Crimson Shore (Agent Pendergast, #15)(43)

But at the end of the shelf stood a row of extremely old, obscure, and dirty volumes. She glanced at these, finding most to be irrelevant. But the very last book on the shelf, pushed back from the others as if almost deliberately hidden, was an untitled volume that was not, she discovered, a book at all, but rather a manuscript. It was in Latin, titled Pseudomonarchia Daemonum (The False Monarchy of Demons), dated 1563.

She laid it on the small table and carefully turned the pages, surprised by the abundance of detailed illustrations. It appeared to be a kind of grimoire or list of all the demons alleged to exist: sixty-nine in total, with their names, offices, attributes, symbols, and what they could teach the person who raised them in an unholy ceremony. The paper crackled under her gloved touch, and she had the sense no one had examined the manuscript in a very long time.

She leafed through it, looking for matches to the Tybane symbols. Most of the symbols represented the demons themselves, but a few were symbols indicating movement, travel, directions, and place.

As she paged through, her eye caught one symbol that, in fact, had a match with the Tybane Inscriptions:





It was translated as Obscura Peregrinatione ad Littus (A Dark Pilgrimage to the Southern Shore).

A diligent search turned up a second Tybane symbol:





The translation was Indevitatus, meaning “unavoidable,” “inevitable,” “imminent.”

With greater interest now she continued combing the text, page after page. Toward the end she hit upon two more symbols.





This first was the sign for the demon known as Forras, and she mentally translated the Latin text:

The Thirty-First Spirit is Forras. He appears in the form of a strong man in a fair human Shape. He can give the understanding to men how they may know the virtues and poisons of all herbs. He teaches the Arts of Law in all its parts. If desired he makes men to live long, and to avoid discovery of their evil. His Seal is this.



The seal was identical to a symbol in the Tybane Inscriptions.

The other symbol of interest was of another demon called Morax, and the accompanying text translated as:

Morax is a great and mighty prince of darkness, and when he puts on the shape of a man, he shows out dog’s teeth, and a great head like to a deformed ape, and drags a devil’s tail; he makes wonderful cunning, incites lewdness, and will lie with any woman he so desires; he has a great thirst for the blood of man and he revels in the viscera of those he kills. His Seal is this:





The Tybane Inscriptions, as she understood it—and as the body of McCool gave evidence to—comprised a series of five symbols. Four had a match in this book: the avatars, apparently, of four demons.

Near the end of the manuscript, she came across the final symbol of the Tybane Inscriptions:





The Latin inscription was Errantem Locus, meaning “wandering place.”

Constance paused, looking up from the manuscript. There was still a lot more to decipher. But she was now sure of one thing: the Tybane Inscriptions were genuine. They were not the product of a crazy fantasist. They had been created by someone truly dedicated to Satan and the worship of the dark arts.





24



Sergeant Gavin manned the tiller again as the incoming tide bore the boat forward, deeper into the salt marshes. Once again Pendergast sat in the bow, consulting a map and moving only to point directions, leading them up a seeming infinitude of channels.

Gavin wondered what the heck Pendergast was doing again in the marshes. But he kept his mouth shut. He realized a man like Pendergast was the kind who simply did what he wanted, without explanations, apologies, or justification. Nevertheless, he was convinced this would end up a wild-goose chase. It seemed obvious that the killings of the historian and the lawyer were banal, most likely the work of drug addicts trying to cover up their robberies with symbols, which were known to at least some locals familiar with the story of the Tybane Inscriptions. Pendergast had given him some nonsense about looking for the Gray Reaper. But as he eyed the bulky metal detector lying athwart the skiff’s seats, poking out of a partially zipped-up bag, he wondered: What was Pendergast going to do with that?

The hand pointed, Gavin turned. He really wished Pendergast had not insisted that he pilot the boat. There were plenty of others who could have done it. But Pendergast had particularly asked for him, and since the autopsy on Dunwoody wasn’t going to take place until the next day, the chief agreed.

This time, they were way the hell out in the marshes. They were completely surrounded; all you could see for 360 degrees around was grass and water under a gray, late-afternoon sky.

Pendergast held up his hand, and with a gesture indicated Gavin was to throttle down. Gavin did so, putting the engine into neutral. The boat continued drifting on the current.

“We seem to have taken a wrong turn, Sergeant Gavin.”

Gavin shrugged. “You’ve got the GPS. I’ve been totally lost for a while.”

“One moment.” Pendergast spent a few minutes working the GPS and checking the map, back and forth, back and forth. “Let us backtrack.”

With a suppressed sigh Gavin turned the boat around and maneuvered upcurrent at half speed. They emerged into a broader channel.

“This way,” said Pendergast.

Yet another endless series of channels—and then he once again held up his hand. “This is it.”