Deliver us from Evil (9 page)

The voice rose and, as it did so, so also did the man, who stood and turned to face Captain Foxe.
It
was not Sir Charles, nor anyone like him, for though his face was gleaming pale, his beard was thick and very black. ' "Ay," ' he nodded, glancing down
at
the book,' "these are those that Faustus most desires!" ' He smiled; then snapped the book shut. '
I
have been expecting you, Captain Foxe.'

'Yon have the advantage of me, then, sir.'

'My name
...
no - you would find it hard to pronounce. So call me' - the foreigner glanced down at his book - 'Faustus.'

The Captain stared at him coldly. 'You are a magician, then,' he asked, 'like that Faustus whose ambitions you have just been reciting to us?'

'
I
have been
many things.' 'And now - Faustu
s?'

'You know full well, Captain.
I
am here to prepare this house for Edward Wolverton, the son of my late friend. No other purpose.'

Captain Foxe continued to study him, meeting the stranger's stare, which was very bright, and cruel like a snake's. 'You are lying, Faustus,' he said at last. 'Sir Charles Wolverton is not dead.'

'
I
was in Prague with him, Captain.
I
saw him die.'

'No.' Captain Foxe raised his lantern, and walked across to a doorway in the far wall. 'Wolverton is here.
I
can feel him in the air.'

'
I
had not expected to find you so womanish, Captain,' the stranger sneered, 'startled by shadows.'

'What is a shadow,' answered Captain Foxe, 'if not a warning that the man who casts it is nearby?' He held his lantern up high again, and beckoned Everard across; then he turned back to the stranger. 'Two wagons were seen here yesterday,' he said, 'loaded with boxes. What was inside them?'

'The goods of Edward Wolverton, inherited from his father, and brought here from Prague.'

'And where are the boxes now?'

'Why, Captain, in the cellar.' The stranger smiled slowly; he pointed towards the doorway in the wall. 'You know how to get there,
I
believe?'

Captain Foxe glanced at his companion; then led the way along a damp narrow corridor, through a second door and down the waiting steps. The stone underfoot was greasy, and he almost fell; he paused, straining to see an end to the passageway ahead of him, but the blackness seemed to rise from the depths like a fog, and Captain Foxe could never see further than two or three steps. And yet in his mind's eye, scenes were starting to crowd each other. He remembered Faustus' words: lines, circles, characters. He could picture them all, just as they had been those fifteen years before, chalked upon the floor or smeared in
blood across the walls. He coul
d almost believe, when he reached the cellars, that the marks of witchcraft would still be there,
waiting
for
him:
the
marks
-
and
worst'.
The
stones had been slippery then - just as the steps were now. He bent down, touched the step, raised his fingertip to the light. Only mud. Captain Foxe bowed his head. Desperately, he prayed. 'Yea,' he whispered, 'though
I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I
will fear no evil - for thou art with me.
For thou art with me.'
For a moment, the memories were gone; yet still, as he continued on his way, the fear remained, and his light could not penetrate the vomit of the dark. 'You will find the boxes ahead of you.'

Captain Foxe glanced round. Behind Everard he could just make out Faustus' silhouette following them down the steps. Captain Foxe quickened his pace; and when he had reached the first cellar, he found the boxes stacked where he had been told they would be,
in
rows against the wall. Everard joined him. 'Help me,' said Captain Foxe. Together they lugged down one of the boxes, and inspected the lid; it had been secured with nails. Everard began to kick at the boards with his boot.

'There is no need to look. The boxes have all been emptied.'

Captain Foxe glanced back at Faustus again, then joined with his sergeant in smashing the lid. The boards soon gave: an odour like that of damp earth mingled with rottenness rose up from the box. But when Captain Foxe inspected inside, he found that whatever had been transported had indeed since been removed. He turned to the remaining boxes, pulling them down at random and kicking in their lids. All were empty - all shared the same stench of rottenness and mud.

'Storms in the Channel,' said Faustus, seeing Captain Foxe blanch. 'The boxes were drenched by high waves and the fabrics, being so enclosed, have since proved sadly decayed.'

'Your servants,' said Captain Foxe suddenly. 'The creatures who unloaded these boxes for you - where are they?'

'Asleep.'

'All of them?'

'They have been working hard. All night. They are tired.' 'Where are they?'

Faustus gestured towards
an archway. 'They sleep in the
cellars?'

'Why not? You have seen the condition of the rest of the house. It is no different down here.' 'There is no light.' Faustus shrugged.

'And there is also - down here
...'
- Captain Foxe glanced at Everard - 'a legacy of
...
of evil - of horror
...
which still lingers in the air. Can you not feel it? This is a cursed place - but perhaps Sir Charles did not tell you what he did in these cellars, what blood he spilled, what innocents he slew - perhaps he chose not to tell you that, Faustus . ..' He paused. 'Or perhaps he did?' 'He told me,' replied Faustus impassively.

Captain Foxe turned away. His revulsion was suddenly so strong that he could feel it crawling in a sweat across his skin, and he thought he must be sick, for the horror was rising like vomit within him, and again he had to pray, to recover himself and not surrender to the fear. He turned to Everard. The Sergeant's face was covered in a sheen of yellow sweat, and his eyes were bulging as though his throat were being squeezed. Behind them, Faustus laughed. Captain Foxe did not look round. 'Come, Samuel,' he said, clasping his Sergeant on the shoulder. 'We cannot fail in our duty. It is all the more God's work we do here, because we do it in the very entrails of Hell.'

Everard nodded faintly. Together they passed through the archway and into the succeeding room. At once, Captain Foxe recognised the odour from the boxes, but worse, far worse, a stench which seemed to ooze out from the very pores of the wall. He took a further step forward into the darkness, and the stench hit him like a blast of hot air against his face. He held up his lantern; and saw a glimpse of things unbearably white. Something stirred; a waxy, naked body; soft, pate limbs. They gleamed from the dark, ten of the creatures, twenty
...
Captain Foxe found it impossible to tell. As he held his lantern above them, they writhed beneath its beams, like shell-less things dug up from the soil, to be kept by fishermen as bait for their hooks. And yet they had the form of men; and the Captain wondered how such a horror could be.

'What are they?' exclaimed Everard, his voice almost cracking.

'Creatures of flesh and blood, like you.'

Everard turned to face Faustus. 'Not like me,' he whispered. 'They have the look of the dead.'

Faustus smiled. 'Then it is certain,' he hissed, 'if not now, then one day, you will be like them.' His face froze; his smile too, like the rictus of a skull. '
I
can promise you that, sir,' he whispered at length.

Captain Foxe turned slowly to face him. 'Do you dare to threaten us?' he asked.

'Why, no, Captain. It is merely an observation drawn from philosophy.
Sti
pendium vitae mors est.'

Captain Foxe shrugged, if you wish to talk in Latin, then you must do so to my son, for he is the scholar, not
I
.'

'Of course. Your son Robert. It was his tutor, was it not, who was recently killed?' Faustus' smile broadened. '] heard of it. A terrible end - and yet one which proves the observation
I
only just now made, that
the reward of life must always be death.'

'Our Saviour teaches us otherwise.'

'Then you must trust he will save you. But for myself - Faustus paused, then sneered in open challenge - '
I
would not put much faith in a dead Jewish trickster. Look about you, Captain. Remember what you found the last time you were here. Where, do you think, was your bastard-god then?'

Captain Foxe seized him suddenly, ramming him against the wall. As he stared into the gleam of Faustus' eyes, he heard a stirring from behind him and, glancing round, saw the creatures shuffling dumbly to their feet. But Captain Foxe ignored them, and turned back to Faustus. 'Where is he?' he whispered. 'Where is he hidden?'

'If he is here,' answered Faustus, his face suddenly a mask, 'then find him.'

'Sergeant,' said Captain Foxe, not looking round, 'search amongst those
...
creatures
...
for one whose face is like Wolverton's.'

He heard Everard cross towards them. There was silence, then a deep intake of breath. 'What is it?' Captain Foxe asked.

'Their skin ...,' replied Everard faintly. '
I
wonder
...
if they are not lepers - for on many of their faces
...
the flesh seems almost to be shredding away.'

'Wolverton?'

'No.'

Captain Foxe sighed, and released Faustus from his grip.

'Captain . . . ' Everard swallowed as he gestured towards a further archway. 'We have not yet searched all the cellars.'

Captain Foxe stared at the archway. 'No,' he murmured. 'No, we have not.' He paused; then bent down and picked up a stone. Crossing to the archway, he drew a cross in white chalk on either side of it. Faustus, behind him, began to laugh; but Captain Foxe did not turn, only thickened the lines, drawing up and down as though scrubbing the walls, as though the chalk could purge the bricks of all they had seen. He was sweating when he finally tossed the stone aside; he paused for a moment, staring at each cross; then, bowing his head, he passed in through the arch.

He felt the closeness immediately, and remembered it from before. There had been the low buzzing of flies then, and a sticky sweetness in the air. There were no flies now, but the sweetness still seemed to linger, and when he brought his hand up to his nose he felt a strange taste prickling the back of his throat. He dreaded to raise his lantern. The darkness waited, as it had waited before, when it had concealed a glimpse of Hell. There had been a bundle of bone and skin, Captain Foxe remembered, topped with blond hair. Blond, he thought, as Robert was now. He began to shake so that his fingers could barely keep hold of the lantern. Slowly, he raised it above his head. Then he walked,
one
slop,
two
steps, three, into the dark.

He began to feel himself sinking into earth, and looked about him. Soil was piled everywhere, rising away from him until it reached the cellar's roof. He stepped back instinctively. As he did so, the earth sucked on his legs, and he felt faint, as though it had also been sucking courage from his heart. He bent down. The earth was sticky to the touch, like dust on the verge of becoming mud. It stuck to his fingertips and, seeing it beneath his nails, Captain Foxe began to shudder. He could not explain his terror as he stared at the mounds of earth. They seemed like waves, rising above him, preparing to break, to submerge him and suck him into their depths. He rose to his feet, unable to bear the horror of the place; he had to leave. Then, from behind him, he heard a sudden clattering of metal on stone, and the light in the cellar was immediately dimmed. Captain Foxe turned round. Sergeant Everard's face was cast in shadow, but his eyes were gleaming with terror, bulging from their sockets as they had done before. Everard choked something unintelligible; then he turned, and fled. Captain Foxe heard the footsteps fade; he steeled himself not to flee as Everard had done. 'Faustus!' he called out angrily, so that the rage in his voice might disguise his own fear. 'This earth,' he demanded, 'what is it for?'

'It is from Prague.' Faustus appeared beneath the arch. 'It contains the mortal dust of Sir Charles. He wished it to be transported and buried here, in atonement for his sins. See how we have obeyed his command, Captain. The cellar is filled. It cannot be used again.'

Captain Foxe stared at the mounds of earth. His terror billowed and would not abate.