Read Online Lord John and the Hand of Devils by Diana Gabaldon - Free Book Online Page B

of it drifted in an eerie fog round the mossy tombstones of neglected graves, leaning like rotted teeth in their sockets.
    The notion, as it had been explained to him, was that a white stallion had the power to detect the presence of the supernatural. The horse would stop at the grave of the succubus, which could then be opened and steps taken to destroy the creature.
    Grey found a number of logical assumptions wanting in this proposal; chief among which—putting aside the question of the existence of succubi, and why a sensible horse should choose to have anything to do with one—was that Karolus was not choosing his own path. Tom was doing his best to keep slack in the rope, but as long as he held it, the horse was plainly going to follow him.
    On the other hand, he reflected, Karolus was unlikely to stop
anywhere,
so long as Tom kept walking. That being true, the end result of this exercise would be merely to cause them all to miss their suppers and to render them thoroughly wet and chilled. Still, he supposed they would be still more wet and chilled if obliged actually to open graves and perform whatever ritual might follow—
    A hand clamped itself on his calf, and he bit his tongue—luckily, as it kept him from crying out.
    “You are all right, Major?” It was Stephan, looming up beside him, tall and dark in a woolen cloak. He had left aside his plumed helmet, and wore a soft-brimmed wide hat against the rain, which made him look both less impressive and more approachable.
    “Certainly,” Grey said, mastering his temper. “How long must we do this?”
    Von Namtzen lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
    “Until the horse stops, or until Herr Blomberg is satisfied.”
    “Until Herr Blomberg begins wanting his supper, you mean.” He could hear the bürgermeister’s voice at a distance behind them, lifted in exhortation and reassurance.
    A white plume of breath floated out from under the brim of von Namtzen’s hat, the laugh behind it barely audible.
    “He is more…resolute?…than you might suppose. It is his duty, the welfare of the village. He will endure as long as you will, I assure you.”
    Grey pressed his bitten tongue against the roof of his mouth, to prevent any injudicious remarks.
    Stephan’s hand was still curled about his leg, just above the edge of his boot. Cold as it was, he felt no warmth from the grasp, but the pressure of the big hand was both a comfort and something more.
    “The horse—he goes well,
nicht wahr
?”
    “He is wonderful,” Grey said, with complete sincerity. “I thank you again.”
    Von Namtzen flicked his free hand in dismissal, but made a pleased sound, deep in his throat. He had—against Grey’s protests—insisted upon making the stallion a gift to Grey, “in token of our alliance and our friendship,” he had said firmly, clapping Grey upon both shoulders and then seizing him in fraternal embrace, kissing him formally upon both cheeks and mouth. At least, Grey was obliged to consider it a fraternal embrace, unless and until circumstance might prove it otherwise.
    But Stephan’s hand still curled round his calf, hidden under the skirt of his greatcoat.
    Grey glanced toward the squat bulk of the church, a black mass that loomed beyond the churchyard.
    “I am surprised that the priest is not with us. Does he disapprove of this—excursion?”
    “The priest is dead. A fever of some kind,
die rote Ruhn,
more than a month since. They will send another, from Strausberg, but he has not come yet.” Little wonder; a large number of French troops lay between Strausberg and the town; travel would be difficult, if not impossible.
    “I see.” Grey glanced back over his shoulder. The diggers had paused to open a fresh jug, torches tilting in momentary distraction.
    “Do you believe in this—this succubus?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low.
    Rather to his surprise, von Namtzen didn’t reply at once. At last, the Hanoverian took a deep breath and hunched his broad