“Yes, I remember some of it,” said Duncan. “I think, in telling it now, you have embellished it a bit. I think that having felt yourself a failure as a hermit, you then jumped at the slightest chance to become a soldier of the Lord. And if that is what you really are, although I’m not too sure of the proper definition, you have done rather well at it. You have no occasion to be out here now sulking in the brambles.”
“But you do not understand.”
“Please enlighten me,” said Duncan dryly.
“Don’t you see that all the staring at the candles paid off in the end? The candle business, and perhaps some of the other things I did. Perhaps the fact that I willingly took the road as a soldier of the Lord. I’m not sure that I am a holy man — I would not be so brash as to claim I am. It might be sacrilegious to even hint I am. But I do have powers I did not have before, powers that I had no suspicion that I had. My staff…”
“So that is it,” said Duncan. “Your staff broke the demon’s chain. Broke it after a full blow of my sword did nothing but strike a shower of sparks from it.”
“You know, if you’ll but admit it,” Andrew said, “that the staff itself could not have fazed the chain. You know that the answer must be either that the staff itself suddenly has acquired a magic, or that the man who wielded it…”
“Yes, I do agree,” said Duncan. “You must have certain holy powers for the staff to accomplish what it did. But, for God’s sake, man, you should be glad you have.”
“But don’t you see?” wailed Andrew. “Don’t you truly see my predicament?”
“I’m afraid this entire thing escapes me.”
“The first manifestation of my power resulted in the freeing of a demon. Can’t you understand how that tears me up inside? That I, a holy man, if a holy man I am, should use this power, for the first time, mind you, to free a mortal enemy of Holy Mother Church?”
“I don’t know about that,” said Duncan. “Scratch does not appear to be a bad sort. A demon, sure, but a most unsuccessful demon, unable to perform even the simple tasks of an apprentice imp. Because of that he ran away from Hell. And to demonstrate how little he was missed, what a poor stick of a demon he had turned out to be, the Devil and his minions did not turn a hand to haul him back to his tasks in Hell.”
“You have tried to put a good face on it, my lord,” said Andrew, “and I thank you for your consideration. You’re an uncommon kindly man. But the fact remains that a black mark has been inscribed against me.”
“There are no black marks,” said Duncan with some irritation. “This is about as silly an idea as I have ever heard.
There’s no one sitting somewhere, inscribing black marks against you or anyone else.”
“Upon my soul,” said Andrew, “there is such a mark. No one else may know, but I know. There is no way for me to wipe it out. There is no eraser that will obliterate it. I’ll carry it to my death and, mayhaps, beyond my death.”
“Tell me one thing,” said Duncan. “It has puzzled me. Why, seeing that the sword had failed, did you wield the staff? Did you have some sort of premonition, some sort of inner light…”
“No, I did not,” said Andrew. “I was carried away, is all. Somehow or other, I don’t know why, I wanted to get into the act. You and Conrad were doing what you could and I felt, I suppose, although at the time I was not aware of it, that I should do what I could.”
“You mean that when you dealt such a mighty blow with that staff of yours that you were trying to help the demon?”
“I don’t know,” said Andrew. “I never thought of it in that way. But I suppose I was trying to help him. And, realizing that, my soul is wrung the harder. Why should I try to help a demon? Why should I lift a finger for him?”
Duncan put out a hand and grasped the hermit’s scrawny shoulder, squeezed it hard. “You are a good man, Andrew. Better than you know.”
“How is that?” asked Andrew. “How does helping a demon make me a good man? I would have thought it made me worse. That’s the entire trouble. I gave aid to a minion out of Hell, with the reek of sulphur still upon him.”
“One,” said Duncan, “that had forsaken Hell. That turned his back upon it, renouncing it. Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but still renouncing it. Even as you and I renounce it. He is on our side. Don’t you understand that? He stands now with us. One with the mark of evil still upon him, but now he stands with us.”
“I don’t know,” said Andrew doubtfully. “I’d have to think on that. I’d have to work it out.”
“Come back to the fire with me,” said Duncan. “Sit by the fire and be comfortable while you work at it. Get some warmth into those shivering bones of yours, some food into your belly.”
“Come to think of it,” said Andrew, “I am hungry. Meg was cooking up a mess of sauerkraut and pig’s knuckles. I could taste them, just thinking of them. It has been years since I have eaten kraut and knuckles.”
“The Little Folk can’t offer you kraut and knuckles, but there is a venison stew that is monstrous good. There’s enough of it left, I’m sure, to more than fill your gut.”
“If you think it would be all right,” said Andrew. “If they’d make room for me.”
“They’ll welcome you,” Duncan assured him. “They’ve been asking after you.” Which was not exactly true, but it was a small untruth and it could do no harm. “So come along.” Duncan put an arm around the hermit’s shoulder and together they walked back to the fire.
“I’m not yet clear in mind,” warned Andrew, stubborn to the last. “There is much to puzzle out.”
“Take your time,” said Duncan. “You’ll get it straightened out. You’ll have the time to mull it over.”
Duncan escorted him across the cleared area around the fire at which he’d talked with Snoopy. Diane and Nan were sitting together and he took him over to them.
“Here’s a hungry man,” he said to Nan. “Could there still remain a bowl of stew?”
“More than a bowl,” said the banshee. “More than even he can eat, hungry as he looks.” She said to Andrew, “Sit down close to the blaze. I will get it for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Andrew.
Duncan swung about and looked for Conrad, but was unable to locate him. Nor could he find Snoopy among the scattered Little People.
The moon had moved well up in the sky. It must be almost midnight, Duncan told himself. Within a short time all of them should be settling down to get some sleep, for they’d need to be up by dawn. What they’d do he had no idea, but as quickly as possible they had to have a course of action planned. Conrad, he thought, might have turned up some new piece of information, and it was important that he see him soon.
It was just possible that Conrad had wandered over to another fire. Purposefully he set out for the nearest one. He had gone only a couple of hundred feet or so when someone hissed at him from the darkness of a clump of bushes.
Swiftly he swung around, his hand going to the sword hilt.
“Who’s there?” he challenged. “Show yourself.”
A deeper shadow detached itself from the bushes. Moonlight shimmered on the crumpled horn.
“Scratch, what are you doing here?” Duncan asked.
“Waiting for you,” the demon said. “I have a thing to tell you. Quietly. Not too loud. Squat down so we can talk.”
Duncan squatted to face the dumpy little figure. The demon leaned forward painfully, head thrust forward by the hump upon his back.