Gideon's Angel (20 page)

“Mister Elias Ashmole. Seek him at the house of John Tradescant in Lambeth village.”

She opened her hand and I saw a small white linen pouch tied with red thread. “This is not for you. It is for your man Billy.”

She walked over and handed it to him. Billy looked at me and I nodded, recognising the same little cloth pouch she had given me as a young soldier in Germany. “Wear it always and stay safe.”

Billy tucked it into his breeches pocket and gave her a tug of his brim.

“If he is to follow in your footsteps,” she said, turning back to me, “it is the least I can offer him. As for you, I can give you no more than I already have. If you are set on your present course you must search out aid greater than mine.”

“I understand. Does this mean I will not see you again for another twenty-five winters?”

Anya’s eyes sparkled though the corners of her mouth remained unmoved. “Who knows, man. Who knows.” She took my hand as if to say goodbye, but slowly turned my palm up and traced her fingers along it, eyes intent upon the lines. “We two are not done yet,” she pronounced.

“Payment?” I asked her.

“One silver thaler... deferred for the moment.”

I smiled at her, as one of the few pleasant memories of Germany flooded back to me.

Billy and I were soon out into the deafening madness of the Dials, the experience of the past few minutes already seeming only half real. “Did you really know that woman?” asked Billy, as we made our way back to the piazza and towards the river.

“Billy, I still truly do not know that woman—nor am ever likely to.”

“Sturdy, handsome creature, though,” said Billy.

We arrived back at the Bear as the sun was sinking, the purple of twilight already settled upon the sky in the east. Even as we had walked quickly across London Bridge, I had suddenly felt the quiet teasing of my Beast, tugging at my gorge. My breaths started coming faster and shallower. By the time we reached our chamber, it had me fully in its grasp. I just managed to unbuckle my belt and promptly fell upon the rack, a shivering heap. Poor Billy must have thought I had been stricken with the plague. He kept asking what it was that ailed me, as he tried to pinion my legs that were kicking about, quite beyond my conscious control. I wrapped my arms about myself, turning upon my side, mouth open like a gasping fish. And I could hear my heart pounding on my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. I somehow cried out for Billy to leave me be, but he tried to cover me with a blanket and threatened to fetch a physician.

“No, do not!” I said between short breaths. “It’s no fever. It will pass.”

“Fucking hell, Mister Eff. You’re causing me a fright like a fellow I knew in the regiment who had the falling sickness. You never knew when he was going to flop. What do I do?”

“Just stay,” I said, teeth rattling. Billy nodded. And there were no further words between us for near upon an hour. Slowly, I felt the anxiousness melt away, the shaking stopped, and I fell asleep like a babe, worn out with the struggle.

The next I knew, Billy was nudging me to wakefulness, the room in darkness except for a single candle.

“Are you whole again, sir?”

“What’s the matter?”

Billy’s voice was strained, his words tumbling out almost in a whisper. “It’s one of the kitchen boys downstairs. He’s in the tap room telling anyone who’ll listen that he saw a goblin out in the alley tonight.”

I was up in an instant, flinging the blanket from me. “One of our winged friends?”

Billy shook his head. “Don’t know rightly. Just said it was a black thing, standing upright like a man and skulking around the back, all hunched over like and grunting like a pig.”

That we could have been tracked again so quickly since our arrival startled me and the remnant of my invisible Beast blew away. “Get our kit. We must leave this place now.”

“But the innkeeper saw nothing and the men downstairs are laughing about it.”

“I’m not taking any chances with the enemy we’re dealing with,” I said, strapping on my sword. “We’ll find a place to hole up in somewhere out on the bridge.”

Billy was looking at me, his expression a mix of concern and doubt.

“Are you whole again, Mister Eff?”

And in a flash I realised that I had revealed my weakness to him, the only man who knew of my malady. That this put me at a disadvantage there was no doubt. I had to take charge if for no other reason than to reassure Billy not to abandon me, or betray me.

“It was just a passing illness, some stomach gripe. But I’m not about to keep running away from Fludd’s minions since it’s clear they can track us whenever they choose. We take the fight to them now. Show me where this thing was seen in the alley.”

Billy’s eyebrows rose for a second, and then he nodded.

“I’ll load the pistol.”

W
E STEPPED CAUTIOUSLY
down into the little maze of alleys behind the inn, the stink of beer and piss strong in our nostrils. Dogs were barking a few streets away and I could still hear late revellers down on the High Street which led to the barbican at the foot of London Bridge. Our eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, the only light a crescent moon that played hide and seek with the clouds. The way was so narrow that we would not be able to stand abreast and fight. Billy took up position at my left shoulder and a pace behind. I walked forward, upriver, headed towards the Clink prison and down to the great church of St Mary’s.

My eyes and ears strained to detect any movement. The occasional perpendicular passage spilled random torchlight onto our path, creating threatening shadows that took on diabolical shapes. And then, a new scent wafted towards me, a smell that stopped me full in my boots. I glanced back to Billy who was looking at me with fear written all over his sweating face. He had recognised the smell as had I. It was not the smell of the tannery vats. It was the stench of rotting flesh, a sweet and sickening odour I knew well from years of war. And it was growing stronger. I began moving forward again with my rapier extended, the only sound the echoing clop our boots made on the cobbles. And then, a new sound came to us. It was a sort of scrabbling, a scratching of claws on wood, like some cat scrambling up a door.

I was hit from above. Something big had pounced on me and I was thrown against the far wall and then to the ground. A deep squeal like that of a hog echoed in my ears as I shook my head and braced myself to stand again, my sword arm swinging wide and my blade whistling through naught but air. As I raised myself up again, I could see it, standing three yards from my nose. There was just enough light to make out its face though I wish to God there had not been. It was naked, skin glistening like grey wet leather. It was manlike, standing upright, but there all resemblance ended.

It was as large as a bear, its legs bowed outward, the arms absurdly long and the slim fingers and claws drooping like the branches of an enchanted willow. And its head was that of a boar and man combined, a stinking creature whose eyes were large and white. In that instant we glared at each other and I saw some strange intelligence in its hideous face. A flash erupted from behind me and a loud report set my ears ringing. Billy had fired. The beast staggered back screeching, for he had found the mark, but then I quickly saw the shot had done the thing little harm. It raised its arms and crouched as if to spring at us. I cried out and ran forward to skewer it while I had the chance.

It lashed an arm towards me to ward off the blow, then turned tail and made off, splayed feet slapping loudly on the cobbles. And I without a second thought gave chase, Billy’s cries echoing behind me. It was unnaturally fast and it was outpacing me further every second. The alley opened up onto some yard as we entered the outskirts of the church and I could just see it hopping towards the river, and it was grunting as it did so. I lost it near the high bank where the Thames lay and heard a terrific splash as the beast leapt into the swirling waters.

I leaned against a wall to catch my breath and Billy was soon at my side. “It’s gone,” I rasped. “Into the river.”

“Mother of God, did you see it? Did you
see
it?” Billy’s arms were shaking.

“Yes, I saw it. But why did it run? It was big enough to tear me in two.”

Billy stood next to me, sucking in breaths. He leaned his backside against the wall, clutching his smoking pistol like some charm. “We must have given it a fright, you and me, eh?” And he coughed out a laugh.

“No, it was something else. It was almost as if it didn’t think it had the strength to take us. I saw its face. The bloody thing was actually thinking—
calculating
what it could do. And it ran. But by Jesus, why?”

Billy just shook his head. “This is bad business, sir, black business for sure. Now what shall we do?”

I rested my blade in my gloved hand as I looked out onto London. The smell of death had disappeared. “Tonight, we stay on London Bridge. Tomorrow we search out this Mister Ashmole of Lambeth. And may God help us. We need to make some powerful allies before the enemy has a chance to strike at Cromwell, or at us again. And I don’t reckon that time is with us, Billy, not with us at all.”

Chapter Thirteen

“T
HAT WILL BE
sixpence, my dear fellow.”

I blinked, not really understanding what I was supposed to be paying for. As it was known to every passerby, we had been directed without too much difficulty to the house of John Tradescant in Lambeth. I entered the front door and was met by a gentleman a few years younger than me, sandy-haired with a handsome ruddy brown face. His large green eyes shone with an almost peculiar eagerness to welcome.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir. I am seeking Mister Elias Ashmole.”

“Aren’t you here to see the collection? The Ark... The cabinet of curiosities!”

I shook my head. “I am unaware of any collection. I have business with Mister Ashmole, though.”

“Ah,” he said, taking a half step back and inclining his head. “I am sorry to have presumed. I am Elias Ashmole. And who do I have the honour of addressing?”

I hesitated. “I am Andreas Falkenhayn. A mutual acquaintance suggested you might be able to offer me some assistance.”

“Mister Falkenhayn... I see. And who was it that directed you to me?” Instantly, his look shifted to one of mistrust.

“Anya... in the Seven Dials.”

Now his eyes expressed not scepticism but instead, curiosity. “Come with me, sir, into the collection room. We can speak freely there.”

I followed him into the fine, grand house. Walking past a window, I glimpsed Billy near the horses, marvelling at the massive archway in the courtyard formed from the ribs of a long-dead grampus.

“My host, Mister Tradescant, is away visiting relations,” said Ashmole, striding across the corridor in front of me. “I am carrying on with my cataloguing of his collection... the one you have not heard of.” We passed through dark-stained oaken double doors and were in a large chamber, very bright and lit by eight great diamond-paned windows. It was without doubt, the strangest room I had seen in my life and my widening eyes drank in wondrous, exotic sights: a stuffed salamander, a chameleon, a pelican, a flying squirrel, another squirrel like a fish, all kinds of bright coloured birds from the Orient. A whole fantastical menagerie of things looked ready to leap upon me. Another view brought to the eye an ape’s head, seashells, the hand of a mermaid (said the label), the hand of a mummy, all kinds of precious stones, coins, a picture wrought in feathers, a little box in which a landscape is seen in perspective, two cups fashioned of a rhinoceros horn, many Turkish and other foreign shoes and boots, a sea parrot, a toad-fish, an elk’s hoof with three claws, and a bat as large as a small dog.

“Mister Tradescant inherited much of this from his father. But he is himself an inveterate collector of curiosities, both natural and fashioned by the hand of man. Still, it all has to be identified and categorised, you see. It will take many months.”

“I am told you are an astrologer, sir.”

Ashmole stopped and turned to face me again. “I dabble in mathematics, in casting projections and in the alchemical sciences. Which is why I imagine you were in the shop of our common acquaintance.” He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned against a cabinet. “And what is it that you require of me, Mister Falkenhayn?”

“Wisdom, sir, if you can provide it.” And I pulled out the medallion that had weighed so heavily upon me. “Do you have any science of this object, sir?”

Ashmole took it from my grasp, inclined his head in interest or confusion, then took a few steps to a window to gain a better vantage of light. I could hear him breathing loudly as he contemplated the strange inscriptions. After a few moments he looked up at me. “May I enquire where you obtained this?”

“From these shores, sir. The circumstances I am not yet at liberty to discuss.”

Ashmole smiled. “That sounds devious, Mister Falkenhayn.”

“Can you tell me what it is? What it says?”

Ashmole returned his attentions to the medallion. “It is silver. But very impure by the looks of it. The design on the obverse I cannot really decipher, other than it seems to portray a portal or gateway. But I can tell you what is written along here. Along the right it is Latin.”