Rahn said, ‘Do you know who took Deodat?’
‘I believe he is being held by some very ruthless people.’ The man squatted, light on his toes, and pushed the hat back from his sizeable forehead with his gun, in a poor imitation of Humphrey Bogart in Bullets or Ballots.
Rahn felt a welling up of anger and impatience and disdain and he made to get up but the man aimed the gun at a place between his eyes and calmly said, ‘I would like you to remain seated, if you please. Think of it this way, if you die . . . what will become of your friend? This will only take a moment.’ He considered his next words as if he were choosing from a menu in which every item sounded as good as the next. Finally he settled on: ‘The people who have your friend may be encouraging you to find—’ he smiled again, ‘—let us call it, a dangerous and very powerful article. Perhaps Deodat is their insurance that you will do so with haste, am I right?’
Rahn was shaking from anger and from cold and exasperation because the following words were indeed the truth, ‘I don’t know!’
The man’s smile turned sympathetic, an old friend commiserating with another. Rahn didn’t know if a compassionate villain made things better or worse. ‘Now as far as who has your friend,’ the man continued, ‘if it is the penitents, those Satan-worshipping Jesuits, then his soul is already lost; if it is Association Angelica . . . well, one cannot even imagine what those war-mongering royalists are doing to him.’ He sighed, and scratched his cheek with the barrel of the gun pensively. It was the natural gesture of an artisan’s familiarity with his tool of trade and it made Rahn nervous. ‘If either of those brotherhoods have him – trust me, if he is not already dead, he will be praying for it. People like that can make death seem like a holiday.’ He laughed, and turned around to his fellow, who made a smirk and a huff.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘if the penitents have him, they are saving him for midnight tonight, the beginning of The Day of the Dead. They’ll use him in their ritual, that is, the one they hope they can enact when you find them the article. They will gut him while still alive, on a black onyx table with a knife shaped like an angled snake. That’s the usual fare, isn’t it, Dragomir?’
The man grunted, acknowledging the fair estimation.
‘Dragomir should know – they cut out his tongue! That is what they usually do for minor infringements.’
Rahn’s eyes widened.
The other man nodded sadly.
‘On the other hand, if it is Association Angelica that has him, then there is no problem.’
Rahn raised a brow. Was there a hope?
‘No problem,’ the man continued, ‘because he would be dead by now. So you see, handing over your findings to either of these groups, in the hopes of saving your friend’s life, would not be profitable.’
Rahn felt a grey cloud overtake him and he was terrified he was going to faint. He bit his lip. ‘Who are you from – AGLA?’
The man looked surprised and there was more than a little admiration on his face. ‘You’ve worked out something about AGLA? That is good! That priest at Rennes-le-Château was trying to steer you away from himself because he belonged to the penitents. He is the one who desecrated that church with the ancient symbol.’
‘I knew it!’ Rahn said, and then a thought occurred to him, ‘Belonged?’
The man looked down a moment, as if trying to broach what must be delicate matters. ‘Poor Abbé Lucien is at this moment hanging by one leg upside down from a tree near Couiza. His hands dangle downwards and he has one leg bent backwards and tied behind him. After all, he is a betrayer of secrets.’
‘You killed him?’ Rahn screeched.
The other raised his brows, and the look was of mild incredulity. ‘Me . . . personally?’ He shook his head. No.’
Rahn remembered how Abbé Gélis’s carcass had also been left in the shape of the hanged man tarot card – along with a calling card from Association Angelica. ‘Was it AA?’
The man nodded, expelling his breath in a whistle again and in a conspiratorial tone whispered, ‘But they are the least of your problems. You should be worried about AGLA. They are not far behind you.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because we are watching them, watching you. It is only a matter of time before they catch you and then . . . well . . .’ He smiled, as if this itself said all there was to say.
Rahn could hear the sound of a bird cawing, otherwise all was still. The fog was moving over the ground with stealth. He wondered if he was about to die here in this godforsaken place.