Chaos Magic (6 page)

Chapter 12

FALLEN ANGEL

The next day at 6am Detective Z was shaving when his phone rang; it was the station house – there was another body. It was only when he was hurriedly gulping down his Earl Grey tea that he realized that the postcode he had written down was somewhere near the previous evenings rendezvous with Darren and Alan.

Vernon Reach was a shunned section of the Thames embankment between a sewage treatment works, still operational, judging by the smell that Detective Z could detect before even getting out of the car an hour later, and an abandoned dog racing stadium. A dirt track ran between the two down to rivers edge and there on a greenish slab of mud was today’s fallen angel.

The FIS were already at work; the support team had laid out planking and meter square slabs of plastic to stop the whole of the crime investigation team from sinking into the odorous slime. Today, Detective Inspector Slocombe was on hand, and making a point of taking charge of the operation as he stood on one of the furthest planks and waved his arms around, shouting instructions. An audience of seagulls watched impassively from the shingle.

“Another twenty something woman, light bruising to the left cheek, other than that there’s too much mud on her to tell. We need to move her before the tide turns,” said the Forensic Manager to Detective Z, as he passed by. “I think your boss wants you,” he added, nodding towards the gesticulating DI Slocombe.

Detective Z put a tentative foot onto the first plank.

Five minutes later he was back on dry land having drawn the shortest of straws during his briefing with DI Slocombe: organize the search of the adjacent dog track and the sewage works. He was not sure what was worse: being relegated to a supporting role that barely registered on the relevancy scale, or having to trek around a shit-processing facility.

When he had been out on the mud bank the SC4 brigade had been about to maneuver the woman’s body onto a stretcher; working swiftly before the ever-present and inevitable turning of the tide achieved its allotted diurnal moment. Therefore the Detective had been unable to get any clear view of today’s victim, and therefore been also unable to silence today’s batch of deepest darkest fears – the ones that had persisted through every waking hour since Lorna had been spirited away. Especially so since this spate of killings had begun; each one in the sick sequence, because he knew in his bones that he was witnessing the handiwork of a serial killer, seeming to be directed specifically at himself, as either warnings or taunts from some ghastly beyond – the existence of which he had trained himself over the years, not to contemplate.
The worst kind of policeman behaves thus
, he told himself

The sewage works were thoroughly protected and enclosed by serious and secure fencing and so Detective Z and his two Detective Constables turned their attention to the dog racing stadium. This proved to be easily accessible; here they found the entrances to the grandstand and outbuildings to be boarded up and on the far side close to the main road they came across an elderly security guy in a Portacabin. He offered them tea which they declined.

“I’m here to stop vandalism. Kida get in and smash the place up,” he said when questioned about the reason for his presence.

“There’s a big hole in the fence, down by the river,” Detective Z told him.

This he knew. The Detective changed his mind about the offer of tea, and after sending his two assistants back to their car, settled down to speak with old boy.

“Were you on duty last night?”

“I was and will be right through until seven tonight.”

“What’s that a twenty-four-hour shift?”

“Forty-eight,” came the reply.

“Christ! And I thought we had it bad.”

The tea was dark and strong.

“See anything last night?” asked the Detective, getting back to the subject in hand.

“The dog started barking at about four-thirty.”

“What dog?”

“My boy took him home. Why, do you want to question him?”

“Not right now,” said the detective. “Not right now.”

Chapter 1
3

NEST OF LOOPS

Lloyd had delegated the job to Toby – I was his ‘pizza daddy’ so he was willing. He got my modest laptop supercharged to the point where it could run
Nest of Loops
without glitching.

“Even if you don’t want to shoot anyone you still need to use the joystick an stuff on the controller,” Toby told me during the hand-over. “Pick an avatar,” he said explaining that I needed to have an identity in order to interact with the denizens of
beta world. “Remember you see them, but they can see you too.”

This reminded me of the Nietzsche quote about staring into the abyss; when you do – it stares back - into you. Maybe my upcoming immersive experience would take me to the same dark place that the philosopher referred to.

I eschewed the combat clothing, body-armor and the steampunk weaponry, settling instead for casual sportswear and a beard.
That will confuse the fuckers
, I thought. I was in fact becoming a little paranoid around the edges back here in my own world – every night I took a different route home from the Institute. And if I was to meet with Detective Z, I hopped from bus to bus to reach my destination, and this is what I indeed did on this particular evening, for we had agreed to meet at The Tower in Mortlake in order to ‘carry out some important police work in the otherplace’, as he had cryptically told me over the phone.

To my amazement the scaffolding structure that had previously been surrounding the Church Tower was gone; not a plank or a pole remained. The ancient stonework seemed glow as shadows lengthened and shafts of evening sunlight flickered through the elm and birch. The church bell began to strike the hour – it seemed an affirmation. After the final eighth strike the reverberation hung in the air.
Ancient and modern, ancient and modern
, I thought.

Detective Z was waiting inside the vestibule; I patted my computer case to indicate that I was fully prepared to help with ‘the investigation’.

“Follow me,” I said. And up we went.

In the end my laptop, that had been pronounced adequate when running on the in-house wifi back at the Institute, could barely make it past the first few frames of the opening titles before seizing up, no doubt due to the lowly 3G connection to the cloud where the Massive Multiplayer Game’s
persistent world
lived.

As I descended the Tower each step seemed to be eroding my connection with first part of my earlier mantra -
ancient and modern
. The manuscripts and magical instruments that I had hoped were taking me closer to my goal of being able utilize some form of ‘practical magic’ had been put aside in favour of a digital substitute.
Here I am,
I thought -
too much book learning and not enough action.
A monumental battle was being waged and so far I was playing no part, and now I was betting all my chips on a kid’s game, it felt like a kind of betrayal.

We decided to reconvene in the morning at the Institute under the auspices of Lloyd and Toby. I bid a disappointed Detective Z goodnight and then went home and slept badly all night; pursued by alligators.

Chapter 14

OXYGEN THIEF

They had surprised Alan in his allotment shed; he seemed an unlikely progenitor of insurrection in his green tweed jacket and dusty brogues. The two heavies, who had been dispatched to find him, simply taped him to a handcart and wheeled him into their van, before driving through the rush hour traffic to bring him into the presence of Eddie Brocade on an upper floor of the
Vertical Abyss
.

“I’m not saying you don’t have a fucking good reason,” Eddie said, whilst pacing up and down. “To meet with a certain Detective,” he stopped walking, his face inches away from Alan’s. “Perhaps you are old friends?”

Ever since his wife had died two years ago Alan had been spending more and more time at his allotment, even to the point of cooking meals on the wood-burning stove he had installed and brewing his own wine. The fact that he had been disturbed whilst testing the latest batch of elderflower wine gifted him the idea of simply pretending he was drunk whilst being interrogated, until him came up with a better plan.

“I was in me hallotment,” he slurred whilst exhaling what he hoped was a sufficiently wine-laden lungful into the man’s face. A smooth faced preening faggot whom Alan would have decked with one punch when in his prime. He let his head loll forward as if in a drunken swoon.

“You pissed up old oxygen thief,” said Eddie almost absent-mindedly. He was thinking of the collection of medieval torture equipment that Simon Magus had someplace; he had always harbored a desire to try some of the pieces out on a real person; an achievable scenario - to oil hinge, flange and spike with some fresh blood.

“Tell me when he sobers up,” he called to the minder.

Alan was left alone – to his captors a semi-conscious old boy, his wrists bound with a plastic tie, in a locked room.

With a swift downward movement he broke the wrist restraint and then took from his pocket a flick knife and then a mobile phone. He quickly ascertained that there was a signal, albeit a weak one. He then sent a text. Turning his attention to the knife he squeezed the release on the handle a couple of times to test the spring action, both times it opened smoothly. Afterwards he lolled back on the bunk bed in readiness for captor or captors to return, the knife tucked loosely in the sleeve of his jacket.

Chapter 15

UNDERTOW

We entered The Nest of Loops. We could skim over the cityscape until our appetite for destruction might lead us to a riot zone or an ‘anything goes’ unregulated area where the authorities had abandoned any pretence of law and order and anarchy held sway – here drugs, weapons and women were freely bought and sold. Of course Detective Z and I wished to avoid these blazing vectors of bad karma and high scoring opportunities; much to Lloyd and Toby’s disgust.

Instead we followed the semi-deserted streets towards a forgotten bend in the river. We were here to see what goes down in beta town; to reconnoiter the latest and freshest of crime scenes and hopefully prove or disprove the theory that the dead girls were denizens of that hidden obverse world.

“It’s down here someplace,” said Clive. We were finally on first name terms, Detective Z and I.

Right on the spot where, according to Clive, a dog racing stadium had stood was a glitzy palace of plastic and glass –
Welcome to The Babadrome – Kage Kandy Every Night
– promised the illuminated hoardings. In much smaller lettering it said:
Except Wednesdays
; today was Wednesday.

For some reason I elected to wait outside, somewhere alarm bells were ringing – it was in my head.

After a while I went in too, to look for my comrade in beta world, but Detective Z was gone – I retraced my steps. I waited. Cleaning staff were making a thorough job of the whole of the front-of-house area. After a while I was able to detach my senses from the sights and sounds of the world I had entered – I found myself back in the basement of the institute, the big wall-mounted monitor was a flickering field of static. I was quite alone.

Chapter 16

THE VULTURE’S NECK

Detective Z sidled his power-suited avatar into the side entrance and looked around the foyer. When he saw the poster - Chloe ‘Cold Fury’ Andretti versus ‘Calamity’ Jade Power - he froze. The poster struck hope and fear in equal proportions. He looked at Chloe’s opponent, ‘Calamity Jade’ it said, but it was Lorna.

This had all the parallel meaning and synchronicity of a dream where totemic detail, personal to one’s own life, was woven into a creaky storyline in order to impart a secreted message that was always floating just beneath the surface of the conscious mind. And yet the lizard brain persisted: he was a detective, he was trained to hunt for meaning and sift for clues, and he was on the trail of a multiple murderer or murderers.

He had been here at Vernon Reach the previous day, and by working back down the time-line from the place where the victim was left, out on the mud bank, then there ought to be, at some point, evidence implicating a perpetrator of these crimes, a real person - for Detective Z only believed in real people committing real crimes, despite having to buy into Professor Sprawl’s wilder theories, just enough to move forward with his investigation. He was sailing under a flag of convenience, AKA the crazy flag.

He had stood for several moments in the foyer of the Babadrome staring at the poster. Maybe now was the time to discover the worst. Fear and hope: hope and fear – a combination of sensation that had eluded him for so very many years as he had shuffled through a numbing fog of despair since Lorna’s disappearance.

Yes, it was Lorna.

He methodically removed the thumbtacks, folded the shiny paper and put it in the pocket of his coat, feeling strange doing so. Then he turned around and went back outside; here he found Darren to be gone.
I’m here to do a job, and this might be my only chance – better get with the program, Detective
, he thought, and set off to find a way down to the riverfront and the mud bank where the dead woman had been found.

Detective Z had in fact entered the Loa. He was no longer sitting alongside Professor Darren Sprawl back in the basement of the Institute, for he had turned sideways to the cavalcade of the senses that comprise everyday reality. Besides, he was following a trail; his detective’s sensibility now utterly attuned to identifying the progenitor of darkness, the Baron Samedi and his minions, the murdering bastards who were dumping their handiwork on his west London patch, the fuckers who had taken Lorna, taken her and turned her into some circus act performing in a cage. He would find her, and bring her back. And bring back the sack of shit responsible; either that or dispense some kind of ‘on the spot’ retribution. Exactly how - he had yet to figure out.

The same gravel path led down to Thames, on one side the Babadrome, on the other the same sewage facility only this time the prevailing breeze took the stink out over the river. The light was failing, or maybe it was always twilight in this place, and the detective saw, to his disappointment, that the tide was up and the shingle and mud where he had stood yesterday was beneath swirling brown water. He did however notice something new – a narrow track snaking off around the headland. It was a windswept and isolated place but nevertheless Detective Z felt compelled to follow the track through the long grass and samphire. A seabird screeched close by.

‘Vernon Creek’ said an old wooden sign nailed to a post, apropos of nothing. A little further along, the hillside fell away and then down below was the creek, the outflow of some long forgotten river merging with the incoming tide. Moving gently on its moorings was a boat, blue in color, an old tub with an element of congruency in its appearance that neither surprised nor troubled him – a ghost vessel emerging from the mist, the name painted on the hull the key to the encrypted realities in which he was stranded, supplying an entry point to the sideways realm. Just the shape and feel of the vowels and consonants forming spontaneously on his tongue and in his mind, applying a balm to all previous ambivalence –
the Alembic Valise,
he said out loud.

Smoke was drifting from the stovepipe; he quickened his steps until he was alongside. Then he called out. After a few moments someone appeared in the wheelhouse and slid open a window.

“Detective Z - its déjà vu all over again,” said the man.

“Indeed it is, Mister Barlow. It’s a bit of a surprise to find you out here – and so close to a crime scene.”

“The whole world is a crime scene if you wait around long enough, Detective Z.”

“That is too deep for me – do you mind if I come aboard.”

The man nodded and steadied the gangplank with his foot whilst the detective boarded the
Alembic Valise
. They solemnly shook hands and then went below deck.

“Fancy finding you here in Vernon Creek,” said the detective ducking down to avoid cracking his head on a beam.

“We live in a multiverse, some of us only access one world, others several or many, and some all worlds,” replied his host

“That would be God.”

“Possibly.”

”And you’re still messing around in boats,” said the detective.

“Clearly,” said Joel, his hand inscribing a pattern in the empty space, indicating and acknowledging the surroundings. “The way I see it is if you are adrift in the multiverse then you need a trusty vessel - mine is
the Alembic Valise
,” he continued.

The Detective appeared skeptical.

“Look, what are the minimum requirements? You need an anchor – if you want to stay put. You need and engine – when you need to move on. And you need a stove, unless you want to freeze and never drink tea.”

On cue the blackened kettle began to rattle its lid and Joel lifted it from the stove and filled a large brown teapot.

“What do you say, Detective Z, how do you manage without those things?”

“I only just found out I am in a multiverse – give me time.”

“That is one thing that we do not have, Detective.”

“It’s true, I should probably be back at that cage fighting place collecting evidence – checking the CCTV or something.”

Then the detective stood up suddenly and cracked his head soundly on a beam. He sat down rubbing his head whilst placing the poster on the table between them.

“Take a look,” he said.

“Live at the Babadrome,” Joel read. “I never visited the place, named after the late Baba Zum, not my favorite human being...” He trailed off. “Good grief, that’s Lorna!”

“Yes, I don’t understand it either. I came here to investigate a murder scene and the first clue I find is my daughter; I’m trapped in a nightmare, Mr. Barlow.”

“You entered through the spiral gateway, detective; here you will find that nothing is what it seems.”

Joel poured the tea into two white mugs, adding sugar to his own, and then sat down opposite the detective.

“Time waits for no man, detective, tell me your story?”

Detective Z cradled the mug of steaming tea, and over the next ten minutes began to tell Joel Barlow of the events that had led him there. His host listened intently and then there were a few moments of silence between the old friends before Joel replied.

“They are closing all the portals except one – the
Vertical Abyss
. These places of abandonment and dereliction where the victims are showing up are not just chosen at random, they are where the entropy of beta world is breaking through into our world. The corpses mark the points of ingress, and afterwards nothing more will pass through those spiral gateways.”

“But won’t that be a good thing?” the detective interrupted.

“Demons
and
angels, detective, angels
and
demons; the portals balance these energies, and from them all life, good as well as bad, extends.”

“So what’s the point, if it just creates a stalemate?” asked Detective Z.

“All Quiphoth will stream into the
Vertical Abyss
in a final Armageddon and Alpha world will blink out and be gone forever. And we will all be slaves of the
Serpent Noire.”

“The
Vertical Abyss
– what’s that?”

“Let’s take a trip and I will show you, Detective. I’ve been waiting for a new crew member to show up.”

“Will I find Lorna there?”

No answer was returned.

Joel went up on deck to make ready for their journey whilst the detective sat grim-faced at the galley table. After a minute Detective Z stood up carefully, removed his overcoat and climbed up to join Joel who was coiling a length of rope. He handed a windlass to the detective.

“Crank the handle to raise the anchor. On a rising tide we sail for the
Abyss
.”

Detective Z took his orders and set to his task.

Later as
the Alembic Valise
slipped out of the creek and into the Thames, Detective Z returned to the cabin to find a waterproof jacket, as it had started to drizzle. There he heard a soft beeping sound coming from his coat. It was his cell phone, the alarm indicating that the battery was about to expire.
Great
, he thought,
adrift in the multiverse with no charger
. There were some messages and he began to check them quickly. One was from SC4, the Forensic Division. It was a photograph of the face of the dead girl found on the foreshore. He only saw it for a second before the screen went blank. He knew her face. It was Lorna’s opponent, seen on the poster still lying on the galley table: Chloe ‘Cold Fury’ Andretti.

Back on deck Detective Z saw that the fog and drizzle had combined to produce a metrological pea-souper, making it impossible to get one’s bearings. He supposed that they were now out in midstream as neither bank was visible and the boat was making slow progress against the run of the tide. The only sound the rumble of the twin diesel engines laboring at their task.

He climbed the steps to the wheelhouse, fully expecting to find Joel; there was no sign of him. In alarm the detective quickly scanned the deck; his alarm turned to panic and he grabbed the freely spinning wheel, holding it tight, looking around desperately, navigating blindly.

He slid the window open and called but could discern no sound above the rumble of the engines, just a muffled silence broken by the cry of a seabird. He tightened the brass damper in the centre of the wheel, in order to keep a steady course, and went back out onto the deck and looked into the fast running water. After a while he figured out he was alone.
Maybe the he fell overboard or took off in an unseen dingy
, he thought.

Back in the wheelhouse he noticed a torn piece of paper tacked to the wall; it was a map of the Thames as it ran through the centre of London – someone had drawn a cross with a red marker pen. He looked more closely; it indicated a spot on the northern bank –
Vertical Abyss
was written faintly next to the cross. He turned it over to see a diagram; it was a ground plan showing the layout of a building. Entrances and exits were marked, as was a pathway right from the bank of the Thames. He then reapplied himself to his newly acquired role of navigating safely down the river to places unknown.