The 13th Tablet

‘This is no ordinary patch of land. This is what we call a ‘tell’ in archaeology, a mound, and the nettles here are a sign that the earth contains high levels of nitrates. Human bodies may have been buried here and perhaps other things too.’

She turned to Jack, ‘I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.’

Same day. Hackney warehouse, London.

Shobai was furious. The tablet his men had brought back was an ancient wedding contract written in Akkadian.

‘Ephraim was successful in Malibu, which means that this is your last mission. You two need to return to Hildersham tonight and follow Mina Osman. Find and destroy the tablet. Now go.’

Hildersham. Mulberry Cottage

‘So what do you work on exactly, Daniel?’ asked Mina. ‘All you told me was that you were in Hebrew studies.’

‘I work on a number of magical papyri found in Alexandria.’

‘Wow. Greek or Jewish papyri?’ she asked.

‘Both,’ he answered, with pride.

‘You know there are loads of similar magical Akkadian inscriptions’ she said.

‘I know. I’ve read many translations of omens you guys have found on cuneiform tablets. They’re fascinating,’ Daniel replied.

‘Academics,’ thought Jack, and he rolled his eyes. ‘They might be standing on the brink of disaster but they’ll chat about fascinating inscriptions. Unbelievable.’

‘Well, if you’re into magic, Daniel,’ said Jack, interrupting the scholars, ‘there’s still something I don’t understand.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Daniel, lying back against the couch.

‘How those bastards eluded me so many times,’ said Jack.

‘They’re well trained, I suppose,’ said Daniel.

‘I’m sure they are but believe me Daniel, I’m well trained too,’ Jack replied.

‘Well, how do you explain it?’ asked Daniel, with an air of satisfaction.

‘I can’t,’ said Jack, ‘all I can say is that although I couldn’t see them until it was too late, I could sense their presence. At the British Museum, Mina and I both realised that whenever they were close to us, we caught a whiff of a strange smell. That’s probably how I was sensing their presence, without being aware that it was their smell.’

‘What sort of smell was it?’ asked Daniel.

‘It’s difficult to describe. Wait a minute,’ he searched his pockets and retrieved the shard of the vial he had picked up after the fight at the British Museum. He handed it to Daniel.

‘I know this smell,’ said Daniel.

‘You do?’ asked Jack, genuinely impressed.

‘Yes, it’s oil,’ replied Daniel, feverishly, his eyes lit up.

‘Duh. Thanks Daniel, I’d never have guessed.’

‘No, it’s the oil,’ Daniel whispered. ‘It’s temple oil, Abramelin’s oil, whatever you want to call it.’

‘What’s wrong with the two of you,’ said Jack, looking at Mina and Daniel. ‘Don’t you ever speak English?’

‘I’m pretty lost myself,’ admitted Mina.

‘OK,’ said Daniel, ‘I’m sure you’ve seen countless images of witches stirring weird magical potions in large cauldrons, right?’

‘Yes,’ replied Jack.

‘Well Abramelin’s oil is the ultimate potion. I’m no expert in this, as I’m interested in ancient magical texts, but The Book of Abramelin is a treatise on magic. It was given by an Egyptian magus, Abra-Melin, to Abraham of Worms, a German Jew who lived in the early 15th century. It was used in the last century by people like Alistair Crowley and his secretive followers. According to some scholars, the text itself might have been the invention of another German Jewish Talmudist, Rabbi Yaakov Moelin, who also lived in the early 15th century.’

‘So what?’ asked Jack, impatiently.

‘All in good time,’ said Mina, smiling at Daniel to continue.

‘What else can you expect from an action hero?’ Daniel answered.

Jack scowled at him for a moment, then laughed along with them.

‘So, the oil?’ prompted Jack, gently.

‘Well, as far as I understand it, Abramelin oil is a version of the holy temple oil, as described in Exodus 30. Its ingredients are practically the same.’