Ulysses could see that they were carrying something between them, something that was almost invisible against the twilight sky, but something which each of them had a hand upon as they hauled it up after them. He took in the rest of the transept above him and saw more figures doing the same on two outer sides of the transept. Some had already reached the top now, running along the walls, drawing the net over the apex of the ruin, so that soon the only side not covered was that which opened onto the main body of the church. But give them long enough, Ulysses thought, and they would probably have that covered too.
Where had they got the net from, he wondered, and then realised that it was probably the same net they used to ensure the safety of the high-wire and trapeze artists in the Big Top.
A few moments more and the acrobats of the Circus of Wonders would have the beast trapped within the ruins. What Ulysses needed to do now was keep the chimera there long enough for the circus folk to bring their plan to fruition.
"What's the matter, Umbridge?" Ulysses shouted at the inhuman monster. "Are you scared? Is this all that the world can expect from homo superior? What's the matter, did I hurt you?"
His words resounded around the cold dead vault of the Abbey, as did the monster's bellowed response.
"Quuiiick-siiill-veerrr!" it snarled, the name of its nemesis becoming a howl of bloodthirsty intent. The creature began to descend the pillar.
"I must be mad," Ulysses said to himself, seeing the monstrosity bearing down on him, its four remaining arms open wide, ready to seize him in its deadly, crushing embrace.
"Yes, I am mad!" he decided, shouting the fact to the world, as he felt the adrenalin quicken the blood in his veins, his pulse thrumming in his ears, nerves tingling, muscles tightening. "In fact I'm utterly furious!' he raged at the beast. 'Because that's my arm you've got there!"
With a roar the creature leapt the last ten feet, aiming to crush Ulysses beneath its spider-crab legs. But Ulysses was too quick for it. Spinning out of the creature's way, his blade scored a cut across its crocodilian midriff. It was not enough to debilitate the vivisect, but it was enough to keep its attention as the circus folk swarmed overhead, pulling their net to the limit of the chancel.
Turning again to deliver a two-handed strike at one of the crustacean limbs, Ulysses saw two of the scrambling figures take a run up and, the edge of the net in their hands, take a leap of faith that reminded him of his own death-defying leap from the top of the Bakerloo Line train as it sped on its way over Trafalgar Square. They fell gracefully through the air in an arcing curve, the cords of the net making a whizzing sound as they were pulled sharply over the broken mortar and weathered stones at the top of the tower.
Momentarily distracted by the acrobats bold act of circus fearlessness, Ulysses only just brought his blade to bear in time as the vivisect stamped down with one stabbing claw-foot and swung at him with its scything talon at the same time. He parried the swipe whilst dodging the claw, but that put him on the wrong foot and left him vulnerable to the sudden tail-lash that came his way.
Ulysses was sent flying into the rough stones of the transept wall, adding another graze to his already cut face. For someone who was so proud of his good looks, he wasn't looking so good anymore. But the injury was nothing more than a superficial abrasion of the cheek and so, with his wits still about him, Ulysses double-bluffed the creature, running straight for it as it cantered towards him, so that it mistimed its next strike as the dandy threw himself under its crocodilian underbelly.
Rolling over on the turf he leapt to his feet again and let out a gasp of surprise as he almost ran slap-bang into the elephantine freak.
"You!" was all he could manage. But it was all he needed to say.
Jacob stared back at him with open, apologetic eyes.
"You brought back-up!" Ulysses suddenly laughed. The boy was no coward after all, and here he was again, ready to do his part.
The Umbridge-chimera turned, the old man's head swaying on its grotesquely elongated neck, frantically searching for its prey. And then its savage gaze - any semblance of humanity gone from those feral eyes now - found them both and a guttural screech issued from somewhere deep inside its Seziermesser-made chest.
"Help! Somebody?" came a distraught wail from above them. "I'm up here!" Ulysses did not dare take his eyes off the beast again, not for a moment. But then he didn't need to; he knew who the voice belonged to and where the desperate pleas were coming from. It was none other than his poor, traumatised Jenny.
"Jacob," Ulysses said, addressing the deformed young man by his name for the first time since they had met. He spoke with a clarity of mind and purpose, as the chimera took a rhythmic, many-legged step towards them; there wasn't time for any misunderstandings or mistakes. "Get Jenny down and get her out of here!"
The boy didn't need telling twice. "Yes, sir!"
And then he was gone from Ulysses' side as the acrobats landed behind him and closed the net on both the vivisect and the desperate dandy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gods & Monsters
"This way!" Jacob called over the furious berserker screams of the cornered beast. Taking the young woman's hand in his - her long, delicate fingers swamped by his fat, misshapen paw - he made for the cleft in the chancel wall, pulling Jenny after him.
Leaving the desecrated sanctuary of the Abbey, the still standing north wall of the nave to their left, Jenny and the wretched young man stumbled over the undulating turf, past unearthed Saxon tombstones, past the arch of the west door and through the visitor's turnstile, making for the crenulated nave and tower of another church - the parish church of St Mary's.
Their feet pounding over cobbles now, they could both hear the bellows of the beast reverberating from the broken columns of the ruin behind them, the raised voices of the circus folk as they relayed instructions backwards and forwards between themselves, the disorganised shouts of the policemen and the visiting inspector.
Then they were through another gate, pounding down a flagstone path that ran between serried ranks of stone crosses and headstones, the solid walls of the church of St Mary's and the sanctuary they offered directly in front of them.
And now a new and terrible sound reached their ears, a shrill half-human scream of rage, pain and will-shattering insanity, that turned the blood in Jenny's veins to ice-water.
Then a part of her realised what the sound signified. The Umbridge-chimera had discovered that its mate-to-be had been stolen away, and it was angry; angry like they had never seen it before.
Shots were fired. People cried out and there was an ominous tearing sound, as of ropes being ripped apart.
"It's coming!" she spluttered, allowing Jacob to pull her towards the church door.
Jacob fumbled clumsily at the latch until the door creaked open and they tumbled down the cold stone steps into the church.
"What is the meaning of this?" a grim voice demanded. Jenny looked up, wincing as her eyes adjusted to the dusty, candle-pierced gloom of the church. The instantly recognisable smell of musty hymnals, burnt beeswax and cold stone hit her full in the face, mixed, in this place, with the stale aroma of the fishy faithful.
"I demand to know the meaning of this intrusion."
A figure wearing the severe black cassock of a priest was watching them from the steps leading up to the sanctuary, a dully gleaming metal cross hanging around his neck, smoking taper in hand. He was an austere man, standing as straight as one of the pillars supporting the church roof. The wisps of grey hair that tufted the sides of his head only served to make him appear even more sinister. He looked down his nose at the two bloodied and filthy creatures that had fallen through the church door, regarding them through severe wire-framed spectacles.
On seeing the priest, the exhausted Jacob assumed a fawning stance, the boy casting his eyes down at the stone flags as he approached the vicar, as might a sinful petitioner seeking absolution.
"I am sorry, Father, but we have come seeking t
he sanctuary of God's holy church. For we are in danger - terrible danger."
The austere priest descended the steps from the sanctuary, the slow, deliberate manner of his approach only enhancing the menacing atmosphere, and making Jenny feel more unwelcome by the second. The vicar was scowling, the corner of his top lip flexed upward in a sneer.
Too exhausted to do anything else, Jenny lay where she had fallen, taking in her surroundings with weary, aching eyes, the cold stones leeching what little warmth was left in her body.
The smell of the place might be familiar to Jenny, but the interior layout of the church was not. Everything about it suggested that the original building had since been modified and refurnished by generations of parishioners, giving this particular place of worship a remarkable and entirely idiosyncratic appearance.
The interior was a hotchpotch of styles and eras. As well as box pews there was an incredible pulpit that ascended through three distinct levels. Behind the pulpit, and astride the chancel arch, a large gallery ran around the walls, supported by twisted columns. There was even what appeared to be a charcoal stove in the middle of the church, its flue rising to the ceiling.
And through the chancel arch could be found the candle-lit sanctuary - that seemed more like a side chapel in its size and design. The painted panes of a stained glass window were already colouring the sanctuary floor with muted tones as the firmament beyond began to lighten in anticipation of the coming dawn.
"Where have you been?" the priest demanded of Jacob, coming to a halt in front of him.
Jacob was practically on his knees now.
"Father, I will explain everything later, but first, lock the door, I beseech you."
Jenny saw the heavy ring of keys at the priest's belt, that jangled together as he moved.
"Have you been out all night?" The priest's tone was cold, like a strict parent chastising a miscreant child. But that was the way of priests the world over, Jenny thought.
Father: it was a term of respect, an honorific. But as Jenny looked from the freak to the priest there was something darkly similar about the two of them.
"Father," Jacob pleading, his voice sounding as though he was close to tears, "please lock the door. There is something after us, an abomination straight from the darkest pits of hell."
"You do not need to lecture me on abominations," the man said making no attempt to hide the spite belying his words.
"Please father. Lock the door. Before it's too late."
Jacob's blubbering plea had barely left his lips when, with a crash that shook the building like an earthquake, the door flew open.
For a moment it almost looked like Josiah Umbridge had regained his natural, human form, as his face peered around the edge of the door, as if he had come to the church seeking absolution. Umbridge stopped, sniffing the air sharply, and then slowly his head turned and his unblinking gaze fell on Jenny. Blood ran from a head-wound obscuring the vision of one bloodshot eye and as Jenny watched in horror, too tired to do anything else, a cruel smile curled the old man's mouth. As his lips parted, the points of arrow-tip teeth became visible.
"Jeenn-eeee!" the creature exhaled.
And then all she could hear was the thudding of her heart within her chest; all she could see was the old man's hideous face as it extended into the church on the end of that horrific, vertebrae-ridged neck.
But somehow she found the means to move again, pushing herself backwards on her bottom, using her hands and heels to put herself out of the reach of the monstrosity.
"Miss Jennifer! Run!"
She felt Jacob's hand grab hold of hers, felt him pulling her further out of harm's way. Without being fully aware of what she was doing, the animal instinct to survive seizing hold, she scrambled to her feet and stumbled after her malformed saviour.
Accompanied by the wet crack of wood, and the scraping clatter of crustacean claws, the Umbridge-chimera pulled itself through the door and into the church.
The Reverend Nathaniel Creed stared at the abomination in abject horror. What unholy visitation had his monster of a son summoned from the depths of hell? What new atrocity was this that had been sent to test him?
They had as king over them the angel of the Abyss, whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon.
Was this the living embodiment of God's judgement that came to claim the souls of those who had sinned in his eyes? Had the day of doom come at last, and with it an end to his own hell-on-earth existence?
How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?
A cacophony of splintering pews, tumbling candelabra and scraped stone filled the church, the acoustics of the nave amplifying the hellish roars and bellows of the dread beast bearing down on him as the usurper of his life and his whore fled through the vestry door. The creature cast shattered pews before it, crushing them to matchwood beneath its impossibly large body.
And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. He had ten horns and seven heads, and on each head a blasphemous name. The beast I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion.
And then the blasphemy was swaying there before him, a huge shark-like tail lashing the air angrily behind it.
The creature peered down at Creed from its lofty position and the tormented priest responded in the only way he knew how.
"Begone, Satan!" the Reverend Creed roared, with all the conviction of his best fire and brimstone preaching voice.
For a moment the abomination paused, cocking its head to one side as it regarded the priest, an almost quizzical look in its inhuman eyes. A breathless snorting noise escaping its flaring nostrils as its patchwork-flesh chest heaved. The stink that came off the beast - of blood and rot and death - could only be described as hellish.
The thing raised its multitude of limbs - one scythe-like claw held high above its head, some vile secretion oozing from the stump of another abominable limb - and the Reverend Creed knew that his time had come.
As the talon descended, Creed took a stumbling step backwards, the natural instinct for survival hard to deny. The tip of the claw caught the cloth of his cassock as he went down hard on his back, the lighted taper falling from his hands, the cast-iron candlestick beside him crashing to the floor, spilling hot wax across the stone flags and trailing fire.
The monster loomed over him, its hideous form a dark stain against the backdrop of the white-emulsion ceiling above, an evil shadow blocking out God's light. The musty, oily stink of its heaving flanks was hot in his nose and made him want to gag.
A human head supported on an elongated, snake-like neck descended, jaws dislocating as the mouth of hell itself yawned open.
Nathaniel Creed closed his eyes; his longed for end had come. The Lord God had seen fit to send his angel of death to take him from this world. And if he were to reside in hell for all eternity, then so be it; it could not be any worse than the living hell he had put himself through these last seventeen years.
Seventeen years since the boy's mother - the street girl whose path had first crossed his when she was barely past her eighteenth year, the same age the wretched boy was now - had turned up at his door again, the TB already too far gone for him to do anything for her other than hear her last confession, give her the last rites, and acknowledge the boy as his own, the result of his one transgression of the flesh.
He was dimly aware of a dull whommph and then he felt the fires of hell against his back.
Sudden scorching pain made Creed open his eyes. He found himself staring right into the gullet of the beast. But then, suddenly, the jaws snapped shut, mere inches from the end of his nose, and the blasphemy's old man's face recoiled. Creed could see the fires of hell reflected in the eyes of the demon now, and something else too. If he had not known better he would have named it terror. But what did an angel of the Abyss have to fear from a sinner like him?
Intense burning pain suddenly consumed him, and with it, the priest's ad
dled senses returned. Screaming in pain and panic, Creed leapt to his feet, but he was already too late. His cassock was alight.
Screeching in fear - yes, it was fear that he had seen in the old man's eyes - the monster retreated, all eight legs taking a step backwards as it shrank from the preacher.
Creed took an agonised, shuffling step forwards, arms outstretched towards the beast. "'The Lord your God is a jealous god!'" he screamed, as fire clawed its way up his body with flickering fingers, the hair on his head curling and blackening before the advance of the flames. "'The Lord revengeth, and is furious; the Lord will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserveth wrath for his enemies!'"
Creed's shambling steps became more urgent as the fire spread. Eyelids burned, melting flesh sealing them shut, his tongue cooking in his mouth, his voice nothing but incoherent screams now, and he half-ran and half-fell towards the beast, seeking its awful embrace.
And fire consumed his soul.
Free of the remnants of the net at last Ulysses pounded down the path to the church no more than a minute behind the beast.
He reached the sundered door to be greeted by a chorus of unholy screams, bestial roars, and the snarl of hungry flames, the church's stained glass lit up in a brilliant rainbow of flickering light from inside. Ulysses grabbed the splintered door jamb to arrest his flight and stop himself falling headfirst over the threshold, rapier blade still in hand, adrenalin and Seziermesser's cocktail of miracle-drugs numbing his broken fingers.
His own subconscious warning scream had Ulysses throwing himself aside, so that he saved himself from being trampled underfoot by the fleeing monster. Trailing the charcoal-stink of the church's burning furnishings behind it, back in the chill embrace of another dull November morning, the Umbridge-chimera raised its face to the sky, the gyrating head performing a peculiar cobra-dance of its own, and sniffed the air. Then with a triumphant howl it set off at a gallop, back across the churchyard.
Pax Britannia: Human Nature Page 26
