Phillip said, “I believe before we travel to Scotland to fetch this reliquary and this Devil’s Vessel, we should visit an old teacher of mine—Mr. Leonine Budsman. If he isn’t a member of this club, he will know all about it. He knows about everything. I think the more information we can glean about this, the better. Perhaps,” he added, frowning, “perhaps we’ll even be safer.”
They all stared at each other. Susannah knew that each was thinking about a magic that was older than any of them could accept, a magic that was perhaps evil, magic that, if Tibolt found it first, could give him limitless power.
Phillip’s old teacher wasn’t just old, he was archaic. Rohan was afraid to shake his hand for fear he would crush his fragile bones. He doddered to his chair and threw back his head—a gesture of obvious long standing—sending his thick white hair to flow down his collar. His show of vanity, Ro-han thought, charmed by the old bird. Phillip inquired politely after Mr. Budsman’s health. The old man just looked at him with his rheumy eyes and remarked to the ceiling that i
f he wasn’t dead by the morning, it would be no fault of his.
That sent a temporary pall of silence over everyone.
“Sir, Lord Derencourt says you know everything that’s worth knowing,” Rohan asked, waving away the tea that a very old butler served. “We must know about the Bishops’ Society. Do you know anything of this?”
Without warning, Lord Balantyne walked into the small, musty parlor. He bowed to Susannah, nodded to Rohan and Phillip. “This is an interesting gathering, to be sure. Good day to you, sir. You are looking fit. You have more hair than I do. I have always wondered about the justice of that.”
To Susannah’s surprise, the ancient old man preened, actually preened, and tossed his head again. “It’s old, very warm, close-held air that preserves hair, Balantyne. No secret to that. All you young men stroll about in the open air and leave the windows open at night when you sleep. No surprise that all sorts of miserable things befall you.”
“You are doubtless right, sir,” Phillip said. He overcame his chagrin at seeing Balantyne so suddenly upon them and said, “As you see, we have need of you. I have told my friends that you know just about everything. Will you tell us about the Bishops’ Society?”
The old man settled back into his chair, like an insect in a cocoon. He wrapped his frail, age-spotted hands around a cup of tea. “It was begun about the time I was born by a Bishop Jackspar, now long dead. I don’t know how it happened, but he stumbled across documentation of this strange legend, lost for centuries. The theory went that long ago Pope Leo IX gave King Macbeth of Scotland a reliquary that held an ancient magic known as the Devil’s Vessel. What exactly this vessel was I have never learned. If its essence, its physicality, is actually known by some of the members, then it has been a close-held secret. Devil’s Vessel. It conjures up curious images, doesn’t it? It makes one think of sorcerers and potions, wild hermits with long white hair and magic wands. On the other hand, perhaps it is indeed some sort of vessel, a cup, something that holds liquid. That sounds odd, doesn’t it? What could such a cup be? Who knows?
“The only other information I have is that it is believed to be dangerous, this Devil’s Vessel. Perhaps it is evil. It certainly bears an ominous name. Naturally, all of this is speculation.”
Lord Balantyne said when the ancient old man remained quiet, sipping his tea, “I imagine that all this has to do with Bishop Roundtree. I don’t suppose any of you will tell me what exactly this is all about?”
“You must surely know as much as we do,” Rohan said.
Lord Balantyne grunted.
Susannah said thoughtfully, “Do you know any of the members of this Bishops’ Society, sir?”
“Poor old Roundtree was a member. Who else? I don’t think anyone knows, even many of the members themselves. They meet, I’ve heard, in very small groups. That was a good question, young lady,” Mr. Budsman added, nodding approval in her general direction. “I, er, suppose you are young?”
“Yes, sir. Do you believe this Devil’s Vessel really exists?”
“Oh, yes. Why not? Now, if you will excuse me, it is time for me to rest.”
From one moment to the next, Mr. Budsman was speaking clearly and cogently, then softly snoring, his head back, his lovely white hair falling to his shoulders, his mouth open and showing three remaining teeth.
Lord Balantyne quietly led the way out of the parlor. They were met by another very old gentleman, the one who had tried to serve them tea. He managed a creaking bow. “My master helped you?”
“He did,” Rohan said. “He is now reposing himself.”
The old man nodded. “He does that at least twenty times a day. I believe I shall join him.” The old man nodded toward the door, then tottered toward the parlor where Mr. Budsman was resting.
“A fascinating pair,” Susannah said, laughing. “I wonder how long they have been together?”
“Longer than anyone can remember,” Phillip said. “They were together when my grandfather was here.”
On the street outside Mr. Budsman’s small house, Jubilee Balantyne said, “The three of you will now tell me what’s going on. Young Roland came to me, telling me that you were searching Bishop Roundtree’s study. I am willing to wager that you were looking for the Devil’s Vessel.”
“Unfortunately we didn’t find a thing,” Phillip said. “We doubt it has anything to do with the bishop’s murder. Sorry, Jubilee, but that’s how it is.”
“I don’t suppose you have any new theories about who killed the bishop?”
“Not a one,” Rohan said.
30
ROHAN WAS BREATHING HARD AND FAST. HE THOUGHT HE was bound to meet his Maker very shortly. He hoped it would be the right Maker. It should be, since he’d not committed any foul deeds. He thought his heart would burst from his chest. He managed to keep himself balanced on his elbows and looked down at his wife. She looked to be near the end herself, all sprawled out, so much beautiful white flesh, most of it beneath his body. Her hair was damp from her exertions, her lips slightly parted, her breathing coming in short gasps.