The Sin Eater (25 page)

‘Those chessmen,' goes on Fintan, ‘are as black and as bad as Satan's own horns. And there they sit, in the library at Kilderry Castle, and Satan's power trapped within them.

‘And my girl at the castle tells how there are times when the Black Earl has sat in that room any length of time, that his eyes take on a look that terrifies them all. A hungry look,' said Fintan. ‘As if his eyes could eat a man's soul.'

He sat back and surveyed his audience, clearly pleased at the effect his words had created. For good measure (he could never resist the extra flourish), he said, ‘And you'll remember, all of you, that Kilderry Castle is no more than three miles from this very building.'

It would be untrue to say we believed Fintan's story, but it would also be untrue to say we disbelieved it. There are curious things in the world – you chance on them from time to time. Objects or houses – even people – that possess extraordinary powers.

After supper, Brother Cuthbert and I retired to my study, and Fintan followed us.

‘There's more to tell,' he said, seating himself comfortably in a chair.

‘I thought there might be. Speak out, Fintan.'

‘Father Abbot, my girl in Kilderry Castle says the chess pieces are frightening them all to death.' His face was serious, and for once there was no trace of his customary flippancy.

‘In what way?' asked Brother Cuthbert.

‘There's always been nights when some of the servants have seen the shadows of the chess figures creeping along the castle corridors, and peering out from behind a curtain,' said Fintan. ‘But while the chessmen were unused – while they stood quietly on their table – nothing ever happened. But a few months back, the Earl used the chess set. A man came to the castle and challenged Kilderry and the two of them sat playing for hours and hours. My girl believes that during those hours something woke in the figures – something that had slumbered more or less harmlessly for a very long time. And now – you'll think this is absurd – but she's in fear and terror for her sanity and her soul. And for the souls of others.' He studied us for a moment. ‘I see the mention of souls hits you in the consciences,' he said. ‘I thought it would.'

‘You thought right,' said I drily. ‘What is it you're wanting from us, Fintan?'

His eyes gleamed. ‘I've promised my girl that I'd ask would some of you come up to the castle when the Earl's away.'

‘Why?' This was Brother Cuthbert.

‘To destroy the chessmen and vanquish the devil's power, of course.'

As the good Lord is my witness, when Fintan said this, a cold, dry breath of wind ruffled its way across the small, fire-lit room and I felt it brush my skin like icy claws.

I said, firmly, ‘Fintan, if you're suggesting we perform an exorcism . . .' I broke off, frowning. ‘That isn't something that can be undertaken lightly. We'd need the Bishop's permission at the very least.'

‘There's no need for exorcism,' said Fintan. ‘All I want is for you to come up to the castle with me and burn that devilish chess set so we can tip the ashes into the ocean forever.' He regarded us. ‘And tonight,' he said, ‘the Earl is away, and the castle empty.'

Cuthbert and I sat over the dying fire, discussing what to do.

‘Do we believe that rogue?' I said. ‘For he's the world's most extravagant storyteller.'

‘I believe him,' said Cuthbert. ‘People forget the devil is extremely clever – they also forget that he's extremely ancient. When he lays his plans he doesn't think in terms of a few years, you know; he thinks of the age of an entire world. And he adapts to the worlds he prowls. There's the popular image of him as a persuasive gentleman with horns and a forked tail, but if he went around today looking like that, people would think he was dressed-up for a costume ball.'

I said, ‘Cuthbert, you constantly amaze me. What would you know about costume balls?'

‘I wasn't always a monk,' said Cuthbert, injured. ‘I've had my small adventures, Father Abbot. And I know Fintan Reilly's an unlikely instrument for the good Lord to choose, but if he really has stumbled upon an ancient pocket of evil, it's for us to help him fight it.'

As he said this, a breath of wind gusted down the chimney and stirred the glowing peat fire in the hearth. I said, with more assurance than I was feeling, ‘I think we'd better go up to Kilderry Castle and see this chess set for ourselves. But it's a task for younger men.'

Cuthbert, slightly aggrieved, said he hoped he could still say a prayer over a fragment of evil as effectively as ever.

‘Yes, but it's three miles to Kilderry Castle and a steep haul up the hill, and you with the arthritis in both knees,' I said. ‘So I suggest—'

It was at that point someone tapped softly on the door.

It was N.S. He came in with an air of faint apology, and took the seat offered him.

‘I won't prevaricate, Father Abbot,' he said. ‘It's about Fintan Reilly's story.'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you going out to Kilderry Castle to destroy that chess set?'

The directness of this disconcerted me somewhat. ‘I don't know,' I said, slowly. ‘Why do you want to know so particularly?'

‘If you do,' he said, ignoring my question, ‘Would you take me with you?'

‘You? Why would we take you?'

N.S. stared into the fire. ‘I have some knowledge of that old legend, Father.'

‘But,' said Cuthbert, ‘you surely don't believe Fintan's story?'

‘Evil exists,' said N.S. ‘And if you mean to confront that particular evil, you should have with you someone who understands it.'

‘Do you understand it?'

‘No. But I've encountered it.' He looked up at me. ‘Father Abbot,' he said. ‘I was the man who played that chess game with the Black Earl of Kilderry. I was the one who woke the evil in those figures.'

It was an uncomfortable journey we made to Kilderry Castle the next night, and it was not made easier by the blizzard that was raging everywhere.

N.S. and I were wrapped up against the cold; Fintan, a hardy soul, wore only his customary greatcoat with the deep inner pockets. A poacher's coat, of course, but I'd have to admit that if a plump hare or two found its way to the monastery kitchens, or a side of salmon appeared on our table, we accepted them and asked no questions.

Fintan had acquired a small cart with a donkey to pull it – when asked whence it came, he murmured vaguely about it belonging to a pedlar who had been glad to loan it for a day or two. It was a rickety old thing; Brother Cuthbert, standing at the monastery door to bid us farewell, was shocked to his toes to think of Father Abbot riding abroad on such a contraption.

‘You'll be jolted like an unset junket after ten feet,' he said, ‘and your insides scrambled out of recognition, I shouldn't wonder. It's not fitting, Father Abbot.'

‘It's not fitting that the Earl of Kilderry should be harbouring the devil's arts,' said I. ‘I shan't mind a bit of jolting in God's work.'

‘It's a short enough ride anyway,' said N.S.

But it turned out that Fintan – or possibly the pedlar – had spread a thick rug on the cart's floor and the journey was not, in the event, too uncomfortable.

I carried the large crucifix from our chapel, and we each had a phial of holy water, blessed by the Archbishop on his last visit. I had the missal bestowed on the monastery at its opening and had marked the Ninety-First Psalm – “
Whosoever dwelleth under the defence of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty . . .”
It's a powerful prayer against Satan's minions, that prayer.

Fintan carried an ancient blunderbuss which his grandfather had used at Waterloo. He appeared to think that if discharged in the face of any evil adversaries that might be prowling the castle, it would banish them there and then. Cuthbert, seeing it, said it did not look as if it had been fired since Waterloo and he would be surprised if it made more than a splutter.

It was almost eleven o'clock when we finally reached Kilderry Castle, and very dark it was, with the moon behind clouds most of the time.

Kilderry Castle stands on a small hilltop – it's a brooding, squat place, with frowning battlements and mullioned stonework adorned with gargoyles. I think former Earls liked to keep a watch for enemies sneaking up the hillside, and fire off arrows at them. On the crest of this thought I said, ‘Fintan, you are sure Himself of Kilderry is away at the moment?'

‘I am,' said Fintan, who was hunched over the reins, encouraging the little donkey by means of various epithets.

‘He's often away,' said N.S. casually.

As we went through a belt of trees, a sharp spiteful wind stirred the leafless branches, causing them to reach down as if they intended to snatch up any stray enemies of the Lords of Kilderry. A faint dank mist rose from the ground, and I shivered. Beside me, N.S. drew the hood of his cloak over his head.

‘We'll leave the cart here,' said Fintan, when we were about two-thirds of the way up. He sprang down and tethered the donkey's reins to a tree stump covered with a thick mat of ivy. ‘The path's not wide enough for the cart from here. Will I bring the carpet bag with me?'

‘Why would we need that?'

‘To conceal the blunderbuss,' said Fintan, as if it should be obvious. ‘For I'm not shouldering it and carrying it up there for all to see.'

‘Bring the bag,' I said.

As we walked warily up the slope, the old castle lay deep in shadow, although several times I thought lights glinted in the narrow windows. As we climbed the steep slope I thought something huffed its sulphurous breath into my face, and a low voice, like the crackling of brittle leaves or snapping bones, whispered in my ear.

“
Better to go back while you still can
,”
said this voice. “
For you won't beat the One you're going to confront . . .”

‘Oh yes I will,' I said, very softly, and N.S. glanced at me in surprise.

Kilderry Castle, when finally we stood in its courtyard, was the most ramshackle place I ever saw in my life. Ivy covered parts of the grey walls and weeds thrust up between huge cracks in the courtyard. The gargoyles leered down like very demons themselves.

Beside me, N.S. said, very softly, ‘It's as if there's something sick and evil dwelling in there, and it's oozed its malignancy through the stones until they're decayed and rotten.'

(The reader will see from that remark why I ascribe too much imagination to N.S.)

There was a massive portcullis at the centre of the castle's front, its great iron teeth clamped firmly down. A rusting bell twist hung down at one side. It was a relief when Fintan indicated a more conventional door set into the outer wall further along. ‘Eithne said she would leave that door unbolted for us,' he said.

‘But you should be careful,' put in N.S. ‘For there's a murder hole just inside.'

‘A . . . ?'

‘An opening in the ceiling for the inhabitants to use for shooting at unwanted guests, or even for pouring boiling liquid on to them. The Kilderrys,' said N.S. rather drily, ‘believe in defending what's theirs.'

‘Dear God. Fintan, are you sure the Earl's away?'

‘Didn't I tell you already he was?' said Fintan. ‘There'll be nothing lying in wait.'

But there was.

I am not very accustomed to entering castles. I am certainly not accustomed to doing so in darkness, in company with a rapscallion poacher armed with a blunderbuss, and with the intention of sending a fragment of the devil's powers to the rightabout. But it had to be done.

I'd have to report, though, that N.S. went through the door as if he had done so a number of times before, and as casually as if he was entering the henhouse at St Patrick's. Fintan, who cared nothing for any man's rank, did the same. I followed.

The minute we were inside Kilderry Castle I knew Fintan had been wrong about there being nothing waiting for us. Something was there all right, and the instant we were over the threshold it was as if it woke and lifted a monstrous scaly head to stare at us.

N.S. said, ‘This way,' and led us through dim passages, some of which were lit by greasily burning candles, others almost completely dark. Once, he paused as if listening, and I said, ‘D'you hear something?'

‘Don't you hear it?' he said. ‘Like a fleshless whispering.'

‘No,' I said a little too loudly, but I had heard it, of course. And with the sounds was the fleeting impression of small shapes, too small to be human, too large to be animals, scuttling back and forth, their eyes glinting red. But that might have been due to my disordered imagination, for by that time I was ready to believe that the demons of the pit – every last one of them – were amassing their dark forces to fight us off.

The reader will forgive me if this sounds like the sin of pride. I did not really believe Satan would send his entire army to fight our tiny band. Of course I did not. But at this point, I do feel I should issue for my readers the warning that to engage deliberately with any kind of evil adversary is immensely dangerous. As for trading with Satan, which was what the Earl was said to have done to get the chessmen – well, that
never
bodes well. If Satan doesn't renege on the bargain in a particularly unpleasant way, he demands his share of the payment long before the term of the deal is reached. Either way you end up losing your immortal soul. There's maybe some of you will whoop with mirth at the concept of such a bargain – maybe even at the concept of an immortal soul – but there are
some strange and fateful things in the world.

Fintan's Eithne met us at the door of the library. A slight little thing she was, with soft brown hair and wide, scared eyes. I noticed that Fintan took her hand and pressed it, and when he spoke to her he did so very considerately.