He succeeded in breaking a rusted link in the chain on Hamish's ankles, but the manacles defeated him. Hamish contorted himself inside out so that his hands were in front of him instead of behind his back, which was an improvement. Then he had to be told the whole dramatic story. By the end of it he was grinning like his old self.
Don Ramon, as hero of the hour, was in high spirits. "Truly, Campeador," he proclaimed, "this is a noble crusade on which we embark! We are prepared to listen to your recommendations on how we should begin."
"Crusade, senor?"
The blue eyes glittered. "The crusade on which we agreed—to overthrow the Fiend and rid the world of Rhym."
Oh, demons! "The caballero is asking me about a matter of high strategy on which I am unqualified to advise him, being only a serf. Perchance the baron may be better able to discuss it."
The don scowled at that notion. Quite apart from his ghastly reputation, Oreste was an upstart, a former scholar jumped into the minor nobility by the Fiend. His lineage was nonexistent when compared to that of Nuñez y Pardo.
Even if Toby had the slightest intention of going hunting for the tyrant—which he did not—there were still too many ditches in his immediate future for him to start worrying about Nevil. Dare he trust himself again to Montserrat? It had already sold him once. Why should it defy the Inquisition on his behalf? It would be defying Nevil also, for although Oreste was no longer a threat, the Fiend had many other hexers at his command, not to mention his never-defeated army. Furthermore, to succor the outlaw Longdirk now, the spirit would have to admit that it had made a mistake the first time, and that seemed even less likely.
The robes, though... the robes were evidence. With some difficulty, he roused the baron from his lethargy and asked about the robes. Oreste confirmed that inanimate objects could be hexed.
"Not for long, though," he mumbled. "The effect will fade in a few days or weeks at most." He relapsed into his bitter brooding.
So perhaps Montserrat really had behaved as the don claimed!
And the other problem was the amethyst, which had been an amethyst when Diaz had placed it in the warded casket and a pebble when it came out. Neither Hamish nor Oreste could suggest a solution, and if they couldn't, Toby Longdirk need not trouble his pretty little head over it, so he put the matter out of his mind.
He wanted to practice his meditation exercises, but he began sliding into sleep as soon as he began. He was more exhausted than he could ever remember, with the strain of the last twenty-four hours piled on all the hard days before. Don Ramon went to sleep, then Hamish did the same, but Toby must keep watch on the box and the brooding baron.
By the time they awakened, the setting sun was shedding a ruddy glow on spectacular precipices ahead. Now that he did not expect to die soon, Toby could concede that the world was interesting again and peered out at the scenery. The don had no such curiosity in rocks.
"When you find that amethyst, Campeador," he proclaimed, "then our duty is to deliver it to the Khan at Sarois, so that the rightful Nevil can be restored to the world of the living and reveal the conjuration."
Toby turned to the baron. "Would that be possible, Excellency? Can Nevil be reincarnated?"
"Hmm? What?" Oreste shrugged. "In theory, yes. That is what Rhym fears above all. In practice, it is more likely that the boy would emerge as a slobbering idiot or a raving madman. He would certainly not be in a cooperative frame of mind, and Nevil was no mean hexer in his own right."
"Besides, who is to provide a living body?" Toby asked. Valda had volunteered him to make that sacrifice, and the memory made his skin crawl.
"In such a cause, any chance is worth taking," Don Ramon insisted.
"But we don't know who took the amethyst."
This intrusion of reality made him pout. After a while he tried again: "Then the first step must be to rally an army. An invasion of France by the combined forces of Castile and Aragon would be a beginning. You will cooperate, of course, baron, since you are still viceroy?"
"Me?" Oreste shook his head mournfully. "You must not count on me for help. Rhym will very soon learn that I have escaped his binding. My days can be numbered on the fingers of one hand."
There might be people in the world worse off than Toby Longdirk, which he found a stunning realization. "Possibly Montserrat will defend you, Excellency."
"Me?" the baron said incredulously, and that one agonized word ended the conversation.
CHAPTER TWO
Darkness fell as the carriage was inching its way higher on the hairpin road, but even before it left the valley floor, Hamish's manacles and gyves fell off in a sudden clatter. He jumped, grinned nervously, and said, "We seem to be expected!"
"And welcome," Toby added. No one spoke a word after that, as if they were all afraid that the tutelary might be listening—an illogical reason, because it was just as capable of reading their thoughts.
Welcome, but what sort of welcome? If there was now a third option other than death or exorcism, why had it not been offered before? Or had Montserrat just concluded that exorcism was the better solution, whether Toby wanted it or not?
The weary horses took a long time to haul the great vehicle up to the monastery, but at last the track leveled off, and the wheels rumbled to a halt. Torches flamed in the darkness outside the windows, and male voices raised in anger. It sounded as if the monks wanted the honor of opening the door for the distinguished visitor, and the viceroy's guards were resisting. But the door did open eventually, and the steps were pulled down. Cumbersome and reluctant, Oreste heaved himself to his feet and descended to the courtyard.
Hamish followed, free of his chains. And then went the don and Toby in their enchanted robes. Toby walked unnoticed right in front of Diaz. The temptation to speak to him had to be resisted, for the captain would be better off when the hue and cry started if he did not know where the missing prisoner had gone.
Monks in black habits had already escorted the baron away, hunched and old, a broken man. His interview with Montserrat would be interesting, but he was entitled to a private confession like any lesser penitent. Toby headed in the same direction, sure that the spirit could see him even if no one else could. He knew his invisibility had been lifted when he saw Hamish grinning at him. The don had disappeared in the crowd.
"Do you suppose," Toby said, "that any suppliant has ever come to Montserrat with a hob in his heart and eleven demons under his arm?"
"No, and never one as hungry as I am, either!"
"If the senores will allow me to guide them?" The speaker was a genuine monk, an elderly, dignified man with a ponderous belly extending the front of his robe. Without waiting for a reply he set off across the courtyard.
There was little to be seen of the buildings, although they were larger and more numerous than Toby had expected, huddled close together on their high shelf, backed by more sheer cliffs. The ancient holy place, clothed in wind and night and mystery, was impressive even by starlight.
They entered a vast, dim hall, and there their guide stopped and awkwardly turned his bulk. "You are invited to share our meal, senores, in about an hour, and the abbot will formally welcome you at that time. Meanwhile, you will be guided to your quarters. If there is anything you need that has not been provided, you have only to ask."
"You are too kind," Toby said politely, thinking that a little more kindness would have been welcome the previous day. The monk waddled off.
"This is more what I was expecting yesterday," Hamish said. "Wine and roast goose? Venison, perhaps?"