She said nothing, but reached in the pocket of her apron, and produced a worn sepia photograph of a young cleric. He was holding a boater in his hands, and squinting into the sun.
I looked at the picture for a long while, and then I said: “This is Father Anton.”
“Yes, monsieur. I have known him for many years. When we were young, we were close friends. We were so close, in fact, that we hardly had to speak to know what each other was thinking. Well, Father Anton reached me last night, after a fashion. I woke in the night and felt that I had lost him; and when I saw you this morning, I knew that he was dead.”
“You didn’t tell Jacques?”
“I told nobody. I wasn’t really sure it was true. I hoped that it wasn’t. But then I saw you, and I knew.”
I took out the ring of hair which she had given me. “Listen, Eloise,” I asked her, “is this all the hair you have?”
She lifted her grey head and looked at me closely through her flour-dusted spectacles. “You want more?” Why?”
“The devil is loose, Eloise. It was the devil who killed Father Anton. That’s why we’re going to England. The devil insists.”
“Insists?”
“If we don’t do what it says, it’s going to stab us to death. Madeleine and me. Its name is Elmek, the devil of knives.”
Eloise took the photograph of Father Anton from me with shaking hands. She was so agitated that she couldn’t speak at first, and I poured her a small glass of calvados. She drank half of it, and coughed, and then looked back at me with a face so ghastly with strain that I felt frightened myself.
“Did he suffer?” she whispered. “Did poor Father Anton suffer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I saw Antoinette die too, his housekeeper, and she was in terrible pain.”
“What’s going to happen? What are we going to do?”
“There’s not much we can do except what we’re told. The devil is going to burn the bodies so that nobody knows what happened—and Eloise, it’s desperately important that you don’t tell them.”
Eloise was weeping. “What about Madeleine?” she said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “It won’t hurt Madeleine, will it?”
I took her hand. “It won’t if we do what it tells us to do. I have to find out how to destroy it first, how to exorcise it. Meanwhile, we’re going to have to go along with it, and help it find its twelve brethren.”
Eloise said, “There is only one thing I can do to help you. Wait for one moment.”
She rose stiffly from her chair and walked across the tiled floor to the kitchen dresser. She opened a drawer, fumbled around for a while with tins and jars and boxes, and eventually took out a small tin with the name of a popular brand of French throat pastilles printed on it. She brought it over to the table and carefully lifted the lid.
I peered inside. There was nothing there but a small heap of what looked like grey powder.
“What’s this?” I asked her.
She closed the lid again, and handed the tin to me. “It is said to be the ashes of the seamless cloak which Christ wore when he was crucified. It is the most powerful relic I have.”
“What will it do? Will it protect us?”
“I don’t know. Some relics have real magical properties and some are simply frauds. It is all I can do. It is all I can give you.”
She turned away then, her eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know what to do to comfort her. I slipped the tin of ashes in my pocket and finished my coffee. The clock on the kitchen wall struck eight; I knew that if we were going to make the lunchtime ferry to Newhaven, we were going to have to hurry.
Madeleine came downstairs with her suitcase. I got up from the table and took it from her, and gave Eloise a last affectionate pat on the shoulder.
Madeleine said, “What’s the matter? Why is Eloise crying?”
“She knows about Father Anton. And she’s worried that the same thing’s going to happen to you.”
Madeleine leaned over the old woman and kissed her. “don’t worry,” she said. “We won’t be gone long. Mr. McCook will look after me.”
Eloise nodded miserably.
“Come on,” I said, “we’re going to be late ”
We went out into the yard, and I stowed Madeleine’s suitcase in the back of the 2CV. The thin snow fell on us like a wet veil. We only had one more piece of luggage to collect—the medieval trunk from the cellar of Father Anton’s house. We climbed into the car and I started the engine. Then we bounced off along the narrow, icy roads, the car’s heater blaring, and the windshield wipers squeaking backwards and forwards.
Although the French rise early, the village was still deserted by the time we reached Father Anton’s house and pulled up in the front yard. I got out of the car, walked round, and opened Madeleine’s door for her.
“What do we need here?” she asked me, stepping out.
“The devil,” I said gravely. “we’re taking it with us.”
“Taking it with us? I don’t understand.”
“Just come and help me. I’ll tell you what it’s all about later.”
Madeleine looked up at the house. She could see the broken window of Father Anton’s bedroom, with the curtains flapping and twisting in the cold wind. She said: “Is Father Anton up there? And Antoinette?”
I nodded. “We have to be quick. As soon as we leave, the devil’s going to set the house alight.”
Madeleine crossed herself. “We should call the police, Dan. We can’t just let this happen.”
I took her wrist, and pulled her towards the house.
“Dan, we ought to! I can’t bear to leave Father Anton this way!”
“Listen,” I told her bluntly, “we don’t have any choice. If we don’t do what Elmek tells us, we’re going to die like them. Can you understand that? And besides, it’s Father Anton’s only chance of survival, too.”
I unlocked the heavy front door and pushed it open.
“What do you mean?” she said. “He’s dead. How can he have a chance of survival?”
I looked at her straight. “Because I made a bargain. If we help Elmek to find his twelve brethren, and the thirteen brethren between them raise the demon Adramelech, then it will ask Adramelech to bring Father Anton and Antoinette back to life.”
Madeleine stared at me. “You don’t believe that—surely?”
“What else can I believe? I saw the devil, Madeleine. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw Antoinette covered in knives. I saw Father Anton cut open like a beef carcass.”
“Oh, God,” she said, in a low, haunted voice. “I can’t go through with it.”
“You have to. Now, come on.”
Together, we walked down the echoing length of the polished hallway. I took the cellar key down from its hook, unlocked the cellar door, and led Madeleine down into the musty darkness. At the foot of the stairs I found a lightswitch, and turned it on.
The copper-and-lead trunk was waiting for us. It was an ancient, dull-coloured rectangular chest, locked with three copper hasps. It must have been six or seven hundred years old, and it was decorated with copper inlays of horses and helmeted riders, and fleurs-de-lys.
Madeleine whispered, “Is that it? Is the devil in there?”
I nodded. “You’re going to have to help me lift it. Do you think you can manage?”
“I’ve been milking cows and mucking-out stables for weeks. I think I’m strong enough.”
Full of foreboding, we approached the trunk and stood beside it. Then we took its curved handles in both hands, and slowly lifted it off the cellar floor. It was staggeringly heavy. It must have weighed all of two hundred and twenty pounds, dead weight, and we had to drag it and slide it across to the stairs. Then we hefted it up, step by step, until we reached the hallway.
It was a matter of three or four minutes to get the trunk out of the house and into the yard. I opened up the Citröen’s rear door, ready to receive it but I was just rearranging my own cases, when Madeleine said: “Look! Just look at that!”