by G. P. Taylor
‘Don’t struggle, Sabian. I want to see the future, and for all knowledge there has to be a price.’ Hezrin giggled as she held tightly to his hand, watching him writhe like the eels he had just eaten. ‘Sit,’ she commanded as she pressed harder into the palm of his hand. Blake had no control. He fell backwards to the seat, his eyes clouded with the dark vapour that now filled the whole room. ‘Listen to me, Sabian. There is magic in your future and a power that will come to the world through you, it is clear to see. It is before you, and yet you cannot see it. Believe everything that comes before your eyes – but a foreigner will seek your life.’
The words thrashed in his head like a horsewhip, and his arm juddered and twitched several times more until she let go. He stared helplessly at Hezrin. ‘What did you do?’ he mumbled, his teeth chattering.
‘A party trick, nothing more. Can your science not explain it away, Sabian? Or will you have to believe in magic as magic?’
Blake didn’t reply. His arm burned like a tree struck by lightning. He tried to close his fingers but the pain was too intense, and the tiny blue sparks crackled across the surface of his hand.
‘It will soon go away. Such is the power of knowing the future.’ Hezrin paused and sighed. ‘If only Flamberg had a mind like yours, things would have been so different. Look at him, snoring like a walrus full of fish on a sandy beach, happy in his ignorance. You, Sabian, have an enquiring mind, you will think for days about what has happened, you will torture yourself until you know the answer and work out by what power you were enthralled.’ Hezrin laughed. ‘Save yourself the time, it was magic.’
‘Then, madam, I will depart. Your magic is far too bold for a man like me to understand and I fear that your husband’s sleep may also be part of your spell.’ Blake stepped unsteadily from the table, tripping and pressing his hand into the plate of dead eels.
‘I have something I would like to show you, Dr Blake. Something that I have kept secret even from my old walrus. Oh for the day when someone will cut off his head and serve it on a plate!’ Hezrin spoke quietly as she got up from the table and walked towards Blake. He felt the eels squirm in his stomach. He was sure they were still alive, and that before the night was over they would force their way out of his body by some circuitous route.
‘I think I need to go to the –’ Blake muttered, trying to speak without opening his mouth.
‘Don’t be so silly, not before I show you something that will excite your mind and stretch the imagination.’ Hezrin took hold of his arm and dragged the unwilling Blake across the room. Flamberg didn’t stir. He slouched in his chair, fatty dribble running down his chin and dripping on to his black coat. ‘Sshh,’ she said as she pushed Blake to the door. ‘I don’t want him to wake, this is our secret …’
Blake feared the secret, yet was overwhelmed by a desire and curiosity that burnt his heart. Hezrin overwhelmed him. She was powerful, intense, edged in darkness, and had a deep fascination from which he could not escape. They had just met, and yet she dominated Blake in every way. He felt like a blowfly about to be consumed by a giant black, silk spider, dragged to her lair, unwilling and yet unable to refuse.
‘I have a surprise for you, Sabian. It is not only you that has a love for the sky and all that it will bring. I too have waited for this time, but for a different reason.’ She gave his sore and burning hand a squeeze that made him wince.
‘I don’t think this is right,’ Blake protested, trying to pull himself away from her. ‘I would not be pleased if I were your husband –’
‘Neither would I, but that is what makes it such fun. Who would want to be like him? Flamberg has always been so predictable, so boring. But you, Doctor Sabian Blake, Fellow of the Royal Society, Cabalist, and now dis coverer of the planets – you make my mind tingle. Come and see what I have prepared for us.’
In the hallway of the mansion a large looking-glass filled the far wall from floor to ceiling. Its mercury was bright and crisp and reflected a sharp image in the candlelight. Blake stared at the reflection of Hezrin – she appeared ageless, without blemish or wrinkle.
‘Behind the looking-glass is another world. Do you believe me, Sabian?’ she asked.
‘I would be a fool not to,’ he said as he rubbed the growing red mark that burnt the palm of his hand. ‘But I am a man of only one world and I would prefer to keep it that way.’
Hezrin laughed. ‘Look into the depths and tell me what you see.’
Blake stared at the dim glass, across whose surface danced the candlelight from the large chandelier.
‘So will you step inside this looking-glass with me, Doctor Blake, and discover yet another world?’ Hezrin asked as she gently pulled him closer to the glass. Blake did not speak, but nodded to Hezrin and stepped towards the glass, believing that in one step he would stand on the other side. ‘No, Sabian! It is a real looking-glass,’ she said as she lifted the catch on the side of the ornate gold frame that was decorated with monkey heads and the faces of frogs.
Blake noticed the gold ring on her finger, its comet tail wrapping her white skin with its golden band. ‘Before we enter the chamber we must toast the future,’ Hezrin said, taking two large blue glass vessels from the tall stand by the looking-glass. She handed one to Blake pushing it towards his mouth. ‘In one gulp!’ she said quietly, almost whispering. ‘In one gulp and then together we can share what is to come.’
Hezrin put the vessel to her lips and tilted back her head. Blake watched as she drank the liquid and then crudely wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Your turn, Sabian. Quickly.’
Blake drank from the cup. In two gulps he had drained the vessel. The thick green viscous liquid scalded his gullet, numbing his jaw, pushing his watery eyes from their sockets. and coated his voice, almost choking the breath from his lungs. Hezrin laughed to herself as she prised the looking-glass from the wall, slowly opening it like a gigantic door to some other world.
There was a sudden and cold blast of wind as the seal between wall and looking-glass was broken. Blake felt the coldness around him. High in the house a distant door slammed shut, and several footsteps tapped along the landing above their heads. Blake stared into the darkness of the room that lay beyond the mirror, searching the gloom with his eyes.
Hezrin gently prodded him to step into the blackness. It was then that Blake saw the tiny shape of shimmering blue essence that hovered in the centre of the darkness. It flashed and swirled like a thousand blue and white diamonds, spinning, making no sound as it floated three feet away from his face. Without thinking, Blake reached out to touch it, his hand helplessly moving towards the ball of sizzling electricity.
‘Liberato per mortem,’ Hezrin said, as she turned her face from the blinding light.
9: Hebdomada Mortium
Agetta picked a large black bed-louse from the back of her hand, squeezing it till it splattered blood-red on her fingers. Beneath the scratchy blankets of her cold bed she had chased it through the night as it had scurried and bit.
To her left, her mother slept on, undisturbed by the constant gnawing of the rats in the wall as they chewed through daub-and-horsehair plaster. This was the full extent of life for Mrs Lamian – she never left the room she shared with her daughter. In between the long hours of sleep, she would eat the fickle food brought by her husband Cadmus and wash away her fear of the world with a quart of gin and small beer. The solid black door was the edge of her world, a line that could not be crossed. It was as impenetrable as any castle wall or high keep, with more power to stop her advance than the strongest lock forged in Spain.
In the darkness, Agetta brushed the crushed parasite from her hand and licked the small trace of blood from her fingers. It had a sweet taste like the memory of half-chewed honeycomb and bee spit. She tried to sleep, but the clamour of rats and the biting cold took from her mind any hope of rest. Brigand had vanished the night before. He wasn’t there to protect her from the darkness with his rumbling growl, or curl up around her feet to
keep her warm. She imagined him to be away over Conduit Fields, heading out to the marshes chasing deer. His supper lay uneaten by the hall fire.
The lodging house moaned as floor joists pulled the boards and stretched and groaned. To Agetta it sounded as if the building was taking long, laboured breaths, stretching its ribs as it settled for the night. The candle on the gin table sent shadows scurrying across the room, tiny black shards of darkness that hid in corners and peeped from the side of the bed. She had always hated this room with its brown walls and dirty wooden floor; it gave no comfort, no happiness, it was only a place to rest after long weary days of cleaning and fetching and tramping through London’s stink.
On the far side of the half-open black door she could hear the guests snoring and babbling in their sleep. The lodging house was full, even the hallway had been let off for sleeping. The only place of peace would be the kitchen and the large leather chair her father used as a bed, snug by the fire, clean and bright. She rubbed the damp from the window with her sleeve and looked into the night sky –and there in the height of heaven, surrounded by a million sparkling lights, was a star she had never seen before, its glinting blood-red tail stretching into space.
There was a sudden thud above her head. Dust from the attic room rained down upon her, filling the air with a sparkling white powder that reflected like falling snow in the candlelight. The thud came again, followed by the dragging of a metal chain across the wooden floor. A slate slipped from the roof and smashed into the street. Then again and again came the sound.
No one in the house stirred. Everyone slept on in deep oblivion. Through the floorboards above her head, Agetta heard the sound of weeping and the rattling of a metal chain. She slowly stepped from her bed and walked across the cold wooden floor. In the half-light she reached out to the door and listened to the crackling of the fire in the kitchen. Agetta knew her father would be asleep, feet warming by the fire and pee-pot squeezed under his chair.
She looked into the darkened hallway. A single candle burnt in its shelter on the wall, flickering with the breeze that constantly blew through the house. On the floor two crumpled piles of humanity groaned and gusted under thick, dirty blankets, scratching and picking at festering scabs in their sleep.
Agetta stared at the fat carcass of the derelict that now slept in her way. A short, rough, grey beard that twitched and rustled covered his pock-marked face. He lay on his back, half exposed by the blanket, his mouth wide open as he chomped at the air with loud snores. She fought the urge to take the candle and drip hot wax into his mouth to stop him from snoring and keep him quiet so she could get to the stairway at the other end of the dark hall.
The man muttered in his sleep, and she could smell his rancid breath. He moved suddenly and thrust out his arm, blocking her way along the hall. A large rat scurried from the depths of his coat and ran along the side of the wall and down the stairs to the kitchen. Agetta stepped over the sleeping fat body, trying not to touch him.
Her feet took her quickly along the hallway to the unlit staircase that led up two flights of narrowing steps. Agetta paused on each stair, a cold feeling of fear rising in her stomach like an ever-tightening knot. She could hear weeping from behind the attic door. It sounded far off, like the call of a lost seabird, and yet brought sadness to her heart as if she shared in the creature’s grief.
Cobwebs hung thickly from the ceiling and grabbed at her face with strong gossamer threads. She brushed them away, untangling the fine grey strands from her hair. There was no light on the staircase, and she dare not take a candle for fear of being seen by her father. The blackness pressed in against her, whispering for her to stop, go no further, climb no more, turn back before it was too late.
It was on these stairs that she had seen Blueskin Danby on the night he had escaped from Newgate. In the half-light his face shone with the blue tattoo of a coiled snake that wrapped itself around each eye and slithered into his mouth. Danby had hidden in the attic, protected by her father. Two days later he was dead and stripped of his finery, a gawping corpse hung like a Christmas turkey.
The storm that followed his death raged fiercely for three days as his spirit clung to this world, refusing to be dragged to hell. In broad daylight tables had tipped over in the kitchen, coals were thrown from the open fire and plates were torn from the shelves and spun through the air by Blueskin’s unseen hand. For three nights he had wailed on these very stairs, and from then on the attic had been a place of fear. Agetta had closed her eyes and crossed her fingers each time she had walked the landing, never daring to look up, never wanting to stare into the soulless eyes of Blueskin Danby. With each fearful step, she remembered more of that night. Her memory cursed her, speaking in whispers of all that she was afraid of.
At the top of the stairs the small door was chained and bolted from the outside. Agetta rummaged in her pocket and brought out a thin piece of bent metal. She slid it quickly into the lock and twisted the rod against the metal spring. She felt the lock twist and one by one she flipped the three metal snags that held the keeper tightly shut. The lock dropped open and Agetta quickly slid the two bolts back from the door.
Heavy footsteps thudded along the landing several feet below her. She pressed herself close to the wall, hiding in the darkness, fearful that Blueskin had returned. There was a long soft moan as the shadow of a tall figure ambled along the hallway, falling over its feet and mumbling to itself as it bounced from wall to wall towards the stairs.
She slowly crept down three steps and peered out from the darkness. Etched in the silver moonlight that shone in from the window, she saw the shadowy figure of a man. He was tall and wore a long tatty coat that trailed on the floor and a hat pulled down to his ears. As he staggered he lashed and kicked out at unseen creatures that infested his imagination and scurried around him. In one quick movement he fell backwards and slid down the plaster to sit on the wooden floor. He looked around in disbelief, thinking an invisible blow had knocked him from his feet. Closing his heavy eyes, he slumped down; then his legs crumpled beneath him and he curled up like a fat cat and shivered against the cold plaster wall, snoring loudly.
Agetta stealthily climbed the staircase back to the unlocked door. She listened for any sound, but heard only the beat of her own heart. She pressed against the door. It opened slowly and stiffly, scraping across the wooden floorboards. Quickly, she stepped into the attic.
Light from the city filled the room. In front of the high window, bathed in blue moonlight, she saw the silvered outline of a man sitting with his face in his hands, a glistening pool of tears around his feet.
Agetta gasped in surprise, the man looked up. He got to his feet, holding out his hands. From within him came a soft golden light that grew brighter as he stretched out his chained hands towards her. Suddenly the room was filled with blinding shafts of pure white light as two wings unfurled, filling the room, glowing and pulsating with every beat of the creature’s heart.
Agetta peered through her fingers, shading her eyes from the intense, terrible brightness. It was as if all the light in the world was being sucked towards this figure, like time itself was being drawn deep within. Agetta could feel herself being gently lifted from the floor and pulled towards the creature. She held on to the doorframe, clinging tightly with her fingernails to the chipping paintwork, but with one, sudden, sharp jolt she was jerked from her anchor and she floated feet-first through the attic towards the creature’s outstretched arms.
Frantically, Agetta waved her arms, trying to grab hold of everything that floated by her. Laughter filled the room, soft, cheerful laughter that glistened in the bright light. With a sudden and unexpected thump, she fell ungracefully to the hard wooden floor, and the room was plunged again into dim moonlight. Agetta looked up and stared first at the ceiling of the attic, where a hole had been smashed through to the tiles, and then at the tear-stained face of the man smiling down on her as she lay in the puddle of his lamentation.
‘Don’t sa
y a word, Agetta,’ the creature said, raising one eyebrow and the side of his mouth at the same time in a half-smile, and wiping the beads of salt tears from his face. ‘Your father is still asleep in the kitchen, but his friend Sarapuk is on his way here …’ The creature’s soft, strong voice vibrated in her chest, penetrating her heart.
‘How?’ She looked at him, wondering what had just happened and searching every inch of his face for some hidden clue as to who or what he was.
‘Fear not!’ he said boldly, holding out his fine fingers to lift her from the floor. ‘Your kind are either frightened or faint at the sight of me, but you seem to be different. There is something about you that –’
‘Are you Blueskin Danby, come back to get my father?’ She scrambled to her feet, trying to get away from him.
‘Don’t be afraid. I am Tegatus, a guest of your father, a victim of my own misadventure and a creature with a regretted past.’ He slumped back to the chair and held his head in his hands.
‘Your wings, they’ve …’ Agetta said as she brushed the floor dust from her coat, her eyes searching the darkness.
‘They come and go. Alas, they are the cause of my downfall and the reason why I am here,’ Tegatus muttered wearily.
‘Was it a trick? Are they real? I’ve never known anyone with wings before.’ Agetta attempted to peer over his shoulder, looking for the slightest sign of the large golden feathers that had filled the room with their bright glow.
‘Real, unreal, what does it matter? They are a fascination to the world, and I am a freak to be sold and stared at, a powerless inhabitant of a menagerie from which I cannot escape.’ Tegatus shuddered like a roosting bird with a pained expression on his face. ‘I saw you climbing the stairs. I have tried to wake you so many times but you have always slept.’
