The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten 1)

The old man came up to me. He had a wicked, catlike smile, the smile of a mischievous child, and his eyes were branded with cunning.

“Can you help me?” I begged.

“That depends on how much you can help me.”

“If it’s in my power, I’ll be delighted to help you. Would you like me to deliver a message to your family?”

The old man laughed bitterly. “It’s my family who’s stuck me in this hole. They’re a load of leeches, likely to steal my underpants while they’re still warm. Hell can take them—or the city hall. I’ve kept them and put up with them for long enough. What I want is a woman.”

“Excuse me?”

The old man looked at me impatiently.

“Being young is no excuse for slow wit, kid. I’m telling you I want a woman. A female, a maid, or a young filly of a top breed. Young—under fifty-five, that is—and healthy, with no sores or fractures.”

“I’m not sure if I understand….”

“You understand me perfectly. I want to have it off with a woman who has teeth and won’t pee on me, before I depart for the other world. I don’t mind whether she’s good-looking or not; I’m half blind, and at my age any girl who has anything to hold onto is a Venus. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal. But I don’t see how I’m going to find a woman for you….”

“When I was your age, there was something in the service sector called ladies of easy virtue. I know the world changes, but never in essence. Find one for me, plump and fun-loving, and we’ll do business. And if you’re asking yourself about my ability to enjoy a lady, I want you to know I’m quite content to pinch her backside and feel up her bumpers. That’s the advantage of experience.”

“Technicalities are your affair, sir, but right now I can’t bring a woman to you here.”

“I might be a dirty old man, but I’m not stupid. I know that. Your promise is good enough for me.”

“And how do you know I won’t say yes just to get you to tell me where Jacinta Coronado is?”

The old man gave me a sly smile. “You give me your word, and leave any problems of conscience to me.”

I looked around me. Juanito was starting on the second half of his recital. Hope was ebbing away. Fulfilling this horny granddad’s request seemed to be the only thing that made any sense in that purgatory. “I give you my word. I’ll do what I can.”

The old man smiled from ear to ear. I counted three teeth.

“Blond, even if it’s peroxide. Pneumatically endowed and skilled at talking dirty, if possible. Of all senses, the one I preserve best is my hearing.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now, tell me where I can find Jacinta Coronado.”

·31·

YOU’VE PROMISED WHAT TO THAT OLD METHUSELAH?”

“You heard.”

“You meant it as a joke, I hope.”

“I don’t lie to an old man who is at death’s door, no matter how fresh he turns out to be.”

“And that does you credit, Daniel, but how do you think you’re going to slip a whore into this holy house?”

“Paying three times as much, I suppose. I leave all specific details to you.”

Fermín shrugged resignedly. “Oh, well, a deal’s a deal. We’ll think of something. But remember, next time a negotiation of this nature turns up, let me do the talking.”

“Agreed.”

Just as the crafty old devil had instructed, we found Jacinta Coronado in a loft that could be reached only from a staircase on the third floor. According to the old man, the attic was the refuge for the few patients whom fate had not yet had the decency to deprive of understanding. Apparently this hidden wing had, in its day, housed the rooms of Baltasar Deulofeu, aka Laszlo de Vicherny, from where he governed the Tenebrarium’s activities and cultivated the arts of love newly arrived from the East, amid scented vapors and oils. And there was no lack of scent now, though of a very different nature. A woman who could only be Jacinta Coronado languished in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket.