Gabriel's Clock (23 page)

Ignatius turned to look at the passengers in the back seat. “Everyone okay with what we're about to do?”

Mr. Forrester nodded. “Joanne's upset that she's too unwell to come with us. She said that if I don't come back with our daughter, and with both of us in one piece, she's going to kill me!”

Ignatius grinned at him.

“I'm ready,” said Jonathan, sitting next to Elgar with the clock on his lap.

“You know my opinion,” said the cat. “Follow me, lads—I'm right behind you!”

“Good,” said Ignatius. He turned to Grimm. “Let's get cracking, shall we? Our escort should be outside the forest entrance.”

“My pleasure,” said Grimm.

As Belial had promised, they found Crow waiting for them in the black Rolls-Royce. Without ceremony the car sped away, Crow somehow managing to drive with only his left hand, leaving Grimm to follow at a distance. As they drove off, Jonathan stared at the clock in his lap. It was still humming and giving off pulses of light. Oddly, Jonathan realized that he wasn't scared. Just the opposite, in fact. The nearer they got to the monster that had torn his life apart, the more angry he became. There was only one thing he was really afraid of, and that was being overwhelmed by the power inside him. He remembered what his grandfather had said to him when they'd talked in the church.

What happens if I can't control it?

Then you turn into another Lucifer, and you end up destroying that which you profess to love.

The thought that he might hurt someone he cared about, if he attacked Belial, scared him more than the thought of facing the archdemon himself.

The two cars plowed on through country lanes for some time, dusk fell, and Grimm switched on the Daimler's headlights. Occasionally they passed other vehicles, but as night fell even they ceased.

Their journey ended suddenly as the Rolls-Royce slowed before turning left into a wide driveway. As the Daimler pulled in behind it, Jonathan could see a pair of huge wrought-iron gates hung from stone gateposts.

“Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” mumbled Elgar as he peered out the car window.

“That's not very cheery,” said Grimm.

“But what the spider doesn't know,” Elgar continued, “is that the fly is really spoiling for a fight and has a cricket bat tucked down the back of its trousers!”

“Did you manage to fix Isobel, then?” asked Jonathan.

“Oh, yes,” said Grimm. “It's amazing what you can do with some wood glue and a vice. Isobel is in the trunk and just waiting to be introduced to Belial.”

The Daimler drove on as the gates swung shut behind them.

They were now on enemy territory.

Chapter 23

Belial stared at the approaching cars through an upstairs window, his eyes blazing with unnatural hunger. Allowing himself a death's-head smile, he turned away from the window and made his way to the large, elegantly decorated ballroom at the rear of the mansion. At the far end, before a huge picture window, two heavy wooden chairs had been placed on the floor. The one to the left was occupied by Cay, and the one to the right by Gabriel. They were both tied securely with lengths of rope.

Cay shrank from Belial as he walked to stand between the two chairs; the awful smell that surrounded the archdemon was so strong, she had difficulty keeping her stomach under control. Gabriel sat quietly in his chair, but he turned to Cay and smiled reassuringly. “Whatever happens, do not fear,” he whispered.

The large double doors set into the far wall banged open, and the one-armed Crow ushered the visitors from Hobbes End inside. Alert and unafraid, Jonathan walked in between Ignatius and Grimm. They strode forward until Crow blocked their path, hissing at them with a wide-open mouth full of jagged teeth. Jonathan glared at the demon with utter contempt while Ignatius stopped and tucked his pipe into the corner of his mouth.

Grimm leaned forward and smiled menacingly at Crow. “Just one hat to go,” he said, pointing Isobel at the demon's head. “Just the one.”

Crow winced but refused to budge.

A growl from Kenneth Forrester signaled that he'd seen his daughter where she sat tied to her chair.

“It's all right, Dad!” shouted Cay. “It's going to be all right!”

Jonathan smiled at Cay, but when he turned and saw the blood-encrusted bandage round his grandfather's face, he knew what had been in the box that Belial had sent to them that morning. The simmering rage that had been building inside him was just seconds from tearing its way free when Gabriel gently shook his head. For a moment Jonathan didn't think he could stop it, but by shutting his eyes and swallowing hard he somehow managed to avoid giving in to that awful voice that urged him to destroy.

Clutching the clock so tightly, his knuckles turned white, Jonathan turned his attention to Belial. He was just as Elgar had described—a tall, thin, shambling corpse of a man.

“Welcome,” said Belial. “Crow, please stop frightening our guests.”

Keeping a close eye on Grimm, the demon backed away.

Staring impassively at Belial, Ignatius sucked hard on the stem of his pipe. “You don't look at all well,” he said. “Perhaps your past sins are catching up with you?”

“Perhaps they are!” said Belial, a febrile light in his eyes. “The clock, if you please?” He held out his hand.

Jonathan looked to his grandfather for guidance.

“Give him the clock,” said Gabriel, somehow knowing what was in Jonathan's heart. “Don't be afraid.”

Jonathan stayed where he was, uncertainty filling him.
I'm giving Belial exactly what he wants,
he thought. “Come, my little general,” said Belial, holding his arms wide in a hideous mockery of reassurance. “Let me show you the freedom of absolute power.”

Jonathan looked at Ignatius. The vicar's face radiated loathing for the monster that stood in front of them, but he placed a gentle hand on Jonathan's shoulder. “We are here with you,” he said. “You are not alone. Be strong. Do as your grandfather asks.”

Jonathan took a deep breath and turned to face Belial. It was only the knowledge that he might kill everyone if he summoned his wings that stopped him from wiping that smug rictus of a smile from the archdemon's rotting face. Dredging up every ounce of self-control he had, Jonathan stepped forward, his boots clumping loudly on the wooden floor.

“Kneel before me, boy,” Belial demanded.

Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the stench of decay that oozed from Belial, Jonathan sank slowly to his knees. The voice inside him was screaming now: “How dare you prostrate yourself? This is the thing that has destroyed your life, hurt your family and your friends. Why not just tear it apart? How can you kneel before it?
It is not your equal!
”

Belial reached out, but instead of taking the clock, he placed his hands on either side of Jonathan's head. Jonathan's body seized as if he was having a fit—every nerve sang with pain, and every muscle fiber went rigid as Belial reached for the power where it raged impotently inside him.

The voice was suddenly silenced, and Jonathan was filled with an awful, cold emptiness. He slumped twitching to the floor, and Belial gently lifted the clock from his numb arms.

The archdemon bent his head to whisper in Jonathan's ear. “You are mine now, little general. For the time being I have clipped your wings. You will do nothing unless I give you permission. You will obey me if you want to avoid your father's fate. I tore off his wings piece by piece until he told me where you were. Then I dumped his body at Heaven's gate. If he still lives, I'm sure he'll be suitably dismayed to see an army marching to destroy him with his son at its head.”

Despite struggling as hard as possible, Jonathan found he couldn't move. His body refused to obey him, and his mind was just a reeling mass of pain. Every breath he took felt like he was inhaling broken glass. He couldn't even close his eyes as tears ran down his face. Belial had him completely under his control.

Dad,
he mouthed, but no sound came out.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” bellowed Grimm. He wasn't shouting at Belial, but at Gabriel.

The big man was about to launch himself toward the archdemon, but Ignatius grabbed his arm. “No, Halcyon. Please. Have faith.”

“
Faith in what?
I promised Jonathan I wouldn't let Belial have him, and yet that's exactly what we've just done. Do something, Gabriel!”

“Yes, old man,” chuckled Belial, gazing lovingly at the clock in his hands. “Why don't you
do
something?”

“You have what you wanted,” said the angel. “You have my grandson and the key to Heaven itself. Let Cay go.”

“Very well. Since I'm feeling all magnanimous in victory . . . Crow, let her father free the girl.”

The second her bonds were untied, Cay leaped into her father's arms, sobbing with relief as she hugged him. “Jonathan,” she cried, turning to stare at her friend where he lay pale and still on the floor.

“Untie the angel as well, human,” said Belial. “Let's have some fun seeing if he can put up any kind of a fight.”

The ropes that bound him fell away, and Gabriel got stiffly to his feet. He shuffled blindly toward the sound of Belial's voice.

“Now, old man,” said Belial. “Why don't you show me what an archangel can do? You won't be able to summon help, of course. Even if you had the strength, your brother Raphael doesn't seem to care much for anything outside Heaven anymore. In fact, rumor has it that your brother has gone quite, quite mad.”

“I know,” said Gabriel, his voice immeasurably sad.

“Once I rule in Hell,” taunted Belial, “I'm going to use this clock of yours to destroy your brother and capture Heaven. In his current condition, Raphael may even consider it a mercy. The best bit is that there's nothing you can do to stop it!”

Gabriel lowered his head, and Ignatius felt like weeping for him. Had all their struggling come to this? Humiliation and despair? Then the angel raised his head once more, and Ignatius couldn't believe his eyes. Instead of being racked with sorrow, Gabriel was smiling.

“I think you may be disappointed,” said the angel.

Belial blinked in consternation. “What do you—?”

“I'm Gabriel Artificer, and as I often say to Ignatius, there's no point getting old if you don't get crafty!”

Belial choked out an incredulous laugh. “I have your clock. With this I can—”

“DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!” roared the angel. “It's beautiful, isn't it? It's a miracle of engineering fit to grace the bedside tables of kings, of queens.” He paused and turned to Cay where she sat huddled with her father. “Or even the bedside table of a brave young woman who wanted something special for her birthday.”

Cay gaped in astonishment. “You mean . . . ?”

“I mean that Rook made an assumption, and he got it wrong,” said Gabriel. He turned back to Belial. “Just because something looks like it should be the back-door key to Heaven doesn't mean that it is. Perhaps it's simply a beautiful present for a friend. You've got the wrong clock, Belial; the real one is somewhere else entirely. Happy birthday, Cay!” Gabriel clicked his fingers, and the sphere in Belial's hands went dark and silent.

The archdemon glared at him. Opening his hands, he dropped the lifeless clock to the floor, and it struck the wooden parquet and exploded, shards of glass and delicate components flying in all directions.

Before Ignatius realized what was happening, before Grimm could raise Isobel, Belial reached out, placed his hands on either side of Gabriel's head—and snapped the angel's neck like a twig.

Chapter 24