fiction
Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 17
They thought they’d discovered ancient scrolls, retrieved by the Templars during the Crusades. The scrolls supposedly said that Jesus was descended from a race of sorcerers that once ruled the long-vanished continent of Lemuria, hence his ability to do miracles. They were, of course, incorrect.
I got down on my hands and knees just as my housekeeper came in to offer me tea.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Creating a trail of breadcrumbs for your favourite secret society,” I replied.
“And what will that do?”
“People are more trusting of information they discover for themselves. Especially if they work it out from just a few hints. So, I’m going to set things up and give them a couple of nudges in the right direction.”
“Is that it?”
“Look, this is my first parish. There are senior people involved. I can’t just expose them any more than you can. Instead, I’m going to get them to destroy themselves.”
“By creating a trail of breadcrumbs?”
I moved to a kneeling position, then said, “I’m giving them what they want. A chance to discover things for themselves. To find out that they’ve been misled. To prove they know more than the conventional wisdom. I’ll give them clues to follow, which will lead them to ancient documents containing hidden truths.”
“I still don’t see how that will destroy them.”
“Because I am only going to give this ineffable cosmic wisdom to some of them. The others I’ll enlighten with different occult knowledge.”
“Ah, starting a schism which will tear them apart.”
“Exactly. Did you know that St. James, Sutley, is 22 miles from St. Johns in Nebeck?”
“No. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Because if you multiply seven – which is, of course, a mystical and holy number – by Pi – another mysterious number, discovered by ancient philosophers - it comes to 22. Roughly. Which means there must be something important at Nebeck, because otherwise it wouldn’t be at such a magical distance from Sutley.”
“Isn’t Nebeck in the next diocese?”
“Yes, and according to your notes, all the Sons of Jesus Lemurian are from this diocese. Interestingly, until the 1700’s, Nebeck was part of this Diocese, but then the boundaries were moved.”
“Why did they do that?”
“You are phrasing the question incorrectly. It would be far better to ask, isn’t it rather curious that they should move Nebeck to a different diocese? Did they move it to another diocese to hide something? You don’t really think it was for administrative reasons, do you?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“It happened 300 years ago, and I have no way of knowing – and nor do they. The point is that they will get very excited by it. It will become automatic proof of something quite irrational.”
Abigail nodded. “Yes, I can see how it will work,” she said. “But how will you give them the first breadcrumb?”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit. I will discover ancient scrolls in the burnt out remains of St. James. I won’t quite understand them, but I’ll take them to someone I heard has taken an interest in such matters. Perhaps he will be able to enlighten me.”
“I am not very good at forgery. Are you?”
“It wasn’t a required subject at theological college, but no matter. I know someone who might help.”
While she left to make a cup of tea, I phoned Porker, one of the Hells Angels.
Once the ritual greetings were done, I said. “Al tells me you’re a trained artist.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Did a two-year course at college.”
“Would you be interested in a commission? What’s your standard rate?”
I suppose I could have tried to wheedle a freebie from him, but if he was doing it for money, then it would only cause resentment. Still, I have a reasonable amount of money to my name, as after my father died, I sold the family business for a decent amount of money, and then invested it carefully. My father had made sure I understood money, even though it has been useful not to mention this to the Diocese. I could afford the rates Porker quoted without worrying about touching my capital.
“Can I come around and show you what I want in a couple of night’s time?”
“Sure. Look forward to it.”
That arrangement made, I returned to the maps. With a ruler and a calculator, I located three other churches that were at distances that could be fudged by multiplying “mystic” numbers by other “significant” numbers. Sometimes the figures wouldn’t come out exactly, but that wasn’t a problem. That would just be proof that modern science didn’t know everything or was trying to cover something up. It just made the case that much stronger.
I sat back, reflecting on the strange, inverse-intellectualism of the conspiracy theorist – and after all, cults like the Sons of Jesus Lemurian were cut from the same cloth.
Then the top button of my trousers pinged off.
I climbed the stairs to the upstairs bathroom with a sense of trepidation and weighed myself on the scales left by the previous incumbent. Not something that I would normally bother with, trusting in my youth and modest lifestyle to keep me fit. But I had been eating Abigail Horton’s cooked breakfasts and dinners since she murdered her husband. I won’t bore you with the numbers, but it was clear that I would have to do something about my weight before it got out of hand.
Disclaimer: In his calculating of distances between churches and noting that the numbers do not always arrange themselves according to correct principles, Rev. David Wilson reveals that he is unaware that mathematics is frequently deceptive, and that one should not place one’s trust in equations.