The Sixth Key(142)
Her hand moved, unbidden, away from the fire. She looked down at it in horror. She was being manipulated against her will. ‘No!’ she cried.
Rahn could not let them have the book, but what could he do? At that moment fate decided that question because the Countess P’s clock struck twelve. The noise of it broke into the silence like a horn blast. Its chime echoed from the stony walls and cowled heads turned this way and that to look for its source. Rahn did the only thing he could do then, being the inept hero that he was. He stood and threw the clock as hard as he could, aiming it at the madame. It hit her and the shock caused her to drop the book, and once again it landed close to the great fire.
The fake inspector leapt forward to grab it. At the same time the old woman let go an ungodly scream and lunged with an unexpected fierceness, colliding with him and causing him to lose his balance so that he fell backwards into the flames. He caught alight immediately. He dropped the book into the blaze as he tried to get up, yelling and screaming and flapping his flaming arms in a directionless, terrified panic of anguish and pain, before falling again. His men at arms rushed to him, trying to pull him from the flames, but it was too late. There arose a cacophony of disapprobation and surprise and finally of terror and of disgust, and the gathering dissolved in all directions.
Rahn saw Eva get up but he hesitated, drawn by the horror of the spectacle. She nudged him with her shoe, breaking the spell, and in a moment he was following her through the passage, running, stumbling, falling, ascending, turning and ascending again. It seemed like an eternity before they reached the grilled door, out of breath and weary. Behind them, they heard the growls of the rabid dogs drawing nearer. There was no time to pause. Rahn followed Eva out of the grotto of Mary Magdalene and closed the gate. Eva stumbled and nearly fell but he caught her by the arm. There was a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder as they clambered through the turmoil of leaves and dirt and branches that the wind had whipped up. He felt like a child again, running with lightning through the forests near his home. But once more, he didn’t sense the sovereign protection of Michael the dragon slayer, the feeling that good always triumphs over evil, and he wondered, as he ran with his heart in his throat, how he had ever imagined that Hell could lead to Heaven.
‘They’re coming!’ Eva said, beside him.
The dogs of the Underworld were not far behind; they would soon be at their heels.
‘Don’t look back!’ Rahn shouted.
When they got to the Peugeot it was locked and it took a precious moment for Deodat to recognise their panic and to open the door. Rahn threw Eva in first, following her into the back seat and closing the door seconds before the hounds were at the car. Rahn climbed into the front seat and turned the ignition with a trembling hand. It wouldn’t start. He tried again. Black figures were moving in the night towards them. The dogs threw themselves against the car with such fury that he heard the dinting of metal. He tried again and the car grumbled to life.
He backed out of the hiding spot and skidded off onto the narrow road, leaving behind the pursuing hounds and whatever else might be chasing them. Almost on cue, icy rain poured down in great sheets, lightning flashed again and thunder rumbled, as if Hell had broken loose.
50
Two Places at Once?
‘It is a secret about a secret that is based on a secret.’
Imam Ja’far Sadiq Henri Corbin, Historia de la Filosofia Siglo
They arrived at the village of Rennes-les-Bains and, following Deodat’s directions, they crossed the rain-slashed street and made their way over the footbridge that spanned the River Sals. Beneath them the river rushed, swollen and tortured. Deodat led them to a house near Place des Deux owned by an old and trusted friend.
Gaspar welcomed them without fanfare or question. He was a tall, thick-set man of about fifty, a veteran of the last war, and Rahn immediately felt safe in his company. Once inside, in the light, Gaspar took in their appearance but he didn’t look particularly perturbed. He was obviously not the sort of man for effusive gestures. He said, ‘I guess you’ll be wanting a coffee?’
Rahn was shown to the bathroom and stood at the mirror staring at his unrecognisable reflection: his bloodshot eyes looked out from red-rimmed sockets; under the left one a gash had crusted over; above the right eye there was a sizeable bruise; he touched his swollen split lip and winced. He removed his fedora. Under it, his hair was filthy, in fact all his clothes were soiled beyond recognition. He filled the dirty sink with water and took the half-used cake of soap in his hands and began to wash.
He dressed in some spare clothes that Gaspar had given him and looked at himself in the mirror again. The shirt and jacket were too big and emphasised the lean, hungry look he’d developed these last days. But there was more to it. He felt like he had passed through some terrible illness that had left him inexorably changed, both physically and mentally. With those events at the hermitage locked behind his eyes, he went to the small room at the back of the house where Deodat lay. He tried to put on a brave face but Deodat looked terrible.