Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (37 page)

“You do love your theatrics,” she said.

“An indulgence of mine,” he replied. “Now if you please, Miss Winyard, let me test just how unshockable you are.”

He pushed at the door which, up till then she hadn’t given any attention to, but now she stared at it in astonishment. It was unlike every other in the house. It was not panelled, but covered in a bright veneer of burled walnut, streaked across the diagonal with three bands of cherry wood, and the handle was an angular bar of gleaming chrome. It was so out of place in this oppressive mausoleum she couldn’t help boggling at it. Then her glance drifted past – into the room beyond.

“Oh, AF!” she exclaimed, momentarily taken aback. “It’s the last thing I expected to find.”

She went into the large, octagonal, windowless room, twirling around to take it in. It was a perfect match for the ultra-fashionable door. The walls were smooth expanses of lustrous wood, decorated in the Moderne style that, decades later, would be termed art deco. Lalique sconces shone all around. A rayed star design, with radiating lightning flashes, was worked into the ceiling and reproduced on the floor. A row of hooks, the finials of which were shaped like different animal heads, punctuated one wall. They were empty except for one purple robe. But her immediate interest was commanded by the contents of this most unusual room.

Twelve chest-high Bakelite consoles, resembling large, streamlined wirelesses, were arranged in a circle, with the controls and dials facing outward. An even taller thirteenth console stood at the far side.

Estelle’s eyes skipped over them, but she couldn’t stop looking at the inexplicable, dominating object that stood in the centre. It was a wrought-iron throne that could only have been made for a giant.

Austerly Fellows watched her keenly.

“Whatever can it mean?” she asked. “What is the overblown chair for? It makes me feel like a doll. And these radios – your sister mentioned something about the BBC. Are you going to broadcast your own service to the nation? Or are you an enemy agent, transmitting vital secrets to foreign governments? How outré and splendiferous.”

“Time and tide wait for no man – or magus, Miss Winyard. Millennia ago our ceremonies would have been conducted around circles of standing stones. This is my superheterodyne henge.”

“You mean these gubbins and thingamabobs are part of your dark arts? How extraordinary! One doesn’t stop to think the supernatural and electricity should ever be acquainted.”

“What century do you think we’re in, Miss Winyard? Progress sweeps all of us along. Did you really believe the Grand Duke of the Inner Circle would still be using scrying glasses and goat entrails? All energy can be utilised. All forces have their positive and negative. I trust you are not disappointed?”

“Well, I was rather hoping naked dancing round a fire at midnight was involved somewhere along the line. Or at least the odd sacrifice.”

“Oh, we still do a fair bit of that. We’re not iconoclasts – in that sense at least. The old customs and traditions are crucial. Offerings must always be made; only the method of our magick has changed.”

Estelle ran a playful finger over the glossy surface of the dappled brown Bakelite, tapped a glass dial and twiddled one of the knobs.

“Why don’t you sit on the chair?” the man suggested. “I should like to see you up there.”

“You’d have to lift me – I can’t reach.”

Austerly Fellows stepped between the consoles and guided her in. The floor here formed the centre of the rayed star and was made from a single large sheet of copper. Directly beneath the imposing throne, Estelle noticed a wide brass grill.

“A curious place for a speaker,” she said. “The size must make it
terrifically loud. Does Augusta clamber up here and blast herself with Al Bowlly? She must be in heaven feeling him trumpeting up her skirts.”

Putting his hands round her slim waist, he lifted her on to the iron throne.

“What strong hands you have,” she giggled. “Oh! Being up here is divino. It’s like having high tea with Nanny. She was a brick. No matter how naughty I was, she never spanked or ratted on me to Pater. And I was so very naughty, practically every day – still am.”

Swinging her legs freely, she reached up to place her hands on the arms of the chair. The shapes the ironwork had been fashioned into were exceedingly bizarre. Some of them could almost be the letterforms of an archaic alphabet. Knowing she looked ravishing, she traced her fingers over them for a short while, so that he could admire her. Then she turned back to him and batted her lashes in the most vampish way she could.

“You can have me, you know,” she said huskily. “I could be your sixth Infernal Muse. I’m considered rather good at it – fornication, I mean. In certain quarters I’ve earned the nickname Pirate, because I’m such a jolly roger.”

Austerly Fellows retreated between the Bakelite.

“Dear me,” she laughed. “I do believe I’ve shocked the most evil man in England!”

“Quite the contrary, Miss Winyard,” he said, flicking a switch on the tallest console and sliding a lever down in a careful, measured movement. “It is I who am about to shock you.”

A faint hum emanated from the apparatus and a strange, acrid tang filled the air.

“What are you doing?” she asked impatiently. “I thought you were going to tinker with me, not your exaggerated crystal set.”

“I never dine at a trough after the other animals have eaten and fouled it,” he said coldly.

The colour rose in her cheeks. “You insufferable prig!” she snapped. “Why else did you invite me up here?”

“He wanted you to come voluntarily, you silly girl,” a woman’s voice answered her from the door. Irene Purbright was standing there, now clothed in a purple robe. “Far less mess and fuss that way – and it amuses him to toy.”

Irene entered and assumed her place at one of the consoles. Behind her, other guests started trailing in. They too were dressed in purple, their faces still hidden behind animal masks. Augusta was among them. The nervy woman went to another console and took up a headset, which she clamped over her ears. She twisted a control and a blissful expression settled on her long face.

Estelle couldn’t stomach any more. She was going to leave right away and began easing herself down from the chair.

“I shouldn’t do that if I were you,” Austerly Fellows advised. “The copper plate in the floor is now live. Three thousand volts are running through it. The jitterbug you’d perform would be highly entertaining, in fact smoking – but it would be a very brief dance.”

The girl stared at the copper surrounding the chair. She believed him. Gasping, she slid back on to the seat – as far as she could.

“You can’t do this!” she protested angrily. “Let me go or I’ll scream this house down!”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Irene informed her. “But you’re not in Belgravia now. There’s no one in this building who will raise an eyebrow and the nearest village is accustomed to our unusual noises. You ought not to have ventured here. Spoilt little rich girls like you always think they’re so special, when really they’re laughably predictable and the easiest prey.”

“If only there were more like you in the world,” Austerly Fellows said to Estelle, “
Dancing Jacks
would assert itself so much more rapidly. The vain and shallow, the weak-minded herd with a false sense of entitlement – that’s the driest kindling for the hungry fire of my sacred words.”

The girl began to despair. Then a familiar face peered in at the doorway.

“Simon!” she yelled. “Oh, thank the Lord!”

“Hullo,” he said, striding in. “Look at you, perched up there.”

“These people are insane!” she cried. “I can’t get down. They’ve electrified the floor. Help me! Switch it off!”

Simon Beauvoir looked faintly embarrassed. “I shouldn’t like to do that, old thing,” he said, strolling to the coat hooks to take down the purple robe hanging there. “Why else do you think I brought you? Certainly wasn’t for the pleasure of your company. You really are the most tedious, self-centred witch, you know. Oh, no offence, ladies and gents.”

Estelle’s face dropped. She watched him don the robe, then take his place at the last vacant console. Reaching into the garment’s pocket, he brought out a mask in the shape of a wolf’s head and put it on.

The girl on the chair stared helplessly at the robed figures around her. Some were wearing headsets, like Augusta. They were all concentrating on the dials and gauges in front of them.

“Daddy will come searching for me!” she warned. “He won’t stop until he finds me!”

Her host looked up from the settings and switches.

“Two weeks ago,” he explained, “your father denounced me in his rag of a newspaper. I have never sought publicity, but he threatened to expose secrets that are best left in the shadows. I am going to thank him for that by sending you back to him, Miss Winyard. I did have something else in mind but, after your pretty testimonial a few minutes ago, I have decided to deliver unto your father your skull and femurs – wrapped in a black cloth.”

Estelle was too horrified to scream.

Unhooking a horn-shaped microphone from his console, he spoke into it and welcomed the Inner Circle to what would undoubtedly be their final meeting. His voice was broadcast throughout the house, so all his followers could hear.

Downstairs the cocktails were set aside and conversations ceased as everyone attended to the Abbot of the Angles – their feared and worshipful leader. A rotund man with a moustache, who could not have looked more like a solicitor from Ipswich if he had tried, put down the black Gladstone bag he had been clutching throughout the evening. The overbearing
wife beside him uttered a captivated breath as Austerly Fellows’ words reverberated around the room.

“On this blessed Beltane,” he addressed them. “At this most auspicious gathering, it is my privilege to announce the completion of my great work. The moment for which we have planned and striven is come at last. The
Dancing Jacks
are ready to make their way in the world.”

There was a murmur of astonishment and awe from the guests.

“Tonight you shall each take away first editions. You know what to do with them, where they must be seeded. I bid you, now, to look around and stamp this moment in your memories. This is the night when the world order changed forever and my rule of law began. The hypocrisies of the past will be blasted to oblivion and our Lord in exile will return to us.”

There was a ripple of applause. Many of the faithful bowed.

“But no book is truly complete without a dedication,” he continued. “And so I, Austerly Fellows, devote this hallowed text unto Him. The
Dancing Jacks
will pave the way for His return among us. Everything we ever dreamed of. Everything we ever wanted. Hail to the Dawn Prince – the Bearer of Light.”

The rapturous cheering travelled upstairs. The Grand Duke of the Inner Circle heard them and replaced the microphone on its cradle.

He turned to Estelle. “And now, Miss Winyard, you shall discover what your father could not: the precise nature of my business.”

The girl shook her head violently. She didn’t want to know. She just wanted to escape.

“I won’t tell,” she swore.

“I’m well aware of that. I’m anxious for you to see just how my ‘exaggerated crystal set’ works and to whom I’m transmitting.”

“I don’t want to!” she cried. “Please!”

“Oh, but you must. In fact, it won’t work without you. It operates on a most unique frequency, you see.”

She began to wail and weep.

“That’s right,” he smiled, tuning one of the vernier dials with precision.

There was a snap and a click of static in the room. The lights in the sconces dimmed, until the masked faces of the coven were lit only by the soft amber glow of the instruments below them. Estelle’s terror felt as though it would smash out of her chest. The whine of the apparatus wavered in pitch as they tuned in. Then there was a crack of blue light. A bolt of electricity arced from the tall console to the iron chair. Another flashed from Irene’s console. Soon every device was spitting jags of energy and the wrought iron sparked about her.

Estelle howled. Strands of blue fire snaked round her slender arms and bolted across her body. The curls on her smouldering scalp lifted and her gown began to char.

Pulling one of the headphones away from her ear, to listen to the screams, Augusta gave her bronchial laugh. Then she returned to the dance band broadcast she had dialled into and closed her eyes dreamily.

Austerly Fellows adjusted a lever and the needle on the illuminated meter travelled steadily along the scale. The way was open and the bridge was forming. Tonight, for the first time, his master’s voice would be transmitted to this world. The iron throne was ablaze with electric forces and the girl’s figure within could no longer be seen. He wondered how much of her would be left behind afterwards.

Beneath that great chair the brass grill began to quiver and the air above buckled. The power surged. A bass roar came blasting into the room. The Inner Circle gripped the consoles tightly and the Lalique sconces on the walls exploded into white dust.

On the ground floor, the chandeliers began to tinkle and shake. The party guests gazed upward. The ceiling plaster cracked from corner to corner and rained on their heads. A cocktail glass shattered. Then another and another and the mirrors shivered into glittering pieces. The fearsome, deafening roar resounded throughout the building. Books tumbled from the shelves. The servants grovelled on their knees and prayed to their Lord to spare them. Then one chandelier came crashing down, killing two people. A jag of violet fire ripped from the ceiling. It struck one of the
men and flung him against the wall. The others saw his skeleton flailing in agony, a pocket watch rattling on the ribs. Then all that was left was a chalky outline on the panelling. More jets of flame came scorching down.

This was beyond anything they had expected. Everyone started screaming and they ran for their lives.

In the octagonal room, the levers on the consoles were moving on their own, feeding more power through the systems. Every needle swung into the red zone and smoke began to stream from the vents. Austerly Fellows clawed at the controls, but could not pull them back. The cone of light around the iron throne was now too intense to look on. It pulsed and flared with multicoloured flames that punched through the walls in searing bursts. X-rays, ultraviolet, gamma rays and infrared discharged in every direction, passing through people and objects, structures and cables – down to the cellars and foundations and deeper still.