Gabriel's Clock

by Hilton Pashley

  Jonathan turned to look at his friend and nodded. “We’re going to get Belial, aren’t we?”

  “Hell, yes!” said Grimm. “We are now officially at war. Belial will rue the day he took on this village.”

  “But how do you fight an archdemon?” Jonathan asked.

  “You’ve not seen what I can do with a cricket bat,” said Grimm. “Now, we all need to get back to the vicarage. We need to decide what to do next.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to Jonathan. “The Corvidae must have been watching Gabriel. They knew what he was doing—building a key to get me into Heaven. That’s why they took him, isn’t it? Do you think they were waiting for him to finish it so they could take it?”

  Grimm scanned the room. “I don’t know, Jonathan. But if they have got the clock, then they’ll also need Gabriel to show them how to use it, and that is something he’s not going to do, not without a fight.”

  “And if they didn’t find the clock?”

  “Then they’ll use Gabriel as a hostage to get us to hand it—and you—over to them, and that’s not going to happen either.”

  “You won’t truly hand me over to Belial, will you?”

  Grimm kneeled down in front of Jonathan, still dwarfing him with his bulk. “We’re a family here in Hobbes End,” he said. “We look after each other, and, by God, I’ll breathe my last before I stand by and let some maniac archdemon hurt my family. I swear it, lad.”

  Jonathan nodded and gave Grimm a hug, his arms not even coming close to reaching round his barrel chest.

  “We good?” asked Grimm.

  Jonathan nodded.

  “Then let’s get back to the vicarage. It’s time we got ready to fight, and I have Isobel ready and waiting in the garage.”

  “Isobel?” asked Jonathan.

  “My cricket bat,” said Grimm. “She’s a beauty, and she’s itching to kick some Corvidae butt.”

  Jonathan smiled in spite of himself. As long as he had Grimm and Ignatius, Cay and Elgar, Monty and Stubbs, he was not alone. He had family.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Well done, Rook,” said Belial. “Put him in that chair, then tie him up.”

  Gabriel gave a low moan.

  “Ah, our guest appears to be awake,” said Belial, walking over to where the angel sat slumped. He bent over and grasped Gabriel’s chin, roughly raising his head. “Now, old man,” he hissed, “not only is your grandson of great interest, but Rook tells me you’ve built a clock that gives direct access to Heaven itself.”

  Gabriel glared at Belial but said nothing.

  “Where have you hidden your clock? Rook mumbled something about a desert and a disappearing door.”

  “I built that clock to keep my grandson safe,” said Gabriel. “I would die before I handed it over to you. I may have left Heaven, but I will not betray it by letting you march your armies in through a back door.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” said Belial. “I’m well aware that you would cease breathing before you did that. So I’m going to give you a little nudge.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll see.” Belial grinned. “Oh, just so you know, your son wasn’t very cooperative. We had to hurt him rather badly before he gave us the information we needed.”

  “Where is Darriel? Where is my son?” asked Gabriel, his face grim.

  “Oh, we left his mangled body on the steps of Heaven as an example of what happens to those who oppose me.”

  “Damn you!” Gabriel spat.

  “Anyhow,” Belial continued, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked how my servants can enter and leave your precious village without lighting up like Roman candles.”

  Gabriel’s eyes betrayed his curiosity. “How?” he asked.

  Belial’s shoulders heaved up and down as he gave a deep, rasping laugh. “Let’s just say that your fall from grace had unforeseen consequences. Now, for the last time, will you be a good angel and tell me where you’ve hidden your clock?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” said Belial. “Well, you seem rather fond of that little girl. Cay, isn’t it . . . ?”

  Gabriel stared in horror.

  “Yes, it’s what’s called an incentive to cooperate,” said Belial. “Tomorrow afternoon, Rook, Raven, and Crow are going to pay Hobbes End a final visit. Once they return I think you’ll feel far more obliging. You’ll be begging your grandson to go fetch your clock from wherever you’ve hidden it and ask him to bring it to me himself.”

  “No!” screamed Gabriel, thrashing against the rope that tied him to the chair. “You hurt Cay and you’ll burn! You hear me? BURN!”

  “Oh, scary!” mocked Belial. “Will the big, bad archangel manifest his wings and punish me for my impudence?” He watched as Gabriel struggled in vain to free himself. “I thought not! Take him away, Crow.”

  Ignoring the screaming angel as he was dragged from the room still tied to the chair, Belial gazed out the window and into the dark.

  “What do we do about those gargoyles?” asked Raven.

  “Oh, yes,” said Belial mockingly. “Your little friends. I wouldn’t worry too much about them. They’re just constructs and rather rudimentary ones from the sound of it. After that incident at the lake they’ll need time to recharge. Until then they’ll be useless.” Raven snorted her contempt.

  “I suggest you go get some rest,” said Belial, a terrible smile crawling its way across the mottled skin of his face. “We have a very busy day tomorrow, a very busy day indeed.”

  Chapter 15

  THE BATTLE OF HOBBES END

  Early the following morning, Jonathan and Elgar sat in the vicarage kitchen having tea and toast. The cat could see Jonathan was desperately unhappy after Gabriel’s abduction and tried to cheer him up.

  “What do you call someone who’s half angel, half demon?” he asked. “A dangel? An aemon?”

  Jonathan smiled wearily and scratched Elgar behind the ears. “I don’t know, cat,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to invent something.”

  “I quite like dangel,” said Elgar.

  Jonathan fell silent again.

  “We’ll find a way to rescue Gabriel and your dad. You’ll see,” said Elgar.

  “I hope so,” said Jonathan. “I really hope so.”

  Ignatius stuck his head round the kitchen door. He looked exhausted. “I spent all night going through the journals of my predecessors to see if I can find out how the Corvidae are getting into the village, but it’s taking longer than I thought. I can’t think of any way to assist Gabriel until Belial lets his demands be known, so would you come and give me a hand?”

  Glad to be able to do something to help, Jonathan and Elgar followed Ignatius into his study. There were easy chairs positioned on either side of the fireplace, and between them a low table supported a chessboard on which a half-played game waited to be finished. There was a gilt-edged mirror hanging on the chimney breast, a walnut roll-top desk set against one wall, and a glass-fronted bookcase in the far corner. The bookcase was open, and a pile of leather-bound journals lay on the floor.

  “How far back do they go?” asked Jonathan.

  “The seventeenth century,” said Ignatius. “Augustus Crumb’s is the first one, although he can get a bit excitable. Then again, he was still getting used to having had an angel crash-land outside his house!”

  “Any idea what we’re looking for?”

  Ignatius frowned. “Not really,” he said. “Just anything that relates to the village defenses and how they could be breached. Right, there are just three journals left. Jonathan, would you have a look through Frederick’s? He was my great-grandfather. I’ll look through Sebastian’s—he was my grandfather. And Elgar, you—”

  “Sit here and supervise Jonathan,” said the cat, waving his paws in the air. “How can I turn the pages without opposable thumbs?”

  Ignatius rolled his eyes but decided it was pointless trying to argue. “Then I shall leave my father’s journal
till later,” he sighed.

  For the rest of the morning Jonathan pored over page after page of notes, diary entries, anecdotes, and strange doodles. The journals were fascinating, though, and Jonathan wished he had more time to spend getting to know this new world through these thoughts of the men who had guarded it since Gabriel fell; he promised himself that when this was all over he would do just that.

  He flicked over a page near the back of Frederick’s journal and with wide eyes saw a series of diagrams that looked very familiar indeed.

  “Is this Monty and Stubbs?” he asked, holding the pages out for Ignatius to see.

  “Oh, yes! I’m so used to them, I forgot they’re a relatively recent addition. My great-grandfather was a bit of a scientist, and he loved the idea of having animated gargoyles keeping an eye on things if he wasn’t around. So, after much experimentation, and with a little help from Gabriel, the boys arrived.”

  “And what joy they have brought to our lives.” Elgar sighed.

  “You’re just jealous that you can’t fly,” said Ignatius.

  “Well, yes, to be honest,” said the cat.

  “I bet Frederick was proud of them,” said Jonathan.

  “He was,” said Ignatius. “So proud, he started working on something even bigger and got a bit careless. One explosion later and the east side of the vicarage, along with most of Frederick, ended up adorning the west side of the church—he had a very small coffin at his funeral. Still, in Monty and Stubbs, old Fred left us a legacy that helped save Cay, so respect is due. Unfortunately I’d forgotten how much rest the boys need after exerting themselves like that. They’ll be fast asleep just when we could really use them to keep an eye out for anything in a bowler hat.” He shut Frederick’s journal, sighed heavily, and looked out the window. “Sometimes it’s a tough job looking after this village.”

  “Has someone in your family always been the vicar of Hobbes End?” asked Jonathan.

  Ignatius nodded. “Ever since Augustus Crumb waded into the boiling water of the village pond and dragged Gabriel to safety. He was a brave one, Augustus. Everyone else just ran away, frightened out of their wits, but not him. He knew an angel when he saw one. There was an unforeseen bonus, though.”

  “What was that?”

  “Well, with all that divine power flowing out of Gabriel and into the pond, Augustus absorbed some of it too. Since then, all the vicars of Hobbes End have had an affinity with the village. Just like Gabriel, we can feel when the village is happy or upset. It’s not like a conversation, more like these really strong images that suddenly pop up in your head. It’s how I knew that Cay was in danger at the lake, and that Gabriel had been attacked.” Ignatius sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Since Augustus, both the position of vicar and the power that goes with it followed father to son, right up to the present day. It ends with me, though; I don’t know who comes next.”

  He bowed his head, and Jonathan knew what he was referring to. “I’m sorry about what happened to your wife and son,” he said softly.

  Ignatius nodded and gave Jonathan a sad smile. “Thank you,” he said. “And I’m so very sorry about what’s happening to your family right now, Jonathan. We will find a way to defeat Belial, I promise you. Okay, let’s clear these away and have a cup of tea.”

  As Ignatius began placing the journals back in the bookcase, Jonathan caught sight of a long mahogany box tucked away on the bottom shelf.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Ignatius looked at the box and smiled. “That,” he said, “is my fencing rapier. The father of an old school friend of mine is a superb weaponsmith, and he made the sword for me when I became vicar. I have an overwhelming desire to stick it into one of the Corvidae!”

  “Would that hurt them? They’re demons.”

  “They may be demons, Jonathan, but they can still bleed, and they can still die. They can’t stop the village lending me the strength and speed to do what’s needed. Another perk of being vicar!”

  Jonathan smiled. “How about Grimm? Does he get any special powers because he was born here?”

  Ignatius chuckled. “I have absolutely no idea. Then again, I’m not sure he would need any. He was born a warrior. Right. To the kitchen.”

  Jonathan nodded and turned to leave. As he did so, he noticed an uncharacteristic bulge behind the breast pocket of Ignatius’s jacket. “What’s that?” he asked.

  Ignatius twitched his lapel aside to reveal an ancient leather shoulder holster. Inside it was the blue-gray steel of a pistol. “It’s my grandfather Sebastian’s old army revolver,” he explained. “I’m not a fan of firearms myself, but right now we need all the help we can get.”

  “Are you a good shot?”

  “Very,” said Ignatius. “Although I’m better with my rapier.”

  Jonathan’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “I know,” said Ignatius, almost embarrassed. “Vicars are supposed to be all bookish and dull, not run around fighting evil with a Toledo-steel rapier and a forty-five caliber Webley revolver.”

  Jonathan smiled. There was far more to the vicar of Hobbes End than he’d realized. “I don’t think you’re dull or bookish,” he said. “Thank you for protecting me.”

  Ignatius gave Jonathan a shy grin. “It’s what I do,” he said.

  Jonathan surprised Ignatius by stepping back into the room and hugging him, just as he had Grimm the previous day. “When this is all over, when we’ve found Gabriel and Mom and Dad, can I live here in the village with them?” he asked.

  Ignatius paused, a lump in his throat. He looked at the small, silver-framed photograph of his wife and son that sat on a corner of his desk. “I’d like that, Jonathan,” he replied. “I’d like that very much. Now, let’s have a cup of tea and I’ll walk you over to see Cay. I’ll go through my father’s journal later.”

  The sun hung low in the sky when the attack began. Leaving the black Rolls-Royce at the entrance to Hobbes End, Rook, Raven, and Crow marched along the forest road. They could sense the village looking for them, but they didn’t care.

  Rook turned to his sister. “How are the injuries to your shoulder?” he asked.

  “I’ll survive. I always do.”

  Crow grunted in admiration but said nothing; he loped alongside his siblings, his hulking frame stooped to the point that his knuckles almost touched the ground.

  “That temper of yours will be your undoing, sister dear,” chided Rook. “Keep yourself focused on the job at hand.”

  “Concentrate on your own job, brother dear,” said Raven, her voice caustic. “Unless you want me to show you how it’s done?”

  Knowing what was at stake, Rook decided not to rise to the bait. Failure was not an option. They continued their journey in silence; in front of them lay Hobbes End, and it was completely defenseless.

  Dressed in his usual shirt and suspenders, Grimm stood in the vicarage garden and took a practice swing with his cricket bat.

  “I’ve had this since I was at school.” He sighed happily. “I named it Isobel, after my first girlfriend.”

  “You are so odd sometimes, Grimm,” said Elgar.

  “I think she needs more linseed oil, though. The wood’s starting to dry out.” He took another swing, unaware that Rook was standing atop the garden wall. The demon was just a silhouette against the sun, all bowler hat and razor-sharp talons.

  “Hello, cat,” hissed Rook, his empty face staring at Elgar.

  “Ahh! Grimm!” shouted Elgar, diving into the shrubbery.

  Unfazed by the sudden appearance of the demon, Grimm turned to face him. “Nice hat!” he said calmly. “Mind if I add it to my collection?”

  “You can try,” said Rook, jumping from the wall. “But you’ll probably end up dead. Everybody else has!”

  “Well, aren’t you the big man?” said Grimm, letting Isobel drop to the grass. “Take your best shot.”

  Rook snorted, then with incredible speed leaped at Grimm. Elgar put his paws over his eyes, sure
that his friend was going to be torn to pieces, but Grimm stayed motionless, stoically ignoring Rook and his threats. There was retribution to be handed out, and he was just the man to do it. The second before Rook’s talons touched his shirt, Grimm braced himself on his back foot and delivered a punch to the demon’s face that would have floored an elephant.

  “That’s for Jonathan!” shouted Grimm, before delivering another punch, an uppercut that lifted Rook completely off his feet and sent him reeling across the lawn. “And that’s for Cay!”

  The demon’s bowler hat flew off as he landed in a surprised heap near the shrubbery.

  “You dare!” shrieked Rook, struggling to his feet.

  “Oh, I dare all right,” said Grimm, picking up the fallen hat and placing it on his head. “I’ve been wanting a private chat with you.” Retrieving Isobel, he took another practice swing. “Excellent balance,” he said. “You’ll do nicely, my lovely.” He turned back to the dazed Rook and smiled. “Right, then. Where were we?”

  Isobel at the ready, he launched himself at the demon . . .

  Ignatius sat at his writing desk studying his father’s journal. He’d barely begun reading when a prickling at the back of his neck signaled that something was wrong. Jumping to his feet, he looked over his shoulder just as the study window erupted in a shower of wood and glass. Crouched on the ruined sill was Raven, her long black hair streaming out from beneath her bowler hat.

  “Reverend Crumb, I presume?” she hissed.

  “Unfortunately for you, yes,” replied Ignatius. His movements a blur, he drew, aimed, and fired his grandfather’s old army revolver.

  The bullet struck Raven in her left shoulder and tore through the wound already inflicted by Cay’s father—the impact knocking her out the window and onto the front lawn. Incredibly, her hat stayed on.

  Ignatius sighed and looked at the pistol in his hand, a thin curl of smoke trickling from the end of the barrel. “I’ll finish this the gentleman’s way, I think,” he said, tucking the revolver back into the shoulder holster under his jacket. Squatting in front of his bookcase, he slid out the long mahogany box, flipped the catches at each end, and opened the lid to reveal a rapier forged from the finest Toledo steel and wrapped in red velvet.