Wickedness

by Deborah White

  “My God, Jill, I can’t believe you didn’t call the doctor. Just look at her. Don’t you ever listen to the news? There’s been 60 cases of bird flu in London this last week. Supposing she had that? She could have been dead now. And please don’t tell me you were giving her any of your crackpot herbal remedies?”

  “Dad,” Claire said, her voice coming out all faint and whispery. “It’s okay. I’m all right. And Mum hasn’t given me anything, honestly.” Claire reached out to touch her dad’s arm, but her mum snatched at Clare’s hand, pulling it to her and squeezing it tight, saying, “And she isn’t dead. And I’m not stupid. It was a 24-hour gastric bug; that’s all. It’s been going round. She’s fine now. She’ll be up and jumping around in no time. You’re making too much fuss. Kids get sick all the time. And don’t you dare lecture me about taking care of my children. Not now.”

  Why does she have to be so horrid? thought Claire. I mean, she left him, didn’t she?

  Manuscript 4

  Now I see that as I looked down at Nefertaru’s mummy the Doctor bound me to him as he told me his secret, how he had come to find the spells and decipher them. For he said that men would willingly murder for such knowledge. That if anyone knew he had the spells and could decipher them, then his life would be in great danger. And I felt proud that a man such as Nicholas Robert Benedict would place his trust in the hands of a girl, not yet 14 years old. So I promised. I swore on my mother and father’s lives that no living soul would drag his secret from me. He said he was sure that I’d heard talk in my father’s shop of a lost book, The Hermetica.

  I had, for much had been made of it. How it contained the magical secrets of Thoth, Egyptian god of all knowledge. How any man finding it would be privy to those secrets and become supremely powerful. How he would be immortal and have control over all things in Nature. Every single plant or creature that lives on the Earth. A power not known to any human creature since Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden. But my father had called it skimble-skamble stuff, saying that if there was really such a book in existence, then surely someone would have found it. And having found it, would have used its power for good or ill.

  “That is true, Margrat,” said the Doctor. “If any man could be master of the universe, would he not be tempted?”

  “No!” I said, distressed at his words. “For only God is master of the universe and all things in it.”

  His face darkened, as if a cloud had scuttered across the moon. “What comfort is there in that, for the many who will soon die a cruel death from the plague? Do you truly believe that all those who suffer deserve it? Even babies, just as I was, innocent of wickedness, left all alone and crying piteously and uncared for, while their mothers and fathers lie dead beside them?”

  I could see that he was in the grip of some powerful emotion and watching his face contort with the pain of it left me shaken. But I answered as I had been taught. That it was not for us to know the ways of God. That there was a reason for everything. That it was blasphemy to question His will.

  He smiled. But it was a cold, dark smile. “Then it must have been God’s will that when travelling through the desert near Alexandria, I stumbled upon a stone tablet, carved with a text in three scripts: Greek, demotic and hieroglyphic. I was able to read the Greek and demotic scripts and I could see that they were both the same list, written by Egyptian priests, of all the good things the pharaoh had done for the people of Egypt.”

  “Was the text written in hieroglyphics the same list too? For if it was, then you might read it!” A spark of excitement was kindled in my breast at the thought of it.

  “How clever of you to see that, Margrat. But I needed to study it to be sure. Back at my lodgings in Alexandria, I set to work translating the hieroglyphics. It was to be a long time before I could manage even a little. But at last I gained mastery over it.”

  My hand flew up to my mouth.

  His eyes held mine. “And all the while I continued my other work; searching out the tombs of the Egyptian kings. Uncovering their treasures and sending them back to England to be put on show or sold. But then…” He took hold of my hand and, turning it palm up, kissed it.

  For a moment I forgot all about the stone tablet and thought only how the touch of his lips made me feel. A powerful and exciting emotion I had never felt before.

  “On the last day of November,” he continued, “I found, buried under the floor in Nefertaru’s tomb, a clay jar packed full of scrolls, each covered in hieroglyphics.”

  Nefertaru! The very mummy on show before us now.

  “I took the scrolls back to my lodgings and began work at once on their translation. Each scroll contained one part of what I soon came to believe, was The Hermetica. As I was able to read each spell, I grew more full of life and energy. I hardly needed to sleep. My aches and pains disappeared. My hair grew thick and dark again. My skin became unlined and smooth. And I have not yet unlocked the secrets of the 21st spell, which I believe to be the most powerful spell of all. The one, I hope, that will allow me to raise the dead. The spell that will not simply keep me youthful… but will make me immortal! Able to live for ever, as God does.” His hand squeezed mine so tightly that I cried out and tried to pull free of him. But he was too strong.

  I looked at him then in shock and awe. A man desiring to be God. The breathtaking arrogance of it made me tremble with fear and excitement.

  “But whoever had placed the scrolls in the tomb had put a curse on them. For as I worked on the scrolls, Sekhmet, the Egyptian goddess of pestilence, sent her plague-bearing messengers to find me. All around me, people began to fall ill and I fled from Egypt, carrying the scrolls in my leather bag. But the carriage I took from Chatham to London was set upon by thieves and the bag was taken. Now I did not have the scrolls, I was in mortal fear for my life.”

  A leather bag and full of scrolls! But what of the ring?

  “Then all is lost, sir,” I said, feeling a curious mixture of fear that I would be found out and excitement at the thought of it.

  “I feared that too, Margrat. When the scrolls were stolen from me and I could not recite them every day, I was afraid that I would die. I began to feel deathly tired. My face in the mirror looked sallow and lined. My hair began to streak with grey. But I knew the scrolls were somewhere in London. For the messengers of Sekhmet were still following the scrolls, bringing plague on their heels like a pack of unruly and savage dogs. When the plague reached London, I knew the scrolls must be nearby.”

  “Plague is nothing new,” I said quickly. “People have died of it and always will.”

  “But this time it is different, Margrat. Mark my words carefully. It has begun. The plague is already here and will become more virulent. Many will die, as they did in Alexandria. I cannot save them yet.”

  “You may die, too,” I said, dread and hope both rising in me at the thought of it. For though his words made me very afraid, unaccountably I still longed to be with him, stand close, breathe in his sweet smell and hear his voice.

  “Yes. I was mortally afraid,” he said. “So I went to every bookseller and dealer in the City… finding nothing until I came to your father’s shop.”

  I knew my skin was flushed a deep red.

  “Your father said I was in luck. A number of scrolls had come into his possession, just that very morning. He showed them to me. And they were my scrolls, still in my leather bag and so I bought them from him.”

  “And now that you have them, you may translate them all,” I said hurriedly, for his eyes were still fixed upon me.

  “Do not rejoice yet, Margrat. Remember, there is one spell, the 21st, that is still locked away where I cannot reach it. But I have the key now and I mean to use it.” He stroked my hair and let his hand fall to my neck and to the ring. The ring had been with the scrolls, but still he said nothing about that. I could not hold my tongue any longer. He must know now that I had stolen it.

  “And what of my ring?”

  His fac
e, for a fleeting moment, had the look of a lost soul shown a glimpse of Paradise. Then he said, “Ah yes, the ring is a powerful charm that will protect you from the plague. I confess: I took it from Nefertaru’s mummy… just as you surely took it out of my leather bag.”

  I raised my hands as if to untie the braid and give him back the ring, but he stopped me, saying, “No, you were meant to have it. I see that now.”

  But I could not help looking down at Nefertaru’s right hand. I shivered and he saw that I did.

  “Come, Margrat, she no longer has need of it. Be grateful I took it and you now have it and are protected from the plague. For until I have the 21st spell, I will not be able to raise the dead and lead them into Paradise. Create Heaven here on Earth, as I believe it was always meant to be. But once that power is mine, I will do it. And would that not be a wonderful thing?”

  The Doctor took my hand and led me out into the street. “Look around you, Margrat. Look carefully. What do you truly see?”

  To my horror, the hustle and bustle, energy and high spirits of London seemed nothing now but filth and smoke and noise. It was as if I had tumbled straight into the bowels of Hell.

  “There, do not be afraid.” The Doctor turned me to him, enfolded me in his cloak and held me close. “You are safe with me. You will be always.”

  His voice, soft as swansdown, heady and seductive as frankincense, mesmerising as the high, pure sound of a boy’s voice singing at Vespers. “Tell me, Margrat.” His voice ever more seductive. “Where is your God in all this? I tell you, if he exists, then he has abandoned his creation to the Devil… and all his priests.”

  Pressed in so close to him, I could hear his heart beat clear and sure and strong. Doubt crept into my soul silently, like a rat hiding in a cellar waiting till all is quiet and dark to move up into the body of the house and gnaw through its very fabric.

  I ran from it and from him, as fast as the rat runs from the dog. But I knew I could not outrun it, or him.

  When I arrived home I had quite forgotten that I had lied to my mother. Told her I had an errand to do for my father, so that I might go to see the mummy, Nefertaru at the Head and Combe Inn. But my mother had not forgotten. She demanded to know at once where I had been, for it seemed, she said, that my father knew nothing of any errand! Her temper was so foul she did not at first notice my distress.

  “I… have… been,” I said, struggling to catch my breath, “to see the mummy on show… at the Head and Combe.”

  “You bone-headed, idle…” She raised her hand to slap me.

  “Where I met… with the Doctor.”

  On the instant, my mother’s hand dropped and her face was all smiles. “Why did you not say that at once?”

  He has power over people, I thought, even without his spells. Money. Connections to all the most important people in the land. A fine, upright figure and a handsome face. An unshakable conviction that he is right in everything he thinks and does.

  “Such an honest, godly man,” she said and I longed to wipe the smile clear from her face by telling her of his blasphemies. But I had promised not to. Besides, she would not believe me. Worse still, she would rage at my father; say that too much learning had addled my brain.

  “I have heard that he is well known at Court and has a fine house, newly built behind the Strand… and lives quite alone there.”

  I refused to look at her, for I knew what she was thinking and was ashamed. For even now, when I had heard him question the very existence of God and knew his intentions, I was powerfully drawn to him.

  “I will send a note to him directly and ask him to come to dinner tomorrow.” Her temper had cooled and she sounded mighty pleased with herself for having thought of it. “Go and tidy yourself and then come down to the kitchen. We must start preparations at once for tomorrow’s meal.”

  I went to bed that night deathly tired, but when I blew out the candle, sleep would not come. Instead I lay there in the dark thinking of the 20 scrolls. How I had held them in my hands and not known the power of them. But where was the 21st spell the Doctor had spoken of? Not a scroll then… for he spoke of a key and seemed sure he would unlock the spell soon. And what of my ring? Though the Doctor said it was just a powerful charm against plague and nothing more, I began to doubt him. For I have seen in my father’s shop how men behave when they covet a rare and valuable book. They pretend they have no real interest in it. Their eyes look away into the distance. They run their fingers across its cover as if it is nothing, but their breathing quickens and when they ask the price, their voice betrays their excitement.

  Unbidden, excitement welled up inside me too and when at last I did fall asleep. I dreamed that I was in an immense shadowy hall. Before me, a man who had the head and long pointed snout of a black dog stood next to a pair of golden scales. I looked on as my heart, still beating, was weighed against a feather and I said, “Oh heart, do not act as witness against me! I have not done what the gods hate. I have not known that which should not be known.” But I lied. And so my heart, heavy with sin, tipped the balance and was thrown to a monster who, leaping out of the shadows, devoured it.

  Chapter 5

  Claire’s mum had found the card when she’d washed her jeans.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he’d called?” she’d said, standing at the foot of Grandma’s bed, looking cross and exasperated.

  “I just forgot, that’s all. Okay?”

  “And what was he like? Did he seem nice?”

  “How do I know? He was just a man that’s all. Nothing special.”

  That wasn’t true, but she wasn’t going to tell her mum that. No, let her forget all about him and the box. But she wasn’t about to. Oh no.

  “Hand me that box. I’ll keep it safe.”

  “It’s my box.” Claire said. But it was no good. Her mum was determined to have it. In seconds she had it in her arms and was marching out of the door with it.

  Claire didn’t have the energy to argue any more. She still didn’t feel well. Maybe her dad could sort it out next time he came round to the house. If her mum would let him in, that is. Still, she’d ring him later, when he was back from work. And she’d ask him to come.

  She rolled onto her side and looked at the chair; at the empty space where the box had been. She was sure Grandma had wanted her to have the box. She would have to stop her mum selling it, but had no idea how. It was no good. She couldn’t wait. She had to ring her dad.

  She pushed back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand up. Her legs felt weak and wobbly.

  Her backpack with her mobile in it was hanging where she’d left it, at the bottom of the stairs. Not far, but it took an enormous effort of will to fetch it. She managed though and made it back into bed without her mum hearing. She slumped on the pillows with a huge sigh of relief. Then she fished out her phone and called her old house number. But there was only the sound of her dad’s voice on the answer phone.

  Sorry. John is not available at the moment. Please leave your number and he’ll get back to you.

  And when she called his mobile, it was switched off.

  * * *

  Days passed. She was up and out of bed now. Feeling much better until she heard the doorbell or the phone ring. Then her stomach muscles clenched into a tight knot. Hoping it might be her dad calling. Afraid it might be that man. She was sure he’d be back. That her mum would have called him again. Asked him to ring when she thought Claire would be out. So Claire made sure she stayed put. Even though being in the house was making her stir crazy. She hadn’t been out anywhere for days and days now. Even going to the circus seemed tempting. She had told Jade about Grandma’s tickets and Jade had offered to go with her.

  Claire had moved back into the room she shared with Micky again. But she still fell asleep every night thinking about the box and about him. Then she’d dream. Nightmares. And she’d wake, plucking at the ring on her finger and drenched in sweat.

  She needed to
get the box back. She looked everywhere for it. Even waited until her mum was in the bath and then searched her bedroom. But she couldn’t find it. Maybe her mum had taken the box to him? Maybe she’d sold it already?

  * * *

  He came when she wasn’t expecting it. Catching her off guard.

  Friday evening, she was out the front, putting rubbish in the bin. She was thinking how horrible everything smelled. The sharp, acrid smell of urine, petrol, exhaust fumes. There hadn’t been any rain for weeks now. Everything looked tired; covered in a fine layer of dirt. Even the roses were wilting, drifts of petals scattered across the pavement outside the house. Speckling the tarmac like an improbable fall of snow.

  She let the bin lid drop and had just turned to go into the house when there was a sudden noise. The creak and squeal of the gate opening. She looked back and there he was, still carrying the leather bag. Still wearing the same white linen shirt, the same black trousers and collarless jacket, even in this terrible heat. Other people wore black jackets and trousers and white shirts. But these were different. Like when bell-bottomed hipsters had come back into fashion and her mum had got her old ones out and had started to wear them again. It wasn’t any good. It didn’t look right. You knew the difference straight away.

  And there was something else. She didn’t know what. But it unsettled her. Made her wary and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and stand up.

  “Your mother asked me to call.”

  “Mum!” She stood firm in the doorway. She wasn’t going to let him in unless she absolutely had to. But when her mum came hurrying down the hallway, she invited him in at once. He stepped past Claire now and though she tried hard not to breathe in, she could still smell cinnamon and flowers.