Deliver us from Evil (48 page)

'And yet they did fade in the end?' Robert whispered.

it was one of the bunch he had chosen to send me - pressed inside his book.'

'What had happened?'

'The Rabbi was never certain. He had discovered the flowers withered in his study; he had hurried to the attic; he had found the boards across the doorway smashed from inside.'

'And the
golem?'

The Pasha smiled thinly. 'Vanished, of course.' it was Faustus?' Robert whispered. 'Tadeus?'

The Pasha shrugged very faintly. 'The Rabbi thought not - for he believed the fault to have been his own.' 'How?'

'He told me a story, that night when
I
sat with him, and had asked him myself to explain such a claim. He told me of Aher, famous in the Talmud for his evil, who had once been Elisha ben Abua - the most learned of all the teachers of Israel. But Elisha had journeyed too far into the garden of knowledge and his curiosity, like Eve's, soon grew fatal. He betrayed his faith, he followed evil - for there are mysteries too dangerous for the mortal mind to glimpse. It was the dread of Rabbi Loew that he too had beheld such mysteries, when he had dared to enter the book of Raziel and invoke its power.'

Robert frowned. 'But what had been his sin?'

'Arrogance. The arrogance which had led him to keep the
golem
in the Synagogue, and not smash it into pieces and scatter the dust upon the winds. "For
I
could not believe," he told me, "that the secret would be kept, the danger restrained, unless
I
watched over it myself. And now" - he raised the withered flower up from the book - "you can see how my pride has reaped its own reward. The
golem
is shattered; the
shem
spat out; the Beast is broken free of its bonds . . ."

'And was he right?' Robert asked. 'Had the Spirit's evil been too great for the clay?'

'So it seemed,' the Pasha answered. 'For as the Rabbi warned me, its strength would be undimmed - grown indeed ..." - he paused -'and it was
...
it was.. .'

Lord Rochester leaned forward. 'You read the book, then?' he whispered. 'You passed into the world that its pages opened up?'

The Pasha sat in silence for a long while. 'That same night,' he said at last, 'as the Rabbi read the book - so
I
read his mind. It was thus
I
was able to understand the script.'

Robert breathed in deeply. 'And what did you see?'

'Many things.' The Pasha hooded his eyes, as though gazing into the depths of his memories. 'Many things.' He swallowed; then opened his eyes once again. 'As
I
said,' he murmured, 'the Rabbi had been right - the creature was stronger than it had ever been. For it fed upon the evil which it also served to breed; so that
I
began to fear that all the world would be destroyed, and it would reign across a universal wilderness of death. Long
I
pursued it, as ruin was brought to Prague, and then to Bohemia, and then far, far beyond - and still
I
could not find it, nor bring it to the struggle. Years passed. The land was fertilised with bones and charred by war, so that civilisation lay choked beneath weeds and wolves returned to the emptied villages; and still
I
pursued it, still
I
hunted the Beast.
I
began to close on it; yet its strength now was deadly, and
I
feared to draw near. Yet
I
knew that
I
would certainly perish if
I
did not, along with all the world; and in the end,
I
did it,
I
met with him . . .

'Of our struggle' - the Pasha paused -
‘
I
do not wish to speak. The night of that memory is too deadly to recall. Yet
I
had hoped, in the end, that the creature was slain, for
I
saw his blood swallowed by the
golem
clay.
I
did not then repeat the Rabbi's mistake -
I
shattered the figure and scattered the dust, so that it mingled with the mud on the Vltava's bank. And it was only then, when my victory - as
I
thought - was complete, that
I
could feel how deadly my own pain now was.
I
resolved to journey to Paris, to seek out the Marquise and rest a while with her; but my wounds would not permit me to travel so far.
I
collapsed upon the road and, in my fever, lost all sense of time. Years and years
I
must have lain in the mud, rotten with sickness; and it was only good fortune which brought me here at last.' He reached out for Lord Rochester's hand, and brushed it softly; then he glanced back at Robert. 'For it was my Lord Rochester,' he murmured, 'who discovered me, and helped to set me on my way - as
I
had known he would - for
I
had seen it all before. . .'

'Seen?' Robert frowned,
I
do not understand.'

The Pasha tightened his grip on Rochester's hand, in the world of the book,' he whispered, 'time itself, it appears, can sometimes be warped. The past - the future - both can be glimpsed. There is not much
I
remember of the things that
I
saw but
I
suddenly recalled, when
I
met with Lord Rochester, that
I
had seen myself crippled and rotting in mud before, and
I
knew -
I
cannot say how - but
I
knew that my saviour was to be an English poet and lord. And so indeed Lord Rochester proved; for the visions of the book, it would appear, do not lie. That is how
I
can be certain
..
.' - he paused, and struggled to rise to his feet - 'that is how
I
know ...' He swallowed, then took a pace forward. As he staggered, he clawed at Lord Rochester, pulling him down so that the two of them fell together to the floor, the Pasha straddling Lord Rochester's chest. He bent forward and kissed Lord Rochester softly on his lips. 'That is how
I
know,' he whispered, 'that he is the one.'

Lord Rochester smiled. He reached up to stroke the Pasha's thin cheeks; then he pulled him down and kissed him, urgently now. At length, the Pasha broke away and sat, eyes closed, gulping down air.

'The one?' Robert asked slowly.

The Pasha unhooded his stare. 'Who will fight and destroy Azrael forever.'

‘I
t can indeed be done, then - for all that you failed?' 'Failed?' The Pasha's eyes gleamed. 'You are harsh, Lovelace.' 'And yet you did fail.'

The Pasha smiled coldly. 'This time there will be no Tadeus to rescue the Spirit from its prison of dust.' 'How did he do it?' 'That must be discovered.'

'And the book - the Rabbi's book - where is that?'

'That too must be found. And soon. For as long as the creature continues in your village, it remains enfeebled, it is still drawing strength. But once it leaves ...' His voice trailed away.

Robert shook his head; for he remembered the shadow rising up in Stonehenge, remembered the Hell revealed by its eyes, remembered the ice . . . What hope against such a power? What hope, especially, for a mortal like himself? He shook his head again. He could feel the Pasha's stare reaching deep into his thoughts and he clutched at his head, to try to keep it out. 'No,' he cried suddenly. 'No!
I
do not want it, no!'

'Are you certain?' the Pasha murmured. His eyes were undimmed, and pity and contempt were mingled in their stare. 'Perhaps not yet, Lovelace,' he mocked, 'not quite yet . . . But remember' - he smiled -'you can hide nothing from me.
I
think - very soon - you will ask for it . . . yes.' The sibilant lingered, a serpentine hiss; and then, as it faded, so too did his smile. The Pasha stretched out his arms; and his expression was suddenly a terrible one - haughty and fierce, and yet shaded by woe. it would make no difference,' he murmured, 'if you were to desire it after all. For
I
am weak
...
too weak - and my blood is too thin to be shared with more than one.' He pulled at Lord Rochester's shirt, ripping it open so that the chest was exposed. Very gently, with his nail, he drew a thin, ruby line. Then he paused and glanced up at Robert once again. 'Go with Lord Rochester,' he ordered. 'Discover all you can. And, Lovelace
..
.' - he smiled -
I
wish you all luck.'

Robert could hear a pounding now, deep all around him, like that of a heart. At the same moment, his every sensation was touched by gold, sweet, sweet, inexpressibly sweet; even the stabbing he could feel in his guts. He heard a scream; and simultaneously, the delight and the pain both thudded in his ears, and the whole room seemed to quiver and grow shadowed by red. The screaming rose again - but strangely altered from before, so that it seemed almost a cry of ecstasy. Robert stared across at where Lord Rochester lay, spread out beneath the Pasha who was crouched upon his body like a ravening beast, tearing and lapping at the naked chest, until all the flesh had been stripped away, and the heart lay exposed beneath the open ribs. It was still twitching, but very faintly now; and the slow, soft thud of its beat emptied Robert's mind, so that nothing remained but golden pleasure and the pain. The heart stopped; and the agony in Robert's stomach was now unbearable. He waited, desperately, for the heartbeat which he knew was bound to come; and then it rose, very slowly - a blood-drinker's beat. Again it sounded; and Robert knew for certain now that it was Lord

Rochester's heart, reborn, remade. Once more; and the gold and the red were starting to fade into black. Lord Rochester was stirring now, and rising to his feet, besmeared with gore; but Robert could barely make him out. The mists were closing in; the pain in his stomach was unbearable now. On the quickening ripple of Rochester's heart, it stabbed deeper and deeper; until at last all was black; and Robert felt nothing any more.

'Shall
I
make spirits fetch me what
I
please,

Resolve me of all ambiguities,

Perform what desperate enterprise
I
will?'

Christopher Marlowe,
Doctor
Faustus

I

t was not until a week later, when he was approaching Deptford, that Robert remembered where he had heard of Dr Dee before. The meeting his father had held in the house of. . . Robert closed his eyes. Mr Aubrey - that had been his name. The same man who had discovered Mr Yorke's corpse had also been the one who had talked of Dr Dee. Robert struggled to think why. His recollection was very faint. It had been cold, kneeling on the frozen ground, ear pressed to the window-pane; he found it hard to remember much else. But
something
important had been discussed that day - something just beyond his memory .
..

Robert might almost have stopped wondering about it, save that he was struck by a sudden line of thought. His father's business with Mr Aubrey, he knew, had been related to the series of murders - a series committed in the shadow of ancient sites. Robert remembered what the Pasha had said of Dr Dee: that he had believed in the existence of invisible beams, along which the pagan priests had built their temples. Might such a beam have linked the murders as well? Might they have been committed to invoke its hidden power? Robert decided that his father must have at least suspected such a link - for he had been expecting the murders at Old Sarum and Stonehenge. Who else would he have consulted on such a business if not Mr Aubrey, the Wiltshire antiquarian? And if that had been the case - then what else might Mr Aubrey not also have known?

So intrigued was Robert by the implications of this question, that he determined to leave for Wiltshire at once. But it did not take him long to realise that such a resolution might present him with difficulties. Disembarked at Deptford, he hurried to the waterfront, only to discover that the wharves were almost empty; and it was only by paying an extortionate fee that he was able to hire a boat at all. Even then, despite the thought of the money he was charging, the riverman's face continued blank with fear; and the nearer they drew to London, so the more he seemed to shake. Soon Robert could hear a great roaring coming from the river ahead. It was the rapids, he realised, tumbling through the arches of London Bridge - a sound he would normally never have expected to hear, not above the deafening tumult of the city. And it was only then that he became aware how still London was, hunched like some stricken animal upon the bank, motionless in the agonies of death. Upon the docks and in the streets, not a soul seemed abroad; and nothing disturbed the silence, save the occasional distant shriek.