Snapping her pince-nez from the bridge of her nose, she shook her head as if to dislodge her darker thoughts, and announced:
“Sometimes the best way to hide things is in plain sight. To leave them right out there in the open. Do you have any idea of what this is? Thank heavens you didn't sign it. Reverend, your soul is in grave peril. This 'contract' is a fiendish pact, of the kind offered Dr Faustus. It is all rather sloppily disguised. Your immortal soul is to be forfeit for some – some petty trinket or other. It may already be too late. Have there been any other gifts or tokens given to you by any of this loathsome trio? Think, man!”
The Reverend turned bone-white and produced a silver and jade crab talisman on a silver chain from his waistcoat pocket. He handed it over to Ruby, who did not look pleased, nor impressed in the slightest.
“Hmm, a crystal communication device... open aura... very crude. Did you know that with this secreted about your person, anybody with a similarly tuned device can 'listen in' to whatever you are doing, wherever you are? I shall keep hold of this hateful little item, along with the parchment 'contract', for my well being as much as yours. Both just serve to indicate that, as I suspected, we are dealing with something a good deal more powerful and dangerous than Devizes and the Nutters... They promised you wealth for the church via horticultural means... a bloom, a rose. To keep track of you they placed about your person, with your tacit agreement, this crustacean bauble. Roses and Crustaceans, Rosy-Crustaceans…Yes… We are confronting something far more devilish than at first meets the eye. Hmmm... How to counteract these unholy articles? We need some insurance…”
Ruby paused, closed her eyes in contemplation a moment, then smiled and snapped her fingers :
“Reverend Phullaposi, have you anything with a connection to St. Michael within your church? It must be old and it must be venerated?”
Puzzled, the Reverend nodded, and described to Ruby the main stained glass window, that there were two angels featured in the panel referring to the annunciation, that certainly one was Gabriel, but the other holding aloft a burning star did seem a little more ‘warrior’ like. If it were articles, then the only things that were relics of the old past were in the safe, however, he did keep a small, aged, portable Holy Communion set near he font, in case of emergencies
“Ahh...Yes, I remember the small set…. And the angel in the window. Most illuminating. Very reminiscent to sumptuous colours and body form arcs from the works of Caravaggio…” Ruby stared into the distance, formulating a plan in her mind.
The Reverend looked as blank as a fresh canvas, Ruby noticed his expression and rolled her eyes.
“Caravaggio,” she repeated, awaiting an affirmative reply from the gaping Reverend.
The Reverend's eyes still didn’t light up in recognition of the name.
Ruby sighed, sipped her tea and looked at the Reverend across the rim of her teacup.
“My good Reverend I believe that you are in need of a little art history. Caravaggio was an immeasurably talented artist, but he was a tragically and violently flawed genius. Don't you see? The artwork to which you have eluded? The whole composition... the fine tonal value of the icon? No? Your church’s wonderfully inspiring stained-glass window. Such sumptuous colours, the reds, blues and purples… It instantly reminds me of the work of another dear departed artistic friend of mine… his name was Derek. Though if you have not heard of the great Caravaggio, I would be enormously surprised to discover you knew dear old Derek. He had the same eye for form as Mr. Caravaggio. He even re-created some of his work, but using photographic means and live models. Do you recall him now, Reverend?”
The Reverend's blank expression still hadn't altered.
Ruby tutted and continued her lesson.
“You do not recall his work at all? No? More's the pity. So full of life... So full of it.”
“Full of it?” The Reverend was increasingly uncertain of where the conversation was now going. He had come to Ruby's for a strategy to deal with Hariman and the others; not a lecture in Art History.
“Yes, he was most certainly full of it and now he's dead... poor chap.”
“Dead... AND full of it?” the Reverend repeated, with growing confusion.
He was sure that Ruby had wandered away from the point, but was wholly unsure of when, or indeed of what the point was in the first place.
“Yes, he was riddled with it by the time he died. He was gifted though. However his reputation did take a small tumble when he was caught... doing something in a public park.”
“Doing... something?” the Reverend repeated, parrot-like, not really wanting to hear the answer.
Ruby continued, now almost oblivious to the Reverend even being there, so engrossed was she in her reminiscence:
“Yes, he was most definitely doing something, and with a camera, if you please. He said he was making an art film about a dead queen; I seem to remember she was wearing a large pink dress, and it was on fire. There was a flag and lots of semi-clad people dancing to syncopated rhythms. In the park. Hmm... An art film. I was never totally convinced, and neither were the local constabulary.”
The Reverend's brain reeled. He had come here out of his mind with worry, desperate for some advice and reassurance that all would work out well at the fête. Instead his head had been filled with a lot of unnecessary information that would in all likelihood give him some very disturbing dreams for the foreseeable future.
He sat
