“I am suspicious of him, and yet I cannot, thus far, see what he has to gain by doing such a thing. He is a powerful man already, though I know him to have ambitions of high office in government. What part violent phantoms could play in his plans I fail to comprehend.”
“Well, even if he is involved, he could not have acted alone. He would still need someone with access to those forbidden books to assist him. Someone inside the cathedral. And another thought occurred to me. How do we know all the spirits are coming out of the cathedral crypt? I mean, we know those tombs have been broken out of. We know there are Resurgent Spirits at large. Was the one who now inhabits Viscount Eckley released from the crypt, or are they able to be called at a greater distance?”
“But still from the cathedral? I’m not sure.…”
“There is a great deal about which we are unsure, Father.”
Hecate thought then about telling her father of the keys she was having cut. She was uncomfortable keeping it from him. And yet there was so much else to think about. Better, she decided, to wait until she had the keys in her hand. He was less likely to condemn a fait accompli.
“Have you any Hekate-related artifacts?” she asked him. “A carving, perhaps? I have my brooch, of course, but anything else might be helpful.…”
“I did recall another book that might be of interest.” He rose and disappeared behind the stacks of boxes toward a row of shelves. “I had not thought it useful earlier as it was her history and mythology we were investigating. Ah, here it is.” He returned and handed her a green leather-bound volume.
Hecate read the title.
“To Commune with the Goddess: For Followers of Hekate.” She looked inside. “Spells!” she said, smiling up at her father. “It is a book of spells.”
“One might call them that. Others might say prayers. Others, incantations. The naming of such things was ever contentious. But it does not detract from the value of their content, particularly in this instance. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Most certainly, I would. These are fascinating!”
Edward pulled things from the boxes, his pipe clamped between his teeth, tobacco fumes drifting through the cramped space. “What else have we here … a sword stick?” He wielded a cane, drawing from it a fearsome blade.
“We are not soldiers, Father. And that will be of no use against a spirit,” she pointed out, still absorbed by the book.
He set aside the sword and pulled out a small shovel, a bag of tent pegs, a box of candles, and an old leather belt.
Hecate glanced up. “Oh! Let me see that. Is it military? Don’t they call them Tom Brownes, or something similar?” she asked, standing up to take it from him, unrolling the somewhat stiff leather.
“You are thinking of Sam Brownes, which were indeed military in their origins. But no, this is something quite other. I recall purchasing it among a chest of interesting pieces in Constantinople. On a homeward journey. Notice the small pocket set into it? And the loops. It is an apothecary’s belt.”
She held it closer to the light. The leather felt thirsty beneath her fingers, but she could tell it had once been supple and was worn from frequent use. It was twice the width of a normal belt, with two modest brass buckles in place of one large one. There were some metal D rings fixed to one part, a slender pocket with a toggled flap over it, and a row of narrow loops of leather. “How was it used?” she asked.
“Apothecaries often traveled some distance to their patients. While they might have carried a chest of medicines, this was for their more immediate needs. Or possibly things they preferred to keep close. The rings allowed for all manner of attachments, such as pouches of herbs, small knives, and so on. Those leather loops were for vials of potions, medicinal ingredients … poisons, probably. They would be held secure, and be unlikely to break.”
Hecate put it around her waist and pulled it tight.
“It fits. Were the apothecaries in Constantinople small?”
“They might well have been women. Here, let me…” He adjusted the position of the belt. “Now you can reach your vials with your right hand, and the pocket and suchlike, quite comfortably, I think.”
“It will suit my needs perfectly! May I have it?”
“It is yours. As is the task of explaining to your mother why you are wearing such an outlandish garment. What do you plan to put in it?”
“I have ideas. I will ask John for some holy water.”
“Will he not think that a strange request?” Seeing her expression he removed his pipe from his mouth. “You have shared with him what we have learned regarding the Essedenes? Hecate, we agreed you would not.…”
“I have not told him we know someone is responsible for summoning the spirits. Or that there is a list of possible suspects.”
“A list which still bears his name, however faintly.”
“You do not know him as I do. He is my friend. He has agreed to come with us to Brockhampton. Let him do so, Father. Let him prove his loyalty and his worth.” When he hesitated she went on. “After all, what better ally against dark spirits could we ask for than an exorcist?”
“Hmmm. It is hard to argue against that. Very well. I will let Brocket know we are to visit.”
“Mother will protest.”
“I hold your mother in the greatest esteem and the deepest affection, but had I permitted her objections to shape my life I should never have left England. Now, if you are going to wear that thing, you’d best restore it to its proper state. You will find a tin of dubbin in the stables.”
20
On Monday morning Hecate left the house before any of the family were up. She had arranged to be at Mr. Sadiki’s shop “early,” which was an unhelpfully vague hour. She had decided he would prefer they conduct their business before normal opening times. This suited her, as she would avoid facing her mother at breakfast. She was not looking forward to the moment when her father announced that it remained his intention to visit Brockhampton, much less the moment when he revealed Hecate was to accompany him. They had agreed to couch it as a mission of mercy, taking Reverend Forsyth with them and the civilizing presence of a woman to see if the man could not be redeemed, if only for Lady Brocket’s sake. And to afford him, and the viscount, the opportunity to make a formal apology to Hecate. She doubted her mother would be won over by any of these arguments and was content to leave it to her father to manage. The other advantage of calling for the keys early was that she would not be late for work. She continued to be as diligent and reliable an assistant as she possibly could, to give Reverend Thomas no reason to complain about her work. He was firmly on the list of suspects, having the best access to the secured books. She wished to do everything she could to gain his trust, and do nothing that might alert him to her suspicions if he were in fact guilty. In addition, the more he was prepared to leave her alone in the library, the greater the opportunities she might have to use the very keys she had risked so much to obtain.
Although it was before eight, the door of the shop was unlocked. The proprietor was already in position behind the high counter, and she suspected he had been waiting for her. In front of him was a cloth bundle, which he began to unfold as she approached.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Sadiki. All ready for me, I see. Splendid! How swiftly you work.” She was aware she was talking too much. There was something unnerving about the old man’s stare. She had no reason to feel uncomfortable, given how helpful he had been, but, nonetheless, she found she was nervous in his presence. She told herself this was not unreasonable, given the clandestine nature of their business. She leaned forward to examine the gleaming keys. “My, they do look very nice indeed.” She picked up the largest one. “I should have given them some manner of labels, I suppose. How remiss of me.”
The old man adjusted his spectacles. In his habitually hoarse voice he explained, “The two door keys are easy to distinguish because of their size. The smaller iron one is the only key with such a short handle. The golden one is, I believe, readily identifiable.”
“Oh, the handles … you have worked patterns into them. These are beautifully done. They are quite lovely.” The end of each handle had been turned with a spiral of metal, no two the same in width or depth, so that it would, in fact, be possible to identify them blindfold.
“This way you will never confuse them with the … originals,” he said, holding her gaze when she looked at him. “These are your keys. Lend them to no one else.”
She nodded. “I will treasure them. I am very grateful. Now I must settle up. How much do I owe you?”
“There is no charge,” he told her.
