Gallows at Twilight (20 page)

She hadn’t meant to hurt Jake, but ever since meeting him in Hobarron’s Hollow she had been drawn to Simon’s soulful, wild spirit. It had been agony to be separated from him these past weeks, imagining what horrors he might be living through. To have Simon back in her life had been so wonderful that she hadn’t stopped to think about Jake. Although she’d known that he had feelings for her, she had not realized how much he cared until she saw him standing in the doorway, watching her and Simon. Such hurt in those eyes, such pain. Now Jake might well be dead, and Rachel couldn’t help thinking that it was all her fault.

‘Rachel, are you there?’

Adam Harker hauled himself up the stairs and onto the terrace. The poor man seemed to be growing weaker by the hour. Rachel rushed to meet him.

‘Is it Jake?’ she asked, half-hopeful, half-fearful. ‘Has the story started again?’

Adam reached for the support of the balcony rail.

‘The
Codex
has started writing again.’ He took a deep, ragged breath. ‘Jake’s alive.’

Rachel gasped and her tears flowed freely.

‘But he may not live much longer,’ Adam continued. ‘He’ll soon be at the mercy of one of the most dangerous men that ever lived. A psychopathic killer who murdered hundreds of innocent people … ’

Adam told Rachel that Jake was now being held prisoner on the charge of witchcraft. Despite the objections of Mr Leonard Lanyon, the vicar of Cravenmouth, the town elders had decided to call in a specialist to investigate the case: Matthew Hopkins, the infamous Witchfinder General. Richard Rake, Earl of Cravenmouth, had agreed to dispatch his servant in search of the Witchfinder.

‘But if all this happened in the past surely we can research how it turned out,’ Rachel said. ‘If Hopkins went to Cravenmouth and tried Jake wouldn’t there be a record of the outcome?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Time is in flux. History as we know it is changing
now
. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s as if the events in 1645 are moving along at almost the same pace as time here is moving. We won’t know what happens to Jake until it happens—effectively, until we read about it in the
Codex Tempus
. When things are finally settled, the history books will reform around those events.’

‘What do you mean, “when things are finally settled”?’

Adam closed his eyes. ‘Either when Jake retrieves the witch ball and returns to us or … ’ his voice trembled, ‘or when he dies on the Witchfinder’s scaff old.’

A short silence followed, textured by the moan of a distant sandstorm.

‘There’s another reason I came to find you, Rachel. I need to ask your forgiveness.’

Rachel was surprised. ‘You took me in, Adam, gave me a home—why would I ever need to forgive you?’

‘Because I did as Simon asked.’ Adam reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. Rachel saw her name written in Simon’s rough hand. ‘Because I waited an hour before I gave you this.’

She tore open the letter.

My love. My world—

You wouldn’t believe me when I told you that there was evil in my soul. Well, now I’ve proved it to you, and to myself.

I’ve betrayed you, Rachel. Betrayed Jake and Dr Harker and Pandora and all those who showed me kindness. Betrayed my conscience and my humanity. I have told the Demon Father about Jake and the Scarab Path. I don’t know what consequences my actions will have, but if I stay here I dread to think what could happen.

I’m going far away, Rachel. I’m going to find out who I am. What I am. Something tells me that it will be a dangerous road, and I’m not sure that I’ll ever see you again. But I know you’ll be with me in spirit … walking beside me to the end of the road.

My love, for ever

Simon

Rachel looked up from the tear-stained letter.

‘They’re gone,’ she said. ‘Both of them. Gone … ’

While kettles sang and demons squabbled, the witches stoked their camp fires and complained about another bad night’s sleep. Most could not understand why they had to camp outside when the manor house stood empty. True, it looked like a draughty old ruin, but a room in Havlock Grange was surely better than roughing it out in the open. Despite their pleas, Master Crowden had forbidden anyone except himself, Mr Quilp, and Mr Grype from entering the house. No one in their right mind would contradict the Master, not after what had happened at the stadium.

With mugs of hot tea to lift their spirits, the witches soon forgot their complaints. They gathered together and began reliving their great victory.

Tobias Quilp and Mr Pinch walked through the lines of tents and listened in to the chatter. At the eastern edge of the camp, where the lawn met the forest, a South African witch held his coven spellbound. Tall and bearded, the man was dressed in flowing robes and had a brimless hat perched on his head. He told the tale of how, in an onslaught of claws and teeth, his crocodile-headed demon had slaughtered five Institute employees in as many minutes. The other witches laughed and banged their staffs in approval.

Spying Quilp, the storyteller beckoned to him.

‘Come, brother, sit with us.’

Quilp’s gaze passed around the South African coven. Wide, excited eyes looked up at him.

‘Thank you, no,’ he said, and started to move on.

The storyteller’s face darkened. ‘Too grand to share our fire, Mr Quilp? As I remember, it was
our
coven that released you from your captivity. Were it not for us you would still be the plaything of the Elders.’

Quilp and Pinch spun round. The men and women clustered around the fire drew back, as did their demons.

‘Peace, brother.’ A younger witch sporting large hoop earrings bowed before Quilp. ‘Jacques meant no insult. We have all heard of the great magic you wield through your demon. In any case, we are all one coven now, are we not?’

Quilp tapped the side of his leg and Pinch came to heel. He nodded stiffly and walked away.

Marching between the tents, Quilp took in only snapshots of what he saw. Over two hundred witches had made their temporary home in the grounds. Their laughter, curses, and conversation filled the air, and from every corner came the chatter, chunter, whinnies, and whines of demons. Demons that walked and waddled, crept and capered, scuttled and skulked. Demons that resembled animals and insects, birds and fish; even some, like Mr Pinch, that looked vaguely human. More demons and witches than Quilp had ever seen, and yet the spectacle was of only passing interest.

His thoughts kept returning to Jacob Harker. While the other witches revelled in the destruction of the Hobarron Elders, Quilp could think only of avenging the death of his beloved Esther. His plan was simple: first, he would kill the boy, slowly, horribly, then he would go after Dr Harker. As soon as the Demon Father allowed it, Quilp would take his revenge.

He left the grounds and entered the Great Hall. He had barely stepped over the threshold when a voice called down to him: ‘Tobias, he wants to see you.’

Quilp looked up to the head of the stairs. Roland Grype was staggering under a mountain of old books, his vulture-demon perched on the topmost volume. Quilp bounded up the staircase and followed Grype into the shadowy reaches of the house.

‘What’s all that for?’ he said, eyeing the pile of tomes.

‘Last night, the Master entrusted me to carry out a little task.’ Weakening under his burden, Grype nevertheless managed to puff out his chest. ‘I was to go to the occult libraries of London and seek out certain books.’

They came to a door at the end of a dismal corridor. Quilp knocked and the door swung open.

The chamber beyond was cold and dark. As Quilp’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the figure of his master sitting on an ornate wooden throne that stood in the centre of the room. Carved into the arms and legs of the throne were a dozen miniature human faces, frozen in the act of screaming. They appeared so lifelike that, for a moment, Quilp believed he could hear their cries rustling in his ear …

‘Come forward, gentlemen.’

Quilp’s gaze switched to his master. A candle standing on a little table beside the throne bathed the Demon Father’s angelic features in a soft, flickering glow. When Quilp looked back, the faces in the chair seemed to have vanished. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light.

‘I see you have accomplished your mission, Mr Grype,’ the demon beckoned. ‘Bring me the books.’

The witches waited while their master sorted through the tomes. Eventually, he came to a slim volume embossed with gold lettering. Before the book was flipped open, Quilp caught sight of the title—
The Iconography of the Old Ones
. The Demon Father rummaged through the book, ancient paper crumbling at his careless touch. He stabbed a finger against one of the pages.

‘As I thought! Well, well, this changes everything.’

Quilp found himself reflected in the dark moons of the demon’s glasses. Then the creature’s gaze turned to Grype.

‘I have another task for you, my faithful librarian. I want you to assemble the universal coven in the Great Hall. Be quick.’

Grype bowed and bustled away. When the door slammed shut, the Demon Father called Quilp to his side. The witch shuddered. He had faced many horrors in his fifty years, but only this unholy creature possessed the ability to truly frighten him. The demon tapped the book.

‘Tell me, what do you make of this?’

The page that lay open was a mess of squiggles and hieroglyphs, but the picture at the centre was clear enough. The green glass ball had been drawn with such skill and artistry that it seemed to glimmer with a light of its own.

‘Josiah Hobarron’s witch ball,’ Quilp said in a hushed voice.

‘Mortals!’ the Demon Father sneered. ‘You have such limited vision. But tell me, why do you call it “witch ball”?’

‘That’s how it’s always been known. The legends of Josiah Hobarron claim that his magic was contained within, or inspired by, the orb. Is it important?’

‘It is momentous.’ The demon closed the book thoughtfully. ‘Only a few beings that exist on this Earth would recognize the true nature of the orb. It is fortunate for us that
I
am one of them, although I have not seen its like for untold millennia.’

Intrigued, Quilp leaned forward. ‘What is it?’

‘It is a Signum.’

Quilp searched through his knowledge of arcane myth and lore. He found no trace of the word.

‘This is a troubling development, Mr Quilp, but now that I know of the Signum’s existence the true nature of our enemy is clear.’ The demon’s lips set into a thin line. ‘Such opposition cannot be underestimated, even in these idle days … Still, our spy in the Harker camp has made contact and the information he has provided may yet help us to destroy all those who stand in our way.’

The Demon Father went on to explain how the messages of treachery hypnotically implanted inside Simon Lydgate had been ‘activated’. Through Simon, they now knew that Jacob Harker had travelled back in time to retrieve the witch ball.

‘Our first priority must be to get Simon away from Dr Harker,’ Quilp said. ‘The spy has served us well, but he may know things that could cause us difficulties.’

‘Do not distress yourself,’ the demon said. ‘Simon has already left his friends. In due course he will be picked up by an old acquaintance of mine and cared for until I have the opportunity to reclaim him. In the meantime, something must be done about Jacob Harker.’

Quilp’s heart quickened. He sensed that his moment was at hand.

‘I have kept you on a short leash, Tobias; it is time now to set you free. At all costs, you must prevent Jacob Harker from finding the witch ball.’

‘But how?’

‘You must join him in 1645.’

‘Time travel is powerful magic,’ Quilp said. ‘Far beyond the abilities of any normal witch.’

The Demon Father rose from his throne. ‘Follow me.’

Witch and master left the chamber and strode through the old house.

‘There are only three methods of time travel,’ the demon instructed. ‘The first was used by Jacob Harker—temporal transport by way of the Scarab Path. The second is a direct appeal to the Unseelie Court, that haven of dark fairies that exists somewhere beyond the borderlands. Meddling with such creatures always comes at a cost.’

‘And the third method?’

They had reached the staircase. Crowded into the Great Hall below, the assembled witches murmured between themselves.

‘A universal coven.’ The Demon Father smiled. ‘Their combined magic will be just about sufficient to open a time portal. I shall direct the spell from here. By my will you should arrive at the correct moment in history.’

‘But the consequences! The—the raw power could destroy—’

‘Hush!’ the demon snarled. ‘
You
will be safe enough. I have provided you with a vessel of sufficient strength to withstand the tempest of inter-dimensional travel.’

He pointed to where the nightmare box stood in the centre of the hall. As if in response, the jaws of the cabinet yawned open.

‘No! Please, Master.’

‘Think, Quilp! With the Signum, Jacob Harker will increase his magic tenfold. He will return here and lay waste to every demon and witch in existence. And even if the Demontide were to break before he came back, the witch ball could still be used to slaughter thousands of my kind.’

‘But if we do this then there is no chance of creating another Door,’ Quilp whispered. He gave the assembled crowd a sideways glance. ‘The universal coven will be finished.’

‘With the power of the witch ball we no longer need the coven to conjure a second Door. Go back, Mr Quilp. Retrieve it for me. Then you may take your revenge on Jacob Harker. Are you still my faithful servant?’

Quilp gave a sharp nod.

‘Good. Now, when you arrive in 1645 you will find that this house is occupied by three witches. The sisters of Marcus Crowden. Convince them that you are working on behalf of your old master and they will help you. Once you have the witch ball, step back inside the cabinet and you will return to me. Now, go.’

Quilp took Mr Pinch’s clawed hand and witch and demon descended the stairs. They reached the crowd and questions rang out from all sides. Most were excited queries about whether the time had come to summon the second Door. A few were more cautious—why had Master Crowden gathered them here?