“Very good, Chief Karlus,” Lord Darcy said. “Allow me to present my companions: Master Sean O Lochlainn, Father Adamsus, and Master Lord John Quetzal. I am acting as Duke Charles’s Special Investigator, and these are my assistants. We are here at the duke’s direction to investigate the crime of murder which was committed here.”
“Very good, Your Lordship,” the Chief said, stepping back and giving Lord Darcy a formal salute. “However we can help, please let me know.”
The importance of tradition was not underestimated in the Angevin Empire. The Duke’s Guard was supposed to render all assistance to a ducal investigator as a matter of course—but not until the Guard was officially informed that the man was an investigator, and was currently investigating a crime. Lord Darcy’s official title of Chief Investigator of the Court of Chivalry would warrant more than the usual courtesy—but not one whit of assistance from a guardsman on duty, unless he was actively investigating a crime. When an investigator was not actively engaged in his employment, he was entitled to the full courtesy of his rank—but not his title. Only when charged with investigating a crime did a ducal or royal investigator speak with the full voice and authority of the Duke, or the King.
Such rules could be found, or extrapolated from other rules, in the Guardsman’s Handbook, but they were merely a compilation of age-old accepted behavior. The force behind them came not from any act of parliament or royal fiat, but from centuries of tradition, which had a meaning and a force greater than law.
“How many men have you on the island, Chief?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Twenty-six, my lord. Twenty-eight, counting myself and my serjeant. I have twelve stationed around the shoreline, six roaming about, and eight in reserve.”
“Have you had any trouble?”
“Nary a sign of anything, my lord.”
“Very good. Keep at it. I suppose your relief is provided for?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“If anything should happen, no matter how slight, see that I am notified at once, Chief Karlus. I depend on you.”
“No fear, my lord,” the craggy-faced chief assured him. “Nothing is going to happen while I and my lads are here.”
“Well then, if anything should attempt to happen, let me know.”
“I shall, my lord.”
“Very good.” Lord Darcy turned to his companions. “Well, lords and masters, shall we ascend the pyramid and see what awaits us?”
The four of them made their way up the wooden steps from the pier and began the climb to the twin temples atop the ancient pyramid. “I see, or should say I feel, that you didn’t reactivate the aversion spell on the pyramid,” Lord Darcy commented to Lord John Quetzal when they were about a third of the way to the top of the massive stone structure.
“That’s true, my lord,” Lord John replied. “The guardsmen were sent here immediately, and it would have made things extremely uncomfortable for them. The original spell wouldn’t have, I confess, but I wasn’t sure how to prepare that one.”
“And why is that, Lord John?” Master Sean asked.
“The original spell, which I removed when Father Adamsus and Count de Maisvin and I arrived here, was carefully attuned to the purpose of the visit. Anyone visiting for a legitimate purpose would not have felt its effect.”
“That’s a very complex and difficult job—to have, so-to-speak, ‘windows’ built into a spell like that,” Master Sean commented. “Why would anyone go to the trouble?”
“And why, then, would you and Father Adamsus have felt its effects?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Master Sean’s question I cannot answer,” Lord John said. “We would have to investigate the ducal records to find the one authorizing the spell.”
“And even that might not mention it,” Master Sean added. “It might have been a whim of the sorcerer’s, don’t you see.”
“That’s so,” Lord John agreed.
Lord Darcy paused for a second, and looked down at how far they had come, and then back up at how far they still had to go. “This is quite a climb,” he added. “I didn’t realize that these things were so steep.”
Father Adamsus sat down on the steps, wiping his forehead with a large white handkerchief that he pulled from his cape. “I believe I can answer your question, Lord Darcy,” he said, puffing slightly from the effort of the climb. “We felt the effects of the aversion spell because we were not there to engage in anything that the original creator of the spell would have considered legitimate business. Indeed, quite the reverse. We were there to reactivate one of the temples. Not the unholy temple of Huitsilopochtli, to be sure, but I doubt whether any spell could be set fine enough to tell the difference.”
“I see,” Lord Darcy said, thinking that over as they continued to make their way up the high and narrow steps. “This case has some interesting aspects. I look forward to—ah! Here we are at the top.” Lord Darcy pulled himself up and paused to look around. “A noble view,” he said. “I believe this must be the highest point in the entire area.”
“That is so, my lord,” Father Adamsus agreed.
Lord Darcy turned around to examine the facades of the two temples which crouched together atop the massive pile of stones. They were not built to be in harmony with each other, he observed. The two were of different sizes and shapes, their proportions were different, and the structural details did not agree in form or style. Either would have looked impressive centered atop the pyramid, but the two side by side looked to be a hasty and ill-advised compromise.
The two temples were crowded together at the top, with a walk space from the walls to the edge of the pyramid, which varied from about eight feet in front to less than four feet at the rear. The temple of Huitsilopochtli, on Lord Darcy’s left, was by far the more massive structure. Although tiny compared to the pyramid it rested upon, it bulked large on the small platform at the apex. About thirty feet wide and fifteen feet high, it had a peaked roof that added about ten feet to its height, and was surrounded by intricately carved waist-high stones, which were set into its walls every few feet. Ten feet high on the outer wall, going all around the building, a wide frieze had been cut into the stone. Lord Darcy stared at it for a minute before realizing that the carving was made up of a triple row of grinning skulls.
Snug up next to it, with less than a foot clearance between the two walls, was the smaller temple of Tsaltsaluetol, the God of Fire, where the Eternal Flame was to be rekindled. The stone walls of this temple were covered with Azteque pictoglyphs, which seemed to be arranged in descending rows, right-to-left, to tell a continuous story. There were, Lord Darcy noted, far fewer skulls among the designs carved into its surface. The roof of the temple was slightly domed.
The foot of space between the two temples was filled waist-high with the debris and clutter of building, as though the stone masons had not wanted to bother taking their fragments back down the pyramid. There were signs that the space had once been closed off by a thin cement barrier, but it had worn away over the centuries.
The great wooden front doors of both temples were standing wide open, and Lord Darcy walked over to the right-hand one, the temple of Tsaltsaluetol, and peered inside. The interior consisted of one room, essentially square, lit by a series of horizontal slits cut into the walls right under the roof. Aside from a very small back door, which also stood open, the room was devoid of furnishings or other appointments.
“This is the temple to Tsaltsaluetol, the God of Fire, is it not?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Tsaltsaluetol,” Master Lord John said, correcting Lord Darcy’s pronunciation. “Yes, it is.”
“Where is the Eternal Flame going to be placed when it arrives?” Lord Darcy asked. “There is no altar or fireplace.”
“The High Priest, Lord Chiklquetl, is bringing the altar,” Lord John told him. “When the temple was abandoned, three hundred years ago, the priest of the temple took the Eternal Flame with him. Now it is being returned.”
“Ah,” Lord D
arcy said. He entered the temple and looked curiously around at the bare walls.
“The murdered man is in the other temple, my lord,” Father Adamsus said, finding, not to his surprise, that he couldn’t bring himself to say the name of the god who had once occupied the house next door. Certainly not while this close to that absent god’s home.
“I know, Father,” Lord Darcy said. “That’s why I’m in this temple.”
“Oh,” the good Father said.
“These doors have not been open long,” Lord Darcy commented.
“That’s so, my lord,” Lord John told him. “The doors to this temple were opened a few days before we arrived to cleanse the, ah, temple next door. Three days, I believe.”
“By someone who had a legitimate purpose, no doubt,” Lord Darcy said, smiling. “Else he would have had to suffer the effects of that overly elaborate century-old aversion spell.”
“Prince Ixequatle,” Lord John said quietly.
Lord Darcy turned to look at him. “The young man whose body lies next door?”
“That is so.”
“And what was he doing here?” Lord Darcy asked. “Was he alone?”
“He came here to see what preparations would be necessary before the temple of Tsaltsaluetol could be reconsecrated and receive the holy fire,” Lord John told him. “I believe he was alone.”
“Fascinating!” Lord Darcy said. “No doubt he came by cutter, and the boatmen waited below. We shall have to locate those boatmen and speak with them. I take it he could not have entered the temple of Huitsilopochtli at that time?”
Father Adamsus felt himself wince as the ancient name was pronounced. I’ll have to watch that, he thought. Either I’m getting overly sensitive, or there’s something that, as a Sensitive, I’m feeling in this location. I had better determine which.
“There’s no way he could have opened those doors, my lord,” Lord John said. “The locking spell had not been disturbed, and at any rate, he didn’t have the key.”
“You checked for dematerialization, of course, my lord?” Master Sean asked.
“Well, actually, I didn’t,” Lord John said, looking faintly embarrassed. “But, as Prince Ixequatle was not himself a wizard, I thought it highly unlikely.”
“It is, it is,” Master Sean assured the young master magician. “But we’ll check for it, nonetheless. It isn’t until we’ve eliminated the dross of the unlikely, as my lord Darcy is fond of reminding us, that we can find the remaining golden grain of truth.”
“I expect that’s why this room is so clean,” Lord Darcy remarked. “I had expected to find a century’s worth of dust in here, but the Prince must have swept it out.” He looked keenly at each of his companions for a second, as if expecting a reaction. When he got none, he resumed his careful investigation.
Lord Darcy spent another ten minutes looking systematically about the small room, peering into the shadowy comers with the aid of a pocket lantern and a magnifying glass, which he produced from an inner pocket of his cape. Then he stood up and surveyed the entire room, slowly turning on his heel to bring it all into view. “Fascinating,” he said.
The others looked blankly around the empty room.
“What is there in here that you find fascinating, my lord?” Master Sean asked.
“It’s what isn’t in here, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy told him. “It’s that missing dust that fascinates me. There’s so much of it, you see.”
Father Adamsus rubbed his hands together. “Surely we have here a conundrum,” he said. “You point out to us the presence of the absence of dust, my lord. And yet you yourself offered an explanation of that a few short minutes ago, when you suggested that the poor unfortunate lad whose body awaits us next door must have swept out the room himself when he opened it.”
Lord Darcy turned to the exorcist. “Oh, come now, Father,” he said. “Can you picture a young Azteque prince carrying a broom up here in the first place, or using it in the second? I find the idea highly unlikely, and incompatible with my views of either youth or royalty.”
“Well now,” Father Adamsus said, putting his forefinger to his lower lip, “when you put it that way—”
Lord Darcy turned to Master Sean. “Is there any spell, or enchantment, or other diversion that would recall the dust that covered this floor, let us say a week ago?”
Master Sean thought it over for a minute before shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, my lord,” he replied. “There’s a lack of relevance, don’t you see. It doesn’t matter to the dust where it lies—here or elsewhere. It has never been attached or associated with this room.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Lord Darcy said. “But, I suppose, one can’t expect miracles. Come, let us go next door and investigate the scene of the crime.”
The temple of Huitsilopochtli was as it had been last week. As it had been, for that matter, five centuries before. Three parallel vertical slits high in the south wall admitted the rays of the afternoon sun, spilling them across the ancient altar that dominated the room. Nine feet long, three feet wide, four feet high; carved from a solid block of once-white granite, the humpbacked altar, stained with the blood of centuries of human sacrifices, crouched before them, chuckling of ancient horrors. They all felt it; Father Adamsus perhaps more than the others. On the stone was the body of Prince Ixequatle, reposing there as it had for the past week.
“What’s to be done with this temple?” Lord Darcy asked. “I take it, it is not to be used for anything?”
“Certainly for nothing religious or ritualistic, my lord,” Father Adamsus said. “I am going to insist to His Grace that it be sealed up with cement, and the most powerful spells a Church sorcerer can manage, and eventually razed to the floor, and every stone broken to powder and scattered to the winds.”
“A bit strong,” Lord Darcy said.
“The—being—who was home here, cannot be treated lightly,” Father Adamsus said.
“I understand that you did not perform the exorcism rite on the day you discovered the body,” Lord Darcy said to Father Adamsus. “You had come up here to do so, but it was never done.”
“I, ah, dissuaded him, my lord,” Lord John Quetzal said. “Likewise, I suggested that Father Adamsus not give the deceased the last rites. Didn’t want to destroy evidence.”
“Oh, of course, of course—you did right,” Lord Darcy said. “I was just wondering if that would explain the odd feeling I have that that bit of stone there is watching me.”
“I have the same feeling, my lord,” Father Adamsus said. “But, oddly enough, whatever physical or psychic evil was in this temple—and I feel sure that there must have been a myriad of, ah, undesirable presences—they are none of them present any longer. The stone altar, although washed in blood, is totally innocent of malevolence.”
“Really?” Master Sean said. “That’s very odd—very odd indeed. How do you account for that, Father?”
Father Adamsus shook his head. “I cannot,” he said. “It is a puzzle.”
“Couldn’t an exorcism have been performed at an earlier time?” Lord Darcy suggested. “Perhaps a century ago, when the temples were sealed and the avoidance spell was first put on the pyramid?”
“It could have, my lord, no question about that,” Father Adamsus replied. “The only thing is—it wasn’t! As you know, any exorcism procedure has to be authorized by the local bishop. And there is no record of any such authorization.”
“Very curious,” Lord Darcy said, looking about him at the stones of the temple floor, dark-stained as the altar, with the blood of centuries. “One would expect the presence of the Dark Force—if I may use that imprecise expression in the presence of my professional confreres—to be overwhelming in this, ah, place. Wouldn’t you say, Master Sean?”
“Aye,” Master Sean replied. “Very much so, my lord. Father Adamsus, what say you? Were you surprised at the absence of hostile entities to submit to your exorcism?”
“Master Sean, I was astounded,�
� the slender priest said, lacing his hands together in front of his chest. “My only other experience with one of these—pyramids—had led me to expect otherwise.”
“We must assume, then, that the rite of exorcism was performed in this temple, at some time in the past—regardless of the Cathedral records,” Lord Darcy said. “Since these beings do not of themselves go away, I believe.”
“Indeed not,” Father Adamsus agreed. “They are bound to the brick and mortar that called or created them—or, in this case, the stone and blood. Only the Holy Rite of Exorcism of the Mother Church can relieve them of the geas that compels them to remain where they are. Even then, as I had occasion to remark to the Bishop a few weeks ago, they may, under some circumstances, decide to return home. Which is why I feel so strongly that the, ah, home be removed—destroyed—obliterated—before the being who once dwelled here decides to return.”
“I understand,” Lord Darcy said. “Master Sean, is there anything in that carpetbag of yours that would give us an indication of just how long ago this putative exorcism was performed?”
“I’m afraid not, my lord,” Master Sean said. “The beings of the demi-monde are not, strictly speaking, the concern of the licensed magician. Some forms of sorcery may strive to control or direct them, but all of these forms fall within the realm of black magic.”
“Are there not some priest-magicians who deal with these creatures?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Aye,” Master Sean agreed. “But only to enquire of them, neither to control nor direct, if you see what I mean.”
“It is a curious thing,” Father Adamsus said, “that none of the priests who have the gift of exorcism are among these priest-magicians. They can communicate with the spirit world, but they cannot banish it, for some reason.”
“I think I can explain that, Father,” Lord John said, a slight twinkle evident in his black eyes. “It is a question of belief.”
A Study in Sorcery: A Lord Darcy Novel Page 9