Dark Chant In A Crimson Key

Neuberger was up to something that could severely complicate matters, and I wanted to find out exactly what it was. That's when I decided to appoint myself as Mongo's chauffeur. It was a way of getting close to the action to see how events would play out. Black Flame was running amok, butchering everybody in sight, and I wasn't sure why at first. Then I realized it was an attempt to discredit me among the people who really knew me. That wasn't going to work, but it wouldn't stop Black Flame from trying, and that meant a lot more innocent people were going to die. I didn't want Mongo to be one of them, because by this time I felt responsible for him. I realized blackmail, or some other crazy business with outsiders, was involved when Black Flame attacked Mongo and the man who approached him at the hotel. I figured they would come at Mongo again, and I made it a point to always stay close. But then they passed up a number of opportunities to attack Mongo while he was driving all around the countryside trying to check up on me, and I realized they were leaving him alone for the time being-probably in the hope that he might lead them to me. Then Garth and Veil arrived on the scene and decided to fire me, which made it a bit tougher to act as Mongo's bodyguard. But I still tried to stay as close as possible.'

I asked, 'What would you have done if I'd checked with Hyatt Pomeroy here in the local Cornucopia office to see if he'd really sent you, or if I'd even mentioned your name to him?'

Sinclair shrugged. 'Either Pomeroy would have assumed Neuberger had personally made arrangements for a chauffeur from New York, or you would have had to make do without my services sooner than you did. Fortunately, I was able to keep pretty close track of you even after Garth and Veil fired me. By this time I was trying to come up with a plan where I could get all of the Black Flame people who'd come to Switzerland in one place where I could deal with them. I certainly didn't plan on this castle being that place, but it couldn't be helped. Mongo moves fast, Black Flame was monitoring his movements, and events took on a momentum of their own. I deeply mourn the death of our servants, all of whom were our personal friends, but I was powerless to prevent that. Perhaps what happened, with Black Flame finally tracking me here, was inevitable. And it's worked out-for us, at least.'

'What now?' Insolers asked.

Sinclair abruptly rose from the table. 'Now I think is a good time to change back into our working clothes and see what our young friend Al has to say about his Black Flame colleagues who weren't able to join us.'

Chapter Fourteen

Back in the library, we finally discovered how John 'Chant' Sinclair had acquired his nickname. He'd mentioned that, while in Southeast Asia, he'd acquired a reputation for successfully questioning prisoners using unusual interrogation techniques. 'Unusual' didn't begin to describe it.

He disappeared into the pantry area for a few minutes. When he emerged, he was wearing another silk robe, this one a solid jet black, and he was barefoot. He carried two tall, slender, black candles in black pewter candleholders. As per his instructions, we stood back against a wall, within earshot, but well away from the sitting area where the paralyzed Al lay on the floor.

'You can't know how to do that!' Al shouted, clearly startled and afraid, as Sinclair set the black candles down on the floor, on either side of the young man's head. 'It's impossible!'

'Your grandfather taught me, junior,' Sinclair replied evenly. 'You and I are going to chat. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to answer them.'

'No!'

'You're going to tell me everything about Black Flame. I want to know where to find your father and every other member of the society. I want to know every business or operation with which Black Flame is currently involved. You will tell me the names and positions of all the nonmembers, like Emmet P. Neuberger, you control. You will tell me where your records are kept and how to access them. Your society has existed for more than a thousand years, junior, but you're going to help me destroy it. Together, we're going to blow out Black Flame.'

'It won't work on me, Sinclair,' Al said in a voice that was now controlled and defiant. 'I can resist it, just as you resisted the herb drink. I'm as good as you are. All you can do is kill me, but my father and the others will find and kill you, and all the people you love.'

'We'll see,' Sinclair replied easily, and then proceeded to draw the heavy drapes across the bank of windows behind him.

The library was plunged into darkness. A few seconds later the twin flames of the candles flickered to life, and Harper, standing close beside me and clutching my hand, gave a little cry. Sinclair had opened windows, or turned on fans, somewhere for ventilation, for I could feel a slight draft; but despite the flow of fresh air, I could clearly smell the distinct, sourish aroma given off by the candles. I also imagined I could somehow feel the scent, for I was growing light-headed. The effect was similar to what I'd experienced one time when I'd walked into a room where people had been smoking hash, and I'd gotten a contact high. My first sensation was dizziness, but that quickly passed, and was replaced by a heightened tactile sensitivity that was hallucinatory; the darkness felt like a rubbery substance pressing against my skin, and the air in my lungs like a heavy liquid, like mercury. Every sensation was highly magnified, including the sound of our breathing. The sensation was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, only distinctly peculiar. I took a handkerchief out of my pocket and pressed it to my nose, but that didn't help.

Around the flames of both candles there was a distinct halo of black.

Sinclair began by asking Al a simple question, in a casual, conversational tone. 'Where is your father, junior?'

Al's response was a soft moan. There followed a prolonged silence, and I gradually became aware of another sensation. It began as a slight tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me slightly nauseous; then I realized it was caused by something I was hearing. Sinclair was singing-chanting-in a very soft voice. There were no words, only sounds, syllables, chanted in a minor key. The sound gradually grew in volume. Once again I grew dizzy and had to lean back against the wall for support. Harper was leaning heavily against me, clutching my left arm tightly with both hands.

The sound of Sinclair's voice somehow amplified the hallucinatory effects of whatever ingredients were burning in the candle, for with each syllable I felt a pulse beat in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts raced uncontrollably, and I had vivid compressed images of my life, all of it, flashing, as if on a movie screen, just behind my eyes. For me, the effect was wondrous-but I suspected Al was experiencing something altogether different, for he was moaning in pain.

Sinclair abruptly stopped chanting and asked Al the same question. When Al's only response was a tortured groan, Sinclair began to chant again-slightly louder and higher, in a different key.

I suddenly felt an unutterable sadness and loneliness, and I began to cry.

Al began to scream.

Sinclair stopped after a minute or two, and Al began to talk freely, his words tumbling over one another. No more questions were needed.

All of Black Flame's records-its history, its membership role, accounts of assassination through the centuries, individuals and corporations under its control, and complete financial records- were stored electronically in Cornucopia's computer network, and Al provided the information necessary to access any and all of it.

Emmet P. Neuberger was back on duty, presiding over Cornucopia and Black Flame's business affairs from a wheelchair, since he'd had both legs sawed off.

When Al finished, Sinclair, kneeling, leaned over into the black and golden glow cast by the candles. He put his face very dose-to Al's and made a loud, barking noise that was like a shout, but at the same time unlike any other sound I had ever heard uttered by a human. The noise made both Harper and me jump, and it echoed in the vast stone, wood, and glass library for what seemed a very long time. The candles went out.

We heard Sinclair's footsteps in the darkness, and then the heavy drapes were pulled back, allowing sunlight to once again stream into die library. The man with the steel-gray hair and eyes opened a window, and the black, greasy smoke from the extinguished candles began to waft out into the morning. My head immediately began to clear. Insolers stepped off to one side to stand in front of a bookcase, while Garth, Veil, Harper, and I walked over to the sitting area, looked down at the still figure on the floor. Al was dead, his face a frozen mask of unspeakable agony.

Sinclair took a crocheted shawl from the sofa and draped it over Al's face. Then he went to Jan, put his arms