The Sixth Key(27)
Rahn was surprised that De Mengel had English connections and he wondered if Weisthor knew.
‘So how much did De Mengel know about Le Serpent Rouge?’
‘De Mengel only knew what I told him,’ Plantard said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is complicated, monsieur. Monti knew of your book Crusade Against the Grail. You see, he wrote your name in a notebook he kept with him always. After his death, I found the notebook and when I saw that he had written your name in it I had to contact you. You can’t imagine my surprise when I found out you’re a member of the SS! After that I spoke to De Mengel. I knew he was having dealings with your superiors and so I told him about Le Serpent Rouge and suggested that he ask for you.’
‘And you’re not afraid of winding up like Monti?’
He smiled. ‘I am nobody. Who would expect that an eighteenyear-old errand boy would know anything?’
‘But here I am, because of an errand boy, one who wants me to find Le Serpent Rouge. My question to you is why?’
‘Look, De Mengel is my superior but I don’t have to like what he’s doing!’ Plantard said, sitting forwards.
‘What is he doing exactly?’
‘He is working for the English Lodges and using the Nazis, you see? But I am of a different mind, monsieur.’
‘A different mind?’
‘One could say I am sympathetic to the aims of the Nazis. One could say that I understand that the unification of our two countries under one national socialist government would be something mutually beneficial.’ He motioned for Rahn to lean in. ‘I have heard about Hitler from the occult circles that I frequent. I know that those who groomed him recognise in him the reincarnation of a powerful magician. So you see, if this grimoire does exist, then only such a man as Hitler can use it to its fullest potential.’ He smiled wetly and his little eyes gleamed. ‘You will tell him this when you see him – that I recognise his genius? He may be interested to know that I am of the lineage of Saint-Clair, and therefore, of Merovingian descent. He will understand that this is the lineage of magicians and the rightful heirs to the throne of France. You will tell him this also?’
‘At the earliest opportunity,’ Rahn lied, feeling an intense dislike for the impertinent and conceited youth.
Plantard nodded, stupidly satisfied, Rahn thought, and searched under the myriad of papers on his desk. ‘If you want to hide something it is best to leave it in plain view, don’t you agree? Here it is!’ He brandished a small book covered in a dark leather binding. The cover was embossed with a gold sigil, or magic symbol: a pentagram inside a heptagon inside a six-pointed star inside another heptagon inside a circle.
‘In the notebook,’ Plantard said, ‘Monti has written down some references to Le Serpent Rouge. Also, he writes that the grimoire was not complete, that there was something missing – a key. Do you know much about grimoires, Monsieur Rahn?’
‘A little. In a grimoire, keys are really formulas one uses to summon demons. The formulas can be in the form of a word, or a sign or sigil.’
‘That’s right, and you see, Monti seemed to think there was one very important key missing from all the grimoires. It looks like he thought you would know where to find it because he has your name in his notebook and a page number from one of your books in reference to it. Monsieur Rahn, one word of advice,’ Plantard said, before handing the notebook to Rahn. ‘Should you decide to go after this Le Serpent Rouge, I would urge you to beware not only physical enemies but also metaphysical ones.’
Rahn laughed. ‘What do you mean, ghosts?’
The man closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘If that were all . . . No. Shortly before Monti died, he took a trip to a small town in Languedoc to see a priest. You will see it says something in the notebook about an abbé, but there is no name. I don’t know where he went exactly but he was gone only a few days. When he returned he was afraid for his soul.’ His lips pulled at the cigarette and he let the smoke out with his words. ‘Whatever the dangers associated with this book, they must be horrible.’
Rahn longed to be gone from the apartment; underlying the smell of sardines and burnt toast was the burgeoning stench of death and decay. He took the notebook and, after some cordial words, saw himself out, feeling intensely disconcerted. In the corridor, pausing to wipe his brow, he noticed a cheap print of a woodcut by Dürer. He had not seen it before because it had been obscured by the door. It was the Apocalyptic Angel, holding the key to the bottomless pit. Rahn paused. Was the Angel in the woodcut banishing a demon to the bowels of Hell or was he setting it loose on humanity? Rahn felt a crawling shiver and left quickly.