Chapter Six

ADAM pondered the problem all the way home. Back at Strathmourne, he took time out for a shower and a change of clothes before retiring to the privacy of his library to scribble down some of his ideas. He had been at his desk for scarcely a quarter hour, however, when the in-house telephone emitted a buzz.

Adam lifted the receiver. "Yes, Humphrey, what is it?"

"Pardon the disturbance, sir, but you've a call from Mr. Lovat. Shall I put him through?"

"By all means."

He had a brief instant in which to wonder why Peregrine should be phoning, before the young artist's voice came on the line.

"Hullo, Adam. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all," Adam assured his young protege, "though I fancy you must be interrupting something. I seem to recall that you acquired a new bride only a few days ago. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, it's swell, where that's concerned," Peregrine said, though there was an edge of strain to his voice. "I'd have called earlier, but I wanted to wait until Julia was out of earshot. She's off having a bath just now, so I thought this would be as good a time as any to have a word with you."

"A word about what?"

"Well, we ran into a spot of unpleasantness earlier this afternoon," came the reluctant response. "We were having a picnic down on the beach at Mull of Kintyre, when a dead body washed ashore."

"A body?"

Briefly, Peregrine went on to relate the events as they had occurred earlier that afternoon. After completing his narrative, he came back to the subject of the ghostly image he had seen hovering over the body.

"It was only there for an instant - too short a time for me to catch more than a fleeting impression. But the fact that it was there at all made me curious at the time. When Julia and I got back to the guesthouse, I decided to try a sketch or two, to see if I could recapture the image and bring it into focus. I couldn't - but I can't seem to shake the conviction that the image I'm missing is not only real, but important."

"What do you think it means?" Adam asked.

"I don't know. I can't explain it logically, but I have this gut feeling that there's much more to this man's death than meets the eye. If I'm right about that, perhaps I ought to offer my services, such as they are, to the local police. On the other hand, all of this could just be my imagination working overtime. I didn't want to discuss it with Julia - it's been beastly enough for her as it is, to find a dead body on our honeymoon - but I thought it was probably worth phoning you up to ask for your advice."

Adam considered the situation before speaking.

"Your impressions notwithstanding," he said, "there doesn't appear to be anything about this case that an ordinary police investigation wouldn't be able to handle - not on the surface, at least. If you're concerned, though, I can have Noel check into it further. Kintyre is outside his official jurisdiction, of course, as you've noted, but his reputation is such that I doubt your local police there will object to sharing information with him. You've already said that invoking his name elicited recognition. If the victim's death does turn out to have esoteric implications, Noel will be in a position to evaluate the police findings and decide whether or not we ought to consider getting involved."

"That sounds fair enough to me," Peregrine said. "I'm not really eager to interrupt my honeymoon, but if I'm needed - "

"I understand," Adam said, smiling to himself. "I certainly can't fault you on your sense of duty. Where are you staying, on the off chance I should need to get back to you this evening?"

"Right. It's called Glenbarr Abbey - a sort of castle, actually, but they take paying guests. Let me give you the telephone number."

He reeled off a set of digits.

"I've got it, thanks," said Adam. "In the meantime, why don't you see if you can arrange to take Julia a bottle of champagne in her bath? From what you've told me, she's richly earned it."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Peregrine said fervently. "Good night, Adam. And thank you."

In the ensuing quiet after Peregrine rang off, Adam weighed up the possible import of everything the young artist had said. Despite his own professed reassurances over the telephone, he had an uncomfortable feeling that neither he nor Peregrine had heard the last of this case. He toyed briefly with the idea of telephoning McLeod to discuss the matter then and there, but a glance at the clock on the mantel made him think better of it; the matter would keep safely until morning.

Thus satisfied, he returned his attention to the enigma of Lennox's phantom lady. Setting his notes aside, he opened his briefcase and took out the sheaf of photos he had borrowed from the photographer's personal files, setting one of the clearest enlargements on the desktop before him.

' 'Who are you?'' he murmured aloud, as he contemplated the pale face. "What is it that draws you back time and time again to these scenes of destruction?''

After a moment, he found himself recalling Donald Cochrane's comment of earlier in the day, and wondered whether perhaps the young detective had hit closer to home than he realized.

If I were a superstitious man, Donald had said, I'd be starting to wonder if maybe the driver of the crashed car might have seen a ghost….

It was possible, of course - and if they were dealing with an emanation of some spent life, the reason was likely to prove elusive, at least so far as conventional methods of investigation were concerned. Fortunately, however, Adam and his colleagues had access to unconventional sources of information, not normally available to more orthodox investigators.

Gazing at the haggard face of the woman in the photograph, he decided that it would be worth an excursion onto the astral to try to discover the underlying cause of her suffering. Such profound tension should not and could not be allowed to continue, if a means could be found to alleviate it.

This conviction crystallized rapidly into a resolve. Contacting Humphrey on the house telephone, he issued instructions that he was not to be disturbed for any reason until otherwise notified. Then he cleared the top of his desk of everything but the photograph of his nameless subject, which he propped up on a carved wooden bookrest directly in front of him. Having done as much, he fetched a candlestick from the mantelpiece and positioned it carefully to the right of the picture, lighting the candle from a book of matches resident in the center desk drawer. Dimming the room lights then, and before he sat back down in his chair, he reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a handsome gold ring set with a large oval sapphire.

Considered purely as an example of masculine jewelry, it was as fine a piece of work as could be found in any craftsman's studio. As far as Adam was concerned, however, the ring was beyond price - not only a symbol of his authority as a member of the Hunting Lodge but also one of the most important working tools of his vocation as Master of the Hunt. Slipping the ring onto the third finger of his right hand, he folded his hands on the desktop before him, the ring-hand uppermost. Then, following the dictates of a discipline he had practiced since his youth, he took a measured succession of slow, deep breaths to compose and center himself for the work he had set himself to do.

Poised on the threshold of an interior calm, he tilted his hand so that the ring caught the flickering light of the candle. Bending his gaze on the pure, cerulean depths of the stone, he closed his mind to the distractions of the waking world and turned inward in trance to confront the subtler realities of the Inner Planes.

At the heart of the Inner Planes lay the Akashic Records, the imperishable chronicle of all lives for all times. Like the mystical rose of Dante's Paradiso, the Records were eternal and ever-unfolding, the living mirror of all creation. Somewhere among that infinite array of archive chambers would be preserved the records belonging to the woman in the photograph. Using her physical likeness as a focus, Adam hoped to gain access to the psychic identity that went with it.

His body shed its weight. No longer fettered to his chair, he allowed himself to float free. An opalescent shimmer filled his mind's eye. Into the midst of that luminous field of inner vision he projected the mental image of the woman he was seeking, simultaneously uttering the Word of power that would enable him to pass through the portals to the Akashic vaults.

There was a sudden blinding flash, as of an actinic flare. The image before him was abruptly polarized, reverting in the wink of an eye to its photographic negative. Fluid tinctures of light washed over it like ripples of water in a pail. Bathed in that light, the woman's image began to re-emerge with the progressive clarity of a developing photographic print.

The scene that took shape around her was no longer that of a still photo. Invested now with life and movement, she was strolling along a grassy embankment at the side of an open stretch of road. Beside her, holding her hand tucked fondly through the crook of his arm, was a pleasant-faced young man. The sky overhead was dark, but the three-quarter moon hovering above their heads shed sufficient light for Adam to make out that the couple were laughing and talking as they walked along. Though he could not hear what they were saying, it was plain from the looks exchanged between them that they were very much in love.

A flaring set of headlamps appeared in the distance. The dual points of light converged along the road with a swiftness that proclaimed a dangerous turn of speed. The young couple checked in their tracks as the onrushing glare erupted into sudden blinding radiance. The man made a desperate, valiant attempt to shove the woman out of the way as the speeding car rocketed off the tarmac and hurtled straight for them.

The scene exploded, reverberating with her scream. Caught by the backlash, Adam instinctively flung up a hand to shield his eyes from a blustering whirlwind of flying shards. The ensuing darkness seethed with colored splinters. Even as Adam struggled to regain his bearings, the darkness collapsed upon itself and burst into flames.

Fierce as burning phosphorus, the fire roared up like a curtain. The ensuing wave of heat bore Adam backwards. An archway loomed above him, half-wreathed in curling smoke. Breathless and half-blinded, he tumbled through the gap and fetched up short against a stone wall.

The wall was cool and smooth beneath his outflung hands. More than a little shaken, he drew himself up and looked around. The marble corridor in which he found himself stretched away from him in both directions until it lost itself in a maze of turnings and distances. Those selfsame intimations of infinity told him he was now inside the halls of the Akashic Records.

The air near at hand was full of hissing and crackling, like the venomous mouthings of a giant salamander. Pivoting toward the sound, Adam found himself confronting an open doorway on the opposite side of the corridor. Tongues of fire were lashing furiously about the inner edges of the door frame. Looking beyond the archway, he saw that the whole of the chamber beyond was in flames.

A melodious voice spoke to Adam's back.

What signs of the chase do you follow, Master of the Hunt! it asked.

Hearing that voice, Adam experienced a thrill of recognition. Turning, he was not surprised to see a prismatic column of dancing light materialize out of thin air before him. The presence embodied in that light belonged to one Adam knew as the Master, an entity sufficiently evolved and perfected so as to no longer need the physical vehicle of human incarnation. Adam bowed low in respect and reverence before venturing to speak.

I am following the trail of a troubled spirit, in the hope that if I find it, I may give it peace.

Peace for such a one is never given; it is only found, the Master said. The soul you are seeking still has far to go to find that peace.

Adam acknowledged this declaration with an inclination of his head.

I had no way of knowing before now whether or not the soul I am seeking was presently incarnate. Since you give me to understand that she is still in the flesh, is it permitted to ask her name?

The glow of the Master's presence grew sharper. The question is permitted. But the answer must not be sought with me.

Where, then, must I seek it?

In both worlds. The Master's voice was calm. If the knowledge you require has thus far eluded you on the earthly plane, that does not mean it cannot be found there. Here among the Inner Planes, it resides there - in the chamber of fire.

Adam redirected his gaze toward the burning room. Peering through the furnace reek, he could dimly make out the shape of a raised lectern at the center of the room. Mounted on the lectern was an open book. Flames billowed round it in a rising hurricane, yet the book itself was unconsumed.

Will you choose to dare the fire, Master of the Hunt? the Master asked.

Heat from the open doorway beat harshly at Adam's face. The blistering touch of it stirred up a host of fearful memories from his own past lifetimes. Repressing an inward shudder, he asked, What makes it burn like that?

Anger, came the Master's response. Anger and bitterness. Together they have been allowed to become an all-consuming passion. If this passion remains unslaked, ultimately the soul will devour itself in its anguish. Nor will it be the only sufferer. Already, this fire reaches out and has destroyed other lives.

Can it be quenched?

Only if the soul itself can be persuaded to will it so, said the Master. Have you the strength, Master of the Hunt, to endure the peril of such an encounter?

It would not be the first time that I have tasted fire, Adam said grimly. That much was true: Once incarnated in the guise of a Knight Templar, he had suffered burning martyrdom during the attempted dissolution of his Order.

If there is no other way to resolve this matter, he continued steadfastly, I will do whatever must be done. But knowledge must come first.

Then seek it elsewhere, before you seek it here, the Master advised, for the time is coming when you will have need of all your strength.

This announcement was as ominous as it was unexpected.

The Patrons of Shadow begin to move anew, the Master continued, the melody in his voice roughened now by a note of grim misgiving. An old evil rises once more, an evil that threatens to encroach upon the balance of the powers of Light at work in the mortal world. The adherents of this evil have made their first foray into those created lands that lie under your protection. If they should succeed in establishing a firm foothold, then the Huntsmen and their charges will rapidly become the hunted.

This was disturbing news indeed.

What signs must I look for? Adam asked.

A Teacher will come when you have need of one, said the Master. There is that which sleeps in you which, if it can be awakened, will know how to read the Teaching offered.

The light that betokened the Master's presence was fading. Sensing his superior's imminent withdrawal, Adam asked urgently, How can what sleeps be awakened?

The answer came faint and faraway, like an echo out of receding distances.

It must be called forth by one skilled in the reading of souls. The die is already cast….

The words faded away as did the Master's presence, amid a dissipating shimmer like the last gleam of a vanishing rainbow. Simultaneously, the corridor in which Adam was standing began to dissolve around him. Pinpoints of light shone through the thinning fabric of the walls, like jewels seen through a veil of fine gauze. Brighter they shone, and brighter still, until the walls disappeared altogether, leaving Adam suspended in space amid a firmament of stars.

The starry firmament turned on its axis. The sudden shift in the stellar configurations took Adam's breath away. For a dizzy moment he hung in limbo, surrounded by comet-blurs of wheeling lights. Then all at once he plummeted.

A supple skein of silver materialized in front of him, coiling round him as he fell. Recognizing the line of his own lifetime, Adam reached out and seized it with both hands.

His headlong plunge slowed to a floating descent. Below him now he could see the foreshortened outline of his physical body, sitting relaxed in its chair. He followed the cord down in an ever-tightening spiral until, with a slight, disorienting jolt, his travelling soul was once again reunited with its corporeal complement.

He took another moment to settle back into his body before opening his eyes. The candle beside the photograph had burned down almost to the sconce, indicative that nearly two hours had passed since he first entered into trance. Now that he was back to full awareness, he became sensible of a chill in his bones and a hollow feeling in his midsection. It was further proof, if he needed it, of how far afield he had ventured on the astral this night.

Drawing a steadying breath, Adam reached for the house phone and buzzed for Humphrey. The promptness of the latter's response suggested that his faithful valet had been anticipating his summons. After requesting his usual fortifying snack of hot ham sandwiches and cocoa, Adam rang off with a heartfelt word of thanks, indulged in a languorous stretch, and sat back in his chair to contemplate the import of his exchange with the Master.

He centered his thoughts first on the matter of Tom Lennox's phantom lady. Since the Master had strongly intimated that the key to this woman's identity was to be found on this side of the astral, Adam resolved to redouble his efforts to learn who she might be. He was prepared to take seriously the Master's pronouncement that this woman was presently posing a danger not only to herself but also to others who might come into contact with her. Certainly those who had died in Carnage Corridor could attest to that danger. His resolution was unshaken by the prospect of having to share in her suffering, though the nature of that particular ordeal had been made only too plain to him during his astral journey to her place in the Akashic Records.

Of more disquieting concern was the Master's cryptic warning that the equilibrium of the Light was once again in danger of being destabilized by forces of darkness. Lacking any clues to work from, he could do nothing for the moment but watch and wait.

A knock at the library door roused him from his reverie, heralding Humphrey's arrival with a laden tray.

"Here you are, sir," the butler said. "Will you take your refreshments at the desk, or by the fireside?"

"By the fireside, thank you," Adam said. "And then I hope you'll take yourself off to your bed."

"Very good, sir." Humphrey raised a dubious eyebrow. "Are you sure you won't be needing me any further?"

"Quite sure," Adam said firmly. "I would, however, be grateful if you could have breakfast ready for six o'clock. Tomorrow promises to be a very busy day."