Morag jumped up at Bisset and was punched to the ground by one of the big men. Bisset went to shoot Morag when the man held his arm. Bisset looked in shock at the man.
“It’s just a dog, boss,” said the man.
Bisset rolled his eyes but put the pistol away.
“Now what?” he said.
“Now we make the key,” said Pook holding up the small metal key piece.
Bisset smiled and produced the other key pieces. He looked at Pook expectantly but the other man held out his hands.
“If you would be so kind?” said Pook.
“Naturally,” said Bisset through gritted teeth and handed over the key pieces. The two bodyguards glanced at each other and one shrugged.
Pook concentrated on putting the key together. The circular earth piece had the fire piece, a metal stick around seven inches long, inserted into a hole on its edge. Then the water piece, looking like a small pipe, was attached perpendicular to the fire stick at the other end, creating a shape not unlike a key. Finally the air wire was attached to the water piece at one end and the earth disk at the other, running parallel to the fire stick. The whole thing looked like a hack saw.
“I assume we can unlock the weapon now and use it to kill Sir John?” said Pook.
“Ah, Mr Pook,” said Bisset, looking smug. “I must disabuse you of two concepts where you have been mistaken by a terrible mistranslation.”
“How so?” said Pook, looking puzzled.
“This key is not a key for a lock, but a musical key,” he said. “Please tap the key against the cathedral to see what I mean.”
Pook, looked suspicious, but did as he was told and hit the key against the flying buttress behind him. The key made a humming sound and the buttress began to resonate with the same tone. The tone seemed to spread through the cathedral as the two closest buttresses also started to resonate and hum with the tone, and soon the whole apse was producing a sympathetic tone. Finally the sound spread through the whole cathedral, and it seemed as if the air and the ground were vibrating too.
One of the bodyguards looked up at the cathedral then gasped. His companion followed his gaze and swore loudly, then crossed himself.
“And the word you translated as weapon – arme – is actually armée,” said Bisset.
“There are,” said Pook staring at the cathedral, eyes widening, “there are dozens of them.”
“May I present,” said Bisset with a flourish, “the gargoyles of Notre Dame, the army of Paris.”
The gargoyles all gathered above Pook looking down at him expectantly.
“Go find and kill Sir John Jennings,” cried out Pook, holding the key firm, but with his voice wavering.
“We obey,” said the gargoyles in unison and a hundred stone creatures leapt from the cathedral in pursuit of Sir John.