The Naming of the Beasts

‘What was that?’ I asked, when we were both in the car and backing out of the yard. The kids parted reluctantly to let us through. One or two of them took a kick at the bodywork en passant. Anastasiadis winced at each dull clunk, as though he was feeling the blows himself.

‘I called you chief inspector,’ he said a little disgruntledly. ‘And I asked you how your investigation was coming along. I thought this might deter those little thugs from hurting my car. But sadly, Mr Castor, such a deterrent is still beyond the grasp of human science.’

His gaze fell on the photo, which I was holding in my lap. ‘This is all you took?’ he said. ‘Well, it is a nice moment to commemorate, I suppose.’

‘What moment?’ I asked him.

‘The first communion. This is Jovan or Rafael?’

‘Rafael,’ I said. ‘How do you know when it was taken?’

The lawyer shrugged. ‘The white robe,’ he said. ‘And the steps of Hagia Katerina. Every house in Skopje has a photo like this.’

It was funny and painful at the same time to think of Rafi taking communion. The wine and wafer would stick in his throat now, and make the demon bellow like a bull under the gelding knife. Was there a possibility there? I wondered briefly. Trick Asmodeus into swallowing the host or drinking communion wine? The answer was no, of course. I could hurt him easily enough, but tricks like that wouldn’t pull or push or blast him out of his human vessel, and he’d recuperate with terrifying speed. If there was a magic bullet, that wasn’t it.

We stopped at a red light, which didn’t seem to be in any hurry to change. I was a little worried about catching my flight now, but I took advantage of the delay to fish one of the books out of my pocket and show it to Anastasiadis.

‘I took these too,’ I told him. ‘I think they may be Rafi’s journals.’

He took it from me and flicked through it curiously.

‘His name is inside the cover,’ he acknowledged. ‘Rafael Cyril Ditko. Yes. This is a diary of some kind. Or at least each entry has a date attached to it.’

‘Do you know of any way I could get them translated?’ I asked.

Anastasiadis handed the book back to me, returning his attention to the road as we started moving again. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I use translators myself all the time, for deeds and contracts. If you were willing to leave the books with me, I could arrange to have it done.’

‘I need it done quickly.’

‘Then it will not be cheap. But still I can arrange it.’

I chewed on that one for a moment. Expense was no object for Jenna-Jane, but if I took her money to get the journals translated, I’d have to share the contents with her. Actually, that was an optimistic projection. More likely, Jenna-Jane would get first dibs and I’d be copied in on a need-to-know basis.

‘How much is it likely to be?’ I asked.

Anastasiadis made a one-handed but expansive gesture, suggesting very concisely how painful it was for him to have to ask for cash down for what was really a favour to a friend, and how distasteful he found monetary transactions in general. ‘Five hundred pounds sterling,’ he suggested. ‘One hundred for each book.’

Not an easy sum for me to scrape together right then. I considered. The diaries were still a long shot. Most likely they were full of the same sort of stuff that fills all adolescent boys’ diaries - wet dreams, football scores and cod philosophy. All the same, I decided to keep it in the family.

‘Do one of the books to start with,’ I said. ‘I’ll wire the hundred quid when I get back to England.’

‘Thank you. All the necessary details are on my card.’

We got to the airport with about twenty minutes left before check-in closed. Rolling to a halt in a no-stopping lane and cheerfully ignoring the soldiers on security duty at the kerbside, Anastasiadis got out of the car to say goodbye to me. I shook his hand and thanked him for all his help.

‘It was my very great pleasure,’ he assured me solemnly. ‘I did little enough for Jovan, when all is said and done. If I can help his brother, at no additional cost to myself because I am not after all a charity, this will please me. You will send that money, Mr Castor, yes?’

‘Consider it sent,’ I assured him.

‘Then in the expectation of its arrival, I will make a start on the translation.’

Since I had a few minutes’ leeway before I had to sprint for the gate, I decided to check in with the Führer-bunker and see how things were going there. I tried my mobile first, but it couldn’t find a service, so I had to use a payphone. That meant changing bills into coins - coins which were impossibly small and thin, as though metal was in short supply locally and they were making a little go a long way. Dropping a couple of dozen little silver wafers at random into the slot got me a dialling tone, and that got me the MOU switchboard. It didn’t get me Trudie Pax though, even though I asked for her. Instead - I suppose predictably - I was put directly through to Jenna-Jane.

‘Felix,’ she said brightly. ‘You’ve been much on my mind. Was the journey worth your while?’