The Devil's Piper

by Sarah Rayne

  Ciaran glanced round the room again and then said pensively, ‘I’ve heard that it’s like living in a beleaguered city when you have a house restored. Most people prefer to move out during the worst of it.’ He looked about him. ‘A shocking mess workmen make, don’t they? I daresay they’ll be here for some time, as well. What a nuisance for you.’

  Isarel set down his coffee and regarded his guest. ‘Let’s drag it into the open, shall we? You want me to come with you on a ridiculous chase across Ireland after a female grave robber.’ And maybe a lady you’re harbouring a bit of a yen for as well, said his mind. ‘Well, you can save the sweetness and light,’ he said. ‘And you can charm never so wisely, because the answer’s no and it’ll go on being no.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better – wouldn’t it be more comfortable than staying here?’

  ‘No it wouldn’t. I’d rather stay here with the woodworm and the dry rot than suffer your Church’s idea of comfort.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we can stay in the guest house of some of the other abbeys along the way,’ said Ciaran. ‘The hospitality’s surprisingly good. If you’ve never tasted proper Irish soda bread baked in a monastery kitchen, you’ve never lived. Or Dublin Bay prawns who were swimming in the sea an hour before they’re on your plate.’

  ‘I’m allergic to shellfish.’

  ‘What a pity. Still, failing the abbeys, it’ll be hotels. I can draw on Abbey funds for whatever’s needed.’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ said Isarel. ‘The only thing that surprises me is that you’ve bothered to get Father Abbot’s permission to leave Curran Glen. You have got it, have you?’

  ‘Oh yes. And his blessing. We’d rather not draw attention to the tomb, but we’ve got to regain Ahasuerus’s body.’

  ‘Back into the tomb before daybreak,’ said Isarel, half to himself.

  ‘Yes. Also,’ said Ciaran, ‘that girl will never control Ahasuerus, Isarel. You saw him, you must know that.’

  There was a sudden silence. Then Isarel said firmly, ‘I’m not coming with you. I don’t care if you’ve got the blessing of the Pope and the Chief Rabbi and the Dalai Lama all together. You can find your own stolen corpse.’

  Ciaran leaned forward and said, ‘But to recapture Ahasuerus we have to have the music. We have to lure him back.

  ‘And you’re the only one who can play it.’

  ‘I should have gone on saying no. I’ll regret this.’

  ‘You’re sounding like a deflowered virgin. Reach over the map till I see if we’re on the right road for Dublin. I think they’ll make for Dun Laoghaire and the ferry to Anglesey, don’t you?’

  ‘How should I know?’ said Isarel disagreeably, foraging for the map and unfolding it.

  ‘I think it’s likeliest,’ said Ciaran, accelerating along the road Isarel had taken four days earlier. ‘It’s what any sensible person would do, and Kate Kendal struck me as being eminently sensible. A straight drive across the waist of Ireland and then over to Holyhead. Wasn’t it a fine thing we could hang on to your hire car?’

  ‘It was even finer that Father Abbot agreed to pay for it,’ said Isarel. ‘Mallow House is leeching away any money I had left. Irish builders have no mercy on Jews, Turks, Infidels or Heretics.’

  ‘Which are you?’ said Ciaran at once, and Isarel turned to stare at him. Ciaran took his eyes briefly from the road and directed a very level look at Isarel.

  After a moment, Isarel said in his harshest voice, ‘Oh, a Jew, every time. One of the circumcis’d dogs, one of the screwing money lenders—’

  ‘Don’t forget the line about spitting on your Jewish gabardine,’ said Ciaran promptly. ‘That’s one of the best.’

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Isarel, after a struggle not to laugh. ‘I can’t quarrel with you. I don’t know why I can’t. I certainly don’t subscribe to your faith—’

  ‘I’m not sure I subscribe to it myself, sometimes.’

  ‘—and I don’t think much of your methods, either. I can’t imagine why I’m here, or what we’re going to do if we catch up with Kate Kendal. Ciaran, did we really lure Ahasuerus back into the tomb the other night?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘Using Jude’s shofar?’

  ‘Using Jude’s shofar,’ affirmed Ciaran.

  ‘I was hoping it was a dream,’ said Isarel. ‘I almost persuaded myself that some of my students laced my toothpaste with LSD.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a dream and you weren’t doped. Listen, I’m liking driving, but maybe we should swop over after we’ve eaten a bite of lunch somewhere because I’m a bit out of practice.’

  ‘I didn’t think monks were supposed to know about driving cars or reading maps. You’re very worldly for a monk,’ said Isarel.

  ‘Would you believe I was once very worldly indeed?’ said Ciaran.

  ‘Readily. What were you? I mean what did you do for a living?’

  ‘I was a lawyer.’

  ‘Were you, by God,’ said Isarel, staring at him.

  ‘A barrister.’

  ‘Highly suitable. You could argue your way out of anything.’

  ‘Believe me, I’ve argued my way out of a good many tight corners in my time. And,’ said Ciaran thoughtfully, ‘into a few of them as well. Would you believe I was a very good barrister?’

  ‘Easily. You’ve got all the necessary qualities. Disregard for truth’s only one of them.’

  ‘Oh, truth-telling’s not always compatible with the defence of an innocent man.’ Ciaran grinned and looked across at Isarel again.

  Isarel said, ‘That sounds like Oscar Wilde.’

  ‘You’re close. Bernard Shaw.’

  ‘I knew only an Irishman could have said it. You’re completely lacking in monastic humility, aren’t you? Why on earth did you become a monk?’

  ‘I’ve often wondered that myself,’ said Ciaran and his voice held the note of reserve Isarel had caught before when Ciaran talked about Kate Kendal.

  He sent him a covert look but only said dryly, ‘Did you have much trouble coaxing funds for this trip out of your – what do I call it? – Treasurer? Bursar?’

  ‘Treasurer will do. No,’ said Ciaran, swinging the car into the by-pass. ‘No trouble in the least.’

  ‘I suppose coaxing Abbots and Treasurers is child’s play after the Law Courts of – where was it? Dublin?’

  ‘Well, I moved about a bit,’ said Ciaran. ‘Dublin and Galway and Waterford. I was in England for a time.’

  ‘It’s just as I thought, you’re no better than a gypsy,’ said Isarel. ‘I can’t imagine how I’m going to cope with you once we reach London. I can’t imagine how anyone ever copes with you. You’ve got as much respect for the truth as Ananias, you manipulate people until their heads spin, and you drink nearly as much as I do, which is saying a good deal! And,’ said Isarel, torn between exasperation and amusement, ‘I can’t begin to guess what you’re doing inside a monastery.’

  ‘At times,’ said Ciaran a bit grimly, ‘neither can I.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The dawn was breaking over the narrow streets of Cremona as the four people in the underground workroom looked at one another.

  A night with your lady . . . The words lay on the air, intrusive and startling.

  Cosimo Amati had never been so shocked in the whole of his life. This enigmatic creature, this servant whom he had summoned from God only knew what dark crevice of hell for the sole purpose of obeying his command – his command, mark you! – had the arrogance to cast lascivious eyes on Isabella! It was no good wrapping the thing up: Cosimo knew perfectly well what the stranger meant.

  Well, Cosimo was certainly not going to permit his wife – his dear, innocent Isabella – to be bartered over as if she was no more than a bushel of corn or a firkin of wine. It was not to be thought of, and that was all there was to be said, and the stranger was please to leave at once. Some other way would be found to rid Cremona of the plague, in fact now that Cosimo came to think of it, it was ve
ry likely not being brought in by the rats anyway.

  Ahasuerus said softly, ‘But how are you to banish me, Lute Maker?’

  How? This was now not only preposterous, it was absurd. If an honest lute maker could not politely request an unwanted visitor to leave his home, and see that request courteously obeyed, Cosimo did not know what things were coming to!

  ‘But I am not unwanted,’ said Ahasuerus. ‘You invited me in.’

  It was then that Isabella moved forward and said quietly, ‘Cosimo, I do not think we have any choice about this. There is always a price to be paid for—’ A quick glance at Ahasuerus, ‘for the devil’s services,’ she said demurely. ‘We should remember that this may be the way to deliver Cremona from the scourge.’ Isabella sent Ahasuerus another sidelong glance and then laid a hand on Cosimo’s arm. ‘If this could happen – if it could succeed – you would be remembered as the man who drove out the plague,’ said Isabella. ‘You would be revered for a very long time in Cremona’s history.’

  Cosimo pulled down his brows and said suspiciously, that that was as maybe.

  ‘And,’ said Isabella, her mouth a guileless curve, but mischief trickling from the corners of her long sensuous eyes, ‘all that is intended is discourse about Cremona’s customs and ways.’ She looked fully at Ahasuerus for the first time. ‘I have your meaning correctly, sir?’

  Ahasuerus returned the look and saw the mischief and the sensuous sideways glance, and thought: Susannah, you faithless bitch! You know exactly what my meaning is – we both know what it is! – and you’ll betray this fat, stupid, little creature without so much as a backward thought! I wonder how many times you’ve betrayed him already! But beneath his smooth cool manner, his heart was beginning to pound in furious anticipation.

  He said in a disinterested voice, ‘You have my meaning correctly, Lady.’

  It was the monk who said, ‘But you can’t possibly—We have no idea of who this might be.’

  ‘They do say,’ murmured Isabella, ‘that the devil, in many of his guises, is a gentleman. If I cannot – place myself in the hands of a gentleman for a few short hours to save Cremona, I should think myself wholly devoid of—’

  ‘Public spirit?’ asked Simon sarcastically.

  ‘Lacking in regard for the good of all the town,’ amended Isabella, and lowered her eyes but not before Simon had seen the amused glint in them. Cat! he thought, but was aware of a ripple of sensuality brushing over his skin, as if she had reached out a velvet-covered paw and stroked the inside of his thigh. A cat, but a very alluring cat. How on earth did fat little Amati keep her from straying? thought Simon, and at once knew the answer: fat little Amati did not keep her from straying at all, simply he did not know – or maybe simply did not acknowledge – that she strayed in the first place. The cat was a clever cat but she was discreet and perhaps she was not wholly devoid of feeling. He looked across at Ahasuerus and thought: and this cool-eyed, enigmatic stranger is going to have her for a night! He felt a sudden surge of arousal, shameful and hot and crude, immediately followed by a wash of jealousy. When he spoke, his voice was cold and harsh, ‘Supposing we agreed to your condition?’ said Simon. ‘How would you do it? How would you rid Cremona of plague-rats?’

  Ahasuerus had been more or less aware of Simon’s thoughts and they had amused him. This monk was astute and he was probably devout, but he was also still very vulnerable to the sins of the flesh. He had looked at Susannah and he had suddenly wanted her very much indeed and then had hated Ahasuerus himself for what they all knew was ahead. This was all very interesting. As for Susannah, she had not changed at all. Sensual and mischievous and as manipulative as ever.

  He said, ‘The night is ending and it is nearly sunrise. I am right? Then tonight at sunset I will play the music you played earlier, Lute Maker. I will play it on the lyre you used to call me and I will walk through your streets sprinkling the music everywhere. And the rats will follow me out of the city.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘I am sure. They will follow me because I know they will follow me.’

  Amati said, ‘If the power is in the music, why can’t I—’

  ‘You could not control it,’ said Ahasuerus politely. ‘You barely controlled it earlier.’

  ‘Can you control it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ahasuerus softly. ‘Yes, I can control it. We are old friends, the music and I.’ He looked at them. ‘I will draw the creatures to the catacombs on the outskirts of Cremona,’ he said, and saw Amati and the monk exchange a look, as if saying: yes, that would be a practical solution.

  Simon said, ‘How do we know we can trust you?’

  ‘You have my word,’ said Ahasuerus, sounding bored.

  ‘The devil is a gentleman?’

  ‘I have no idea. But I—’ He tapped his breast, ‘I will make a solemn pact.’ Did they understand his meaning? Was this a word in use here? He sought for a translation, but then saw that they understood him. ‘I shall keep my part of the pact, and I shall not harm your lady,’ said Ahasuerus.

  Isabella Amati had always known that her morals had nothing in common with the morals of the respectable Cremonan ladies and she knew perfectly well the things that were said about her behind her back. Cat. Wanton. Quite a few people said she had no morals at all, which probably came closest to the truth.

  But it was such fun to take a lover – it was even more fun to take two or three together – and so long as you were discreet and the young men were discreet as well, there was no harm done. She had been very discreet indeed.

  But faced with the dark cloaked stranger who had the most beautiful voice Isabella had ever heard, and who spoke in the purest, most golden Latin imaginable, Isabella was aware of a deep dark sensual hunger stirring and a wish to fling aside the stupid stifling codes and morals and tumble headlong into something thrilling and unknown and dangerous.

  When the stranger said, ‘A night with your lady, Master Lute Maker,’ a bolt of desire sliced through her body and she thought: oh yes! A fleeting vision touched her mind: something about a pale lovely building washed in cool aqua-tints, and an altar soaked in solemnity and immense scholarly devotion. And beyond it all, a passion so intense you would die for it . . .

  Nobody in Cremona really believed that Cosimo Amati had found a way to drive out the plague-rats, but nobody was going to miss the opportunity of seeing him try to do it. Quite aside from the spectacle it would provide, (especially if he failed), there was a very serious aspect to it. By this time, nearly every family in the town had lost someone to the plague and there had already been talk of opening up the old catacombs in order to bury the dead. There were a great many difficulties with plague, and one of them was the burying of all the corpses. The townspeople – overwhelmed by grief and frantic with fear – had already sealed Cremona by closing the city gates against travellers, which was common humanity, and had diligently dug a burial pit on the city’s outskirts, which was common sense.

  The closing of the city gates had thrown them in on themselves a bit, and a few moribund quarrels had flared into life, which you had to expect. There might be a problem with food if things lasted much longer, even though most people had good stocks of wheat and corn and barrels of herrings and salt pork, but this was something that they could probably overcome.

  The real problem was the rats.

  Several nights ago, the two old men who trundled the death carts through the streets each evening at dusk, giving their grisly call to bring out the dead, had come shrieking and wild-eyed into the town. Falling over each other and their own feet in their haste, they yelled that the bodies were moving, the corpses were coming to life. Resurrection Day! they screamed, and them with all their sins on them, and tottered into the tavern to be revived with copious draughts of ale, and to describe in horrid detail how they had seen the corpses moving as they tipped the newest batch of victims into the pit. They had stood horror-struck, they said, and then the corpse plagues had got up from the
pit, climbed out, and pursued them through the night, their winding sheets unravelling, the stench of their putrescence borne with them on the wind. Oh, a terrible sight it had been; they had seen it with their own eyes as clear as they saw that empty tankard on the table there. They indicated the empty tankards rather explicitly at this point and several people leapt with alacrity to re-fill them because this was too good a story to leave unfinished.

  Well! said the carters quaffing appreciatively, they had abandoned the tilt cart at that point and they had bolted back to the town for safety, which was only what you would expect of any man. They cast fearful glances over their shoulders in the direction of the door and prophesied that at any minute the rotting corpses would come shambling into the town in search of those who had put them there. At any minute the whole of Cremona might find itself over-run by decaying bodies searching for the ones who had buried them alive, out for vengeance, which was a thing to give you a shuddering grue, and speaking of grue, if there was a tankard more ale to be had, it would be very gratefully received.

  Nobody had entirely believed any of this, but everyone had spent a very nasty couple of hours visualising the possibility of live bodies being buried in the pit, which was not altogether unheard of. Most people knew someone who knew someone who had an aunt or a cousin . . . Very unpleasant indeed.

  And then in the end, of course, when a party had ventured out to the burial pit, they had found that the heaving of the corpses was not due to premature burial at all, but to the rats, horrid scavenging things, gnawing and nibbling at decomposing flesh and then scuttling back into Cremona’s streets, carrying the loathsome disease with them. Small wonder the plague continued to rampage! said the townspeople, torn between disgust and fury. They burned torches constantly at the pit’s rim, and after every new burial spadefuls of lime were sprinkled over the bodies. The two carters, pot-valiant old fools, had been told to keep off the ale while they were about their grotesque work because while it was understandable that they should take a mug or two of an evening, there was such a thing as moderation and everyone had had a very bad scare.