Gideon's Angel (34 page)

I stood and turned to Roderigo da Silva. He looked at me, a strange calm on his deathly pale face. “
Senor
,” I said, “The Moon Pentacle. How do I work it? How does it open doors?”

His sunken eyes seemed to widen a bit. “You cannot attempt to use this thing! You must not dare.”

“I already have,
Senor
. Tell me what I need to know and hurry, I beg you.”

“Why, you must be pure... pure in spirit,” he began, stuttering with surprise. “That is the most important thing. Without that, the pentacle will fail you and the evil ones will overwhelm you.”

“And the charm? The words?”

Da Silva turned to face the demons that were slowly encroaching on the circle again. “You must speak the names of the Lord, for that is whence the power derives.” And in a loud voice he cried out: “Adonai! Elohim! El Shaddai!”

As one, the devils clapped hands to their misshapen ears, cringing and jumping, scalded by the only thing that could burn them. Da Silva reached out for my wrist and gripped it tightly.

“If you do not believe, sir, you will surely die!”

I nodded, fully understanding what he was telling me. “The Lord will bear me up in his hand, sir.”

I had seen what the pentacle had done to the pig man. And tonight, under the influence of the full moon, it was at its flood tide of power. Fludd had wanted it to redouble his control over the minions of his pretending angel. I could do the same thing.

“Keep the others safe,” I said.

Billy was still in a crouch, his silver sword across his knees. He was looking at me, waiting for the command.

“Billy Chard, you and I are going upstairs to pay a call on Mister Cromwell.”

Chapter Twenty

“A
LITTLE MORE
haste, Mister Eff!”

Billy’s wrist snapped his sword sharply in an upwards slash, ripping open the black neck of a thing that possessed the head of a gargantuan wasp, great mandibles clacking as it tried to bite his blade. It thrashed at the top of the wooden steps, wisps of steam or smoke pouring from its wound, and tumbled back down the staircase, taking with it another devil.

I stood, forehead pressed to the oak door of the palace entrance, the pentacle in my shaking hand. Though I had said the names of God, as da Silva told me, the door had not moved an inch.

Ashmole’s pistol thundered again below us. Two more creatures had bounded to the top of the shingled landing, and Billy sent one sprawling with a curse and a boot in its belly. The other snatched at him but he leapt back and brought his blade smashing down into its skull.

He called out again, his words expelled between great gasps of breath. “They’ve latched onto us now, Mister Eff. We can’t get back down again so you better get us in!”

I stepped back and looked down the great staircase to see more than a dozen glowing eyes bobbing below, moving slowly upwards, the rasp of claws on the wooden treads enough to freeze the marrow.

I turned to the iron-bound door again. This time I placed the pentacle against the centre of the boards, my palm spread wide. And I cleared my mind and then quietly said the names of the Lord in the Hebrew tongue. And then in English. But there was no reward for my efforts; no sound of turning bolt or lock. Suddenly, Billy cried out and I wheeled to see him falling back with two devils on him, one the size of a child. I struck the head from one and Billy managed to free himself from the small one, scratching and screeching before punching it away with a gloved fist. I caught a glimpse of Billy hauling himself up again against the railing and then I was knocked off my feet by a black hissing winged ape. I tumbled backwards and into the door—which opened under my weight as easily as you please.

I was inside the palace, but with the creature on my chest and pinning my sword arm. It thrashed and jutted its head, pressing hard to sink its hooked yellow fangs into my throat. My right hand flew up, the pentacle firmly in my grasp, and with a punch I shoved the silver disc into its jaws. There was a tremendous burst of steam and stinking blood as the devil’s head exploded. The thing flopped sideways to the floor, twitching. Billy stood firm in the doorway, dispatching another demon with a savage cut then flinging the massive door shut. And I finally breathed when I heard the bolt slam home.

I propped myself up on an elbow, rubbing the gore from my face with the back of my gauntlet. The pentacle lay next to me, still sparkling despite the black blood that was spattered upon it. I reached out and grasped it, then slid it into my breeches pocket. Outside, the demons began to pound on the thick door, its hinges rattling with every blow.

“Aye, batter away, you bastards,” spat Billy. “They’ll not get through wood that stout.” He came over and helped hoist me up, his eyes momentarily fixed on the corpse of the demon. Already it seemed to be congealing, melting away as if its skeleton had somehow vanished inside it. “Come on, Mister Eff. Are you still whole?”

I nodded, glancing around the hallway. It was not totally dark. A large brass wall sconce threw out some light from its three candles, still flickering though nearly burned away to nubs. More candlelight spilled from around a corner a few yards away. But the ancient wood panelling, dark as sable, gave the hallway a sinister appearance, all the more alarming because there was nothing but silence within.

“You suppose the guards have fled, or gone over to Fludd and the Fifth men?” Billy hefted his blade and took a few steps towards the north end of the hallway.

“I fear it’s worse than that,” I replied.

There was something in the air inside the palace. Not a smell, but more a heaviness that brushed the nape of one’s neck like the hand of a ghost. I knew it was more than mere imaginings. It was a presence of the unholy, of something dreadful. Billy could sense it too.

“We’re being watched, I swear it,” he said, voice low.

“We may be too late. Pray that Fludd has not discovered Cromwell’s apartments yet.” I moved past Billy, sword at my waist, level to the floor and held back like a spring. I knew only that the Lord General’s lodgings faced onto the deer park. So long as we continued along the corridor, we would eventually find them. Billy moved up to my right, two steps behind as we approached the corner. Rounding this, the corridor turned again on itself left. Here, our way was lit by moonbeams through the long windows that lined the hall.

“Look!” Billy was at a window, the basket hilt of his sword slamming into the frame. Below us, outside, we could see the magic circle and the small cluster of figures inside it. And it was surrounded by moving shadows, black things that capered and crawled about, giving no peace to those who sheltered within it.

“We can only help them by killing Fludd, and quickly,” I said. “Keep moving!”

I had never been in this part of Whitehall before. It was damned old, the wainscoting cracked right through with age in places, the floors creaking so loudly we could be heard in Westminster. We moved on, and soon came to a large panelled door. This was unlocked and we found ourselves entering a large square chamber, devoid of furnishings but lit by more wall sconces. A railing to our right overlooked a vast open room below—the old Cockpit theatre. It smelled of wood rot and mould, harsh moonlight shining down from the windows along the cupola above it. We carried on, passing through another open door at the far end of the chamber. There upon the floor, propped up in a sitting position, chin upon chest, was a man.

Billy pulled the hat off the figure, who didn’t even flinch. “By Jesus, it’s Thurloe!”

I knelt down next to him. “Is he dead?”

“Why... I think he’s fucking pissed!”

Thurloe moaned a bit, his head flopping to one side. Billy gave him a shake but Thurloe only slid further down the wall.

“He’s not drunk,” I said. “He has been magicked—enchanted by some unnatural sleep.”

Billy’s hands jumped from Thurloe’s doublet as if he too might be caught by the spell. Looking into the next room, another antechamber by the look of it, I could see a pile of bodies stretched out on the floor. “Roundheads,” I said.

“So much for the bloody army then,” said Billy. “Looks like we’re too late.”

Sweat was pouring down his long face, his complexion the colour of his buff leather jerkin. His chest heaved deeply—he still had not caught his breath from the fight on the stairs outside. He was dying before my eyes.

I smiled a little and touched his forearm. “More campaigning than you expected when you signed up?”

He gave me a grin, dropping his head a bit. “As recruiting sergeants come, Mister Eff, you were damned convincing.”

I stood up and looked back along the hallway. “Something’s coming.”

It was a shuffling kind of noise, the sound of soft-shod feet accompanied by the clicking rasp of claws as if a dog was padding its way towards us. Billy was up fast, raising his sword and settling his grip anew. “You reckon they knocked their way through?”

I took a few steps towards the large square chamber we had just come through, trying my damndest to peer down the black panelled hallway with its gutting candles. And then they walked into view from around a corner. Two of the strangest creatures I had ever seen, straight out of a wine-soaked nightmare. They were walking side by side, like two old friends and neither taller than three foot. One was akin to a great hedgehog, a long snout protruding down, prickles covering its head. It had long arms and even longer claws and it walked upright with a kind of loping gait. All the while it was speaking some sing-song tongue to its companion, harsh and lisping, its long fingers flexing open. Its palms were pink as a man’s.

The other was a man, but as misshapen as any farm-born monster. It had a huge bald head that sat atop a stocky naked torso. No neck, the thing had to turn its entire body to look at its nattering friend. But it was its horrid mouth that struck me. It was like a wound from ear to ear, filled with yellow teeth and unnaturally wide. Its pug nose and small black eyes were a far cry from the creature next to it; the hedgehog had large orange orbs like a snake, black slits for pupils. So intent were they in their infernal conversation, they did not see us until they were nearly upon us. They stopped up short, the hedgehog’s claws scrabbling loudly. They stared, fearless. From between them emerged an even smaller creature. It was black as coal, a monkey with leathery wings that rose up from its hunched back. And I recognised it for the black thing that had visited me in my cell the previous night. It extended a long thin arm at me and let out a screech to wake the dead.

Billy swore and suddenly pushed past me. “I’ll send these little shits back to hell!”

“Billy, no!” I grabbed at his baldric to pull him back but he was moving too fast. I fumbled in my pocket for the pentacle but even as I drew it out, I saw the man-like thing open its huge maw, the top of its head practically falling backwards. It crouched a little, spindly arms and legs tensed, and then unleashed a gale of rank breath down the hallway straight at Billy. The force of this unholy wind knocked Billy backwards and blew him along the floorboards. I heard him hit the far wall with a sickening crunch. And he moved no more. Before the demon could aim a blast at me, I raised the Pentacle of the Moon and held it out before me.

“In the name of the Lord Almighty, get thee hence!”

And I heard a voice from someone behind the creatures, further back along the hall.

“You’ve done well to make it this far, Colonel. But that
lamen
will do you no more good here.” The small demons moved aside and Gideon Fludd stepped into view. The bat-winged ape, bold as brass, pranced closer to me. Its face cracked open into a grin, as if it knew something that I did not.

“These creatures are also creatures of God,” said Gideon, moving out in front. Even in the poor light, I could see he looked terrible, every bit as sick as Billy Chard. His skin was drawn tight as a drum over his skull, voice reedy thin. “They are sent to torment sinners like you, Colonel. Those who would thwart the Will of King Jesus.”

The little ape looked up at me and spoke, its hissing voice freezing my blood and sounding like it was at my very ear. “Perhaps he will listen to a friend, a friend who knows better.”

I backed up, the pentacle still in my right hand, my sword poised and shaking in my left. I looked straight at Fludd. “Don’t speak your blasphemy to me, sir. You serve a false angel that has cozened you like a Southwark whore. And I’ll not let you pass me. Not while I live and breathe, sir.”

The ape demon looked back to Fludd. “He needs his friend.”

And I saw Fludd nod his agreement to the demon. I moved back again to put myself between Billy’s prostrate form and the enemy for fear they would enchant him while he lay senseless.

That was when a new voice floated down the hallway from beyond Gideon Fludd.

“You’re making a mistake,
Rikard
. It’s you that has been cozened by evil, turned away from the true path.”

And he was there before me, his boots sounding as real as life as he rounded the corner and stood next to Fludd. He was as flesh and blood and looking at me with that old mischievous smile of his. Andreas Falkenhayn took a slow step forward, slipping his beaten broad-brimmed hat from his head and scratching at his long salt and pepper curls.