“One point? This point?”
“Actually, no, we must believe several points, as they have done so already.”
“And this you learned from manuscripts in the collection?”
Hecate hesitated. She did not wish to complicate her evidence further by admitting to gaining some of her information from cooperative ghosts. Not yet, at least. “To an extent, yes. I will return to that point later. If you could bear with me…”
He nodded slowly.
Hecate picked up the thread. “The souls that came out of this very crypt are called Resurgent Spirits. They have, as you saw for yourself, the strength to burst forth from their coffins and mausoleums, to render any remaining bones dust, to shatter wood, marble, and stone with equal ease, and to disappear into the night.”
“I saw the result of something, indeed.”
“Which is why I wanted us to meet here. I wanted you to think about what we saw, you and I, and how you led me to the inescapable conclusion that the tombs had not been broken into but broken out of. You remember the scale of the destruction?”
“I do,” he said, agreeing to the memory at least if not yet granting she had the cause.
“Once free to roam the city, these risen souls seek out hosts, living people—the powerful and the wealthy—they will take possession of and so become Embodied Spirits. This, I believe, is what happened to Sir Richard, or would have, had he not been interrupted by Joe Colwall.”
“Lowly Joe Colwall.”
“Imagine the being’s ire and frustration. It had set out to take over the life of a rich, well-respected gentleman and instead it stepped into the body of a penniless farm laborer whose sole purpose was the care of his increasingly poorly wife.”
“A situation that drove the creature to commit murder.”
“In part, for it is my understanding that the spirits are at their most violent and volatile when they are on the point of transition, or in the short time thereafter.”
“And why now? Why wait so many centuries, to raise the dead in a place a thousand miles from where the people originally lived? This tribe you speak of…”
“The Essedenes.”
“… their mortal remains cannot have been here,” he said, gesturing slowly but expansively at the shelves of caskets and the tombstones set into the floor.
“You are forgetting, this is not the first time they have risen. To my knowledge they have done so successfully at least once before—in an abbey in France—and escaped capture. They may have repeated this over centuries with varying degrees of success.”
“But again, why now?”
She stopped pacing and looked at him, taking a deep breath. “The significance of the date remains obscure, though I understand it has to do with what might be considered auspicious numbers. I believe I am close to discovering other elements essential to the plans of the necromancers. And when I do, well, then I hope … I pray, that I will also discover the means to stop them.”
“And until then, what would you have me do? You did not ask me here only to tell me your theory, I think. What is it you want of me, Miss Cavendish?”
“I will find out why the date is significant to these foul beings, and I will find their weakness, and then we, you and I, together, using our diverse skills and knowledge, we will be able to stop them, I am certain of it. But I need time. And in that time I fear others will suffer. We need to know the whereabouts of the other Resurgent Spirits. I know you remain to be convinced of the less tangible causes for the murders. I understand your reluctance to accept such theories.…”
“Both my training and my life’s work have taught me to rely on—”
“Proof. Evidence. Yes. I know. Would you believe the evidence of your own eyes, Inspector?”
“They have not yet deceived me,” he said cautiously, sensing he was being led somewhere.
“I have told you of my theories regarding spirits called from their resting places. Within these very walls, in fact,” she said, pacing the crypt, running her fingers along the cold, ancient stones that surrounded them. “I have not mentioned that these are not the only spirits I have encountered here. There are others who inhabit the cathedral. Benign ones, you will be pleased to hear.”
She paused to see if he would react but he remained silent. She went on.
“It is not an exaggeration to say some of them have become my friends. I see them daily. I converse with them. I tell you this at the risk that you will now consider me quite mad. That you will dismiss, in fact, all the carefully argued points with which I have presented you thus far. Why, do you suppose, I might take such a risk?”
“I am eager to hear the reason for it.”
“It is because I can offer you proof. And if I can prove what I say about my ghostly friends, you may be more likely to accept what I have told you regarding the Resurgent Spirits.”
“As ever, you have my attention, Miss Cavendish.”
She smiled at him. “I am grateful for it. Would you be so good as to step into the middle of the room, toward the front, so that you are in an empty space. At least, it will appear that way to you.”
He did as she asked, positioning himself away from any of the stone tombs and not close enough to reach out and touch the old altar.
“Will this do?”
“Perfectly. It will no doubt surprise you to hear that you are not, in fact, inhabiting that space alone. To your left stands Corporal Gregory. A fine young soldier who fought in the Napoleonic Wars. His uniform really is quite splendid. I am sorry you cannot see it. The good corporal stands always ready to protect the cathedral, and those of us within it. He has the ability to place himself as an invisible shield, so strong, so unyielding, that you would not be able to move through it. I offer you proof of this. All that is required of you is that you now try to take two strides to your left.”
He looked in the direction she was pointing. He could see nothing. Calmly, he moved to walk toward the south wall, raising his foot. He progressed no more than half a step before meeting an invisible barrier. Astonished, he raised his hands and pressed against this solid air. He could neither move it nor pass through it. He turned to stare at Hecate.
“How is that for proof, Inspector? Of course, I did promise you something you could see, the evidence of your own eyes. If you would now look at the altar. Despite it not being used for services, the tradition of keeping two candles in place upon it remains unbroken. The candlesticks are of base metal only, but with a little silver plate. Mrs. Nugent was, for many years, charged with the task of keeping those candlesticks at their bright, shiny best. She retains the ability to move small objects, when she wishes, for she has never stopped her diligent work. She is going to remove the dust from one of them now. Do you see?”
As they both watched, the nearest candlestick rose up into the air. Hecate could see the phantom duster picking it up. The inspector could see only the thing moving, inexplicable, upward, turning over slowly, and then gently settling down in its rightful place once more.
Hecate waited, allowing the detective to recover from what she imagined would be no small shock. To his credit, he did not run screaming, nor stagger back, nor, indeed, display any of the emotions of fear or wonder he might be experiencing. He pushed his hat a little further back on his head. He moved forward and picked up the candlestick, examining it closely, before turning to face Hecate once more.
“Astonishing!” he declared.
