The Sin Eater (7 page)

‘I'm saying she tried. But I'm a little too old to be lured by sly innocents.'

‘You're a black-hearted liar,' said Colm angrily.

‘I promise you I am not. Your waif-like Romilly made it perfectly clear what she wanted. I made it clear I wasn't interested. I wasn't especially flattered by the approach,' said Sheehan and paused to drink more wine. ‘Her real motive was money, of course.'

‘You can't know what her motives were,' said Colm.

‘Women usually do want money. Or are you both still too young to know that?'

‘Did you give her any money?'

‘I gave her objects of value that could be turned into money. She forced my hand,' said Sheehan. ‘She threatened to tell people I had raped her, and I wasn't prepared to risk that. My solitude – my life here – is important to me. So I gave her more or less what she wanted.'

Anger had spiked into both boys' minds at the mocking implication that they were too young, but hard on its heels came the memory of Romilly saying, ‘Nicholas Sheehan gave me presents. He said I could sell them.' Alongside that was the image of her expression and how she had looked at them through her tears as if to assess how they were receiving her story.

Declan said, ‘Did you tell her she was a good and pretty girl?'

‘Is that what she said? No. I told her she was a sly little liar, and she would one day get her just deserts.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Colm, but there was a note of doubt in his voice. ‘I think you seduced her and there needs to be a reckoning between us.'

‘What kind of reckoning do you propose?'

‘That you leave Kilglenn for good.'

‘Aren't you the most dramatic young man ever, Colm Rourke?' said Sheehan. ‘I'm not leaving this place.' Something flickered behind his eyes that neither of the boys could identify. He said, ‘And you've only Romilly's word against mine for what happened.'

Colm leaned forward. ‘The legend says you're a gambling man,' he said. ‘If that's right, I see how we can resolve this with honour on both sides.'

‘What had you in mind?'

‘A game of chance. The winner to set the forfeit.'

Sheehan studied him. Then he said, ‘Was it perhaps a game of chess you had in mind?'

With the words something seemed to shiver in the quiet room with its muted light, but Colm said firmly, ‘Yes. Yes, it was.'

‘You know the legend of the chess set?'

‘I know one of them. And I'll play you for it,' said Colm. ‘If I win, we'll agree that you dishonoured my cousin. You'll leave here for good. And I take the chess set.'

‘And if I win?'

‘I'll apologize and ensure my cousin doesn't repeat her story. The chessmen will stay with you.'

‘The chessmen,' said Sheehan, ‘will go where they choose. You and I won't have any say in it.' He frowned, and Declan, eyeing him, thought Sheehan would never agree.

Then Sheehan stood up. ‘Come with me,' he said.

In the stone entrance hall was a carved screen, which Sheehan moved aside to reveal a small door. There was a flight of stone steps immediately inside, very worn at the centre and leading into pitch darkness.

‘I'll have to go ahead of you,' said Sheehan. ‘The room is deep into the ground, and the steps are uneven. There's hardly any natural light, so I'll light lamps and you follow me.'

As they stood together at the head of the steps, waiting for the flare of light from below, Declan said in a furious whisper, ‘Colm, you can't do this.'

‘I can. Didn't we always vow we'd come up here one day and challenge Sheehan to a chess game and win the devil's powers off him?'

‘We were children, for pity's sake. Can you even play chess?'

‘I can,' said Colm, his jaw set stubbornly.

‘But he'll trick you.'

‘He will not. He's all show. No substance.'

‘Yes, but this is the chess set that—'

‘That's just an old legend and Sheehan probably spread it around to make himself more interesting. So will you shut up?'

‘But—'

‘He's got the lamps lit,' said Colm as light flared below them, and he began to descend the steps. After a moment Declan followed.

The steps spiralled round and were treacherously narrow. At the bottom, a door had been propped open, and beyond it was a stone-lined room. Colm and Declan had been expecting a conventional cellar, but this chamber was situated on the open side of the cliff face and one section of wall had a tiny barred window, barely two feet square, looking straight on to the ocean. Dull light came through it and there was the sound of the sea moaning against the rocks.

‘You're in one of Ireland's deepest pockets of memory,' said Sheehan, who had set three oil lamps around the room. ‘This place is drenched in ancient memories – sometimes, on a still night, it's almost possible to hear them. There are chords within the mind, you know. If you know how to pluck them they go on resonating for far longer than you'd imagine.'

At the centre of the room was a small round table with two chairs drawn up to it. Nicholas Sheehan tilted one of the lamps slightly and light fell directly on to the table's surface. Colm and Declan caught their breath, for set out on the table, reflecting fathoms deep in the polished surface, was the sinister chess set from the legend.

It was the most beautiful and yet also the most repellent thing either of them had ever seen. The black pieces were ebony and jet, studded with tiny iridescent chips of something they did not recognize, the pawns about five inches high, the kings and queens two or three inches more. The white figures were ivory, crusted with what looked like tiny pearls. The carved armour gleamed and the crowns sparkled and it was easy to think the figures moved in the lamplight – that a fold of a king's cloak twitched, that a prancing knight tightened his rein.

For a moment no one spoke, then Sheehan said softly, ‘Yes, they are beautiful, aren't they? The white pieces are ivory and white jade, with seed pearls. The black are ebony and black jade with black diamonds. But it's said they bring ill luck,' he said, and Declan suddenly had the impression that Sheehan was afraid.

‘I'll risk that.' Colm was staring at the chess figures, and Declan was aware of a growing unease because Colm's eyes held something he had never seen before. But Colm seated himself at the table, and Nicholas Sheehan took the chair facing him.

‘Declan, are you going to stay?'

‘I am,' said Declan to Sheehan, and sat down where he could see the faces of the two combatants.

‘And,' said Colm, with an edge to his voice, ‘we'll both take another glass of wine.'

Storm clouds were gathering outside as they began to play, and the light from the lamps cast pools of light. But outside of those pools, Declan had the increasing feeling that something hid in the thick shadows and that it watched from sly narrow eyes.

Sheehan's expression was unreadable. He played the black pieces, and when Colm captured his bishop, Sheehan shrugged and said, ‘A weak piece. Of little account. In Persian tradition, the piece was originally an elephant. Later, the Europeans called it
Aufin
.
Aufin
is related to a French word for fool. It's curious how language merges one with another, isn't it, and produces totally different words and meanings? But in that case the transformation was appropriate, for most bishops I ever met were fools anyway.'

Colm said, ‘Chess is a Persian game, isn't it?'

‘Who knows? Some tell how the God Euphron created it, or that it began as a dice-playing game at the Siege of Troy. But most legends place its origins in India, although it was supposed to be part of the princely education of Persian nobility.'

‘You're very knowledgeable,' said Colm, with reluctant admiration.

‘I learned a little – a very little – from the man who owned this set before me. He possessed far more knowledge than I ever will,' said Sheehan.

When Sheehan's King was placed in jeopardy, Colm gave a soft hoot of triumph, and Sheehan said, ‘Yes, that's a telling move. But you should not feel too pleased with yourself. The King is the most important piece, but it's the Queen who is the most powerful.'

But as the black pieces were taken with measured inexorability, Colm and Declan had the impression that Sheehan no longer cared if he won or lost. Whether he was suddenly tired of the old legend and wanted to put an end to it, they had no idea, but at length the black Queen was cornered. As Colm reached out to lift the ebony figure from the board, the tiny jewelled eyes in the carved head caught the light and seemed to glint evilly. Colm hesitated. Then he shrugged and his fingers closed round the figure.

Sheehan and Colm looked at one another for a long moment. Then Sheehan said, ‘Congratulations, Colm. A game well played. I imagine you're about to demand I keep our bargain.'

‘I am.'

‘Leave Kilglenn? Leave this tower?'

‘That was the agreement.'

‘A gentleman's agreement only. And,' said Sheehan, ‘it's a long while since I was regarded as a gentleman.'

Colm said, ‘You're reneging on the deal?'

‘An ugly word.'

‘Well?'

‘I'm not leaving this place,' said Sheehan. ‘I can't.'

As the words fell on the old room, something seemed to enter it – something that was not part of the ocean or the greasy lamplight, but that hissed its way through the black bars of the tiny window and scalded its way round the old walls.

‘Then by God, I'll make you!'

‘Colm, no!' Declan started forward, but Colm was already on his feet, his fists clenched, and Declan had the astonishing impression that the hissing anger had poured into Colm and glared from his eyes.

Sheehan threw up a hand to defend himself, backing away. In doing so, he stumbled against the chess table and fell. His head hit the stone floor with a sickening crunch and his neck lolled at a dreadful angle. There was a gasping exhalation of breath, then his eyes rolled upwards and he was still.

The scalding anger drained from the room as quickly as it had come, and Colm stood staring down at the prone figure, white-faced, his eyes no longer holding the terrible glare.

‘He's dead,' said Declan in panic. ‘Mother of God, he's dead and it's your fault, you bloody madman.'

‘He's shamming,' said Colm, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. ‘Feel for a heartbeat – it'll be pounding away like a tinker's drum. Well?' he said, as Declan knelt down and thrust a hand inside Nicholas Sheehan's jacket.

‘Nothing. Wait though – a mirror.'

‘What in God's name . . . ?'

‘You put a mirror to somebody's lips to see are they breathing. If they are, it mists the mirror. Fetch that glass from the wall there.'

‘I'm telling you he'll sit up in a minute and laugh at us,' said Colm, but he unhooked the small oval mirror from the wall and between them they lowered it over Sheehan's face.

‘Nothing,' said Declan presently. ‘He's not breathing. He's dead.'

‘It's my fault,' said Colm, staring at Sheehan's body, in horror. ‘Only, I didn't mean to kill him, I swear to all the saints. I didn't so much as touch him, Declan, you know that.'

‘I do know. But would anyone else?' said Declan.

‘They'll hang me for a murderer.'

‘Of course they won't.'

‘He's a priest, for God's sake! Of course they will! What do I do?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Well,
think.
Can we leave him here and not know anything? Will he be missed?'

‘He might be missed after a few days,' said Declan, trying to think clearly. ‘He's noticeable. If he's around in Kilglenn or even Kilderry, people always remember seeing him because of the old story about the chessmen.'

The chessmen. They both glanced uneasily at the carved figures.

‘And,' said Declan, speaking reluctantly, ‘for all he set himself up as a . . . a hermit, I think he has visitors here at times. People seek him out. My father once said some of the young men considering entering the Church come to talk to him. Colm, his body will be found, and people will know he was killed. There's a socking great bruise on his head.'

‘Where he hit it on the ground.'

‘Yes, but would people think someone had hit him with a fist?'

‘Well, you had nothing to do with it,' said Colm firmly.

‘Will you shut up? I'm as much a part of this as you. Let's think what to do. Were we seen coming up here, d'you think?'

‘We might have been.' Colm was still looking down at Sheehan's body. It lay where it had fallen, the ocean light mingling eerily with the lamplight, casting strangely coloured shadows over it. ‘They'll piece it together,' he said. ‘Once the body's found the
garda
will work it all out. Evidence. Clues.'

They both knew this was a real danger. Fintan's Bar sometimes had a publication called
Strand
Magazine
which they read after the others had finished with it, devouring the exploits of the Baker Street detective called Sherlock Holmes. Almost all of Mr Holmes' crimes took place in England, but the methods employed by the English police to track down a murderer would not be much different from the ones the
garda
would use in Ireland.

‘You're right,' said Declan. ‘They'll question everyone. They'll know we were here.'

‘Not if we destroy the evidence,' said Colm. ‘All of it – including Sheehan's body.'

‘How?'

‘There's only one way,' said Colm.

T
heir minds had always fitted together so well that they scarcely needed to consult each other as they worked. Leaving Sheehan's body where it was, they dragged a heavy oak chest out of the room. Then they closed the door on the room and pushed the chest hard against it.