Gideon's Angel (19 page)

“Some grub?” asked Billy. I nodded, pulled a few coins from my pocket, and tossed them to him.

He touched the coins to his forehead. “Maybe when I return you can explain what we’re doing here in this shithole.”

“As soon as I figure that out myself,” I said, and flopped down on the thin mattress of the bed, which creaked and sank like a dying animal exhaling its last.

Billy smiled and headed for the door. “I am sure you’ve it figured out well enough, Mister Eff.”

In truth, now that we were in London I had thought of little else than what I was to do. And the more I thought about the best way to warn the Lord General Cromwell of the plot to kill him, the less sanguine I became. Neither he nor any of the Council would ever believe so fantastic a tale. Assuming I made it past all the guards, past
Monsieur
d’Artagnan (who I knew in my heart must be on my heels), past whatever dark creatures Gideon Fludd threw in my way, Cromwell would undoubtedly call me a madman or a liar and arrest me on the spot. Even d’Artagnan’s passport from Mazarin (I had lifted the seal and read it) offered nothing I could make use of. At best, the loss of it might slow down the musketeer’s progress in London. No, there had to be another way. A way to stop it all from happening.

I rose from the bed, and went to the window. There before me was the great river, the grand old bridge at my right, straight as an arrow across the flow, its tumbledown houses jutting out over the piers and the smoke from a hundred chimneys carrying upwards and eastwards down towards Wapping. A few wherries plied the currents, careful to avoid shooting under arches where the brown water gathered deadly pace. And just beyond, just out of my sight, lay the Tower, that place I knew too well and my sad home when I was last in London town.

Billy was gone a long while. He returned laden with a platter bearing half a roast fowl, some bread, and a jug of beer. We sat at a little table and some broken down benches, beetle-chewed and raining sawdust. Yet both of us tucked in, ravening down the fare after so many days on rutted muddy roads. Billy waved a drumstick at me and gulped a mouthful of bird. “We had a clear run of it this far. Do you reckon that Gideon Fludd has given up trying to take you? I mean, no sight of Old Shuck or any other ungodly thing.”

“Fludd has other concerns on his mind at the moment. But I don’t think for a minute he’s given up on taking his revenge on me.”

“So what’s it to be then, Mister Eff? March over to Whitehall and have a chinwag with Noll Cromwell? We’ll need a bit of help to manage that.”

My fingers tapped on the beer jug. “Aye, going at it head on seems the worst of all possible courses. But perhaps, just perhaps, some outside help is no bad idea, Billy. We’re in need of some allies—and some protection.”

“What do you have in mind? Recruit some volunteers while standing on a barrelhead in the Strand?” Billy snorted like a rooting hog and ripped off another gobbet of fowl with his huge teeth.

“No, I mean seeking aid of another sort. You were here in London with the army a year or so ago, weren’t you?”

Billy nodded as he chewed.

“Then, where would these Fifth Monarchists go to get their astrological pamphlets and such? You know, where they would seek out the fortune tellers and the like.”

“I’ve heard tell the place for that is the Seven Dials market, just the other side of Covent Garden. But what good will fortune tellers and old books do us? We need shot and steel and more than a few ruffians who can wield it.”

I shook my head. “No, you’ve
seen
what we are up against. We need the knowledge of magic craft if we’re to get through these next days. I’m convinced of it. That, and the love of Almighty God. I need someone who can tell me about the medallion. And what that ring means. Those symbols. Remember how the black dog retreated at the sight of it?”

I watched as Billy blanched at the memory of the beast. “I don’t wish to think about such things, sir, if it be helped.”

“That won’t stop them from pursuing us. You know that as well as I.”

Billy lifted the jug and took a long swig. He handed me the beer and laughed faint heartedly. “So, a few lucky talismans from Seven Dials and we’ll ward off the fucking Devil? And what if Fludd really has an angel on his side like what you said? Who are we to fight angels, or demons for that matter?”

“We don’t stand a hope in heaven or hell without the wisdom to know our enemies. That is for certain. And we’re fast running out of time.”

A
BOUT MID-AFTERNOON, OUR
bellies full, Billy and I buckled on weapons, threw on our cloaks, and walked to London Bridge. It was far darker and cramped than I had remembered it years before. The road barely one cart wide, the houses soaring up on either side four or more stories, it was like entering some enormous long ship, a quarter-mile from stem to stern. It was a mass of people, all selling something from the ground floor shops, traffic pouring across in both directions and an argument overheard every few yards as drovers fought over who had the right to pass first. It took us half an hour to get across, Billy cursing and kicking at the beggars that jumped in our path. Things eased up by the time we reached the last third of the span: a fire a few years before had burned up all the houses. It was now just a thoroughfare with great wooden palisades thrown up on either side to stop people and beasts from falling over the sides.

Once across to the north bank, we hove west towards the Covent Garden. The streets were crowded with all manner of folk going about their daily business. No one could have imagined that the kingdom was fast approaching disaster and that something otherworldly was stalking the Lord General of England. Cattle were being whipped north to Smithfield, apprentice boys hung about in groups looking for trouble, hackney coaches tore up the muddy streets, sedan chairs tottered precariously under sweating bearers, hawkers called out their wares, and all was pure London bedlam. At the piazza, I asked a passerby for directions to the Dials, which were cheerfully given. And when we finally arrived into the maze of cheek by jowl dilapidated dwellings, I stopped. I had no idea where to turn next.

Billy looked at me, awaiting some instruction.

“Very well,” I said quietly. “Let’s just follow this road in and hope that it takes us to the centre. If it’s a Dials there must be a hub to the wheel. Come on then, let’s leg it.”

We came to a cobbled nexus with a little stone fountain dribbling water like an old man trying to pee. Along every outward spoke, a myriad of shingles hung over the streets advertising physik, palm readers, astrologists, ale and wine, or bawdy women. I could have chosen among a hundred magicians, conjurers, charlatans, and capering mountebanks, all promising the secrets of the world. But which? I leaned against the stone of the basin and watched the high and low trudge by me. To think that such a place was tolerated by the New Republic was astounding, until one noticed the large number of wealthy Parliament men hurrying by. And as I was to later learn, even Cromwell himself consulted an astrologer before making decisions of state. Bloody hypocrites, each and every one.

Billy was remarking on some woman or other, when I caught sight of someone moving quickly across the fountain court. There amongst all the hues of brown, black, ochre, and white, something different drew my attention. An embroidered headscarf of many bold colours floated in and out of the crowd, its owner making her way to one of the little streets. And without thinking, I followed. As I drew closer, I could see the white scarf had many flowers upon it—gold, red, green, blue, and black. The woman paused, half turned back towards me so that I caught a glimpse, and then continued on. My heart skipped a beat. But still, what my eyes saw and my mind imagined could not be possible. Billy was pushing his way through a crowd of drunken men, trying to catch me up. I waved him on but didn’t stop. I could not lose sight of the woman.

She ducked through a shop doorway, and I saw her sweep away a dark red curtain suspended across the threshold. Without a second thought I followed her straight in. I was in a receiving room of sorts, a large table and bench at its centre, and suspended from the ceiling beams were hundreds of bundles of herbs, all arranged neatly and ready to be plucked down. A cabinet on the far wall had phials and jars filled with what I assumed were medicines and potions, most of an amber hue. A low cupboard in front of the large-paned window held many tiny drawers, each meticulously labelled. And as I stood taking this all in, a woman’s voice came from behind me, the strangely accented English making me shiver.

“What is it that you want?”

I turned around and I was looking into the grey-blue eyes of my Anya. I had not seen her in twenty-five years. She had read my fortune for the last time in Gottingen in the kingdom of Hannover on the eve of battle. Every word she had spoken then to that poor lost soldier boy had come to pass. She was older now, but not aged. The same brown skin and jet hair that I had known. The woman who had given me the talisman that now dangled from my chest. And she, not surprisingly, recognised me. Her welcome was like the first time, a lifetime ago. As if she had been expecting me.

She reached out a hand and placed it gently upon my heart. “You still wear the charm, then? That is good. I told you never to lose it, didn’t I?”

I nodded, too dumbstruck for words. A few lines around the corners of her eyes, a thinning of the lips I had kissed but once. But she was still very much the same as I had remembered.

“How did you come all this way? To come to England?” I was shaking my head now in disbelief, even as her eyes crinkled up in amusement. “How, Anya... and why?”

“There be no why, man,” she said. “I have always gone where the road leads me. You remember.”

I did. I remembered that she had unexpectedly crossed my path twice before, many miles apart, and always the same knowing looks. And now again.

“Anya, I am in need of counsel—in bad need.”

She nodded, bade me to sit, and then went to shut the door to her little shop. She returned and sat next to me on the bench. I saw she was barefoot as I had always known her to be, her brown feet scarred and hard. I turned to look into her face and touched her hand, but she gave away no emotion. “Anya, I still cannot believe my own eyes.” I stammered something and, again, words failed me.

Now, and only now did the faint outline of a smile cross her lips. “Do not dwell on it. What is meant to happen will always seem strange. I knew we would meet again even if you did not. But you’re in trouble. That much is clear to me. Ask me what you will.”

I nodded and reached to my satchel under my cloak. I drew out the strange medallion that I had carried all the way up from Devon and I handed it to her. Before she could have possibly seen the symbols that lay etched upon it, indeed the moment she grasped it, I heard the sharp intake of breath and she pulled away from me. The medallion slid from her hand, thudding to the floorboards. I picked it up and she slowly, indecisively, reached out to accept it again. She gingerly turned it over, looking at the markings on both sides. And then she spoke in German as when we had first met, her voice but a whisper.

“
Schmutzig...
Tainted,” she said. “It has helped birth some evil thing.”

“I need to know what this disc is and how it works. I can tell you it belongs to my enemy and even now I suspect he searches for it. I know it is purposed for magic.”

She looked up at me. “That it is, man. And it should not be carried lightly by a soldier the likes of you.” She paused, as if thinking. “Your comrade is coming in.”

Sure enough, Billy appeared in the doorway looking suspicious and on guard. “Anya,” I said, “this is Billy Chard.”

Billy’s heavy brows knit together but he gave a quick nod. She regarded him for but a moment before turning back to the medallion. “Get rid of this thing,” she said, handing it back to me.

“That I could, Anya. But my enemy is seeking to kill not just me but others as well. He is in league with things not of this world, things... aye well, things of heaven or hell I know not, by God. Yet I need someone who can give me answers to this magic, and maybe protection too.”

She stood up and tugged her bodice down squarely upon her hips. I could see her hands were still shaking a little. “I must tell you—the charm I gave you is no proof against what that device brings with it. I can offer you nothing more to keep you from harm if you stay to your current path.”

“Tell her about the black dog and the ring,” said Billy in a low voice from the doorway, his eyes big.

“I had a silver ring. It, too, was from my enemy. It seemed to possess some power to drive away...” I paused, running a hand over my chin. “To keep at bay creatures of evil. I saw them. Billy saw them.”

“Describe the ring,” she demanded, her voice very quiet.

“It bore a five pointed star and a Greek word—or so my brother said. Tetragrammaton.”

Anya nodded. “I know it.” She walked over to her cupboard and began rummaging around. “It is the Seal of Solomon, a device of protection and of great power,” she said, her back still to us as she pulled open some of her little wooden drawers.

“You mean King Solomon?” asked Billy.

“Yes. The legend says it was he who first fashioned this talisman on the word of angels.”

“Do you have one?” I asked her hopefully.

She turned again to us, something in her hand. “No. And I have not the art to make one that would stand the test. But I do know someone who might be able to help you. He has been known to me for several months. He is a gentleman astrologer of some renown in London. He is trustworthy.”

“Is he a Parliament man or a Royalist?”

“Does that matter to you? If he has the knowledge you need then that is that, no?”

“Actually, it does matter greatly.”

Anya tilted her head slightly as if remembering something. But it was something she could not have known. “Of course. Fear not, this man will not turn you in. And if truth be told he was a supporter of your king.”

“His name?”