It had come and gone in a moment. It could just have been one of those little half-erotic daydreams you get, a coincidence of shape and colour somewhere in the reflection that suggested the shapes of two women, naked, seen from behind, lying languorously stretched out foot to foot as if one was the other’s mirror image, forming a wide flattened V. An olivey Mediterranean glow to their skins, their black curls streaming out into darkness, suggested the women from the bandit gang. But the image lingered that instant longer. Nothing actually changed; but the greenish glow of their skin seemed more intense, the serpentine shadow of their spines became blacker against it and with really horrible suddenness the women were suddenly slanted, glaring eyes. Eyes without a face, like glowing slashes in a dark curtain; but feral, hungry eyes, fearfully aware, aware of me.
So I yelped, and I chucked down the mirror. But here it was, the surface of my sleep rising to meet me, and mirrored in it was that growing glare. Suspended between waking and nightmare, I struggled and threshed with limbs that felt manacled. Women. It was women I saw, not eyes; make it women …
Women it was – a woman. The whip artist, smirking all over her predatory face, drawing the black tongue luxuriously across her breasts.
Whips aren’t exactly my thing at the best of times, least of all now. Not her! Some other woman. Trace. Maddy the Table Dancer. Red-haired Georgina. Any; all. No good, I couldn’t summon up a single one, not even Lyd who worked in the Jaguar dealership with all the leather upholstery and drove an original E-type. The E-type I could get, the upholstery even, but no Lyd.
Somebody else, somebody more recent. That barmaid Poppy, all cheery dairymaid curves, wholesome as wholemeal. She was just a blank. What I got instead, and vividly, was Jane Dee, with that lush shape and haunted eyes. A real woman, the kind I’d never had a chance with. And that bastard Kelley …
Fire spurted in the school roof suddenly, that teacher vanished under a rain of tiles; the party dress tore wider, and spilled her breasts into my hands. My fist sank into that lousy tyke’s face, and the warders bobbed and cringed away from the new hard man; I splashed the slop pail at them, and the other cons cheered. Bank managers grovelled and paid damages, the bookie’s goons were swept aside as by a rushing wind and I had him by the astrakhan collar and flicked the little knife open right under his red-veined nose. Then that thieving bitch and her pimp, next, the tearing sound, the scream choked off …
Me?
The bellowing impact as the car revved back out of the ditch, smashing into the cops and spilling them this way and that across the road …
Me?
This wasn’t me. I’d never shivved anything more serious than a BMW’s window trim, and never wanted to. I didn’t care that much about avenging the past, just shaking free of it. But whoever was digging this crap out of my mind wouldn’t let me. I felt as if I was literally entangled, like a swimmer drowning in weeds, thrashing and tearing at the slippery black coils around me. It was that bloody whip! Not leather, though; silky, glossy, more like plaited hair …
She bent over me, smiling slowly, and her eyes were very green. ‘I always thought it was me you liked the best, mio Maxie—’ The blackness behind her was swirling and smoky, and her face seemed to fill the sky. Her hand touched my face, and it was rough and hot, like a claw.
The next moment I was wide awake and out of that bed. Under it, actually, shivering uncontrollably on the bare boards and whimpering. I had to make myself stop that, though. It was echoing eerily in the silver chamberpot.
Fear no evil intrusion, ha bloody ha!
It was dark now, the room full of heavy shadow, and only the faintest skyglow from the little window. Eventually I summoned up enough nerve to climb back up, pull the heavy counterpane over my head and collapse, groaning. About five minutes later something seized me by the shoulder, and I shot up with a yelp.
‘Awake, young sir!’ said Kelley with brusque cheerfulness. I forced my gummy lids open to glare at him. ‘Well slept, I trust! A day and a night, whole. But slugabed no more, we must be up and about our business. The Doctor is now agreed with me that since your first scrying so disconcerted you, I should question the angels on your behalf!’
He couldn’t resist springing that one on me. That was why he’d let me sleep; to work on Dee, at which he’d had years of experience. Now he thought he had me. For a moment I felt totally despairing, but only a moment. Down there with the echo chamber I’d had some time to think, and I hadn’t forgotten it.
The brigands, or whoever else was digging up all those memories, had a purpose – maybe to make me more vulnerable mentally, maybe to make me hungry for revenge, so hungry I might just chip in with the brigands for the sake of that power. It seemed they couldn’t find me here; maybe the Doctor’s precautions worked that much. So they were trying to corrupt me instead. All they’d done, though, was make me want to stop it happening again. My idea was spoiled; but maybe I could still improvise.
I pulled on Kelley’s robe, because it was warmer than my jacket, and the morning air was biting. Besides, it would probably annoy him. Downstairs there was breakfast waiting, bread and buttered eggs and bacon. By rights, given the sanitation and so on, it ought to have been foul, but actually it tasted great, especially compared to my usual stale cornflakes. I wasn’t too hot on the mulled lager, flat, with spices, but sooner that than the water – sooner anything. What I really needed was coffee, Turkish-strength, in quantity, preferably on a drip-feed. Dee spouted great heaps of gibberish about his philosophy – the Seven Ensigns of Creation and the Invocation of the Thirty Arts were the least of it. After the night I’d just had, I could cheerfully have invoked a couple of things myself, but I forced the most intelligent smile I could. I was going to need him on my side. Today, it seemed, we were going for the full Monty.
Kelley was already bossing the women about, clearing the great table of its heaps of books and scrolls and slates and parchment scraps, uncovering a hummock draped in an embroidered cloth. Dee patted it paternally. ‘The principle of the mirror is reflectivity. That is to say, it returns the onlooker’s sight upon himself, and that is very sound. For as Man the Microcosm is himself a glass, reflecting the All, so all truths are within him. Beyond that, though, lies the principle of infinite distance, at which the bona spirita may be found, and for that both reflectivity and transparency be requisite. Psellus – did I not mention Psellus yestre’en? – now he sought to extend this principle, I believe, to the invoking of spirits aerial by the means of water in a wide-necked jar, which doth both mirror and give sight. Master Paracelsus, though, makes interesting mention of the possibilities of crystal and jewels in his Ars beryllistica, and that recalled to me’ – he pulled off the cover with slow reverence – ‘the crystal orb of Master Roger Bacon.’
It wasn’t as big as I’d expected; most of the height was an ornate stand, a sort of miniature table with a gold mount in the form of naked swirling figures at the centre. And it wasn’t exactly clear, more like a light bottle green with a cloudy core. ‘Clarity has always been the problem,’ admitted Dee. ‘Rock crystal of sufficient purity is rare. But as fortune would have it, here in Prague is made some of the finest crystal glass anywhere, and I had them shape me several trial pieces before settling on a method and a formulae. Can they manage better in your time?’
I hummed and hawed tactfully. The average Gypsy Lee model looked better than this. ‘They can? All the more mystery why scrying is still not in common use. Now, Brother Edward and I shall carry out the rite, but do you watch and listen and assist us with your prayers.’
I put on my very best if-you-please-sir simper. ‘If it wouldn’t put you out, could I do something too?’
Kelley’s geniality darkened. ‘We must have no more wild affrays, lest they offend our celestial mentors. That will endanger all our purposes.’
Butter wouldn’t melt, honestly. ‘Oh, I don’t mean take part or anything. Just sort of shadow the process – with the mirror again, maybe. I’d be
more ready, this time. And I might experiment a little. I mean, for example, has anyone ever tried reflecting the crystal in the mirror?’
Dee stared, a little taken aback. ‘I know not, upon my troth! Have we ever mirrored the crystal, Brother Edward?’
‘We have not,’ said Kelley shortly. ‘And better Master Maxie content himself with watching, than so mingle himself in matters he does not understand!’
‘Oh peace, brother, peace,’ said Dee reprovingly. ‘You are too harsh. Was I not just as shocked at my first true sighting? And so were you, as I recall!’
I’ll bet, I thought.
‘Besides, his question is a good one. Aye, young sir, seek as you will, during our rite! Be not afraid, whatever may pass; for in the Clavicula Solomonis this is firmly declared the most licit of theurgy! Brother Edward?’
Kelley, dour-faced, lifted the crystal. Dee reverently oriented the little stand against what I realised was a crude compass set in its centre, then spread out the scarlet cloth back over it, carefully arranging its gold-embroidered symbols. ‘Behold the Sigillum Dei Aemeth! These are the signs revealed unto me of the great archangels of the four quarters, for even they are subject to the power of the stone, in the hands of godly men! And those mighty ones I now invoke!’
I’d expected Kelley to be the showman, but he wasn’t. He set the ball down carefully and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers reverently. Dee was the one who did all the work, and very impressively. Why not? He believed in it. Just like Rudolph, he was doing most of the work himself.
Pretty well, too. The women draped a black silk robe over his shoulders, put his staff in his hand, set down the freshly wiped tablet and chalk beside him, and retreated to the hearth, watching intently. Dee raised his hands over the table, spreading his arms wide, and launched into a spiel so elaborate I didn’t immediately realise it was a prayer, of sorts.
With his long beard streaming he looked like so much Cecil B. de Mille. His normally rather high voice seemed to sink about an octave, and rich, burry words positively rolled out across the room. For the first time I heard what the King James Bible was supposed to sound like. He certainly wasn’t making any concessions, and yet I could understand it clearly. Had he and Kelley really been trying to sound halfway modern all this time – or had I been becoming attuned to them somehow? Maybe that was possible around the Spiral, too.
The prayer was certainly pretty flowery, not to mention interminable and full of gibberish Dee called ‘mystical names’, by which he was invoking God’s aid in a way that was more like issuing orders. Religious I’m not, but I somehow didn’t think God would only answer his secret Internet addresses, which is what these sounded like. Dee worked his way on to a whole slew of Good Angels. And he made the whole thing sound as petty legalistic as a double-glazing contract.
‘… and by these mystic names of our God which have special command and potency upon thee, oh AIAOAI and OIIIT, I absolutely require and confidently desire you, individually and severally, to appear obediently to me, the said JOHN, peacefully, content and visible. And consenting to show yourself friendly to me, the aforesaid JOHN, that you agree to fulfil and complete truly, perfectly, clearly, evidently and absolutely, all and each of my requests that concern and involve your skill in transformations, knowledge and power, such as are required and requested by me, the aforesaid JOHN, of each, some or all of you—’
There was more of it. Oh God, there was more.
Much, much more, in English and Latin, while the fire burned down in the fireplace and the grey smoky air invaded the room. All of it in the same bloody do-this, do-that vein. If I’d been God, which for some strange reason I’m not, I’d have given it the bird. And if angels have names like Keyboard Fault #33, I don’t want to know.
I pretended to study the obsidian mirror while Dee droned on, tilting it this way and that. I did try mirroring the crystal a couple of times, but only very quickly. Seeing anything more was just what I didn’t want. There was that buzzing in my ear again, but I carefully ignored it. Mostly I stole sly peeps at Jane Dee.
Kelley, too, was sitting there looking like a man about to drop off during the sermon. Suddenly, though, he began to twist and twitch uncomfortably. Who could blame him? But when it got worse I began to wonder if he’d picked up some of Rudolph’s little passengers. Then his head lolled suddenly, his jaw dropped, and he let out a slow, anguished moan. If boredom had been his problem, I’d have sympathised; but somehow I didn’t think so. Dee let his prayers drop and stretched out his arms towards the groaning figure.
‘Speak, spirit! By the Divine names communicated unto us, I conjure thee! Show unto these, thy lesser brothers in the angelic orders, all manner of things within the glass, that we may work out thy purpose, nor hold back aught of thy full meaning!’
Kelley’s eyes flicked open, wider than I’d ever seen them. Still moaning faintly, he hauled himself up, staring fixedly at the green glass ball. Dee leaned over towards me.
‘Now the spirit takes hold of him!’ he whispered excitedly. ‘And have you been vouchsafed any revelation, thus far?’
I tilted the mirror judiciously away from his wife, and confronted myself, all beak and scattered straw-coloured locks. It showed me one thing – in Kelley’s green-gold finery I looked a lot like an exotic parakeet. If that was a revelation, you could keep it.
And yet that dark mirror did add a sort of dreamlike quality to what it showed, especially round the edges where the flickering firelight made it shiver. It showed me a different sort of face, though how different I couldn’t quite sort out. One thing, though – at least it didn’t have an expression like Kelley’s.
‘Something a bit strange. Nothing definite. What difference does the spirit make, anyhow?’
‘Ah, subtly questioned! What takes shape in the crystal, we can both see – aye, and you also, it seems. But only with Brother Edward does it find its voice.’
It figured. I was quite prepared for what came next, and it was just as well. The voice came, not from Brother Edward but from the crystal, and it was dark and sepulchral, quite unlike his, but blurry and quavering.
‘ABNO!’ it declaimed, like a haunted speak-your-weight machine. ‘NAOCO! OCANM! SHAL!’
‘The great Angels of the Four Quarters!’ whispered Dee gleefully. ‘They favour us with their counsel!’
‘Behold!’ cried the voice. ‘And harken!’
But what to, we never did find out. The crystal ball burst out in a sudden shrill fluting, a whistling, warbling sound like some unearthly bird. Kelley stared, aghast, and well he might. It was a handy little number, ventriloquism; but I’d learned my set of tricks four centuries later than him.
That was my cue. I leaped to my feet, but solemnly, as if answering some mighty command, and held the mirror up high, catching the firelight and reflecting it on to the crystal, awakening glittering rubies in the bubbled glass.
‘I hear, oh Radiant Ones!’ I cried. ‘Speak to me directly, I beg you!’
And the crystal spoke with a different voice, higher and eerier.
‘Yea, I am the Walrus! I am the Eggman! Behold, verily, I am the Fool upon the Hill who seeth the sun in its going down and whose eyes behold the world in its turnings around!’
Dee gaped. ‘The what? The Fool – is not some such symbol in the Tarot? – I mean, I charge you, spirit, speak! Give us some earnest of what thou art and whence thou comest, of thy truth and goodness!’
‘Aye!’ roared Kelley, mysteriously restored to himself. ‘And that thou art not a false and deceiving son of a – son of Abomination! Prove it, or be damned!’
‘I am the Man of a Thousand Voices speaking perfectly loud! Earnest shall I give thee of the truths I speak. Take up thy tablet, and write thereon, as I commandeth!’
Not bad. I was getting the hang of this stuff. This was the nervous-making bit, though. If we’d had pencil and paper I would have been safe enough, or even a modern chalk stick. That lump wasn’t quite long enough. St
ill, here goes.
‘On the face turned from all sight but thine, write any name thou willst, however secret, however holy, the most that has been revealed unto thee! Write it fair and with respect, and I shall tell it unto thee, straight!’
The pair of them boggled beautifully. Over by the fire the women had leaped up and were watching, wide-eyed and wondering. Like a man in a dream Dee picked up the tablet, holding it close to his chest, and slowly, with long strokes, scratched a short name.
‘Thou hast written ORO!’
Dee’s jaw dropped. ‘The first of the Twelve Names of God! ’Tis so!’
Kelley snatched the slate. ‘I credit it not! Thou’rt but a deceiving demon!’
‘Nay, nay, brother!’ breathed the old man. ‘’Tis so!’
‘Then read thou this!’ snarled Kelley, and slashed a rapid pattern of letters across the slate with wincing squeals of chalk.
‘Thou writest ill, thou man of little faith! But hear this, and be corrected. LLZACA thou daredst to name!’
Kelley’s eyes flickered. Looking for the doors again, eh?
‘The Divine Title of the Angelic Summoning in the East!’ said Dee, in shaky delight. ‘Oh Brother, doubt no longer! Master Maxie, did I not foretell it? Some new revelation is made unto us today!’
Written fair and with respect – that meant long, clear hand actions I could follow. It’s better with a long pencil or pen, when you can see the end wiggling; but I’d watched Dee write on the slate already. It’s an old routine, but it worked for Victorian spiritualists, it worked for Houdini and it still worked for my late employer, before they found the videotapes of those private hypnotherapy sessions, that is. He’d taught me a few basic skills to make me a better stooge – basically kiddie-party conjuring, but to black belt level, and streets ahead of anything they’d heard of here.
Kelley was simmering. He knew it was ventriloquism, all right. But he couldn’t so much as hint at the possibility without pointing an even bigger digit at himself. ‘Well, maybe, Brother John, maybe. But remember, once, when you doubted a command I conveyed, the angels vouchsafed me the favour of a written mandate upon the purest parchment, that came floating down to us from on high. Can we not ask such an earnest again?’
Maxie’s Demon Page 17
