‘And all of this, you understand, taking place in mere moments, swifter far than I can possibly tell it. So that to this day I could not swear my soul on what I saw. Only that I believe I saw it.
‘Anyway, that was when the ceiling caved in and hurled me from my chair, and the entire area of the room where the horror had been burst into flames and hid whatever remained of it. But as I staggered from the place – and don’t ask me how I got out again into the reeking night air, for that’s gone now from my memory – there rose up from the inferno such a protracted cry of intense agony, so piteous and terrible and savagely angry a wailing, as ever I had heard and hope never to hear again.
‘Then –
‘The skies rained bombs once more and I knew nothing else until I regained consciousness in a field hospital. I had lost a leg, and, or so they later told me, something of my mind. Shell shock, of course; and when I saw how futile it was to try to tell them otherwise, then I decided simply to let it stand at that. Mind and body, both were merely victims of the bombing . . .
‘Ah! But amongst my belongings when they released me was that which told the true story, and I have it still.’
Chapter Nine
Across Giresci’s waistcoat he wore a chain of gold. Now he took from the left-hand waistcoat pocket a silver fob watch completely out of keeping with the antique chain, and from the right the medallion of which he had spoken, holding the jewellery up for Dragosani’s inspection. Dragosani caught his breath and held it, ignored the watch and chain but took hold of the medallion and stared at it. On one face of the disc he saw a highly stylised heraldic cross which could only be that of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem, but which had been scored through again and again with some sharp instrument and thoroughly defaced; and on the other side –
Somehow Dragosani had expected it. In harsh, almost crude bas-relief, a triple device: that of the devil, the bat, and the dragon. He knew the motif only too well, and the question it prompted came out in a rush of breath which surprised him more than Giresci:
‘Have you tracked this down?’
‘The device, its heraldic significance? I have tried. It has a significance, obviously, but I’ve so far failed to discover the origin of this specific coat or chapter. I can tell you something of the symbolism, in local history, of the dragon and the bat; but as for the devil motif, that is rather . . . obscure. Oh, I know what / make of it, all right, but that’s a personal thing and purely conjectural, with little or nothing to sub-‘
‘No,’ Dragosani impatiently cut him off. ‘That wasn’t my meaning. I know the motif well enough. But what of the man – or creature – who gave you the medallion?
Were you able to trace his history?’ He stared at the other, eager for the answer without quite knowing what had prompted the question. Asking it had been an almost involuntary action, the words simply springing from his tongue – as if they’d been waiting there for some trigger.
Giresci nodded, took back the medallion, watch and chain. ‘It’s curious, I know,’ he said, ‘but after an experience like mine you’d think I’d steer clear of all such stuff, wouldn’t you? You certainly wouldn’t think it would start me off on all those long years of private search and research. But that’s what it did; and where better to start, as you seem to have worked out for yourself, than with the name and family and history of the creature I had destroyed that night? First his name: it was Faethor Ferenczy.’
‘Ferenczy?’ Dragosani repeated, almost tasting the word. He leaned forward, his fingertips white where they pressed down on the table between them. The name meant something to him, he felt sure. But what? ‘And his family?’
‘What?’ Giresci seemed surprised at something. ‘You don’t find the name peculiar? Oh, the surname is common enough, I’ll grant you – it’s chiefly Hungarian. But Faethor?’