Gideon's Angel (33 page)

“You brought our old friend back with you, Mister Eff,” he whispered. “And he’s brought his brother.”

We all watched as the wave of low mist came to the circle us from all around. It rolled up fast, and then, as it reached the line of flour and salt, it rolled back on itself like the sea against a jetty.

Da Silva stood at the circle’s edge, facing the beasts, his arms spread wide. I could hear the Hebrew words flowing from him as he prayed. Ashmole’s mouth still hung agape. I grasped his arm.

“Elias, reload the pistols!”

He looked at me, suddenly recovering himself. “I cannot believe what I’m seeing.”

D’Artagnan muttered something in Gascon as he went into a fighting crouch. He was probably already worrying that a circle of flour would not stay two dogs the size of bears. I looked down again. There was Isabel holding Maggie, brushing back her long hair and rocking her gently.

“Isabel, keep her warm.”

The girl looked at me and nodded. She pulled her cloak about them both as they huddled. Elias worked furiously to reload his two doglocks and I noticed that all of us had bunched together, unconsciously seeking safety.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you,” said Billy darkly. “I couldn’t stop the musketeer—he said something about his duty and honour and was off like a shot.”

I could not take my eyes off of the hellhounds. “You did the right thing, Billy.” But I was glad that the Frenchman had come when he had. His debt had now been repaid.

“Where is Fludd now?” said Ashmole as both hammers clicked loudly into place.

“I don’t know. But he’s not giving up on what he has set out to do. He’ll have to get through us though.” I thought I would then try something. I moved to the edge of the circle. I raised my sword and then took two steps outside, towards the black dogs. In an instant they began moving forward, and in the bright moonlight I could see the juices from their fangs dripping down the corners of their wide mouths. I retreated back into the circle. The dogs stopped, motionless as if stone, and did not move.

“Elias, give me a pistol.”

I levelled the barrel at one of the creatures and fired. A howl of pain erupted and one of them dropped down on its front legs, its huge head shaking. It was up again after a few moments but clearly chastised as it slunk behind its companion.

“They can be hurt!” Ashmole said, clearly relieved we had some means of defence against the netherworld.

“Aye, but we don’t know if we can kill them.
Senor
da Silva, are you well, sir?” I saw that the rabbi was, like the hellhounds, frozen to the ground.

The old man kept looking outside the circle and towards the evil that stared us down. “I must concentrate on the prayer and the words from the grimoire. I will not be able to converse with you. The circle will fail if I do not keep my mind upon it.” He sank to his knees and folded his arms to his chest. Again I heard him chanting and he began to rock forward and back as he spoke.

“Now what shall we do?” said Billy. “No sign of the regiment anywhere and us trapped here in this circle.”

A cry from d’Artagnan brought Billy and I around. Isabel gave a muffled shriek. From the other side of the circle, a new threat was emerging from the shadows. It was what I had feared since that night in the cell when the imp had spoken to me. Ashmole had now turned as well to see what was coming.

“Dear God,” he muttered.

D’Artagnan’s voice rose up. He was saying his Pater Noster.

They had come to the very edge of the circle. Curious, snorting and sniffing, three great demons stood there contemplating us. They were the size of men, walking on two legs that ended in a cockerel’s talons instead of feet. Each was different but all were equally terrible in appearance. And I had seen these creatures before: painted in countless murals and carved in stone across the cities of Europe. They were blackish grey in hue and naked, seemingly fashioned from parts of men and beasts. One had the head and long muzzle of a dog while another had a large goat-horned head with a bulbous nose and feline mouth. Their eyes were black as pitch, glistening and unblinking, without whites or pupils. Scale, fur, and skin covered their muscled frames and their hands bore long bony fingers, almost delicate, but sprouting scythe-like claws.

The largest of the three extended a burly leg to the line of flour and salt, his three toes flexing up and down. Then he pulled it back fast, as if burned. The creature had no manhood, but instead, the head of a large toad-like thing grew from his loins, its tongue lolling out obscenely, probing the demon’s rippling thighs. And all sprouted great leathery wings from their backs, rising up and curving forward, making the creatures look even taller than they were.

A fourth emerged from the darkness to join his brethren. And I watched in horror as I saw that it was dragging the body of a man behind it, held firmly about the ankle in its claws. It was the soldier Snook, Fludd’s last companion, the man that d’Artagnan had killed. While the dog-headed demon pinned the corpse down, sinking its leg talons into poor Snook’s chest, the bearer proceeded to twist and crack the man’s leg at the hip joint like a glutton tearing a drumstick from a capon. The rending noise was enough send me a step back—I was too stunned to do a thing.

The largest of the demons, its enormous nose quivering, just stood there at the thin white line. It regarded us, openly curious and disdainful, then slowly crossed its arms as if resigned to a wait. Such a human pose was more than chilling; it told me that these things could think as men could. And then it spoke. With a voice that sounded strangled as if it was never meant to speak the tongues of men, the creature said: “Come out.”

Its companions were tearing into the corpse now, rending arms and legs and ripping chunks of flesh with beaks and fangs. Behind me erupted a cry of defiance and Billy pushed past. And I watched as he threw a tremendous sword cut straight from the shoulder, aimed at the neck of the demon who stood an inch from the circle. I saw its arms shoot out but Billy’s blow came faster than it could react. With a dull thump, I saw the creature’s head fall to the side, nearly severed. A fount of black blood shot up, Billy’s sword hissing loudly as the liquid ran down the blade. And the demon fell back and collapsed among its brethren. The horde sprang up almost as one, roaring in fury at the sight of one their own somehow slain.

“And
that’s
for what your little friend did in Exeter, you bastard!” Billy shouted, swinging his sword in front of him and daring the others to have a go.

“Huzzah!” said Ashmole in a hushed tone.

Da Silva pushed through, shaking. “Please, all of you, stay in the middle of the circle! More of the creatures are appearing!” As soon as the demons caught sight of the Pentacle of Solomon on da Silva’s chest, they ceased their clamour and moved back, leery of the rabbi. Perhaps some memory of a previous encounter with a conjuror had come back into their hate-filled brains. Billy’s victim was fast disappearing, melting in a puddle of steaming black corruption, but the sound of beating wings, low and slow, grew louder around us.

“Colonel!” D’Artagnan pointed to the black dogs, which were cautiously on the move again. Still some distance from the circle, but moving around to where the other hellspawn had assembled. And so too, I could feel the ground beneath me tremble as footfalls sounded, a horde of creatures moving fast from the park beyond. A loud thrashing noise sounded to my right; a huge demon landed just outside the circle, its knees bent in a crouch. Slowly, it stood and rose to full height, wings folding behind it. It had a face like a lion but with great ram horns, and a long tail that thrashed away behind it, cracking the air. A pair of hag’s breasts hung from its hairy chest and it raised its arms as it bellowed its displeasure at finding the protective circle.

Billy was taunting them all now. It was as if by screaming at them he was purging himself of all that he had believed before. Now he knew hell did exist. He stamped again, swung his sword around his head, and before I could reach him, I saw his foot fall outside the circle. Even as I cried out a warning, I watched as one of the demons seized Billy’s ankle and pulled him out as easily as if he had been a child. And then I was outside the circle too, landing a downright blow to the creature’s arm. D’Artagnan gave a cry behind me and followed. Ashmole’s pistols exploded into action; he must have been firing at the hellhounds. I was swinging like a madman, whirling to keep them off, as were Billy and d’Artagnan. A clawed hand raked the front of my thick leather buff coat, ripping it like taffeta.

But the blessed silver swords were biting and I saw the creatures hesitate when they caught sight of the Tetragrammaton on our breasts. So too, there appeared to be some surprise that our weapons could do them hurt. There was some small hesitation from them now, maybe enough to give us a fighting chance. A great bat-like thing tackled d’Artagnan from above, the two of them tumbling to the earth. The Frenchman sprang up and severed the demon’s wings from its back, a horrible screech coming from the creature. I pushed Billy back into the circle and yelled for d’Artagnan. A black dog was loping towards him now and if it had not been for a demon landing between him and the beast, he would have surely been in its jaws.

Something hit me from behind, knocking me to my knees, and I instinctively rolled to the side, raising my blade up to shield myself. An ape-faced demon stood over me, grinning, then fell on me, trying to wrench the sword from my grasp while using its other hand to try and claw my face. I think I was roaring just like the creatures, a mix of fear and desperation. I glimpsed Billy again, saw his blade descend, and the creature screamed and stumbled off of me.

“Get back into the circle!” cried Ashmole, letting off his pistol again at a black dog. This hound must have been hit several times by now for it was hunched over and moving slowly, spit pouring from its mouth, eyes rolling up in pain. But then I saw it catch sight of d’Artagnan, and some new power must have driven it forward, intent on its victim. The musketeer was almost at the edge of the circle when the thing leapt a full ten feet and knocked him down with its shoulder. As I ran to him, I heard d’Artagnan scream as the hound took his leg in its great jaws. I plunged my blade into the hellhound’s side, a great overpowering stench rising from the beast. I felt the blade slide in as if it was slicing a pudding. The hissing of the silver as it singed the creature’s wet fur was like some angel’s cry. I yelled as I drew it out and thrust it into the wound again. A great howl went up from the dog; I could feel the vibration through my blade as the beast shuddered.

Now free, d’Artagnan crawled, nearly enveloped in the unnatural fog, until Billy grabbed him and pulled him back into the circle. The hound turned on me and lunged with its long neck. I twisted away behind its tail but a cloud of its hot fetid breath enveloped me, and I gagged. Something sprang into vision on my left side. A long-eared creature with a pig’s snout and yellow tusks was already reaching for me. In the same instant, I heard a report and saw the creature’s head jerk to one side, steam and black blood shooting from the wound. It placed a claw to its head and gave a strange cry like a baby. The hellhound sent it sprawling as it whirled around to grab me.

I dived for the safety of the magic circle and rolled inside, just as the black dog, roaring with pain and dripping gore, rose up on its hind legs and reached the invisible wall. It was a hellish scene inside our sanctuary. Ashmole was furiously stabbing his ramrod into a pistol, ranting to himself as he reloaded. D’Artagnan lay screaming in agony, arms sprawled in the thin grass while Billy tried to hold his leg to wrap it in a sleeve he had ripped from the musketeer’s doublet. And the look of unbelieving shock on poor Isabel’s face cut me to the heart. She still clasped Maggie tightly in her arms, giving comfort and trying to draw out some for herself. But I could not see Maggie’s face, pressed as it was into Isabel’s bosom. Only Roderigo da Silva stood unbowed. He faced the horde of Andras’s minions, the very cutting prow of our symbolic little ship, praying loudly as if in song.

And they jeered at him, snarled at him, and rent the air with their claws. I saw one turn and bare his arse. But not one dared violate the circle and the Great Pentacle of Solomon. In spite of all their abominable strength and howling rage, they still feared the power that lay behind it. Yet, here we were and there they were—at least a dozen of them, capering and watching us with hungry eyes.

“How bad is he?” I leaned over Billy’s shoulder as the Dorsetman finished knotting the scrap of fabric around d’Artagnan’s leg.

“His calf is bloody mincemeat,” said Billy. “And he has passed out from the pain. Guess that’s lucky for him.” He looked up at me. “We’re fucking trapped in here, aren’t we?”

“It’s stalemate,” Ashmole said quietly. He hefted his freshly loaded pistols and looked out into the demon horde.

And that’s when it struck me. I swore aloud despite the fact that we were hanging by one thin holy thread of prayer. I was a soldier. Gideon Fludd was a soldier. His very absence should have told me what he was up to.

“He’s outflanked us,” I said.

“What do you mean?” said Ashmole.

“He’s bottled us up here while he is making his way to Cromwell. I’d wager my life on it.”

“Wager?” Billy chuckled darkly. “We’ve got no more credit, Mister Eff.”

Isabel was still rocking the bundle of ragged clothes that was Maggie. I knelt down next to them and gently pulled Maggie’s shoulder so that I could see her face. I leaned in towards her, whispering her name. Her eyes were open, and looking into mine, but she was looking through me. She was not seeing me. She was not seeing anything around her. Whatever horrors she had glimpsed in the last day and night had robbed her of all sense and speech. I cupped her cheek with my hand.

“Maggie, come back to me.”

But there was nothing from her. She stared on, motionless. Her flesh was chill to my touch. Isabel was watching me, her large dark eyes glistening with tears. Slowly, she gathered Maggie up again and pulled her close.