Lucifer's Crown (38 page)

From the Humvee stepped three men, led, of course, by Robin. He was wearing what Maggie assumed was his Robert Prince outfit—black overcoat, starched white shirt, striped tie, fancy leather gloves. One of the other men was a jowly individual with slicked-back hair—wait, she'd seen him on television in Glastonbury. Reginald Soulis. The third man looked like a Dallas Cowboys tackle, his shaved head smaller than his massive neck, which rose like a tree trunk from his even more massive body. And Mick thought Willie Armstrong was muscle.

The man from the Nissan
was
Willie Armstrong, dressed in jeans and a jacket. He took his place beside the others, his blue eyes darting so quickly from sky to loch to sheep to Stone that Maggie wondered if he was using some kind of X-ray vision. Unlike the close-set lead-lined eyes of the other two men, staring sullenly at Thomas and Maggie, Mick and Rose.

Robin's smile was the usual infuriating mixture of smug and malicious. He pulled off his gloves, slowly, aiming for maximum effect. “You've been having a busy day of it, haven't you? You look to have been digging sewers. I must thank you for sparing me and my men here the dirty work. At least, the dirty work of digging."

He strolled across the green grass. The black lamb hopped onto the ruined wall. A shudder went through Mick. Rose laid her hand on his arm.

Thomas raised his right hand. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, begone.” Robin stopped dead, grimacing. But he didn't disappear. Thomas dropped his hand to his side, where it closed to a fist.
On to Plan B
, Maggie thought,
whatever that is
.

"See there, Stan,” said droopy-jowls to thick-neck, “he perverts the word of God. He needs stopping. In the old days he'd have been stopped, right and proper."

Stan—Felton, Maggie assumed—turned a disgusted look on his companion. “So Mr. Posh Toff Soulis is God's personal mouthpiece, eh?"

Armstrong looked down at his feet. Robin slapped at the lamb with his gloves, shooing it away, and advanced to the edge of the circle. “Stan, Reg, get this stone into the Humvee. Willie, you owe Mick here for bashing you. Come take his little pig-sticker. He'll not hand you any trouble, not if he wants to protect Rose."

All three men started forward, Stan and Reg kicking at the dandelions, Willie trudging along behind.

Robin's cold green eyes considered Rose. He ran his tongue between his lips. “Your faith has come to naught, now, at the end."

"This isn't the end.” Rose's voice was perfectly steady.

"Not for you, no.” Robin looked Maggie up and down. “As for you, well, mutton can be as tasty as lamb. Especially well-seasoned mutton."

Maggie saved her breath.
Just goes to show you the banality of evil
, she thought, that a real live demon came across as a B-movie villain.

Robin stared narrow-eyed into Thomas's impassive face. “It will take only a moment for my friends here to drop you into that well. Burial alive in
her
cunt, isn't that appropriate? You'll have eternity to contemplate how terribly you've failed your trust."

Thomas's lips moved. “
Pater noster qui es in caelis
..."

Robin went on, relishing his moment, “I have two artifacts. They will summon the third from where you have hidden it. Winner take all."

"
Mater noster qui es in terris
...” Thomas murmured.

Reg jostled Mick and Rose aside and out of the circle. Stan leered at Rose but was recalled by Reg's muttered curse. They lifted the Stone and shuffled across the muddy flagstones, groaning and panting. Willie held out his hand to Mick. “Give me the knife, please, sir."

"Don't do this,” said Rose. “He's not a Scotland Yard officer..."

Robin brushed her cheek with his gloves. “Close those delectable lips, Rose. Until I'm ready for them to open."

Mick stepped in front of her indignant glare, the knife at waist height, and pushed her back into the circle. “Leave off."

"Brigit daughter of Dugall the Brown,” Thomas said, “son of Aodh son of Art son of Conn son of Criara son of Carbre son of Cas son of Cormac; I shall not be slain, I shall not be sworded, I shall not be put in a cell..."

Reg and Stan walked across the lawn. Sheep stood between them and the Humvee. “Naff off,” Stan called to them.

Now would be a good time
, Maggie thought,
for Thomas's prayer to be answered
. A little divine intervention.
Deus ex machina
, even ... A breath of warm wind fanned her hair. She heard barking. Not the howling of wolves, but the barking of dogs. Over the hill ran two border collies, their black and white coats gleaming in the sun. The sheep, all ninety and nine of them, roused themselves. The dogs urged them into a run. The black lamb leaped up onto the hill above the eastern end of the chapel, his halo glowing.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Thomas gestured, and the gesture alone knocked Robin to the side.

Willie leaped out of the way as Robin stumbled toward him. Stan and Reg dropped the Stone, turned to run, and were submerged beneath a wave of wool.

Even Maggie knew the text Thomas was setting. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me."

Mick sprinted toward the Stone, sheep parting like the Red Sea before him. Taking one of the horns of the altar in his left hand, he brandished the knife in his right.

Robin's momentum brought him up against the ruined wall. His knees buckling, he sat down hard. His eyes flashed, his teeth ground, his mouth contorted into a sneer that was equally hatred and jealousy. “Get the Stone, Armstrong! Damn you, get the Stone!"

Stan and Reg reappeared, dirty and disheveled, as the flock stampeded past them. They staggered to their feet and toward the door of the Humvee. But the dogs were on them, snarling and snapping. Stan elbowed Reg aside. Reg kicked him. One dog leaped, got a mouthful of Stan's coat, and jerked him down. Reg leaped into the driver's seat and slammed the door not only on the second dog but on Stan.

Turning his back on Robin, Willie inched toward the Stone. Mick spun toward him. “Constable, you're needing to choose yourself a side. Now."

Willie stopped dead, raising his hands. “I only ever meant to be one of the good guys, and just now I reckon that's you lot."

Maggie and Rose lent their voices to Thomas's, the words spilling out in a musical cadence, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

With a cry of rage, Robin vanished.

Reg started the engine. Stan threw himself at the Humvee. He opened the door just as Reg took off, spraying clods of dirt, and pulled himself inside. The car roared down the hill toward the highway, bouncing and heaving, Stan's feet flapping out the open door. It disappeared behind the shoulder of the hill and the noise of its engine faded and died.

The thunder of hooves and the protesting baa's dwindled into the distance. The sheep might never have been there, except the snow and the grass were churned by hooves. The lamb stood above the chapel, its dark eyes surveying the scene below with benign wisdom and no little humor. Maggie thought suddenly of what Gupta had said, about natural forces which are very much involved, intelligent, even ironic.

"Robin is powerless against the unblemished lamb,” Thomas said with a deep genuflection.

The two dogs took up stances on either side of and just below the lamb, their mighty wings opening, their swords gleaming ... Maggie blinked. Three ordinary animals were scampering away down the hillside.

"Wow,” breathed Rose. Mick released the Stone and looked at his knife.

"What was all that in aid of?” Willie peered down the hill with a disgusted expression, no doubt thinking Robin had run after the Humvee. “Why were you staring at the dogs and the lamb?"

Thomas answered, out of breath, “We saw a vision."

"A hallucination, like as not,” Willie corrected, “what with hyperventilating and all. I read about that in a science journal."

Thomas conceded the field to Willie's magazine. “Would you care for some food, Constable? There is a lovely picnic hamper in the back of the Rover."

"Don't mind if I do, it's a right cold day and Prince left me sitting in a layby for bloody hours.” With a slightly snockered look at Rose, Willie marched over to the car.

Rose gave Mick a hug. “My hero!” she said with a grin.

"My heroine!” he returned, but his grin wobbled. He touched her cheek. “Are you all right, then, lass?"

"He didn't hurt me. He just made me mad."

Mick sheathed his
sgian dubh
. “It's still tingling."

"An object that comes in contact with a relic often takes on the virtue of that relic,” Thomas told him.

Maggie's knees felt like jelly. She took Thomas's hand and he returned her grasp. Was that what the knife felt like to Mick? Except the thrumming of power she sensed was not in an artifact of steel and bone, but in a man. A man who was, at the moment, so white around the gills he was darn near green. “The Stone—it caused the sheep and the dogs and—and everything?"

"That was what we in the religion business call a miracle. A glimpse of the Invisible."

She wasn't going to argue. “You deliberately risked our lives to get the Stone, didn't you?"

"Yes. Once again I apologize for my presumption."

"You just hoped we'd defeat him?” Maggie persisted.

"The relics perpetuate hope. If you needed any proof of that..."

"...I got it. If there were an objective test of a miracle, then it wouldn't be one, right?” With a groan that was as much a laugh, she squeezed his hand and released it.

Willie came strolling back, half a sandwich in his hand. “Constable Armstrong,” said Thomas. “I assume you're no longer working with Robin Fitzroy. Robert Prince."

"Robin Fitzroy? Well, he's lied about most everything else, why not his name?” Willie inhaled the rest of the sandwich. “He says you're some sort of master criminal, Mr. London. But I reckon if you'd killed Calum Dewar, then you'd just as soon have left me to die at Housesteads. I wasn't out cold the entire time, mind you, just muzzy. I heard voices. Prince's I placed when he was talking to Mountjoy, and Mick's I placed in Edinburgh."

"What did you overhear, then?” asked Mick.

"You asked Prince about the car I'd left in the car park. If you'd coshed me, you wouldn't be pointing out I'd gone missing, would you? He told you I was okay. Even if he didn't know I was lying there with my head bashed in, he had no call telling you I was okay. And why take you away to a safe house when Hexham police station was just up the road?"

Smart kid
, Maggie thought.

"He and Mountjoy were going on about some religious foundation being under attack. Didn't sound at all sensible to me, but then, you wouldn't go wrong calling me an atheist. Each to his own."

Rose smiled indulgently.

"Prince was flannelling Mountjoy about promotions and Scotland Yard and how everyone else was after bringing him down. Then, the way I hear it, the chief constable got onto Scotland Yard and they'd never heard of Prince. The chief was already unhappy with the way Mountjoy was handling the Dewar case, so had him in and dressed him down. Mountjoy resigned on the spot. When Prince rang me and told me I was still working for him, I came along to see what's what. And I saw it. He's some sort of master criminal himself, is he?"

"You could say that,” said Thomas.

"Well, art theft can be as rum a business as drug-running. Anywhere there's brass there's crime.” Willie made a face. “And I handed over that old book sweet as you please, didn't I? Prince said he'd take it to the evidence room in Edinburgh, but I reckon he still has it. Damn and blast!"

Thomas suggested, “You were only following orders."

"Ah, but there's more than orders to follow, if you take my meaning."

"I do.” Smiling, Thomas pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket. “Here's my address and telephone number, Constable, and Mick's in Edinburgh. Superintendent Mackenzie will vouch for us, if need be."

"No need. I believe what I see.” Willie took the paper. “Glastonbury, is it? Grand place."

"Please ring me if Robert Prince contacts you again,” Thomas went on. “He'll have some explanation for what happened here today, never fear."

"If I acted as though I believed him, then I might could find the book. I need to be making up for backing the wrong horse, don't I?” He looked down at the Stone. “And what's this then?"

"It's an ancient Celtic inauguration stone,” Thomas explained.

"Like the Stone of Scone,” Willie said, and added confidingly, “My mates take the mickey out of me for reading history, but I reckon you need to know where you came from, eh?"

Thomas positively beamed on the young man. “You're welcome to join us in Fortingall tonight. I can promise you a feast in honor of St. Andrew."

"Thank you kindly, but I'd better be getting myself back to Hexham. I gave up my day off for that prat Prince."

"One more question,” Mick said. “In the warehouse, did you fall over that step ladder of a purpose?"

"Well, now, I'll not be giving away police secrets.” Willie grinned, a broad open grin that drew smiles from the others. “Would you like a hand shifting that stone? It looked right heavy."

"No thank you,” said Thomas. “We can manage."

"Cheers, then.” Willie shook hands all around, his grasp steady, and bounded up the hill toward the Nissan.

Maggie smiled. “Nothing like casting your bread upon P. C. Armstrong and having it returned a hundred-fold."

"Indeed.” Making the sign of the cross, Thomas murmured a blessing toward the departing car and its occupant, then added to Maggie's quirked brow, “A blessing will not hurt him, will it? Mick, let us shift the Stone. Rose, if you'd be kind enough to open the boot of car."

Rose, Mick, and Thomas stowed the Stone in the back of the Rover while Maggie wearily gathered up the tools. She felt like she'd been riding a roller coaster all day. So did the kids, judging by Mick's drawn features and Rose's slightly bulging eyes, as though she was holding in a scream.