‘In what way?’ asked Brother Cuthbert.
‘There’s always been nights when some of the servants have seen the shadows of the chess figures creeping along the castle corridors, and peering out from behind a curtain,’ said Fintan. ‘But while the chessmen were unused – while they stood quietly on their table – nothing ever happened. But a few months back, the Earl used the chess set. A man came to the castle and challenged Kilderry and the two of them sat playing for hours and hours. My girl believes that during those hours something woke in the figures – something that had slumbered more or less harmlessly for a very long time. And now – you’ll think this is absurd – but she’s in fear and terror for her sanity and her soul. And for the souls of others.’ He studied us for a moment. ‘I see the mention of souls hits you in the consciences,’ he said. ‘I thought it would.’
‘You thought right,’ said I drily. ‘What is it you’re wanting from us, Fintan?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘I’ve promised my girl that I’d ask would some of you come up to the castle when the Earl’s away.’
‘Why?’ This was Brother Cuthbert.
‘To destroy the chessmen and vanquish the devil’s power, of course.’
As the good Lord is my witness, when Fintan said this, a cold, dry breath of wind ruffled its way across the small, fire-lit room and I felt it brush my skin like icy claws.
I said, firmly, ‘Fintan, if you’re suggesting we perform an exorcism . . .’ I broke off, frowning. ‘That isn’t something that can be undertaken lightly. We’d need the Bishop’s permission at the very least.’
‘There’s no need for exorcism,’ said Fintan. ‘All I want is for you to come up to the castle with me and burn that devilish chess set so we can tip the ashes into the ocean forever.’ He regarded us. ‘And tonight,’ he said, ‘the Earl is away, and the castle empty.’
Cuthbert and I sat over the dying fire, discussing what to do.
‘Do we believe that rogue?’ I said. ‘For he’s the world’s most extravagant storyteller.’
‘I believe him,’ said Cuthbert. ‘People forget the devil is extremely clever – they also forget that he’s extremely ancient. When he lays his plans he doesn’t think in terms of a few years, you know; he thinks of the age of an entire world. And he adapts to the worlds he prowls. There’s the popular image of him as a persuasive gentleman with horns and a forked tail, but if he went around today looking like that, people would think he was dressed-up for a costume ball.’
I said, ‘Cuthbert, you constantly amaze me. What would you know about costume balls?’
‘I wasn’t always a monk,’ said Cuthbert, injured. ‘I’ve had my small adventures, Father Abbot. And I know Fintan Reilly’s an unlikely instrument for the good Lord to choose, but if he really has stumbled upon an ancient pocket of evil, it’s for us to help him fight it.’
As he said this, a breath of wind gusted down the chimney and stirred the glowing peat fire in the hearth. I said, with more assurance than I was feeling, ‘I think we’d better go up to Kilderry Castle and see this chess set for ourselves. But it’s a task for younger men.’
Cuthbert, slightly aggrieved, said he hoped he could still say a prayer over a fragment of evil as effectively as ever.
‘Yes, but it’s three miles to Kilderry Castle and a steep haul up the hill, and you with the arthritis in both knees,’ I said. ‘So I suggest—’
It was at that point someone tapped softly on the door.
It was N.S. He came in with an air of faint apology, and took the seat offered him.
‘I won’t prevaricate, Father Abbot,’ he said. ‘It’s about Fintan Reilly’s story.’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you going out to Kilderry Castle to destroy that chess set?’
The directness of this disconcerted me somewhat. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, slowly. ‘Why do you want to know so particularly?’
‘If you do,’ he said, ignoring my question, ‘Would you take me with you?’
‘You? Why would we take you?’
N.S. stared into the fire. ‘I have some knowledge of that old legend, Father.’
‘But,’ said Cuthbert, ‘you surely don’t believe Fintan’s story?’
‘Evil exists,’ said N.S. ‘And if you mean to confront that particular evil, you should have with you someone who understands it.’
‘Do you understand it?’
‘No. But I’ve encountered it.’ He looked up at me. ‘Father Abbot,’ he said. ‘I was the man who played that chess game with the Black Earl of Kilderry. I was the one who woke the evil in those figures.’
It was an uncomfortable journey we made to Kilderry Castle the next night, and it was not made easier by the blizzard that was raging everywhere.
N.S. and I were wrapped up against the cold; Fintan, a hardy soul, wore only his customary greatcoat with the deep inner pockets. A poacher’s coat, of course, but I’d have to admit that if a plump hare or two found its way to the monastery kitchens, or a side of salmon appeared on our table, we accepted them and asked no questions.
Fintan had acquired a small cart with a donkey to pull it – when asked whence it came, he murmured vaguely about it belonging to a pedlar who had been glad to loan it for a day or two. It was a rickety old thing; Brother Cuthbert, standing at the monastery door to bid us farewell, was shocked to his toes to think of Father Abbot riding abroad on such a contraption.
‘You’ll be jolted like an unset junket after ten feet,’ he said, ‘and your insides scrambled out of recognition, I shouldn’t wonder. It’s not fitting, Father Abbot.’
‘It’s not fitting that the Earl of Kilderry should be harbouring the devil’s arts,’ said I. ‘I shan’t mind a bit of jolting in God’s work.’
‘It’s a short enough ride anyway,’ said N.S.