The Street Had No Name

Chapter 15

BERLIN, 1942

Von Triffel was angry, not that you would know. His temperament was such as to never display any emotion, well, not display it in any accepted fashion. Suffice to say those that knew him could sense his mood but on the surface his true soul was a mystery. Now, he was angry.

It was his birth right as Master of the North to protect The Order; that and the quest to find and secure The Fourth Scroll. All his life, since the time his grandfather first made him aware of his position in the scheme of things, sitting by the lake in the Austrian Alps, all those years prior, as the smoke from the family pension sat heavy on the early evening air, as the words of duty and intent flowed from the man to the boy; he had been aware.

That he could be the one that could bring about the reunification of The Scrolls was an honour that would go beyond words, an honour that he alone would have. This piddling little war, that he was for the most part responsible for organising, was not going to stop this happening.

The confusion it brought and ultimately, the profit it returned to all sectors of The Order paled into insignificance in comparison to the wonderment of the secrets of The Fourth Scroll. To have the power of Conjunction it would bring, to have what had been separated those thousands of years ago.

The damned fool of a house painter was demanding his presence. Demanding; how dare the upstart command anything of him. He was becoming a problem. The course of this race was set and caused to be by powers far greater than any single man, or nation for that fact. The Order was in control. Already the war machines were running at full throttle and the oil being applied was profit to The Order.

There could be nothing allowed to interfere with the realisation of his dream. Since the gathering the night prior, all efforts were made to trace the thing, the village was St. Michael by name although that meant nothing to Von Triffel, the hiding place sought and found and the fact that The Scroll was gone established.

A complete list of all the Jews of Sainte-Bazeille was delivered to his office in the Reichschancellery and with a little supposition he had ascertained that the Rabbi, Dr Solomon Bidderman was not among any of the repatriated Jews of this small town. A dispatch was sent and word had been received back that the majority of the folk from the town had been intercepted and segregated from a train heading north east towards Poland. It was now being bought to Berlin at full speed, one or two were yet to be traced but traced they would be for the German’s life force was paper, record-keeping its pulse and ink its blood. Von Triffel wanted as much information as he could get from these people. He was sure Bidderman had The Scroll. Find Bidderman and it was his.

His appointment with Hitler was for 16:00. He knew that he would have to placate the silly little man. Not only that but one or two of his deputies were starting to believe their own bullshit. Believe the “Master-Race” propaganda that Von Triffel had assisted in creating through the ministry of that half-whit Goebbels. History would, he was sure, see Goebbels as a mastermind. In fact he was just a second-rate history tutor who was putty in Von Triffel’s hands. Nothing that was the story of the Reich was not from Von Triffel, yet he was content to let the little man have the glory, it suited him and The Order.

Regardless of what was to happen, he would control it, whatever the “it” was. To assist in the machinations that were the Reich, Von Triffel had allowed a little peasant magic to be employed. How he smiled at the visions of all these middle-aged men prancing around naked with virgins in the name of the Dark Forces.

He would have to admit if questioned that the idea of using this ploy, to commit them almost to a man to the concept of Witchcraft and Devil Worship, was not truly his own, it had been something his grand-father had used once before, to control and influence the Tsar. The beauty of it was that they became slaves to their fear of the activity.

The little magic needed to manifest things was small beer to The Order, and he was able to make most of the suggestions come as visitations in this forum. Von Triffel took the role of the leader of their sect.

He fabricated a history for it and used it to control them all, none the least Adolph Hitler, who would do nothing without having Von Triffel consult the Dark Lord. The corner of his mouth twitched into the smoke of a smile, something he would only do when by himself, never do to have the troglodytes see his levity, not when he struck so much fear into their souls.

Considering the power Von Triffel had over all that was Nazi Germany, he was a spectre, nowhere was his name recorded; nowhere was his activity reported. He existed but did not. Such was the way of The Order.

More so, so was the way of The Great Powers. The very notion that there was either good or bad was to attack the concept that was The Great Powers as a kindergarten student would applied calculus. The concept of God, Devil, Good, Bad, Karma or whatever were just the trappings required to keep people away from the knowledge.

Von Triffel prepared for the meeting. He considered that perhaps he would have to action some control. That upstart Himmler was causing more than a little concern with his SS and Gestapo. He had sent a memo to Von Triffel instructing him to attend the registry to organise a pass for himself and his staff. Von Triffel hit his hand on the table slapping the memo, with its gold print heading claim to be from the desk of the Reich general.

It was time for Von Triffel to give them a little of a push again. He had to admit that since “The Night of the Long Knives” his power had been absolute and his anonymity more so. It was just time to give it all a little shove. What was making him angry was that he would have to attend to it today, today when he was on the scent of The Fourth Scroll. Damn these farts of men to their hells, something he was only too happy to assist them to.

He often mused what would have happened if The North Order had decided to sponsor the communist regime in Germany. The thought of a soviet republic covering the continent was interesting to him but there had been one or two problems controlling the Russians. Stalin was just too ignorant to be subtly controlled. His regime was following the paths set but at times, they seemed to come up against The Order and the control was wafer thin. Von Triffel was just a little concerned about the Bear. He was glad now that they had decided on the side of caution and not allowed it to happen.

How he had decided one afternoon, while fly fishing on the very lake where his grandfather had passed on the secrets to him, to support the little Austrian, at that time languishing in goal, and likely to do so for quite a while without his intervention.

He discussed this with both his father and grandfather, it was just prior to Manfred Von Triffel Senior’s death, and his father was ready to take over the mantel. They agreed and the rest was history. Well, history to this time at least.

The rest would be history one way or the other. For now, The Scroll was all that mattered. Germany, the Reich, all of it, was of so little import that Von Triffel was completely disinterested. In much the way a hungry dog will drop one bone for another. He mused about it, to be able to bring all things together. Then, power and control and its trappings would be The Order’s to take and have forever.