Dagger Magic

"Indeed not." Jigme's tone matched the seriousness of his expression as he picked up one of Peregrine's photos. "And the fact that the attack was fatal proves beyond all shadow of a doubt that these dagger-wielders are operating outside the pale of our beliefs. No orthodox Buddhist would countenance the deliberate killing of another sentient being. The true perversion of those you seek is that they have exchanged the intended destruction of evil for the promotion of evil.

"The presence of this flag likewise troubles me deeply," he went on, not touching it as he laid the photo aside again. "While I myself was born too recently to have any personal memory of the Second World War, no one living and working in the West today could be wholly ignorant of the monstrous evils that were committed against mankind under the aegis of flags like this one. As for the possibility of a German submarine secreted in an Irish sea cave - "

He broke off with a deprecatory shake of his head. "I feel certain that Tseten Rinpoche will wish to see you," he announced, taking up the Phurba, then gathering up the flag along with Peregrine's sketches and photos. "You, in particular, Dr. Sinclair. In addition to these properties which make up the evidence of your case, may I presume upon you for the loan of some personal item that Rinpoche might handle? I believe I need not tell you why."

Without hesitation, Adam removed his Adept ring and handed it over, much to the shocked astonishment of McLeod and Peregrine.

"Thank you," Jigme said, bowing over the ring in his closed hand. "I will return as soon as I may - certainly within an hour. In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable. If you wish more tea, or there is anything else you require, just give a call and someone will assist you."

So saying, the young lama got to his feet and retired from the room. As the door closed behind him and his retreating footsteps died away, McLeod turned to Adam, his expression one of mingled shock and apprehension.

"Adam, your ring - " he said in a rare show of hesitation.

"It's all right," Adam assured him. "Believe me, I know exactly what I'm doing."

"But - I hope so," McLeod muttered, with a dubious shake of his head. "That ring of yours is probably the single most powerful psychic link to you that exists in physical form. If it were ever to fall into the wrong hands - "

"It won't. At least not through the offices of anyone here," Adam said firmly. "Don't be in any way misled by our host's youthful appearance, Noel. Even though Jigme may personally consider himself far short of his master's achievements, he's very advanced - a very old soul. And as for Tseten Rinpoche - ''

He paused. "Gentlemen, we may well be about to be granted audience with a Buddhist saint."

Leaving the farmhouse behind him, clad again in boots and anorak, Lama Jigme set out briskly along a grassy footpath that soon changed to mud. Over his shoulder was slung a green canvas satchel containing the Phurba and all the items entrusted to him by Adam Sinclair. The mist was turning to rain, spattering his spectacles, and he squinted slightly against it.

The path meandered gently along the shoreline, gradually climbing, flanked with flowering gorse and patches of swaying sea grass. After following the path for nearly a mile, and surprising an Eriskay pony and her foal, he came upon a square outcropping in the rocks to his left, where a rough course of stone steps led upward to a slash-like horizontal opening in the face of the cliff.

Hitching up the skirts of his robe, Jigme clambered swiftly up the steps toward the cave mouth. Below a sandstone cliff overhang, more stone steps descended into one end of a roughly crescent-shaped cave, perhaps ten feet wide and thirty feet long. Several feet beyond the bottom of the stair, on a straw mat rolled out on the floor of the cave, a bright-eyed and venerable figure in maroon robes and a red anorak looked up expectantly. Dark eyes sought and held Jigme's for a moment as the younger man gave a sign of respect, penetratingly keen amid a matrix of wrinkles. At once their owner wordlessly signalled the other man to approach.

Jigme paused to slip out of his muddy boots before hunkering down on the mat in front of his elder, bright red socks briefly flashing beneath him. Divesting himself of the green canvas satchel, he delved into it to produce Peregrine's photos and sketches, including his dream-sketch of the man in green vestments. To these items he added the Nazi flag.

The old man fingered each of the properties in turn, though he avoided the flag. His face darkened as he allowed his regard to linger for a moment or two over the drawing of the man in green. The flag he did not need to touch. When he had withdrawn briefly into silent meditation, he looked up expectantly at Jigme, who presented him with Adam's ring.