The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) Page 8
“Whoa,” said Nicole.
“This is the fastest elevator in North America,” said the squat man. “You’ll never ride anything like it.”
“I should say not,” said Marie.
The glass carriage brought a literal levity to their day. Over the next minute the horizon dropped below them and the buildings of the Toronto skyline, the parts they could see, shrunk to miniatures.
The elevator slowed to a stop. “Welcome to the Sky Pod, see you after your meal.” The squat man smiled and opened the doors.
* * * * *
Chapter 20
Toronto
The three entered the restaurant through a small wood paneled lobby. Dark walnut furnishings accented the room and glass walls slanted out over the city and the lake far below.
The Maître d’ stood behind a computer topped podium. He greeted them and tapped an image of the seating plan on the computer display. A virtual table lit green. He looked up at the three, smiled, and directed them toward the corresponding table at the edge of the room.
Marie and Nicole, fascinated with the view, were drawn to the huge windows. Cameron looked to the interior. He had heard of the infamous wine cellar, the world’s highest. Through double cherry doors, Cameron could see redwood racks stocked with bottle after bottle of wine.
“Incredible,” said Marie, gazing to the shore far across the lake.
“It certainly is,” said Cameron, still looking at the wine cellar.
Cameron, Marie, and Nicole each took a seat at their window side table and the Maître d’ placed menus in front of them. A waiter sidled up to him and then stepped to the table as the Maître d’ stepped away.
“Hello,” said the waiter, “my name is Christophe. Would you like sparkling water today?”
“That would be fine,” said Cameron.
“May I tell you the specials we have today?”
“I believe we know what we will be ordering,” said Marie.
Cameron had not yet opened his menu. He looked across the table to Marie. Her eyes were fixed on the waiter’s. “I understand that you have swan, white swan. We would like that.”
The waiter’s smile fell away and his brow dropped. He quickly scanned Marie, Cameron, and then Nicole. Nicole was lost in her gaze across the lake and indifferent to the waiter’s presence. If the waiter was trying to be nonchalant in his reaction, he failed. He fixed his eyes back onto Marie and then composed himself. His smile returned, tightened and hubristic, “Excellent choice Madame.” Marie handed the waiter her and Nicole’s menus, as did Cameron. “I will alert the chef,” said the waiter, he nodded, and then went to the kitchen.
Cameron turned to the window and tilted his head to the side, “I have to say, that was efficient. I have never had white swan.”
“Nor will you Mister Kincaid, the white swan has long been a symbol of the Cathar. They have been waiting for us.”
“They, you mean they are Cathar as well?”
“In a matter of speaking. There have always been those that help us. The believers who adhere to the Cathar ideal but are not austere. They do not aspire to become Perfects.”
“Like laymen?”
“We have no hierarchy as such. The austere Cathar are Perfects and all other believers are Credentes. The dedications of the believers range from follower and supporter of the traditions to that of austerity. Nicole and I are Credentes.”
“Perfects and Credentes.”
Not shifting her view from the water, Nicole spoke, “Not everyone that has accepted the true belief is prepared to separate from this world. For some it takes many lives. They are still bon gens.”
“Good people.”
“Yes, the good people, the pure ones and those that strive to be pure. The followers of the true faith.”
“And women, they can be either Credentes or Perfects?”
“The bon gens have always believed in female equality. It is yet another reason for the Rex Mundi to despise us. All souls are equal, and through their reoccurring physical manifestations may take the form of either man or woman.”
“That does not sound like equality to me,” said Cameron.
“How so?”
“I just heard you say that women are treated equally perchance they were men in their last lives, that does not sound like real equality.”
“That is not how we see it. We see souls without gender, equal regardless of their previous manifestations. We were the first to believe that the New Testament was for everyone, not only the church.”
“I bet that went over well too.”
Cameron did not need to see past the swing doors into the kitchen to know there was a disturbance. The commotion was audible to the table. Raised whispers over raised whispers escalated. The excitement of the kitchen staff caught the attention of the Maître d’ strolling beside a row of window tables. Cameron saw the Maître d’ turn toward the kitchen, brow down, mouth agape, and hands spread away from his chest. The Maître d’ was in an exchange with someone out of Cameron’s view. The Maître d’s eyes went tight and he stepped fast into the kitchen. The whispers died down and then the Maître d’ slid his head into view from the doorway. He peered at the table, said something Cameron could not make out, and then moved back to the kitchen.
“Well. You have their attention,” said Cameron.
“As we should,” said Marie.
* * * * *
Chapter 21
Toronto
Christophe came out of the kitchen a moment later carrying a large tray, his chin high and eyes set forward in the stance of a professional. The Maître d’ trailed behind Christophe, his posture as disciplined as the waiter. The gold foil of a champagne bottle poked out of the silver bucket tucked under the Maître d’s arm. Their march as uniformed as any soldier’s, the Maître d’ and Christophe made a sharp right angle turn toward the table. A tall lean bus boy scurried out of the kitchen carrying a stand for the bucket in one hand and a stand for the tray in the other and maneuvered around them to get to the table first. The dance could not have been choreographed any better. The bus boy set up the stands, and as swiftly, Christophe and the Maître d’ interwove around him resting the platter and bucket then set to work immediately. “Monsieur, Madame, Madame,” said the Maître d’. He had not spoken when seating them and now the words rushed from his mouth, “I am sure that you will find this bottle to your liking.” He held the champagne above the table, turned from the table to the platter and picked up a large knife. Cameron had performed this trick many times himself and knew what was coming next. The Maître d’ lifted the knife high above the neck of the bottle and then brought the knife down onto the cork with a pop, releasing a small spout of bubbly foam. Christophe placed four small plates of food on the table, two in each hand, and then produced three flutes from the tray. As each flute was placed in front of one of the restaurant’s special guests, the Maître d’ filled them with champagne.
Marie and Nicole held hands and recited the Lord’s Prayer. Cameron smiled across the table at Marie when the prayer was finished and she returned the smile in her eyes.
Christophe placed four more small plates onto the quickly crowding table and the bus boy leaned over Cameron’s other shoulder to fill the water glasses.
“Today you will be having an assortment of tastes from our kitchen. I am sure you will find them appropriate and to your liking.” Christophe gestured to each of the plates and began to list off the delicacies that occupied them. “Here you will find morels stuffed with garlic and almond, olives anchova, pesto rossa made with sun-dried tomatoes and bell pepper, no cheese in this,” Christophe winked after he added that necessary qualifier. He then went to the next plate, “Wild mushroom, morel again, and asparagus ravioli, also no cheese, zucchini carpaccio, crispy eggplant with tomatoes and basil, baby artichokes in a black truffle sauce, and lastly, chanterelle mushroom on wheat berry risotto with sage leaves.”
Christophe stood straight and placed his hands togethe
r in front of him.
“The presentation is excellent,” said Cameron, “very… Provencal.”
“Very good Monsieur,” said Christophe, then closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Christophe then glanced down at Marie. Cameron could tell that Christophe was obviously waiting for a comment. Marie placed both of her hands flat on the table, looked across to Cameron, and then surveyed the foods Christophe had presented.
Christophe drew his next few words slowly, “Our apologies Madame, perhaps we have offered too many mushroom dishes?”
Languidly Marie turned her head up toward Christophe, his opened mouth smile turning to an inviting gape, his head beginning to droop. “Disappointing,” said Marie, “mushrooms in any form disagree with me.” Christophe’s head shot back up and his smile went full, “I am sure Madame will find these mushroom’s very much to her liking.” The Maître d’ approached the table slightly nudging Christophe for position and produced a plate domed with a silver lid. “I think you will find these sweets to your liking as well,” said the Maître d’. He placed the plate on the table and bowed. Christophe and the bus boy bowed as well. “Bénisse, personne n'est content que nous,” they said almost in unison. Marie and Nicole bowed their heads back at them and repeated the greeting. The Maître d’ then, along with the bus boy, turned away from the table and headed back toward the kitchen. Christophe lifted his hands, still clasped together, to his chest, “If you need anything, let me know. The bus boy will be bringing some bread shortly. We are baking it fresh for you.”
“Merci,” said Marie. “Merci,” said Cameron and Nicole.
After Christophe left for the kitchen, Cameron put his hands on his lap. “This food looks marvelous,” said Cameron. “Too bad about the mushrooms, the chanterelles are a delicacy.”
Marie reached over to the stuffed mushrooms and picked one up, “Actually I prefer morels,” said Marie, and then bit into the cap. “Yum, delicious.”
“But I thought you said…”
Nicole interrupted, “She said what she was supposed to, ordering the white swan was not enough.”
“Oh,” said Cameron.
Marie lifted the domed lid from the plate revealing an envelope pinned between small cakes. She took the envelope, broke the wax seal, and then lifted the flap to look inside. “The question was a secondary measure. The information in this envelope is quite precious. These gentlemen do not even know its contents.”
“It is the location of the Perfect. Correct?”
“Yes. A new envelope is sent by messenger each week and the one from the week before is destroyed by fire in the presence of at least three.”
Cameron put his fork into an olive, “And you know this because…” asked Cameron. He put the olive into his mouth. Nicole answered, “Our security methods are old, simple, and efficient. This is the way this has been done for hundreds of years.”
“But if somebody got a hold of the envelope, they would have the secret.”
Marie handed the envelope across the table, “It would mean nothing to anyone other then those sending and those for whom it is intended. Even our friends here would not know the meaning.”
Cameron took the envelope and looked inside. On a small card was a blue outline of a dove. “And you know what this means?” asked Cameron.
“It means you will need a big appetite,” said Marie.
* * * * *
Chapter 22
Toronto
They arrived at their next destination soon after leaving the CN Tower. Though the distance was short enough to walk, Marie suggested they park the car a few blocks away. After finding a public lot to park near Trinity College, they walked over to Yonge Street.
They easily found the address they were looking for. Built some time near the beginning of the last century, the two-story building was sandwiched between two others from different eras, one more ancient, and the other no more than a decade old. Though Yonge Street was a long established Toronto artery, Cameron could see no main architectural theme. A few blocks toward the lake from where they stood, forty story buildings randomly shot up interspersed with two and three story buildings, an architectural potpourri. Cameron remembered reading somewhere that Yonge Street was the longest street in the world and wondered now if a lack of continuity shouldered the curbs the entire thousand-mile length.
When they got to the building Cameron understood why Marie quipped that he may need a big appetite. The remark had been an attempt at humor.
Across the first floor glass facade were the words ‘Thai Lotus Flower Restaurant’ in tall saffron letters above and below a sizable disk of the same color. A lotus flower was stenciled within the disk, a simple Buddhist mandala Cameron recognized from his trips to the Far East.
The modern dining room was overdone in saffron. Geometric shaped panels of coarse saffron fabric covered the saffron walls and cushioned benches of the same shade ran the full length of the room. Several dark wooden tables lined the benches and a few larger round tables ran through the center of the room. Large milky globes, giant upside down lollipops thought Cameron, hung from the ceiling in two uniformed rows, bathing the room in an even ambient light.
At the back of the restaurant was a backlit acrylic wall with water cascading down the face. Seated in front of the water wall a thin Thai Buddha statue sitting cross-legged and open palmed, smiled softly at the room already busy with an early dinner crowd of tourists grabbing a bite on their way to or from one of the many musicals that played in the area.
“So how does a blue dove equate to a Thai restaurant?” asked Cameron.
“It was not a blue dove,” said Marie, “it was a zebra dove.”
Cameron smirked at Marie and Nicole added, “The zebra dove is native to Thailand.”
“So you knew that symbol meant the Lotus Flower?”
“So we knew,” said Marie.
Cameron pulled open the heavy glass door and gestured to Marie and Nicole to step inside. A warm vapor of ginger wafted passed them through the door. A young thin Thai man with scruffy orange hair and a shiny blue silk suit greeted them with an open smile that lowered his jaw down to his collar. “I have this,” said Cameron to Marie. He then said to the man, “Swạsdī reā kảlạng mxng hā pheụ ̀xn.”
The man’s jaw came together and the corners of his mouth pulled back. “Listen fella,” said the young man, “I barely speak the old language.”
“Sorry,” said Cameron, “I said that we were looking for a friend.”
“A lot of people here tonight.” The young man craned his head back behind him to view the entirety of the room, “Do you see your friend?”
Marie glanced at Cameron and then leaned to the man’s ear. Though she whispered, Cameron could hear the two words clearly. They were ‘white swan’.
The man’s smile returned to an open jaw and he lifted his right hand to the side of his head to run his fingers through his already mussed hair. “Ah,” said the young man, “I know your friend, and I will take you to her. Follow me.” He turned into the dining room and headed to the back of the room without turning back, taking long strides with his lean limber body. The three exchanged satisfied glances and began to pursue the young man before he left them behind.
Large portions of noodles and rice filled each table they passed, offering aromas of basil, ginger, or the unmistakable tang that could only come from sweet chili sriracha, and when they entered the kitchen, those aromas grew substantially. New and clean with lots of stainless steel, the kitchen was an organized pandemonium of saffron bloused wait staff along one side and a line of scurrying cooks along the other. Large bright white ceramic tiles covering the walls echoed back all of the clanging and chirping of the busy hour. Nicole ducked her head down to see below the many pans hanging above a center counter to see what she could of the gas stove tops shooting flames against the far wall and the three short Thai cooks that each appeared to have three to four arms at the speed which they were moving.
Halfway through the kitchen the orange haired man slipped around the end of a stainless counter that hugged the wall and pushed a tall stainless steel metro rack forward to reveal a pocket door. He then slid open the pocket door and disappeared into the wall. The three followed him inside to a small room. To the right was a stack of empty crates and large bags of onions and rice, to the left dozens of plastic containers full of dried spice filled another metro rack. The orange haired man pulled the spice covered rack away from the wall revealing yet another pocket door. Behind this door was a stairwell that led back toward the front of the building, lit only by a small window at the top of the stairs. Close behind each other, Cameron, Marie, and Nicole squeezed through the space between the metro rack and the doorframe and climbed the creaky wooden steps.
Standing below the small circular window on the top landing, the young man’s orange hair looked dirty brown and his blue suit no longer had sheen. Without the flamboyant props and animated smile Cameron saw the young man for what he was, a boy in his late teens.
The young man wrapped on a metal door in a broken rhythm, waited a second, and then repeated. The door opened as Nicole reached the landing. At the top of the door, a thin brass security chain kept the door from opening more than a few inches. Near the bottom of the door, Cameron could see a heavy steel chain was also in place. The young man rattled off something in Thai that sounded to Cameron loosely translated like ‘they have arrived’. Cameron turned to Marie and Nicole and grinned. The young man had developed a sudden recollection of the old language.