‘I know there’s something about the eyes – the pupils. They either contract or dilate . . .’
She wasn’t listening. ‘I still don’t understand how this has anything to do with my uncle.’
‘I think that your uncle is the priest this man Monti came to see and I also think that the list of priests has something to do with the missing key. On his return to Paris, Monti—’
‘The man with the notebook?’
‘Yes. Monti grew afraid and for good reason, since he was soon murdered. I think that Inspecteur Beliere turned up so promptly, miles from his jurisdiction, because he was watching your uncle.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I saw a car parked on the road nearby the Maison de Cros when we left for Bugarach and it didn’t follow us. I’ll wager that was an unmarked police car.’
‘You think my uncle was involved with this Monti fellow? That’s absurd!’
‘But the list isn’t all that connects your uncle to the grimoires. Don’t forget the last word he wrote was sator. He gave that to Deodat as a clue to finding the list.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s part of a very old magic square used in certain grimoires.’
She raised both brows. ‘Magic square?’
Rahn took a pencil from his bag and drew the square on the back of the paper with the list.
She glanced at it.
‘The words are the same up and down, backwards and forwards.’
‘I see, and that is why it has magical properties?’
‘I don’t know. I think your uncle knew that if he gave Deodat that one word, Deodat would be able to figure out not only where the list was kept but also that it was connected to the grimoires. Deodat’s house and your uncle’s house were both ransacked because someone was after this list and they wanted it enough to kill for it.’
‘Do you have any idea who that dead man in the barn was?’
His conversation with Deodat about the various groups floated in his head. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘Yesterday Deodat mentioned a number of secret brotherhoods, societies and groups that are at cross-purposes though they sometimes work together without knowing it. I noticed that the man in the barn had a tattoo. I’ve seen something like it before but I don’t remember where exactly.’
‘Do you have any idea what nationality or group he may have belonged to?’
‘No . . . there were no papers in his pockets but the tattoo was unusual – a snake entwining an anchor. It could be a Hermetic symbol, possibly the symbol of some order, but who knows? I know I’ve been followed. Before I left Paris, a man who called himself Serinus contacted me. He also wanted me to find Le Serpent Rouge but he wanted me to keep it out of Himmler’s hands.’
‘Who is he working for?’
‘I don’t know, but Inspecteur Beliere saw a card from Serinus when it fell out of my wallet and he said something that I should have known . . . serinus is the Latin genus name for the canary.’
‘The bird?’
‘Yes, but I think it’s a codename. There is a man called Canaris, he is the head of Military Intelligence at Gestapo headquarters. Everyone is afraid of him, including Himmler. He has files on everyone. He may be the one who contacted me.’
‘So he’s working for Hitler?’
‘Somehow I don’t think so.’
‘But . . . why would he be working against his own government?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rahn felt nauseated and opened the window to let the cold air wash over his face. He should have left Arques yesterday, now it was too late and things were well out of hand. If this was a script then he wanted to register his complaint: not only was he the most unlikely protagonist but also the plot was also too complex to be believable! He rubbed his face, feeling anxious and overwhelmed.
‘You don’t look so good, why don’t you try to get some sleep?’
He sighed, realising that she was right. He put his head back and his hat over his face and tried to clear his mind of his worries, allowing the motion of the car to lull him to sleep.
ISLAND OF THE DEAD
22
The Living Dead
‘Strange destiny, That deals with life and death as with a play!’
Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
Venice, 2012
The light was descending now behind the cypresses.
‘So, this is true about Le Serpent Rouge?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ the Writer of Letters answered. ‘We should move inside, it is getting rather cold.’
At this point I saw a figure. It was the old monk I had met earlier, the one who warned me to leave, walking towards the cemetery in the twilight. He looked askance in our direction and continued on his way hurriedly.