don’t know what it is about this city, but you can’t come here without having one.”

They made it to Alexanderplatz in very little time after they crossed the Spree and bought their sausage at one of the many outlets serving them in the square, and sat at a bench overlooking the hundreds of people milling about the plaza and the tourists taking selfies in front of the world clock. Andrew thought about what they all didn’t know, all going about their lives in blissful ignorance of what was in front of them. Looking at the stack of papers under Matt’s paper bowl, containing the sweet and spicy sausage, he considered the purpose of their trip once more.

“So what exactly did we accomplish with this highly illegal trip?”

“Well,” Matt spoke around a mouthful of sausage that he was eagerly consuming with the aid of a small plastic fork. “Back to the translation that you were looking at, what was the name of the translator?”

Andrew considered the question and shook his head. “I don’t know actually, I only ever read some of the scrawled notes that were in the margins of the photocopied originals. They seemed unimpressed with the detail of the work, and considered it a work of poor quality fiction.”

“You’ve picked up more than most would from a translation of a document. They are notoriously tight lipped about identifying themselves.”

“So what’s the big deal about who it was that translated the information?”

“Document translators have an interesting history, and a place of some power.”

“How so?” Andrew’s curiosity was piqued.

“Well when something was translated it often was translated for a specific purpose, for a reason relevant to the person hiring the translator. So…”

Andrew finished for him, “if you know who the translator is, it can give you a clue as to the purpose of the translation.”

“Precisely.” Matt said with a smile on his face.

Andrew’s eyed him warily, “What do you know?”

Matt slid the small paper-clipped bundle toward Andrew, who picked it up and started leafing through the pages. “The only thing I’ve found consistently on each page is the small EJC circled in the corner or every page.”

“And what would those three letters be doing on every page?”

Andrew thought hard. “Identifying the translator, so when the document is reviewed for accuracy they have the name of the original translator!” Andrew got excited and looked to Matt for confirmation that he was correct. Matt smiled and nodded.

“Now all we have to do,” Andrew reasoned, “is figure out who was translating in Berlin at that time, and we should be able to find a clue as to their intentions.”

“We might not have to make it that hard on ourselves.”

“Why? What else do you know?”

“Take my hand,” Matt smiled.

“Oh God, where are we going now?”

Matt only smiled in answer. Reluctantly he placed his hand in Matt’s and felt the swoon of his environment being replaced by another.

They were inside an office. The plush furnishings seemed familiar to Andrew. “Are we back at Eagles Nest?”

Matt approached the phone on the desk and pressed a button. It rang over speakerphone and a woman answered.

“I didn’t realize you were coming back so soon Matt, what do you need?” Jack’s distinct Eastern European accent was unmistakable.

“Hey Jacks, can you join me in my office please?”

“On my way.”

It was only 30 seconds before she knocked quietly on the door and entered without a word from Matt.

“Andrew, nice to see you again.” She said on entering and seeing him standing close to where Matt was sitting at his desk.

“Andrew,” Matt began, “I don’t think I ever formally introduced you. Meet Elena Jacqueline Constanin, initials: E.J.C.”

Jacks smiled, but she was suspicious of what was going on. Andrew’s mouth hung open, and he looked down at the small sheaf of papers he was holding to confirm what Matt had just disclosed. Her eyes followed his to the stack of papers in his hand. If she recognized what he held, she gave no indication.

“I don’t understand,” Jacks said confused looking from one of them to the other.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Matt looked at Andrew.

“Uh. Jacks, can you explain this?” Andrew handed her the stack of papers.

She took the papers and leafed through them, a look of recognition coming over her face. “Where did you get these?” She looked up at the both of them.

Matt looked to Andrew.

“I was working with a translated document about the Arcana, doing research about the family that seems to have it out for me, for some reason, and Matt suggested we go to Berlin to find the original for some clue as to who translated the document. We found your initials on the notes pages. I didn’t realize it was you until just now.” He shot a dirty look at Matt who just smirked back.

“I haven’t seen these pages for many years. I thought they were lost in a fire that burned the coven house I was living in at the time.” Her eyes were downcast. She looked at Matt apologetically.

“Wicce.” Matt looked at her, and she acknowledged his statement by nodding slightly, and kept her eyes down.

Andrew was confused, “Sorry, I missed that.”

“Witch, Andrew. Our Jacks here is a witch."

“What the fuck! Are you serious? First I have to hear that my boyfriend is older than the country I live in, and now I find out that his assistant is a witch! An actual fucking witch!!! Who are you people?” Matt threw his hands up in the air and plopped himself down on the soft leather sofa against the wall. “What the hell have I gotten myself into? You’d think I could pick a boyfriend who was somewhat close to me in age, whose family wasn’t trying to end me, and whose assistant couldn’t turn me into a god damn frog!!!”

“Calm down Andrew,” Matt encouraged. “I think we need to hear an explanation from our witchy friend.” He looked at Jacks with an upraised eyebrow.

Jacks took a plush chair situated in front of Matt’s desk. “Where do I begin?”

“How about the part where you become a witch?” Andrew asked sarcastically.

“Well that comes after I wrote these papers, so I suspect you want to hear about that first?” She looked at Matt who nodded in agreement.

Jacks took a breath and began… “In 1429, an order was created in the heart of Europe. It was in response to the political and social movements taking place that centred on a prominent…” She hesitated looking at Matt, “female military leader that was making her mark in France during that time.”

She paused focusing on Matt who groaned and put his head in his hand rubbing his temples.

“Really Jacks?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What are you two not saying?” Andrew was once again confused, and he was not appreciating the déjà vu.

Matt looked at Andrew. “Joan.”

“Who the hell is Joan?” Andrew asked

“Otherwise know as Joan of Arc… we dated.” Matt said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Andrew’s tone was rather icy. “You dated Joan of Arc?”

“Andrew it was a long time ago, I was a young woman in France at the time, we were both 17 and Joan was… intriguing. And let me tell you, she wasn’t as chaste as they made her out to be!” Matt caught Jacks’ eye role. “Beside, I didn’t think that you would really want to hear about my previous…” He didn’t finish when he saw Andrew’s glare.

“Why don’t you keep going Jacks,” Andrew said, “I will deal with you and your lesbian love affair with Joan d’Arc later.”

His comment was directed at Matt who swallowed uncomfortably, but took note of the fact that no one offered Andrew Joan’s proper last name. That he knew this was a testament to his knowledge. “She was into cross-dressing if that makes a difference, and made an awfully cute guy,” he said weakly looking hopefully at Andrew.

“Anyway,” Jacks continued, shaking her head at Matt, “The Order of the Maid, as it was referred to then, was looking to bring down Joan and her followers. They began looking into all aspects of her life, including anyone that was… connected to her intimately.” She avoided Andrew’s sour stare. “Matt or Matilda, as she was known then,” Jacks couldn’t hide the grin on her face.

“Come on! It was very fashionable at that time in France!” Matt's face colored dramatically causing Andrew to inwardly cut him some slack. He was cute when he blushed.

Jacks continued, “At 17 years old, Matilda was less inconspicuous then she should have been, and The Order began to track the movements of the Arcana through her salacious behaviour. Their plan was to burn Joan at the stake for crimes against God, but for some strange reason they could never find the young woman Joan was involved with. They eventually convicted her on some ridiculous charge of wearing men’s clothes and burned her anyway.”

Matt shook his head vigorously. “Not true, there was no way I would have let Joan end her days burning in a fire! The Order was a disgusting excuse for cruelty and was determined not to allow women the status in society they deserved.”

Jacks looked at him curiously, “Who was it that burned at the stake then? It was widely reported by witnesses that they watched her burn.”

“Nothing that a corpse from the morgue and a little mass persuasion couldn’t handle,” he looked at Andrew, who smiled back at him acknowledging his compassionate deed. It was surprising how good that smile made him feel.

Jacks carried on with her tale. “The order’s head was none other than Ansel Drukheim, the author of the documents that you referred to Andrew. Of course all of this happened more than 150 years before I was even alive, but I was studying the life and writings of Drukheim, as I was completing a master’s degree in linguistics at the University of Prague in my 26^th year. I began to run across writing after writing of ancient texts that he had collected into binders and stacks upon stacks of notes. All dealt with a card game and the meaning behind the game. At first I thought he had lost his mind and gone crazy, but eventually I began to see behind the writing and realized that he believed the game to be true, or more to the point, he believed the characters of the game to be true. I launched into a prolonged study of his work and finished my degree with a synthesis of the man. I concluded that he had indeed, in his later years, lost his mind, and I effectively discredited him and his work,” she said quietly.

“But you suspected it to be true, didn't you?” Andrew asked incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“She did it Andrew,” Matt interjected, “exactly because she suspected it to be true, and to protect the secret that had for so many millennia before Drukheim been protected, by others of her kind, or at least by those that would eventually be initiated as her kind.”

“Why do you keep talking in riddles?” Andrew stared at him.

“What?” Matt asked innocently.

Jacks answered Andrew and ignored Matt. “He’s trying to be dramatic, but he’s not wrong.”

“Excuse me! Who exactly is in charge here?” Matt asked trying halfheartedly to assert his control once more.

Andrew raised his hand and Jacks pointed at Andrew. Matt threw up his hands in mock frustration. “By all means continue,” he acquiesced.

“Are you telling me that you purposely lied on your thesis to protect Matt’s family?” Andrew asked Jacks.

“Well my reasoning wasn’t so noble, to be honest. I figured that I needed to keep it a secret until I could understand everything that Drukheim had discovered about the Arcana. I would then publish the results under my own name,” she said sheepishly. “But as fate would have it, I had a conversation with a man that changed the course of my life.”

“Time.” Matt said dryly.

"Precisely. He told me I would be made an offer of immortality; that I was destined to enter the ranks of the Arcana. Since then I have served the purposes of the Arcana until 140 years ago, when I was introduced to your boyfriend,” she spoke to Andrew directly. “And, in my own way, in my old age, I have mellowed, and my ambitions turned from the pursuit of power, to my dedication to the service of humanity.”

“Your people would be proud of your dedication Jacks.” Matt said sincerely.

She blushed. “Thank you sir.”

“When do you get to the witch part?” Andrew asked.

“That Andrew is a tale for another day.” Matt said with finality. “Thank you Jacks. Could you leave Andrew and I? I think we are ready for bed; it’s been a long day for the both of us.”

“Certainly sir, do either you need anything before turning in?” She looked to Andrew who shook his head.

“I think we’re both good.” Matt concluded.

“Have a good night to the both of you,” Jacks stood and left quietly leaving them alone once again.

“Did you not know that?”

“I had no idea. I had some suspicions about her longevity, but I did not know the details of her story. In my line of work you get to the point of recognizing the benefit of privacy.”

“This is totally crazy. Who could have imagined that the person whose words we were reading across the world was living in your house back home?”

“Who indeed.” Matt reflected, allowing his thoughts to linger on Time and his hand in this matter. One thing Matt was completely convinced of was that this was no coincidence. Too much was happening too quickly and his senses told him things were about to come to a crashing conclusion. His job now was to try and find out what was happening, and to prevent Andrew from being swept up in the chaos. He looked at his boyfriend affectionately.

“Let’s go to bed babe,” Matt suggested.

Andrew smiled, and approached Matt with an outstretched hand. “Good idea,” Andrew replied trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. The pieces of this puzzle seemed to be falling into place, but the picture could not yet be seen, and he wasn’t sure he was going to like what he saw when it finally came into focus.