The Adept (36 page)

Authors: Katherine Kurtz,Deborah Turner Harris

BOOK: The Adept

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“I think you know the answer to that,” Adam said, still smiling. “It’s our job to see to it that mischief of the kind you saw last night isn’t allowed to run its course. And because a little knowledge is a dangerous—not to say, terrifying—thing, it’s also our job to see to it that the circumstances surrounding these cases are suitably camouflaged, for the peace of mind of the rest of the population.”

“Take this particular case,” put in McLeod. “As far as the man in the street is concerned, the events of last night were merely a series of accidents—bizarre accidents, maybe, but still explainable according to material logic. Even though we may be stretching credibility a long way, human beings generally believe what they expect to see—and that lets us supply and support the appropriate cloakery.”

He glanced back at Adam, who gave Peregrine a confirming nod.

“All this is by way of an invitation,” Adam said. “Your manifest talent for
seeing
marks you out as one of us in spirit. We would like you to become one of us in common purpose—a part of the team. If you think you might be willing,”

Peregrine could feel the blood pounding in his temples. He stared at Adam for a long moment, trying to fathom the full extent of what the older man was asking, but only new questions came to mind—not answers.

“I—
think
I understand what you’re saying,” he began carefully, “but I–
Yes!”
he blurted, throwing caution to the winds. “I
am
willing. I want to be a part of it! I haven’t the first notion what to do, but—”

“Fortunately, it isn’t so much a question of
doing
anything,” Adam interjected smoothly, “as it is as a matter of
becoming
something more than you are at present. You have enormous potential, as I believe you’ve convinced even yourself in this past week or so. I would be both pleased and honored to help you fulfill that potential and put it to constructive use. But the decision must—”

“Hold on a minute, Adam,” McLeod murmured, raising a warning hand. “There’s a constable headed this way, looking purposeful.”

As the man drew nearer, McLeod rolled down his window expectantly.

“Are you looking for me?” he called.

“Aye, sir. Supervisor wants you, over by the van.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” McLeod murmured, as he got out and went with the officer.

Left alone with Peregrine, Adam considered for a moment before picking up the thread of their conversation.

“As I was about to say, the decision must be yours,” he said. “The offer we’ve just made you was not made lightly, and I shouldn’t want you to make any binding answer without due consideration. You remarked that you didn’t know what to do, and I replied that it isn’t a matter of
doing
but, rather,
being.
However, there
is
something you can do to help the process along, if you’re serious.”

“Yes?”

“It’s quite within your ability, I assure you,” Adam replied, smiling at Peregrine’s look of anxious inquiry. “I
should imagine they’ll be done with us in the next hour or so. We should be able to get a flight out of Inverness—or a train, at least. And with any luck, we’ll be back at Strathmourne by bedtime. In the morning, after you’ve rested, I would suggest that you do a portrait of yourself. I think that may give you all the further guidance you need, in deciding where to go from here.”

“A self-portrait,” Peregrine murmured.

“That’s right. Think about the sketches you’ve done of me, and of Noel, and then ask yourself whether you’re ready to draw the inner Peregrine Lovat. Think about it.”

Adam could almost hear the tumult of thoughts racing through the younger man’s mind. And when Peregrine slowly nodded, breathing out with a long, soft sigh, Adam smiled and got out of the car, satisfied that he had given his new colleague something more to think about than the horrors of the previous night.

Strolling over to the railing, he gazed down idly at the police still moving on the slope below. Beyond, Loch Ness stretched bright as a blackened mirror under the noonday sun, hiding—

“Adam, could you step over to the van for a moment?” McLeod said, startling him out of his reverie. He had an odd expression on his face. “Something’s just come to light that I think you ought to see.”

The police van was parked at the entrance to the car park. The back of the van was open. Just inside, Adam caught a glimpse of the Hepburn Sword, bagged in plastic and with an evidence tag looped through the basket hilt, lying on the floor. Waving off the constable standing guard beside the van, McLeod reached past the sword and plucked a clear plastic evidence envelope out of one of the collection bins. He handed the envelope to Adam.

“See what you make of that,” he said gruffly.

The envelope contained a bloody fragment of a human finger. Caught between the knucklebones was a carnelian signet ring. Pressing the plastic closer against the stone, Adam could see that the device on the ring was that of a feline visage with tufted ears and cheeks, its jaws agape in a defiant snarl.

He stared at the ring for a long moment, then handed the envelope back to McLeod.

“The Sign of the Lynx,” he murmured evenly.

McLeod gave a heavy sigh and tossed the bag back into the proper bin, sinking wearily onto the bumper of the van to rub at his forehead between the eyes.

“I thought it was,” he said, “though I couldn’t be certain, without my glasses. It’s been a long time since I last saw a signet like that—and I must say, I was hoping I never would again. Does this mean that the Lodge of the Lynx is becoming active again?”

“I’m afraid,” said Adam, “that it can mean nothing else.”

For a moment he stood silent, lost in thought. The finding of the ring lent sudden weight to Peregrine’s premonitions and his own sense of dark events set in motion. Now he knew what the young artist had been trying to draw on unseeable rings and medallions. Adam had dealt with the Lords of the Lynx in times gone by. That the Lodge was mustering again promised trouble to come.

For the moment, however, the situation was under control. He and Noel were forewarned, with a new recruit to train up for the Hunt—and in all likelihood, the Opposition would not know who had thwarted their intentions.

Not that inquiries would not be made, once they learned what had happened to their confederates. But Adam would make his own inquiries—tonight, when he returned to Strathmourne, as soon as he had rested. The Inner Chiefs must be informed—and must ratify the recruitment of Peregrine Lovat.

So. The Hunt was being called again. But when the time came for further confrontations, as it surely must, he and his would be ready. In the finest of Templar tradition, they would not shy away from battle, however adverse the odds might be. And there were others willing to do their parts—if he could finally get past telephone answering machines!

Adam shook his head, smiling at the idiocy of it all, and glanced at McLeod.

“We’ll have to alert the others,” he said quietly, closing his hand in his pocket around the symbol of his own Lodge.

“We’ll need feelers put out all around. If the Lodge of the Lynx
has
gone active again, there are none of us immune to attack, once they find out we’re on to them.”

McLeod snorted and got to his feet, squaring his shoulders as he turned his face to the freshening wind.

“You’re not
worried
, I hope.”

“Worried? Not really. Challenged, perhaps?” Adam smiled. “As I recall, one Sherlock Holmes had the right phrase.”

Grinning slyly, McLeod glanced at Adam and nodded.

“Aye,” he said. “The stakes may be a bit different, but the object’s still the same. The hunt is up. And as Holmes would say, ‘The game’s afoot!”’

Epilogue

TWO DAYS
later, when the incident at Urquhart had hit most of the newspapers, a woman sitting at a desk in a Glasgow office tower scanned over the day’s newspapers while she sipped her morning coffee. The Urquhart article caught her eye as soon as she turned to the second page, and she read it through twice before picking up one of the three telephones on her desk.

“Get me Mr. Raeburn,” she said.

The Adept will return in

Book Two: The Lodge of the Lynx