‘Yeah, yeah … over there.’ Male voice. ‘Near the mirror. And don’t talk again, all right? Just keep quiet. Whatever happens, you keep quiet. This is important.’
After about a minute of near-silence, the girl said:
‘Ooh, kinky.’
And the man hissed:
‘’King shut it!’
‘That could be Hayter,’ Lol said, ‘but …’
Merrily said, ‘The girl … did that sound like a Brummie accent to you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Christ.’
The atmosphere – a suggestion of burning, a hissing – was issuing like steam from speakers on either side, filling the cab. After some minutes, another male voice came in, up-and-down, liturgical.
‘I conjure thee by the name under which thou knowest thy God and by the name of the prince and king who rules over thee. I conjure thee to come at once and to fulfil my desires, by the powerful name of Him who is obeyed by all, by the name Tetragrammaton, Jehovah, the names which overcome everything, whether of this world or any other … Come, speak to me clearly, without duplicity. Come in the name of Adonai Sabaoth, come, linger not. Adonai Shadai, the king of all kings, commands thee!’
Background noise, with swishing movements. An exclamation of distaste. ‘Sulphur! Jeez!’ A nervous giggle.
After a while, another voice.
‘Told you it was boll— Sorry.’
Then the whole incantation repeated. Twice.
Near-silence this time. A thump, as if the tape had been unsubtly edited. Then two voices, one going, ‘Oh my—!’
Cut off by the second, louder, triumphant.
‘Welcome. Thou wert invoked in the name of him who has created heaven and earth and hell. I hereby bind thee so that thou shalt remain here, within the confines of the triangle, while I still require thee and leave not without the licence to depart, and then not without answering the questions I shall put to thee.
‘That which was brought here on the instructions of the Grand Master and Grand Preceptor of all England, Jacques de Molay, to be hidden from those who would purloin it … if it be still here, I command you to inform me of its true location and if it be not here I command that you so inform me.’
More invocation of the secret names of God. The question repeated. No clues as to what hidden item they were hoping to locate. It went on for another ten minutes, with edit bumps, until whatever had been welcomed was formally dismissed and the recording ended.
‘The problem with ceremonial magic,’ Merrily said, ‘is that it can be incredibly tedious. The language they use … stilted, pompous. Mock liturgy.’
‘Very defined, though,’ Lol said. ‘Very exact, focused on what they want and closing up all other avenues. I don’t know what to make of it. All smoke and mirrors, or what?’
‘Actually, it involves both smoke and mirrors. This ex-Catholic priest Eliphas Levi – huge admirer of the Templars – once claimed to have conjured up a spirit for a friend of Bulwer-Lytton, the writer. Admitting that he couldn’t really be sure what he’d got, but claiming to see the figure of a man. And he asks it the designated questions and gets the answers in his head.’
‘No big, sonorous voice echoing around the temple?’
‘Inside your head,’ Merrily said, ‘is usually as good as it gets. Apparently.’
‘So who were they trying to invoke here?’
‘Dunno. You go through the Key of Solomon and all these magical texts, you get a selection of spirits – funny names, Biblical-sounding roots – which perform certain functions to order. Finding hidden treasure – that’s a big favourite.’
‘It’s been quite heavily edited.’
‘Because this stuff takes for ever,’ Merrily said. ‘But, yeah, it also covers up essential facts. Like, we don’t find out exactly what they’re after or who they’re trying to talk to. Or what they get out of it … if anything. It’s just rich kids messing around, trying to scare themselves. Like, hey, we’ve done all the drugs, had all the weird sex, let’s do Other Spheres of Existence? Point is, why did Hayter want us to hear it?’
‘Sign of good faith? He said that if he found any of the tapes he’d let me know. I thought that was just to get my phone number. Which, of course, he put to good use a short time later.’
‘But why is he telling us anything? Went to a lot of trouble here. He must’ve either shot straight round to the bank with it, or he’d taken it earlier, making provision for collection by someone else. He didn’t have to offer you any money – there was no way you could pin the Boswell on him.’
Lol ejected the CD, slid it back into the plastic case.
‘Well, he doesn’t want us to drop it, does he? He’s just trying to steer us away from him. More or less editing himself out. Like, “something did happen, but it wasn’t down to me.” The girl … could that be Mary?’
‘Perhaps I’ll play it to Mrs Morningwood. And of course, Sycharth’s not in there at all. Where’s his big Welsh-language scene?’
‘Yet Hayter told me about Gwilym. Without mentioning his name.’
‘But that, presumably, was before he spoke to him again,’ Merrily said. ‘Now it’s like they’re on the same side, both pointing at the guy who conducted the ritual.’
‘Saying this is the bad guy, Mat Phobe, and he’s dead? End of story?’
Merrily’s mobile chimed.
‘I don’t know. It might be somebody they can’t— Hello?’
‘I think I should like to talk to you, Merrily,’ Beverley Murray said.
55
Monty and Jane
‘SO WHERE DID it happen?’ Jane asked.
The Volvo roared and surged because she’d put it back into second gear instead of up into fourth. Shit.
‘Was it at your home?’ Jane said. ‘Is that what this is all about?’
Mrs Morningwood glanced at her.
‘It wasn’t far from home. It’s an established fact that most car accidents take place on roads that are well known to the victim. Familiarity breeding carelessness.’
‘Yes,’ Jane said. ‘Very good.’
She wasn’t totally stupid. She was driving slowly but trying not to make it suspiciously slowly. She’d left a message on the table for Mum telling her the truth, that she was driving Mrs Morningwood home to collect some stuff, but not the entire truth, that she’d be driving back, almost certainly in the dark, unaccompanied by a qualified driver.
She could do this. Country roads all the way, a wide arc around Hereford.
‘So what was it like growing up in Garway, under the shadow of the Templars?’
‘Good question,’ Mrs Morningwood said.
Obviously any question unrelated to her having been viciously assaulted was going to be a good one.
‘Like, the first time I went up there,’ Jane said, ‘I was noticing things. But maybe if you grow up in a place you take it all for granted.’
‘In this case, Jane, I think not. Even people who profess no interest at all in the Templars are, I think, affected in some way. It’s one of those areas that seems to … I don’t know … condition the way people think and behave. It somehow imposes its own rules and strictures. You noticed yourself the names of the pubs. I’ve never worked out how far they go back, but I don’t think it matters. They might simply be echoes from memory. The people are the memory cells of the hill.’
‘Cool.’