‘Right?’ roared the creature. ‘Who are you to talk of rights?’ The creature opened its mouth and a stream of flame flashed over Nightingale’s head.
‘My name is Jack Nightingale and provided I stay within the pentagram you cannot harm me!’ shouted Nightingale.
The creature roared and there was another flash of light. Now the dwarf was back, scowling up at him. ‘The pentagram is a sanctuary and a prison,’ he hissed.
‘I’ve been told that,’ said Nightingale. ‘I want to talk.’ He fought to steady his breathing; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if it was about to burst.
‘You are either very stupid or very devious,’ said the dwarf. ‘Which is it?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘A lot depends on the way things go over the next few minutes.’
There was a loud bang and a flash and a foul smell, like a bad drain.
Lucifuge Rofocale folded his arms. ‘You tricked Sugart and he is not happy.’
‘I didn’t do anything. My sister summoned him. My sister sold her soul in exchange for escape.’
‘While you distracted Frimost, who had first claim on her soul.’
‘It’s hardly my fault if Frimost took his eye off the ball, is it?’
Lucifuge Rofocale glared at Nightingale. ‘You planned this. You planned it all.’
Nightingale wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s not my problem, is it? They’re both your subordinates. All you have to do is choose which one gets my sister’s soul.’ He put his hands in his pockets. ‘Of course, whoever loses out is going to be pretty pissed off, right? And I reckon no boss wants a pissed-off subordinate, even in Hell.’
‘You know nothing of Hell, Nightingale,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale. ‘Yet. But your day will come.’
‘This isn’t about me,’ said Nightingale. ‘This is about my sister. Her father sold her soul to Frimost thirty-one years ago. She has now sold it in good faith to Sugart. It seems to me that they both a have good claim on it. Both can make a good case and neither is going to take kindly to being told that he’s lost out.’ Nightingale grinned. ‘So you’re going to have to decide, right? And I’m guessing that souls are indivisible, which means that there’s no judgement of Solomon.’
Lucifuge Rofocale said nothing. He stared up at Nightingale, his lips set in a tight line.
‘So here’s the thing,’ Nightingale continued, taking his hands out of his pockets. ‘They both have a claim on her soul, no question about that. And neither will accept the other taking it from him. The way I see it, there’s only one thing you can do.’
‘Neither of them gets her soul,’ said the dwarf.
‘It’s the only way to keep the peace,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s the only decision that they’ll both accept.’
‘You’re a clever man, Nightingale.’
‘Not really,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I’ve been involved in a few negotiations over the years. So we’re agreed? My sister gets her soul back?’
‘This won’t win you any friends, you know.’
‘I can live with that,’ said Nightingale.
‘Sugart and Frimost will blame you. They will want revenge.’
‘They know where to find me,’ said Nightingale.
Lucifuge Rofocale nodded slowly. ‘So you have what you want. Your sister has her soul back. You must be feeling very pleased with yourself.’
‘Not really,’ said Nightingale. ‘I just want this to end. I want this threat lifted from her so that she can get on with her life.’
He took a piece of paper from his pocket and began to read.
‘Wait!’ said Lucifuge Rofocale.
Nightingale frowned. ‘What?’
‘We haven’t finished,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale.
‘I have,’ said Nightingale. ‘There’s nothing else I want from you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘What about Sophie?’ Nightingale shivered as if an icy finger had been drawn down his spine. ‘Don’t you wonder what happened to her?’
94
K err shuffled backwards down the corridor in a low crouch, gently pouring petrol over the bare floorboards. The wood would burn quickly, he knew, but not as quickly as carpet. Someone had stripped out all the floor coverings, along with the furniture and pictures that had once lined the walls. It was a nice house, thought Kerr, as he shuffled and poured, and it would make a lovely fire.
The petrol fumes were making him a little light-headed. He loved the smell of petrol almost as much as he loved the smell of burning matches, but petrol fumes came with a price: a searing headache that sometimes hung around for days.
He reached the bedroom where he’d seen the candlelight through the window. Kerr could hear voices inside and that confused him because he’d thought that Nightingale was alone in the house. He couldn’t hear what was being said but it didn’t matter anyway. He continued backing down the corridor towards the stairs.
Kerr had calculated it perfectly and as he reached the top of the stairs he poured the last of the petrol onto the floorboards. He took a step back, put down the can and took out his box of Swan Vestas. He shook the box, then slid it open and selected a match. He sniffed the match and felt the muscles in his groin contract. He took a deep breath and gasped as the petrol fumes filled his lungs. He took another step back, struck the match and flicked it down the corridor. It span through the air, and as it hit the floor the petrol ignited with a whooshing sound like a train rushing down a tunnel.
Kerr wanted to stay and watch the flames but he forced himself to pick up the can and walk down the stairs.
95
N ightingale tensed and relaxed his fingers as he stared at the dwarf. Lucifuge Rofocale grinned up at him, showing yellowed, pointed teeth.
‘Sophie’s dead,’ whispered Nightingale.
Lucifuge Rofocale laughed. ‘And dead’s dead, is that it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘You really don’t understand anything, do you?’
‘Apparently not.’ He fiddled with the piece of paper he was holding. ‘What does she have to do with any of this?’
‘Everything,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale. ‘Haven’t you realised that yet? Everything changed on the day she died, didn’t it? Your life was heading in one direction, but after she jumped from that balcony everything changed, didn’t it?’
‘So?’
‘So it was a pivotal moment. And she was a pivotal person. If she hadn’t died, you would never have left the police, never become a private detective. So many things would have been different.’
‘But we would still be standing here, wouldn’t we?’
‘Maybe. And maybe not.’
He waved his hand lazily and time folded in on itself, then Sophie Underwood was standing next to him, dressed exactly as she had been when she jumped off the balcony, her Barbie doll dangling from her right hand. She had her head down and her long blonde hair covered her face.
