Borrower of the Night - Elizabeth Peters [70]
Absently I reached into my pocket and took out the small golden frog. I sat staring into the empty pop eyes as if they held some knowledge. And as I stared, the memory stirred again – the dark memory, like fragments of a childish nightmare . . .
My finger had dipped into the peculiar grey-black powder in the box. It was an odd substance, dusty but not dust. It was too coarse for dust, almost crystalline . . .
The monstrous idea struck me like a fist in the stomach. For several seconds I sat gaping down into the box, my finger buried to the end of the nail in the grey powder. When I realized what I was doing, I jerked it out and wiped it against the skirt of my robe.
‘It’s impossible,’ I mumbled.
But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. It distressed me horribly. It made me sick at my stomach. True or false, the bizarre theory should not have had such a strong emotional impact. It was only a side issue in any case, one which could never be settled.
That last thought was pure wishful thinking. Even as it formed in my mind, my inconvenient memory produced a paragraph from a book I had once read.
I must have stood by my door for almost five minutes, reaching for the handle and pulling my hand back, reaching, pulling back . . . It was a horrible idea. It was crazy.
I knew I would never sleep soundly again unless I found out.
The hour was later than I had realized. Tony was sound asleep. I beat on his door for quite a while before he answered.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The game’s afoot.’
I didn’t wait for him. The next victim was Blankenhagen. It took almost as long to rouse him. By the time he opened his door, Tony had joined me, which was just as well; Blankenhagen probably wouldn’t have let me in without a chaperone. A chaperone for him, that is.
They were both furious. After I had talked a while they were still furious – but they were interested. I asked the doctor a question. His face was a sight to behold.
‘Heiliger Gott – I do not know. I suppose it is possible . . .’
‘That’s what I thought. Then . . .’ I spoke softly but urgently. Several times Blankenhagen’s mouth opened as if to interrupt, but he didn’t. I think he was struck dumb. Tony kept making strange strangling sounds.
‘But,’ said Blankenhagen when I had finished. ‘But – but – now, at this hour?’
‘It has to be now. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve got to find out. If I could do it alone, I would.’
Blankenhagen sat twitching like a hen on a clutch of radioactive eggs. Finally his narrowed blue eyes moved to meet Tony’s. They both turned to stare at me.
‘I am insane,’ muttered Blankenhagen. ‘You understand, I have not the equipment, even if – ’
‘I know. But the first part has to be done now.’
‘Allow me then to assume my trousers.’
Tony and I went out into the hall while the trousers were assumed. He was wide awake now and so torn between anger and fascination that he was barely coherent.
‘Why didn’t you – why did you – I ought to kill you, you – you woman!’
‘I woke you up,’ I pointed out. ‘I needn’t have done that. I’m sorry I did, if you’re just going to stand around and yell.’
Blankenhagen emerged, with trousers, just in time to prevent an undignified scuffle. I led the way down the corridor, stopping in my room to get a coat and some other equipment. Our next stop was at the carpenters’ shack in the south wing. Then we proceeded to the crypt.
As the work went on, I was convinced of one thing. This particular tomb had not been opened before. It was doubtful whether we could open it now. The mortar chipped away easily, but the stone slab on which lay the carved effigy of Count Burckhardt von und zu Drachenstein behaved as if it were reluctant to leave its place. But it was a couple of inches thinner than the first slab we had raised, and this time nobody sat on the floor and watched. Finally we had the slab propped back, and Blankenhagen climbed down into the vault.
The coffin was metal. Even