“As the church-bells chimed nine o‘clock, on a cold, rainy Sunday night, the frail shadow of a young-woman‘s silhouette painted the gothic architectural structures of the village of Knightingale. The paraffin flickering of the old, victorian street-lamps, commonly found in London and Edinburgh, cast a hazy beam of light, illuminating the vast array of street cobbles, along the village-green. The young woman was frail. She moved at a quickening pace, carefully turning her head, to glance at the dark, empty area in the village behind. Aware that she was being followed, she began to run towards the nearby vicarage. As she ran, tripping on the treacherous cobbles, her shadow loomed across the great, Norman-structure as she approached the vestry. An owl‘s hoots alarmed her. She stopped, catching her breath, as her heartbeats raced and crescendoed. In fear of her life, the young woman took no chances and hid within the shadows of the monolithic enclave. As she waited, knowing this could be her long-awaited encounter with fate, the sound of a man running suddenly, from across the green, towards the vestry could be discerned amidst the pouring rain. The young woman began to breathe heavily. What was it she feared? Did she know this man? Was he following her? Why was he following her? All of these questions came to mind. However, the young woman had been entrusted and sworn to secrecy, to protect the sanctity of an establishment so powerful, anyone who knew, would kill to possess it. As the man slowly entered the enclave, he stopped. His profile visible to the young woman. Without a glance, the man removed his trilby with a calm charisma, and with a low, paternal voice, he said; “Madame X... El Maestro has been expecting you. Please, come with me. I have been charged to escort you to Knightingale Court..."