Before he stepped out of his home, John Dee searched for his handkerchief pouch. It lay by his bed upon the small wooden table. He found it and headed downstairs to the kitchen to find the fresh thyme that Katherine had brought in. He plucked off the leaves from the sprigs until he had a full pouch of the herb. Katherine had offered to help John with his clothes, but he refused politely. He wanted to do it himself. He wanted to have the agency. After taking up his cane for his jaunt and adjusting his cap upon his white wispy hair, John stepped out onto the brisk cold air of Mortlake.

  Mortlake, like many of the boroughs of London, was going through a change of religious attitude. With the coronation of King James, the schism between Catholics and Protestants began to narrow. As it turned out, the two ideals were seemingly united against the common threat of witchcraft. As it turned out, an enemy of Lucifer and his familiars is a friend of theirs.

  John heard of and had seen many groups of uneducated masses gathering under moonlight or by the fires of taverns to discuss the methods to be employed in their hunts for the heretical witches and warlocks. John had heard of his name mentioned a few times, but never acted upon. Whether he was considered a threat or not, his name still carried the weight of the Tudor dynasty. Only the Witch Hunters, sanctioned by the King himself, would have the right to apprehend him. But as John found out, they didn't care for him either. And so John found himself to be a rare spectator to the hysteria and paranoia caused by his craft. John wrinkled his nose at the notion that unwashed fools would the audacity to think that their ape-like methods would seriously put a stop to the ever-marching of magic and to science.

  Nothing has changed. They are still ignorant and cruel. So human, so utterly flawed… But try as the fools might, he thought as he crossed the borough on his way towards the Thames, they will fail. There are truly great forces at work that shall triumph in the end. And I shall be one of them.

  When the great city’s river was in his sight, John brought out his thyme pouch and inhaled the scent deeply. He was certainly grateful for bringing the pouch. He reached the riverside and looked down at the churning water that rushed past him. Within its depths, John knew with dread that excrement, dead animals and waste would join in the river as it traveled further into the city. The stench was already in the air around him though. His nose wrinkled evermore and he inhaled a deep gasp of the fragrant herb. Such respite was sorely needed for his now heightened sense of smell. John started his walk along the Thames, heading east and his mind then began to wander.

  What a shame. This river at the start of its grand journey was clean, clear and good. But once it reaches humanity… they mistreat it like a lame dog. They throw waste and burden upon it without so much as a care for its own well being. And the rest of us must suffer for such an atrocity… Oh, God…this stench.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He took in another relieving breath.

  This smell… It is the truth of the world. It is the corruption of sin. It is the evil of the universe. What is the river if not the purity and divinity of the universe? And mankind is the evil… They call themselves pious to their family and friends, but in the face of God? Or true power? They would quail, they would cower before such kismet. It is people like me who are the pure. The chosen. We who can escape the prison of our sinful bodies through the acts of contrition and spartanism.

  And there… There can we be accepted as divine. Through our understanding, not by our ignorance.

  With that thought, John reached up and scratched at the scar of the Monas Hieroglyphica upon his left breast. Maddeningly, it stung and irked him at various occasions during his days. He remembered carving the sigil into his own flesh as per to the instructions of Lucifer. And when he did, he swore that he felt a sudden change in his body. Everything began to register with him more keenly. He could smell the mud coming from Katherine’s shoes when she returned. He could actually feel the softness of his bed when he went to sleep that night. And his mind… his mind whirred on faster and harder than even before. Truly, the Monas had acted as a gateway to a world and had unlocked a potential in John’s body that he did not know that was there. It powered him. It gave him life like sun did for the flowers.

  John nodded. Of course, as per the Gnostic Beliefs; if once inscribed a representation of the universe within his own mens - his physical form -, Man itself could ascend. John had thought that the mens was his home, his place of rest and learning. He had inscribed the Monas on the wood supports in his home without much success. He had carved in the sigil on the floor and the walls, in many sizes. None resulted in success. He had never thought to do so with his own flesh however. That was the key. Of course it was. The power and magic of creation originated from the human body and mind. Man, that was formed in God’s image. Surely then, that is why Man have the power to control matter itself…

  A connecter of power was required, in which the Monas performed adequately. John had all he required, all that Lucifer had promised him.

  But John was not a fool. Before the cutting began, he had asked Lucifer if he was lying. Lucifer had cooly replied that he has never lied. He only spoke Truth.

  “Truth,” he said, “is a weapon that can be utilised if one knows how to handle it. Truth can cut deeper than any lie ever could. A lie brings feigned comfort. A truth smashes that comfort. So I swear to you, I speak the Truth. Always and forevermore…”

  John stopped by a stone wall and leant against it to watch the late autumn clouds drift over the city. He nodded in silent agreement with his memory of Lucifer.

  Truths are powerful. Lies are weaknesses. I have known many who used lies to exploit my great learning and skills for their own betterment. None more callous and foolhardy as that lad; Edward Kelley.