The Sixth Key (23 page)

‘Isn’t this sad?’ she said. ‘Some people say
unbaptised babies become angels . . . others say they live in limbo. Apparently
they are always buried where the rainfall from the church can run off onto
their little plots – to baptise them with Holy Water.’

Rahn came over to her and took a look at the
miserable patch of ground. ‘Well, Dante depicts limbo as the first circle of
Hell but the pagans see it as a brightly lit castle, like the Elysium.
Apparently, you can be in limbo and not know it—’

Rahn was interrupted by the priest who had
returned wearing a triumphant smile.

‘Madame Dénarnaud has agreed to see you!’ he
said. A moment later they were leaving the gloomy cemetery and retracing their
steps past the church. Eventually they came to a small garden that led to a
larger one shaded by tall trees.

‘Once,’ the priest said, walking briskly,
‘this was a magnificent paradise. Saunière planted rare, exotic species of
trees and orchards bearing fruits never seen in these parts. All nurtured by
subterranean aqueducts and cisterns. Quite ingenious!’ He paused a moment to
orient them. ‘That large building is the Villa Bethany.’

‘Interesting name,’ Eva commented, still
hanging onto Rahn’s arm.

‘Well, I suggest it has some connection to the
church. Bethany being the home of Mary Magdalene and Lazarus, her brother, the
one who was raised from the dead by Christ and became Saint John because of
it.’

To Rahn the villa looked rather austere. ‘Did
the priest build that too?’

‘Oh yes. These days it’s where the madame
lives. She used to live in the vicarage, until I came. Ahead is the tower of
Magdala

– it once had a
wonderful library.’ Rahn grew attentive. ‘You say it once had, what happened to
it?’

‘Unfortunately for me, an antiquarian
bookseller from London came shortly after the abbé’s death to buy all his
books. I would have liked to have seen them.’

Looking for Le Serpent Rouge, the Grimoire of
Honorius III, perhaps? Rahn wanted to ask. But instead he trailed behind,
glancing about at the decrepit garden, trying to imagine how it must have
looked in its glory days.

‘All sorts of celebrities came here,
apparently,’ the priest said, looking over his shoulder. ‘They ate and drank
till all hours, even royalty, so I hear.’

‘Royalty?’

‘Yes, this village was graced by a visit from
the Tuscan, Johann Salvator, of the Austrian Imperial family, who was also as
it happens the nephew of Countess de Chambord who lived nearby. Actually, the
Countess de Chambord was actively involved in trying to unite the exiled French
Royal family with the House of Austria. There were some who wanted her husband,
the Count de Chambord, to lead a new monarchy, but he died before it could be
realised. Her donations helped to build these buildings and this garden. At any
rate, her nephew, Johann Salvator, one day renounced his title and privileges
and assumed the name John Orth, upon which he married a commoner, purchased a
ship called the Santa Margareta and sailed for South America. They say his ship
was lost and he was never heard from again, that is, until he came here to
visit Abbé Saunière.’

‘Perhaps it was true love?’ Eva said.

‘More like he got a whiff of what was to
befall the Hapsburgs and wanted to distance himself,’ Rahn answered.

‘Yes, suicide, assassinations, war and
eventually their downfall.’ The priest climbed the steps to the semicircular
walkway that overlooked the vast, mountainous footfalls of the Pyrenees. The
walkway connected the Tour Magdala on the left with the conservatory on the
right. This was the glasshouse Rahn had seen from the cemetery a moment before.
It had seemed far grander from below. As they neared, Rahn realised it was
rather a shabby place. The floor was littered with rotting leaves and dead
snails and the corners were hung with cobwebs. Above, bird droppings clung to
the broken glass panes that allowed the filtered light to fall over a wicker
chair in which dozed an old woman. She was dressed in black like a nun, with a
black shawl over her head that accentuated the paleness of her withered face.
She was resting her chin on her chest and making low snoring sounds as they
approached.

‘Madame Dénarnaud,’ the priest said
tentatively, giving her a little shake. ‘These are the people who wanted to see
you.’

She opened both eyes sharply and lifted her
head to survey the abbé with contempt. She turned her slow and penetrating eyes
to the strangers standing before her and said, ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’

‘These are the visitors I told you about. They
would like to ask you some questions,’ the abbé said, the perfect model of
politeness and decorum.

Madame Dénarnaud turned to the abbé and spat,
‘Get out!’

This abruptness caused a violent blush to
flower on the priest’s face and a few words of apology were followed by a hasty
exit.

When he was gone, she addressed Rahn and Eva:
‘Strangers usually want one thing from me, and if that is what you’re seeking
you will not be satisfied.’

Rahn ventured to ask, ‘And what do they
usually want?’

‘They want to know about the treasure, of
course,’ she said, with a wily smile and narrowed eyes.

‘Is there treasure?’

‘I knew it!’ she shouted. ‘Take your carcasses
out of here!’

‘We’re not here about treasure,’ Eva hurried
to say.

‘I read the cards this morning. I pulled out
the Tower – destruction – mayhem – death! The planet Mars!’
Madame Dénarnaud punctuated each word with a jab of her finger.

‘The Tower can also mean a blessing in
disguise,’ Rahn countered.

There was a reluctant grunt. ‘You know the
cards?’

‘Of course. There’s a wealth of knowledge
locked in each one that can only be mined by those who are wise.’

She was soothed, but only a little. ‘What do
you want to know?’

Rahn decided to take advantage of her
momentary good humour to get to the point. ‘We’re looking for any information
on something called Le Serpent Rouge – a grimoire written by Pope
Honorius.’

‘A grimoire?’ she said with raised brows.

‘A book of black magic,’ Rahn said.

‘Why would I know about such a thing?’

‘We wondered if Abbé Saunière had known about
it.’

‘And if I did know, why would I tell you
anything?’

‘Because a priest has died and I think his
death is connected to the grimoire.’

This made her stop. ‘What? What did you say?
Who is dead?’

‘The Abbé Cros from Bugarach.’

She paused to think about it, and Rahn could
see that Madame Dénarnaud was a good actress, for the addled exterior fell away
and what surfaced now was a fiercely lucid intelligence. ‘Bugarach?’ She looked
at Rahn, the whites of her eyes as yellow and dry as medieval parchment. ‘How
did he die?’

‘His wheelchair tipped into a fish pond and he
drowned,’ Eva said, without expression.

The old woman frowned. ‘What?’

‘He was paralysed,’ Eva answered.

The old woman pursed her puckered lips. ‘But
he wasn’t—’ She looked at Rahn sharply, ignoring Eva. ‘What do you know
about that book?’

‘I know that Saunière must have found
something to do with it, and whatever it was he took it around to certain
societies in Paris,’ Rahn informed her.

‘Look,’ the old woman said, pointedly, ‘I was
only a young girl when he came to this village. I was beautiful, you wouldn’t
think so now, but I was. I worked at Espéraza making hats but it wasn’t a good
living, we were poor. My mother took him in as a boarder. Oh, he was a handsome
man all right, in his broad hat and cassock! He won the hearts of the people of
this township, that’s for certain. He even won my heart . . . a little. He had
a wonderful humour and he was full of emotion when he spoke. The church was
falling to bits and he found some money, not much mind you, but with the help
of his congregation he fixed the foundations that were falling down because of
the water, that is all. Now leave me alone.’

‘If you don’t tell us what you know, I’ll be
forced to go to the gendarmes at Carcassonne,’ Rahn bluffed. ‘I know a certain
inspector who’ll be very interested to know about Abbé Cros’s investigation
into the priests and their involvement with certain brotherhoods. I might even
show him a list of priests in which one finds the name Bérenger Saunière. I’m
certain he’ll find it most enlightening, since he’s already looking into the
death of Abbé Cros. A death that occurred shortly after the abbé informed us of
where the list was kept.’

‘A list you say? An
inspector? What is his name?’

‘Beliere.’

‘Beliere . . .’ she said, a light seeming to
blink on and off behind that old façade. ‘Look, all I know is that when Abbé
Saunière moved the altar, he found something in the Visigoth pillar. I never
saw it. That pillar is now outside the church. He had it placed there, upside down,
and had an image of Mary of Lourdes sat on it. It is there for all to see.’

‘Why upside down?’

‘How should I know?’ she spat.

‘What did he find?’ Rahn pressed, trying to
keep calm, though he could hardly forget that time was ticking away and that
his friend was still missing and possibly in grave danger.

She looked at him squarely as if she could
read his thoughts. ‘Do you dare to go to Hell?’

He held her stare, defiantly. He wasn’t going
to let the old hag get the better of him. ‘If there exists a way towards Heaven
and it crosses Hell, then, yes – I dare!’

‘You may recite Faust, but you don’t know the
meaning of it! Heaven?’ she scoffed. ‘There is no Heaven!’ Then her face
changed into a look of terror. ‘Listen!’ She sat stock-still. ‘It comes –
le Autan, le Autan is coming! Do you hear it? It’s the Devil’s wind!’ Her face
was full of alarm. ‘I told you! Disaster. The cards never lie. We have to go!’

To Rahn the sky was no different. ‘I don’t
hear anything,’ he said.

‘God help us! Lift me up, you idiot!’ She made
a grab at Eva’s arm and used it to pull herself out of the chair. ‘Can’t you
hear the snapping of the trees? It’s here!’

Now Rahn could hear a faint whirring sound,
like a large motor, perhaps a plane, echoing in the valley.

‘Take me out of here, now!’ The woman was
suddenly frantic.

It took only a moment for it to be upon them.
From out of nowhere it came, shaking the old glasshouse and rattling its loose
windowpanes so that they came crashing to the ground. The wind fetched the
glass door then and swung it open and then shut it again with such force it
shattered a number of old panels, spraying the three of them with glass
splinters.

‘You idiots! I told you!’ the old woman
wailed.

Rahn tried to open the iron-framed door but it
was jammed. Glass was falling all around them and the entire conservatory was
rattling now as if the wind’s hands were about to shake it loose and take it
away. He eventually managed to rattle the door open and, leaving the wreckage
of the glasshouse behind them they ventured out into the gale. The wind was an
animal, roaring over the trees and loosening their limbs. Dust flew into their
eyes and Rahn could hardly see to take the old woman down the precarious steps
to the garden. Eva went ahead to fetch the priest and Rahn toiled to get the
old madame over the debris, while leaves and dead twigs fell over them,
littering their path and making every step dangerous. The old woman’s dress
flapped and caught around her legs and she stumbled on a twig but Rahn managed
to catch her before she fell.

Up ahead the priest was gesturing with his hat
and shouting something he couldn’t hear, his cassock fluttering and ballooning.
He pointed to the villa.

By the time they reached the house the woman
was exhausted to the point of being limp, and Rahn and the priest had to half
carry her through an annex that looked like it had been converted into a chapel
and down a corridor to a sitting room.

Together they sat her in a large chair. She
was shivering and the priest directed Eva to a flight of stairs.

‘There are bedrooms up there,’ he told her.
‘I’m sure you’ll find a blanket for the madame in one of the cupboards. I’ll go
and fetch her some water.’

Rahn could smell sewage, old pipes and damp.
The shutters knocked at the windows and the wind whistled through cracks. He
took in the room; there was a crucifix on the wall; a good reproduction of the
Shepherds of Arcadia; a cold hearth; expensive carpets on the floor; and floral
wallpaper. The décor was opulent for a small town like Rennes-le-Château and he
thought that the house must have caused quite a stir among the citizens of the
town when it was built.

The old woman sat forward and grabbed at his
arm so suddenly he jumped. She looked furtively to the door; her eyes were as
sharp as nails. ‘Quickly! Before he comes back. You are German, are you sent by
Hitler?’

‘I—’ Rahn began but she didn’t let him
finish.

‘Watch out for that raven!’ she said, and
paused, listening. Rahn could hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
‘Penitence, penitence – remember that!’ she said, in a quick whisper. She
lay back in the chair then and closed her eyes one moment before the priest
returned.

The room had fallen into a gloom. The abbé put
down the glass of water and tried the light switch. The lights came on, shivered
a moment and died away. He looked a sight: cassock dishevelled and his thin
hair, uncovered now, matted with sticks and dirt and leaves. He said, ‘It looks
like tonight we are in darkness!’

They placed a lit candle by the old woman and
the priest promised to send someone to light a fire and to look in on her,
and they
left. Once in the hallway Rahn asked if there was a phone in the town. ‘Of
course, we are not so old-fashioned, you know! I have one in the presbytery
that you can use, if the lines aren’t down.’ And with these words he led them
out into the awful afternoon.