This Night’s Foul Work

Danglard pulled a face. He liked the intellectual element of the discussion, but the subject matter was abhorrent to him. The sordid dissection of the potion was making him now find repugnant the great De sanctis reliquis which he had once loved,

‘So what’s left in the tomb that might appeal to our angel?’ Adamsberg was asking.

‘Nails, hair, perhaps?’ Justin asked.

‘But to get them you wouldn’t need to kill anyone. They could have been taken from living women.’

‘The only thing left in the grave is bones,’ said Lamarre.

‘What about the pelvis?’ suggested Justin. ‘The basin of fertility. To sort of complement the “male principle”.’

‘That sounds a good idea, Justin, but only the head end of the coffins was opened, and the robber didn’t take any bones, not even a splinter.’

‘We’ve reached a dead end,’ said Danglard. ‘How does the text go on?’

Veyrenc obediently recited it: ‘Now grind these with the living cross from the heart of the eternal branches, adjacent in equal quantity.’

‘Well, that’s clear, at any rate,’ said Mordent. ‘The living cross that lives in the eternal branches must mean Christ’s cross.’

‘Yes,’ said Danglard. ‘So-called fragments of the True Cross were sold by the thousand as sacred relics. Calvin calculated that there must have been more wood than three hundred men could carry.’

‘Well, it gives us something to aim for,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Can one of you check whether there has been any theft from a reliquary containing fragments of the Cross since the nurse escaped from prison.’

‘OK, I will,’ said Mercadet, taking notes.

On account of his narcoleptic tendencies, Mercadet was often asked to do research in the files, since he was virtually incapable of fieldwork.

‘We should also see whether she ever practised in the Le Mesnil-Beauchamp region, possibly under a different name from Clarisse Langevin, and possibly a long time ago. Take her photo with you.’

‘OK,’ said Mercadet, with the same ephemeral show of energy.

‘“Clarisse” is the name of your bloodthirsty nun, commissaire,’ whispered Danglard. ‘The district nurse’s name is Claire.’

Adamsberg turned to him with a vague and astonished look.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘How odd that I mixed them up. As if they’re two kernels of a walnut inside the same shell.’

Adamsberg signalled to Veyrenc to carry on.

‘… kept in the same place by the valency of the saint.’

‘That’s easy, too,’ said Danglard, confidently. ‘It must mean the geographical sector, the zone of influence of the sacred relics. That would be the unity of place, so that all the ingredients came from the same area.’

‘Does a saint have a zone of influence?’ asked Froissy. ‘Like a radio transmitter?’

‘It isn’t written down anywhere, but that was the general feeling. If people took the trouble to go on pilgrimages, it was with the idea that the closer you got, the greater the influence of the saint.’

‘So she had to find all the ingredients in an area not too far from Le Mesnil,’ said Voisenet.

‘Logical,’ said Danglard. ‘In the Middle Ages, it was important to ensure the compatibility of the constituent parts, if a potion was going to be successful. They also took climate into consideration when balancing mixtures. So the bones of a Norman saint would mix better with some bones from a Norman virgin and a cat from the same place.’

‘OK,’ said Mordent. ‘So what comes next. Veyrenc?’

‘… in the wine of the year, and thus wilt thou lay its head on the ground.’

‘Wine,’ said Lamarre. ‘That must be to mix it together.’

‘It means blood, too.’

‘Christ’s blood. That ties it all together.’

‘Why “of the year”?’

‘Because in those days,’ Danglard explained, ‘wine didn’t keep. You always drank it the same year. Like when we drink Beaujolais Nouveau.’

‘So what’s left?’

‘… thou wilt lay its head on the ground.’

‘It means laying it low,’ said Danglard.

‘So it must mean to overcome,’ put in Mordent. ‘You’ll overcome death, I suppose, or the death’s head.’

‘So,’ said Mercadet, consulting his notes, ‘the killer has put together all these elements: some quick of virgins, whatever that may be, some saint’s relics, a cat’s bone. But perhaps not yet the wood of the Cross. All she needs is the wine of the year to mix it all up.’

Several glasses were emptied at the mention of wine, which seemed to conclude the conference. But Adamsberg had not moved, so no one else dared to get up. They did not know whether the commissaire was about to nod off, with his cheek on his hand, or whether he was about to close the session. Danglard was about to nudge him, when he suddenly came to the surface like a sponge.

‘I believe that a third woman is going to be killed,’ Adamsberg said, without moving his cheek from his hand. ‘I think we’d better order some coffee.’

XXXIII

‘THE QUICK OF VIRGINS, SORTED BY THREE IN EQUAL QUANTITIES,’ SAID Adamsberg. ‘By three. We ought to take notice of that.’

‘It must be the dosage,’ said Mordent. ‘Three pinches of powdered saint’s bones, three pinches of the penile bone, three pinches of the wood of the cross, and three of some sort of virgin principle.’

‘No, commandant, I don’t think so. We’ve already had two virgins being dug up. Whatever they wanted to find there, it seems to me that one would have been quite enough to get three pinches. And it would have been enough to write “in equal quantities”. Instead of that the recipe says “by three”.’

‘Yes, three pinches.’

‘No, three virgins. Three pinches from three virgins.’

‘You don’t have to take it that far, surely. It’s both a recipe and a sort of poem.’

‘No,’ said Adamsberg, ‘Just because the language seems complicated to us, we don’t have to regard it as a poem. It’s an old cookbook, nothing else.’

‘That’s correct,’ said Danglard, although he was a bit shocked by the casual way Adamsberg referred to the De reliquis. ‘It is just a plain compendium of medical recipes. It’s not meant to be in code, it’s meant to be easily understood.’

‘Well, that’s just what it isn’t,’ said Justin.

‘It’s not all that obscure,’ said Adamsberg. ‘We just have to take care to read each word carefully, and not miss anything out. In these ghoulish mixtures, just like any cookery recipe, every word counts. “Sorted by three.” That’s the danger area. That’s where we have to start work.’

‘Where?’ asked Estalere.

‘With the third virgin.’

‘Yes, it’s quite possible,’ agreed Danglard.

‘We’ll have to go and look for her,’ said Adamsberg.

‘Yes?’ said Mercadet, lifting his head.

Lieutenant Mercadet was taking plentiful notes, as he did every time he was wide awake enough to compensate by redoubled zeal for his previous absences.

‘The first thing we need to do is check whether any other virgin from Upper Normandy has been recently killed, or has died in an apparent accident.’

‘How big do you reckon the saint’s zone of influence would be?’ asked Retancourt.