The Adept (28 page)

“So the woman’s employers took what measures they could to make sure she would survive long enough to perform her function. They let her wear one of their medallions. The fact that you can’t see its design clearly, Peregrine, tends to confirm that it, too, was a powerfully charged talisman of some sort,-perhaps representing a symbol peculiar to this particular black lodge.”

McLeod sighed heavily. “I was afraid it might come to this. Do you think she was shot as soon as she handed over the Flag?”

Adam thought a moment, then nodded. “I do. And my guess is that the shooting probably took place somewhere along the shore here, since I doubt the killers would have bothered to transport the body any great distance. That suggests they may have intended to take the Flag away by boat, rather than by car.”

“Which means that the Flag really could be anywhere by now,” McLeod said, glowering out at the sea beyond the dock. “If they didn’t take it in a car, that throws an entirely different light on our investigation.”

“Not necessarily,” Adam said. “If we’re right about their motives, then they’re going after Scot’s book and” gold tonight. Those are hidden somewhere right here in the Highlands, probably in or near one of the four locations Peregrine and I have identified. I suggest we go on up to the castle and see where the Flag was stolen from, and see if we can pick up a lead on where it went from there.”

A respectable drizzle had started up again while they talked, and they took leave of their helpful police sergeant with a hurried word of thanks before beating a prudent retreat to the Volvo. Sandy was pacing the ground at the side of the road, anxiously awaiting their return. McLeod was the first to reach him.

“We were right to stop here first,” he told the younger MacLeod. “It seems someone shot your lady robber. I think we’d better go on to the castle now.”

Sandy needed no extra encouragement. After creeping around the police barrier, he accelerated sharply up the hill, skillfully negotiating the tight turn between the piers at the gate and heading along the tree-lined lane used by the castle’s residents and staff. Very shortly, they were pulling up outside the main entrance, just to the landward side of the bridge that led up to the main door. A sign just to the right of the door read, “Castle closed today.”

The police had already departed, having done all they could for the time being. As Adam and his companions followed Sandy MacLeod into the vestibule, they were greeted by a grizzled man on crutches and a plump, grey-haired woman with eyes bright as a sparrow’s behind twinkling spectacles.

“So, there ye are, Noel McLeod!” the latter called, coming to embrace him with a swift hug, damp trenchcoat and all.

“Margaret. Finlay,” McLeod replied. He and the man shook hands as his companions gave their damp outer wear into Sandy’s willing hands.

“They were on duty last night, when the bastards stole the Flag,” Sandy said, when he had finished introductions. “Da got his ankle bunged up, when they threw him in the dungeon. They’ll gi’ ye a first-hand account of what happened.”

“Nah, there’s no’ much more tae be said, than what Sandy’s probably already told ye,” Finlay muttered, his lantern-jawed face furrowed with remorse. “When the lady came knockin’ on the door, ‘twas I that had the bad sense tae let her in.” He paused and gave his head a rueful shake. “I wish now I’d turned a deaf ear tae all her talk o’ lost keys!”

“Hush, Fin! It was no fault of yours,” his wife admonished, giving him a pat on the arm.

“Be that as it may,” said Finlay, “I’d rather ha’ lost my right arm than tae have failed in my duty tae the Chief—an’ the Flag.”

McLeod pulled a sour grimace and stripped off his sodden trenchcoat.

“If you’d had the ill fortune to meet up with the mastermind behind the theft,” he said, “you might have lost more than that, Finlay. Your persuasive lady thief was shot dead not long after she left here—apparently by a superior who had no further use for her. They’ve just brought her body ashore at the pier.”

Finlay and his wife exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“It was that black-masked man that did it!” Margaret stated. “Och, he was a mean ‘un! I didnae like his voice!”

“Och, never mind
that
” Finlay said. “What about the Fairy Flag?”

“We believe it’s in the hands of whomever hired her to do the job in the first place,” Adam said. “Hopefully, we can still recover it, but there’s no time to be lost. Which way to the drawing room?”

Chapter Eighteen

BECAUSE FINLAY
was on crutches, it fell to Margaret to lead them upstairs, muttering that she did not know what good
that
would do, since the Flag was no longer there. Adam had slipped on his signet ring during the drive from the airstrip, and now, as they climbed the broad main stair, he caressed the ring’s band with his thumb, beginning to trigger the higher level of consciousness he would need as he searched for clues at the scene of the crime.

Extrasensory input assailed him as he and his companions entered the drawing room, at once drawing Adam’s gaze to the wall between the two seaward windows. Damask curtains had been drawn back from a blank oblong where the salmon-colored paint showed a shade darker than the surrounding wall. From that entire quarter of the room, Adam could detect residual traces of super-elemental power.

“The Flag was there?” Adam asked, gesturing in that direction.

Margaret looked a little surprised. “Aye.”

“I thought as much.”

The concentration of residual power increased as Adam came within an arm span of the wall, palpable as the warmth that lingers over a fire pit after the embers themselves have died. Willing himself to center and open, Adam stared for a moment at the empty space where the Fairy Flag had hung, then briefly closed his eyes.

Blurred colors resonated before him, stabilizing into the ghost image of a tattered swathe of brownish silk, mounted flat within a golden frame. Fixing that image fast in his mind for what he proposed to do next, he opened his eyes and redirected his attention to Margaret, who was hovering uncertainly by the doorway.

“Mrs. MacLeod,” he said, “do you suppose you might find me a photograph of the Fairy Flag?”

“Aye, we hae postcards doon in the shop,” she replied. “Shall I bring ye one o’ those?”

“That will be perfect,” Adam said. “Would you know if the shop also has ordnance survey maps of the area? This whole western region, if possible, perhaps as far north as Inverness.”

Margaret looked more doubtful at this request.

“Aye, sir, we do carry those normally—if we havenae sold out. It’s the end o’ the tourist season, ye know.”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Adam said. “Could you check on those for me now, please? I’ll need a bit of string, too—or heavy thread would be even better.”

“Aye, sir, whatever ye say.”

“Thank you. Mr. Lovat, why don’t you go with Mrs. MacLeod and bring those things back, so she won’t need to climb the stairs again? She looks tired. I’m sure she must be exhausted, after the strain of the last twenty-four hours.”

Adam’s observation had the force of compulsion. Margaret blinked and gave in to a wide yawn, as if his words had granted permission at last to succumb to her fatigue. Peregrine looked a little startled, but a brief eye contact with Adam was sufficient to forestall any questioning on his part. Putting on one of his most ingratiating smiles, he offered his arm to the older woman with a gallant flourish.

“Please lean on me, if you’re feeling tired, Mrs. MacLeod,” he said. “And after we’ve collected those things Sir Adam wants, you can put your feet up and have a nice cup of tea.”

“Aye, a wee nap wouldnae go amiss,” Margaret agreed, yielding him her hand and looking a little dazed, “We’ll gae doon the back way.”

He ushered her out of the room without a backward glance, passing the dungeon room and heading for the back
stairwell. When they had disappeared from sight, McLeod subjected Adam to an inquiring stare.

“Did you do that?”

“Did I do what?”

“Never mind. It’s got rid of our good lady for the time being, which is obviously what you wanted. Now, what are you thinking to do?”

Adam smiled thinly. “Nothing you haven’t seen before—though I think it might have alarmed our good hostess, had she stayed, and I’m going to have to make some adjustments to avoid startling Peregrine. Our basic problem is that conventional evidence can only tell us what has already happened. If we’re to have any chance at all of getting the Flag back before it’s too late, we’re going to have to look at things from another angle.”

Five “minutes later, the sound of footsteps on the stairs heralded Peregrine’s return. He came through the doorway brandishing a sheaf of maps in one hand and several spools of thread in the other.

“Mrs. MacLeod wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with the thread, nor was I, so she gave me three different kinds. One’s carpet thread, I think, and she said this green one, folded up in a skein, was for embroidery. And since I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by
this area,
I’ve brought maps of Skye and the next two sheets over and up. They’ll form a continuous map, if you put them together, including all four of the castle sites we isolated. And here’s the photo of the Hag.”

“You’re becoming a credit to your training,” Adam said with a fleeting smile, as he ran his eyes over what Peregrine had brought and started unfolding maps. “Yes, these should do nicely. Let’s open them out on the piano, here—that’s right. Skye and Glen Cannich on the lid, and the Torridon one on the piano bench. Be sure we get them properly aligned, Noel, so north is really north. You can leave the photo and threads right there.

“Is this what you want?” McLeod asked.

“Yes, it’s perfect. Now, if you gentlemen would do me the favor of minding the doors, we’ll see what we can discover.”

“Just keep a sharp lookout by the other door,” McLeod said, at Peregrine’s look of question, himself heading for the entrance from the main stair. “We don’t need to
close
the doors; we simply don’t want to be interrupted. This way, you can watch what Adam’s doing, too. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Interesting
was not the word Adam would have chosen to describe what he was about to do, but he hoped it at least would not be frightening.

“I’m going to start by performing a brief warding ritual,” he said, mainly for Peregrine, “because I don’t know how powerful our opposition might be, or what nasty surprises they might have left behind. A warding is simply a form of psychic protection. It will take a minute or two, so bear with me.”

Putting Peregrine out of mind then, he moved to the center of the room and faced east, opposite to where the flag had hung, and bowed his head for a moment to collect himself, the fingertips of his folded hands pressed tightly to his lips. Then, with his left hand resting on his breast, he raised his gaze and his right hand far above his head.

Gently the first two fingers curved as if plucking something from the air and drawing it downward to touch his forehead. In his mind, the words were in Hebrew—
Ateh,
Malkuth, Ve Geburah, Ve Gedulah, Le Olahm—
but he said them aloud in English for Peregrine’s benefit.

“Unto Thee, O God . . .”

The words brought a deeper silence to the room, intensifying as his hand moved downward to touch his solar plexus and he said:

“The Kingdom . . .” Then it moved back up and to the right as his fingertips brushed first his right shoulder, then his left—

“The Power . . . and the Glory . . .”

As the hand came back to fold with the other again, he completed the formula: “Unto all the Ages.”

And as his head bowed once more, he whispered the final, “Amen.”

For a few breathless seconds he could feel the silence and the centering, but he could also feel Peregrine’s eyes upon
him—incredulous, a little awed, but not frightened. Ordinarily, he next would have traced pentagrams in all four directions, charging each with a different Name and aspect of Deity, but he decided Peregrine was not ready for that yet; nor was such formality really necessary. A mere sealing of his aura, would suffice for now.

The prayer he chose as vehicle for the procedure was an old monkish formula, not terribly long-lasting, but potent while in force. It should serve for whatever protection he needed for the next little while. Spreading his arms in a cross, he threw back his head and turned his face heavenward, speaking softly but with unshakable conviction.

“By the power of the Christ of God within me,” he said, “Whom I serve with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my strength.” He began turning slowly to his right, visualizing a circle being defined by the span of his out flung arms. “I encompass myself about with the Divine Circle of His protection, across which no mortal error dares to set its foot.”

When he had turned full around, completing the circle, he sealed the rite as he had begun it, again tracing the Qabalistic Cross over his body with his right hand. The sapphire set in his signet ring seemed to leave a trail of luminescent blue that only faded from vision when he took a step into it and absorbed it. He knew McLeod had been aware of it; and by Peregrine’s expression, the artist had seen it, too.

“Well, then, that’s done,” he said, giving Peregrine a nonchalant glance as he headed for the piano. “Now, let’s see what useful things we can learn.”

Returning to the piano, and facing where the Fairy Flag had hung, he moved the photo of the Flag in front of him, then took up the spool of carpet thread and unreeled about an eighteen-inch length, which he snapped off between his two hands. Doubling the thread and making a knot at one end, he removed his signet ring and fed the knot through, running it through the loop at the other end and pulling it snug. Then he held the knot between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and let his elbow rest on the piano top, allowing the ring to dangle over the photo like a pendulum.

Now he must establish appropriate responses to make the pendulum a tool. He had used this technique often before, with excellent results. Drawing a deep breath and slowly exhaling, he willed himself to center arid relax, focusing his attention on the picture of the Hag. Concentrating on the reality the photo represented, he framed the first question in his mind—one that could only be answered
with a
“yes.”

Is this a true likeness of the Fairy Flag?

He held the question in his mind and waited. Gradually, through no conscious effort on his part, the pendulum began to swing up and down, along the length of the photo. Very well.
A
“yes” answer would be signified by an up and down motion. Nodding, he stilled the pendulum with his free hand and framed the second question, which would establish a
“no” response.
Is the Fairy Flag still in this room?

This time, after a few seconds, the ring began to swing from side to side.

Stilling it again, Adam concentrated on the third sort of query he might need to make.

Will we be able to retrieve the Fairy Flag before irreparable damage is done or the Flag is destroyed?

It was a question no one could answer just yet, so Adam was not at all surprised to see the ring start to circle slowly clockwise, signifying,
“don’t know,” or “I don’t want to answer.”

“Very well,” Adam said softly, glancing briefly at McLeod and Peregrine. “I’ve established the responses for ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ and ‘I don’t know’. Now it’s time to ask some questions to which we
don’t
know the answers.”

Drawing another deep, centering breath, he concentrated on the ring again.

“Is the Fairy Flag still on the island?”
he asked.

With little delay, the pendulum swung back and forth, signifying “No.”

“No.”
Did the woman who was shot take the Fairy Flag from this room?”

At the pendulum’s “Yes” response, Adam nodded.
Did she take it on a boat?”

When the pendulum signaled
“No,” he frowned and glanced over at McLeod, who was watching and listening with great interest.

“It says ‘No’.”
Did she take it in a car?
“Yes.”

“But she didn’t take it very far,” McLeod said. “She
couldn’t
have done. I would’ve sworn she’d taken it to a boat, and that’s where they shot her.”

“I thought so, too,” Adam replied, “but it said she didn’t—ah!
Did she get on the boat?
“No”

“So she took it
to
a boat—in a car?
“Yes.”

He smiled a little as he glanced up at McLeod again. “Now I think we’re getting somewhere. We have to remember how literal this technique requires one to be. That makes sense, though. She put the Flag into a car to run it down to the dock, turned it over to someone on a boat but didn’t go aboard, and then was shot for her pains.

“So now we need to ask,
Was the Fairy Flag taken away in a boat?

“‘Yes’, the pendulum says.”

“Is it still on a boat?

“Yes, again.”

“Then, maybe it
isn’t
all that far away,” McLeod said. “With the seas running the way they’ve been, how far could a small boat go?”

“Let’s not make any hasty assumptions,” Adam warned.
“Has the Fairy Flag been on a boat all this time?
“It says ‘No’.”

“No?”
McLeod cried. “Was it landed somewhere and put in a car again?”

Adam held up his free hand for silence and stared at the pendulum again.