Johannes Cabal the Detective (37 page)

“Can you imagine what it felt like? Even now, I remember with perfect clarity what it was to lie there and hope against hope that whatever was interested in my prone form was not hungry at that moment. Then I felt its shadow fall across me, and I knew that everything would be settled one way or the other in a few moments.

“‘You are quite the least convincing corpse I think I’ve ever clapped eyes upon,’ said the creature, causing my own eyes to snap open with surprise.

“The ‘creature’ was a man, standing over me and giving me a look of such sour criticism that I felt faintly ashamed, as if caught in the commission of a puerile practical joke. I sat up and immediately regretted such rapid movement, as my head whirled and I felt dangerously nauseous. ‘Somebody’s been using your head as a punchbag,’ said the man, studying me coldly, as if I were but a microbe upon a microscope stage. He knelt by me, pulled back my eyelid, and studied the white. ‘Mild concussion,’ he said. ‘You’ll live.’

“‘You’re a doctor?’

“He smiled, and it was like a bloodless cut. ‘No,’ he replied, amused by something. ‘No, not a doctor. I haven’t the bedside manner for it.’

“‘But you’ve had medical training?’

“He seemed to find this line of questioning boring. ‘Self-taught, largely,’ he replied in a dismissive tone, before adding, ‘Look, we’re both a long way from civilisation and those brigands have horses. I suggest we appropriate them.’

“‘Yes, you’re right, of course.’ After I’d floundered around on the ground for a moment, he deigned to help me up. ‘My name’s Enright,’ I said. He nodded and set off across the clearing in the direction the thieves had taken. He showed no indication of answering my implicit enquiry. ‘And your name is … ?’ I called finally as I stumbled after him.

“‘A closely guarded secret.
Do
keep up, Enright.’”

Protheroe, apparently snoozing by the fire, muttered, “A curious cove,” before lapsing back into gentle snores.

“As I walked with the stranger, I took the opportunity to study him. He stood around the six-foot mark, perhaps a little taller, perhaps a little shorter, but not by much in either direction. His hair was blond, a very Nordic blond that matched the faint German accent I’d detected in his speech. He seemed not to have shaved for a few days. His clothes were an odd choice for travelling through dense forest, too; he was wearing a city suit, and a conservatively cut one at that—it was as if a civil servant had been plucked from the streets of the government district and dropped in the wilds. I remember noting that he had a sorely battered and ageing red carnation in his buttonhole; when I pointed this out, he looked at it with surprise and said something about forgetting that it was there. He then plucked it from his lapel and tossed it away into the undergrowth with a sour remark about life having seemed to be a good deal more agreeable on the morning he bought it. All this said, I must have looked as ill-prepared for the rigours of the forest as he, and I made the natural assumption that he, as I, was a refugee from the troubles.

“‘You don’t talk much,’ he said suddenly.

“‘I thought we were trying to catch them unawares?’

“‘Just so. Based on the evidence, however’—he indicated a clear trail running through some bushes leading across a slope—‘we’re not dealing with the world’s most cunning criminals. I’m hardly frontier material myself, but this … this really is pathetic.’

“‘They probably think they’re safe this far from the beaten track.’

“‘Well,’ said the stranger, ‘we shall simply have to disabuse them of that notion.’

“We followed the trail until it met with a small stream running out of the hillside and turned up the slope. I was about to continue the hunt when I noticed that my mysterious companion had paused by the stream. I guessed that he wanted to get some water, which seemed to be an excellent idea. I crouched by the bank, scooped up a cupped handful of water, and supped.

“The liquid was barely in my mouth before I spat it out again. I cannot communicate how foul that water was.”

“Well, at least have a go,” prompted Munroe. “Can’t be as bad as one of Kay’s gin slings.”

“I say!” Kay said.

Enright shook his head, and continued, “It didn’t simply taste bad; it
was
bad. As it touched my tongue, it was as if all the world’s corruption had gathered there—a horrible rancorous sensation that made my heart quail and touched my soul. I staggered back from the stream, retching violently.

“‘As I was about to say,’ commented the stranger evenly, ‘I wouldn’t drink from this stream if I were you.’ He gestured to take in the banks, and I saw what he had already seen, what had attracted his attention. They were barren, completely devoid of plant life up to their upper edges, where a few stunted and somehow unwholesome specimens clung disconsolately. ‘There’s something very wrong with the water here.’

“‘You might have said something earlier,’ I said, coughing.

“‘I didn’t realise what you were doing until you’d done it,’ he said, and smiled that cold smile again. I was about to remonstrate that he’d had every opportunity to stop me when I abruptly realised something that left a taste in my mouth almost as filthy as that accursed water.

“He hadn’t stopped me for a reason. He
wanted
to see what effect the water would have.”

There was a pause while the usual mutters of “Cad!” and “Bounder!” were aired. “Then, to add insult to injury, he produced a notebook, presumably recorded the results of his little experiment, and said, ‘Let’s see where this comes from.’ We followed the stream up the hill in silence until it vanished into the earth in a hollow, overshadowed by an embankment. My companion knelt at the edge of the stream and tried to see exactly where the water bubbled out from, but there seemed to be a cave, for want of a better description, barely large enough to kennel a dog, overgrown with weeds that hung down from the slope above, safely away from the herbicidal qualities of the spring. Displeased with his vantage point, he lay flat out and peered into the gloom.

“‘It’s just a spring,’ I said, exasperated with his behaviour.

“‘Just a spring,’ he repeated. He took some sort of small, black, leather folder from his pocket and opened it to reveal the heads of several test tubes. Selecting one that contained a clear liquid and an eyedrop pipette, he took a small quantity of water from the stream. He held the tube and the pipette up for me to see and then, without fanfare, let a drop of the stream water fall into the tube. The result was immediate and dramatic. The two liquids reacted violently, fizzing furiously and flashing with a strange cobalt-blue phosphorescence that lasted for a few moments after the initial hissing had calmed.

“‘Good Lord,’ I said. I may have said something stronger, I was so moved by the idea that I’d had that filthy liquid in my mouth however briefly. ‘What is in that tube?’

“‘This?’ He stoppered the tube and put it in his breast pocket. ‘It’s holy water. And
that
’—he pointed at the stream—‘is very
unholy
water.’ He craned to look into the tiny cave again. ‘There’s writing in there.’ He produced his notebook and began laboriously transcribing what he could see.

“I stood over him, uncertain what to think. ‘Unholy water,’ I ventured at last. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

“‘It’s not the sort of thing Mother Church tends to advertise. And with good reason—you can combust a bishop with this stuff. Just as well for the serried ecclesiasticals of the world that it’s so uncommon. All of which makes such water bubbling out of the ground by the gallon all the more interesting, wouldn’t you say?’

“‘Who are you?’

“He didn’t look up, but I noticed that he stopped writing. ‘Does the name Johannes Cabal mean anything to you?’

“It didn’t even seem familiar, and I said as much.

“He started writing again. ‘Then that is who I am.’

“When no further elucidation was forthcoming, I said, ‘You behave as if I might know you.’

“‘I make enemies easily. I have a good memory, but it gets difficult to keep track of all the people who might have an interest in me. It’s a substantial list. To return to the matter at hand, however.’ He sat up and studied the writing that he had transcribed. I looked at it over his shoulder, but it simply looked like chicken scratchings to me, no alphabet that I’d ever seen. ‘The head of the spring isn’t natural. It’s worked stone and looks more like a drain to me. These markings are carved into the stone of the head. Look a lot like Ugol letters, wouldn’t you say? Rather pithy, too. Look at the figure that starts and finishes the inscription; that’s a triple imperative, the so-called black exclamation. Failure to obey carried the death penalty back in the time of the Hass. As to what it’s enforcing—’ He paused, frowned and looked up at me. ‘
Do not block
.’

“‘They took their plumbing very seriously,’ I joked, but Cabal was not in the mood.

“‘Seven hundred years ago, you couldn’t move in these valleys for Ugol raiders with fur hats and ridiculous little horses. They swept westward, carving swathes through several empires en route, and nobody seemed able to stop them. The incursion started to slow down not long after they came through here before petering out entirely. Their leader, the Great Hass Majien, was an old man by that point. His ill health was probably what stopped the hordes in their tracks. He’s supposed to have died somewhere around here and they buried him and all his wealth beneath a hill. Unimaginable riches just sitting there, waiting to be found.’

“I couldn’t help but look at the hill upon whose slopes we were standing with widening eyes. ‘Good heavens, Cabal! You don’t suppose—?’

“‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged and seemed maddeningly unconcerned by the possibility. ‘One cannot help but wonder, however, why any treasure trove would require running unholy water, only to let the stuff pour down a hillside. The answer lies closer to the summit, I fancy, along with those thieves and their horses.’ So saying, he continued up along the trail. Biting back all too many questions, I had little choice but to follow.

W
ithin a few minutes, however, Cabal resigned the lead as the bandits’ den hove into view. A cave mouth ahead of us showed signs of frequent congress; footprints and hoofprints led in and out and, as we listened, we heard a horse neigh from within. Cabal started to say something, but I tersely gestured him to silence as a pair of the brigands walked out, chattering with foolish disregard for their own security. I recognised them immediately as the two who had robbed me of whatever belongings had remained with me through my period of amnesia. My grim anger at seeing them again must have been apparent, as I looked sideways at Cabal to discover him smiling quite openly at me. Friends of yours? he mouthed with faux innocence. I glared at him and turned my attention back to the men. One was hanging close by the cave mouth, the one who had been so concerned that I might return from the dead to punish them. The other was already heading for the tree line down the slope. He said something dismissively and plunged into the gloom. After a moment, and with clear misgivings, the other followed him. As soon as they were out of sight, Cabal was up and running for the cave. I followed him closely.

“‘Careful!’ I warned him. ‘There may be more.’

“‘No,’ said Cabal, pausing to check that the woods seemed clear. ‘They were arguing about leaving the cave again when they’re supposed to be guarding it. Apparently, the rest of the merry men are off taking advantage of the refugees who were driven from Mirkarvia in the recent unpleasantness. Theirs is an ugly, mongrel tongue, but the meaning was quite apparent. Come on, Enright, we may not have long.’

“We ducked around the corner and ran inside.

“I wasn’t expecting the cave of Ali Baba and I wasn’t disappointed. The first thing that struck us was a near-palpable wall of stench, human as well as horse ordure. What little light there was in that foul place was provided by a few torches and many crudely formed clay lamps burning animal fat through coarse wicks. The atmosphere was oppressive with smoke, and I wondered aloud what sort of men would willingly choose this kind of life over one in the open air.

“‘The usual sort,’ said Cabal, taking a torch from the crack into which it was wedged. ‘Desperate men. Just like you and me.’

“Ignoring him and his nonsensical talk, I went straight to the horses and quickly chose the two most promising. The mare that had caused me all this trouble in the first place could stay there for all I cared. I turned to pass the reins of his mount to Cabal only to find him gone. A flickering light down a rocky side passage showed where he’d vanished. I called after him in an urgent hiss, but he failed to respond. Cursing him and his misjudged and ill-timed curiosity, I tied off the horses again and followed him at a trot. I found him at the end of the passage examining the cul-de-sac he’d ended up in.

“‘Are you mad, Cabal? If they come back, we’ll be trapped. The treasure of the Great Hass can wait for some future date, can’t it? If those fools are still resorting to horse theft, then it hardly seems likely they’ve found it, or will any moment soon. Come on! We don’t have time to dally!’

“I might as well have been talking about the weather.

“‘Convincing, isn’t it?’ he said, blithely unconcerned with our danger.

“‘What is?’ I asked impatiently.

“‘This,’ he said and moved the torch close to the rock face.

“‘What
are
you blathering about, man?’ I started to say. And then the words froze in my throat. The natural rock face, lined with the cracks of ten hundred thousand nights of cold and as many days of warmth, was no such thing. Under the oblique light cast by the flickering torch, the cracks resolved themselves into regular markings … 
letters
 … just like the ones I’d seen Cabal transcribe by that curious stream. In fact, some were
exactly
alike. ‘The black exclamation,’ I murmured, caught up in the mystery of the moment despite myself.

“‘Just so,’ said Cabal, distracted. ‘The black exclamation. But the warning is different this time. Still terse, though.
Do not enter
. Not very equivocal, is it?’ He experimented for a few seconds with the torch, altering how its light fell as he tried to tease the secrets out of the other hidden letters. ‘
Know this, thou foolish … thief
 … no … 
interloper, know that to go beyond here is to suffer not only death in this life but … the one that is to follow
.’