The Monk by Hallahan William H.;

Author:Hallahan, William H.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2019-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

PART

III

CHAPTER 7

Life in a Monastery

Satan sat upon his throne, brooding over Brendan Davitt. He had escaped—the most dangerous man who had ever lived had completely disappeared.

Satan’s eyes roved over the great Hall of Pandemonium and everywhere he saw the lords of hell standing in small groups, arms crossed, talking softly and looking at him upon his throne. There was Beelzebub, and Belial, Moloch and Ashtaroth, Thammuz and Dagon, Baalim and Rimmon—all of them in fact, all murmuring, all staring at him from a distance. Satan had a major revolt on his hands.

He was the leader, the one with all the skills and tricks, and they wanted him instantly to eliminate this threat of extinction. And how did they expect him to do that? The quarry had escaped. Wasn’t that clear enough? Disappeared. Wherever that old monk Joseph had sent him, Davitt was beyond finding at the moment. And there was no sense blaming the hawk. She’d performed superbly, beyond her own endurance. And already she was back in the air, flying on the point of collapse, searching for Davitt. Satan wished he had more hawks and fewer critics.

He thought about the possibility of his own extinction with growing awe. Could it really be near? And what was it, this final punishment the Lord had promised? He gazed again at his sullen lieutenants. In a way it would be a relief, having done finally with this collection of carpers and slackers, the whole ungrateful pack. If it hadn’t been for him, they would still be sulking around in the darkness and misery. And not one of them would lift a finger to help search for Davitt. They just stood in the Hall in groups and waited for him to do something. It was his problem. He could read their thoughts. One hawk on the point of collapse—was that the best he could do to fend off their imminent destruction? A hell filled with fiends, and all he could manage was one exhausted hawk?

Beelzebub stepped away from his group and approached the throne. He had the merciless eyes of the true predator, like a cheetah who could study a herd of gazelles and pick out the weak one, the slow one, the one with a secret flaw. And now Beelzebub searched for a flaw in Satan’s eyes, a hint of weakness, a slackening of resolve, a loss of leadership ability.

Satan nodded at him, giving him leave to approach the throne.

“Is it true, Satan, that the hawk has found Timothy?”

Satan nodded. “Timothy is halted in a seminary, stopped by the snow and shin splints. He obviously has no idea where Davitt is.”

Beelzebub nodded but continued to stare at Satan.

Satan sensed the challenge. “As long as Timothy hasn’t found Davitt, we have no problem,” he said. “And I have Timothy under constant watch.”

“Of course, Satan. But the old abbot from the monastery, Joseph. He knows where Davitt went. Can we talk to him?”

“He’s dead. He died from exposure, sitting in a church pew with his rosaries wrapped around his hands.

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