Tersias the Oracle

by G. P. Taylor

  Malachi cackled along in appreciation of the charade. “And when shall we make our move?” he asked as he drank from the cup placed before him.

  “It’ll soon be one o’clock and the night-watch shall pass by. When he does, we will follow and that is as far as I go. I will take you to the door and no further. Not even service to the cause would induce me to enter the Citadel. The smell of lavender sticks in my throat and I have never liked the colour purple, it makes me look bilious . . .”

  “Are there more companions ahead or do we go alone?” Jonah asked.

  “That I cannot tell, but none of us travel alone, for goodness dwells in all who seek the truth.”

  The coffee shop slowly emptied of its guests, who one by one spilled into the darkness, merging with the night’s silence. The three sat at table and drank more chocolate and shared conversation of London life. Jonah sat transfixed by Danton’s tales of the theatre. Their table candle slowly ate of itself and dripped its wax in thin dribbles along the seam of its holder.

  Without request, Mister Mitchell refilled their cups, bringing hotter and stronger brews as the hour passed until the time when the night-watch ambled down the alleyway.

  “One of the clock and London sleeps well, no comet or quake to keep us from our beds. . . . All is well, all is well,” the night-watch sang from the street. “All is well, all is well. . . . Safe in your bed you shall dwell . . .”

  “It’s time,” Danton said. He rubbed his fingers and got to his feet, then looked to Mitchell. “My friends and I retire from your gracious company, Mister Mitchell. I shall see you again.”

  It was Malachi who was the first to step into the cold night air. There was a stiff breeze that rattled through the narrow streets. “Follow on,” Danton said as he pushed Malachi onwards towards the Citadel.

  They pressed on, huddled together as they walked in close file, Jonah in front and Malachi and Danton arm in arm and in deep conversation, their words lower than a whisper.

  Jonah clutched the dagger in the pocket of his frock coat. Its handle glowed white hot again. It was as if it had come to life, and whatever had conquered its power whilst at Strumbelo no longer could charm it. Touching it made Jonah feel sick. Thoughts of its curse and its maker churned in his mind.

  Jonah slowed in his pace, and looked back at the two men who smiled at him. Jonah suddenly noticed that Malachi was walking fresh-legged.

  “You don’t limp,” he whispered to Malachi when he reached his side.

  Malachi stopped and turned to him, a smile upon his face, and gestured to Danton to walk on alone. “I know,” he said as he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “It happened yesterday as I slept. I have had the damp-sickness for twenty years. My bones have ached and stiffened with each winter, but when I slept at Strumbelo, all had gone. I was like a newborn lamb.” Malachi whispered the last words and hopped along the alleyway to catch Danton before he disappeared in the darkness.

  They followed on as the night-watch stopped on every corner and gave out his cry, shouting out the quarter of the hour with a loud bellow and giving the good news that peace reigned once more within the nation. He then turned into a long, dark alley and the three followed, a chain’s length behind. They huddled in the shadows as the night-watch suddenly stopped, looked back and forth, and then took a key from his pocket, pressed himself against a small door and pulled it open. The man then took out the key from the lock, lifted his lamp in the air three times and turned and went on his way, humming like a fat old bird that had just ruffled its feathers as it sat to roost.

  “That is the signal,” Danton said as he took out a silver whistle from his pocket and gave it to Jonah. “Take this. All the companions know its pitch. If you are ever in danger, blow as hard as you can and surely if one of us is nearby we will come to your aid. Now be gone. The door you saw opened is to the cellar of the Citadel. From here you are on your own. The resolution of your fate is in your hands.”

  Malachi looked along the alleyway and pulled on Jonah’s coat to follow. Then, remembering Danton’s kindness, he turned to give him thanks. But the alleyway was empty; their companion had melted into the night.

  “Did you see him go?” Malachi asked as Jonah stealthily crept along the darkest shadows to the doorway ahead of them. The boy didn’t reply, his mind fixed on what was to come. A sudden and glorious urge swept through him as he remembered the warm fire of Griselda’s house and all that he had seen. It was as if his fear was being melted like butter before the fire as excitement grew in his heart. He crept to the door and looked in, seeing along a long narrow corridor tiled from floor to ceiling in bright white, every yard lit by a heart lantern.

  “We cannot wait here,” Malachi said quietly. “Danton said that we would be safe only for a few minutes. We must press on—but to where and for what purpose, I still do not know . . .”

  XXIV

  WASTREL

  “You have come alone?” Solomon asked as he poured himself a drink from the cabinet of his private room in the Citadel just below the tower. He held the glass to the candle and admired the golden liquid that sparkled against the crystal of the fine glass.

  “I thought Solomites didn’t drink the fruit of the vine?” said his guest, who sat in the silk padded chair.

  “They don’t, but I make the rules, so I can do as I like,” Solomon replied. “I find brandy is a good way to end the day, especially if it can be combined with business.” He walked to the fireplace mantle that was carved with interwoven deities and sprites that twirled and flew around each other. “I am glad that you responded so quickly to my messenger and that what I have is of interest to you.”

  “Anything of beauty is always of interest,” the man replied. “But how did you know I would be interested?”

  “Someone special told me, someone very special,” Solomon said, smiling.

  “Then they are very gifted. Did they tell you that what you offer me was mine in the first place and that it was stolen from me several nights ago?”

  “Sadly, that part of the story was omitted from the tale, but as they say, possession is as good as ownership and I think we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  “You can give me what is mine, or I will have the militia pull this place down stone by stone and cart you off to the Fleet Prison. To me that would be a more profitable arrangement, and save me paying you for the privilege of having back what is rightfully mine.”

  “Lord Malpas, who said anything about payment? What I was to suggest was more along the lines of partnership. I know not why you desire such a stone box or what you will do with it,” he said as he walked across the room to the window. “My understanding is that it is a gateway to another realm, but my efforts to open it have been in vain. So it is useless to me.” He paused and looked out of the tall window to the scene below. A fine black coach with four horses blocked the narrow street as three coach-men, armed with muskets, stood guard. “Tonight, Lord Malpas, I will show you something that could change your mind as to what kind of man you think I am.”

  “My thoughts are firmly set, Solomon. I have heard much of your gatherings, the abductions of the innocent and the weak and your transformations. If I had my way, I would make sure there were no cardinals, bishops or anyone else who dressed up in fine robes and preached about the depravity of my life whilst their own sank into a mire.”

  Solomon looked at his glass of brandy and without taking a single sip placed it upon the window ledge. “What would you say if I told you I could help in your desires?”

  “My desires are kept to myself,” Malpas replied, his temper beginning to fray.

  “Your desires are as well-known as mine,” Solomon snapped back. “We are both the talk of the coffeehouses and I know more of you than you would think. The man who would be King, isn’t that what they call you?”

  “My family have always been loyal to our monarch . . .”

  “But imagine a royal accident,” Solomon said quietly, not wanting to b
e overheard. “The King gets into his carriage fat and hearty, to be driven to Windsor, and when he arrives, there is nothing but a skeleton picked of all its flesh. You could even blame God, say it was a divine retribution, and install yourself as our gracious leader.”

  “And how would such a plan be put into effect?” Malpas asked. He got to his feet and crossed the room to look out of the window and check his guards were in place.

  High above, the door to the minstrel gallery in the tower slowly opened as inch by inch Jonah crept into the room upon his hands and knees. Malachi kept watch in the passageway that led to the stairs and the cellar door through which they had entered. The sound of distant voices had led the two upwards through the stone chambers and constricted staircases that spiralled in an ever-growing maze inside the Citadel. Jonah had recognised those voices—the never-forgettable whining of Lord Malpas, and the crowlike gullet of Solomon that rattled against the cold stone walls.

  Solomon spoke again. “I have at my disposal, certain . . . creatures . . . that given the right conditions would do the job for us. I have it in mind to have a spring trap made that would fit under the seat of a coach, and when the time is right, the canopy would open and my creatures would enter the carriage and devour the King completely.”

  Malpas started to laugh so loud that it echoed back and forth from wall to wall until it built into a multitude of voices. “What beasts do you have that could do such a thing? Trained killer mice, or vampire chaffinches perhaps? I have heard you were mad, Solomon! But I am a busy man and the hour is late. Tell me what you want for the Alabaster and let me have done with it.”

  “I assure you, Lord Malpas, that I am not mad, and the creatures of which I speak are in this very room.” Solomon crossed the chamber to a large wooden chest pushed against the wall by the door. “Come and see for yourself. I have a sample of the creatures here and it is time they were fed.”

  “This I must see. . . . What delight it will truly be to have you ridiculed before my very eyes. How far do you want to take this game, Solomon?”

  Solomon opened the lid of the case. “This is not a game,” he replied as he wiped his sleeve over the thick glass plate that sealed the chest. “Come closer and see what I have created, it will be a delight to behold.”

  High above in the minstrel gallery, Jonah held his breath as he listened eagerly to every word. Malachi squatted by the door, eager not to be caught as he watched the corridor for any sign of the Solomites.

  “See for yourself, regard the beasts that are here.” Solomon tapped the side of the chest and pulled a small brass lever that released a catch to one side. Within the chest a door sprung open and tumbled several locusts into view. “Here they are . . . ,” Solomon said proudly as the strange beasts crawled back and forth, looking for something to devour.

  Lord Malpas stepped back, unsure whether what he could now see was really true. Before him, one large locust hooked itself to the glass case and stared at him eye to eye. It was as large as a blackbird, and its mandibles scraped noisily against the glass casing as it chirped like a foreign songbird, waiting to be fed.

  “See, my locusts are real, they exist and soon they will be well-known,” Solomon said proudly. “And as a measure of the importance I attach to our partnership, I would be happy if you would accept as a gift some choice specimens from those you now see.”

  “They are fine beasts, but are no more frightening than the ravens in the Tower,” Malpas said as he looked warily at the creatures.

  “My locusts do not eat grass, but flesh. Look again, Lord Malpas.” Solomon flicked yet another catch and pulled out a hidden drawer. Inside was a pair of thick leather gloves, each finger lined with a jointed metal sheath, and also a thick black bag with drawstring and a white enamelled pot filled with blood-soaked meat. Solomon slipped on the glove and scooped up a handful of meat, then he quickly opened another door on the side of the chest and put his hand inside, bearing both the meat and the black bag. There was a sudden and fretful screaming as the locusts pounced upon the meat and tore it from the glove.

  “They are hungry,” Solomon said as he quickly pulled his gloved hand and the bag from the chest, dropping the remnants of the meat inside for the creatures to gorge themselves upon. Seven of the locusts now squirmed inside the bag.

  “And what of living flesh?” Malpas asked as he stepped back from the chest, turned and walked to the window.

  “For that they have an even greater desire,” Solomon replied. “So much that if I were to let them go into the city, a swarm could pick the streets clear within the day.” He put the bloodied glove back into the drawer, sliding it tightly shut.

  Malpas picked up his brandy glass and took a long, hard swallow. “I cannot talk here, but what I have seen has deeply intrigued me.” He looked about the room for fear that there were hidden witnesses and this were some plot to have him hanged for betraying the King. “Bring the Alabaster and the dagger to my house at Thieving Lane in two hours and I will look kindly upon our partnership.”

  “The Alabaster I have, but of the dagger I am not aware,” Solomon said.

  “Then you waste my time. One without the other is of no use. The dagger is the key, you must have known that.” Malpas spoke frantically as he finished the glass and threw it to the floor, smashing it about Solomon’s feet. “YOU SAID YOU HAD ALL THAT I DESIRED—”

  “I thought I did, and more.”

  “But what of the dagger,” Malpas said again as he tried to calm himself. “Where is it?”

  “It is held by the one who stole it from you,” a soft voice said from the doorway.

  Malpas turned as Tara walked slowly towards them, holding out a hand to Solomon. Her head was wrapped in thick purple bands and her eyes were etched in dark kohl.

  Solomon beamed, his eyes bursting from his head and his hands trembling. “This is my wife, in whom I am well pleased,” he said to Malpas. “She is a great testimony to our process of transformation. But a few days ago she was a common thief, now she is the wife of the prophet.”

  In the gallery, Malachi heard the fateful words. Without giving Jonah time to draw breath, he quickly grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him back through the doorway and into the cold stairway. He forced his hand over his lips to stop him from speaking and pressed his mouth to Jonah’s ear so that what he said could be heard only by him. “Control your anger, Jonah. In this moment we have found our answer. Go from this place and hide in the alley. We may just be able to save Tara from Solomon and find Tersias after all.”

  No one in the room below heard the slithering across the gallery and the whispering from behind the door. Lord Malpas could not take his eyes from the girl.

  She smiled politely and gave him a gentle bow. “I am sorry that I was part of your trouble, Lord Malpas. The thief didn’t mean to steal your knife, in fact it was you who embedded it so deeply within his arm that he had to take it,” Tara said as she embraced Solomon.

  “Should have been his heart, then I would have the knife in my possession. . . . Does he still have the dagger?” Malpas asked.

  “I saw it last night, when I stole the Alabaster from him,” Tara said softly. “He used it as a key to open the stone.”

  “And does this villain have a name that I might search him out and find him?”

  “Jonah Ketch . . . ,” she replied dreamily. “He thinks he is a highwayman and you can find him hanging on the bar at the Bull and Mouth.”

  “Ketch and Malachi, so they are in this together and they will hang from something higher than the table of an inn. I had them both and through stupidity they were lost to me.” Lord Malpas stopped and looked at Tara. “I take it then that you also know the whereabouts of the boy, Tersias.”

  “He is dead,” she said quickly.

  Malpas looked to the armed guards outside the Citadel and then at Solomon, who, seeing the consequences of any lie, realised that this was not a moment for deception. “Well, not quite . . . dead,” he said. “More . . .
sleeping. He is in the process of transformation. In fact he is above us as we speak.”

  “Then he is part of our deal,” Malpas said as he strutted angrily about the room. “The oracle and the Alabaster, and I will find the dagger. Bring them with you in two hours and the transaction will be complete. When I am Lord Protector, you will have all the disciples you need and all the brandy you can drink.” Malpas stopped suddenly as a viciousness crossed his face. “I would like the girl to come with me. I have a way to lure the boy Ketch to my house. I have enough guards to keep her safe and I promise I will return her into your safekeeping.”

  “I fear, Lord Malpas, that it is a request too far. We are newly wed and our nuptials await us. We have been man and wife for just three hours,” Solomon said.

  “Let me go, Solomon,” Tara said. “Perhaps Lord Malpas will show me the Alabaster and all that it contains. I would love to look into the mercury again.”

  “Again?” Malpas asked. “You have seen inside the stone?”

  “Not once, but twice,” she replied, smiling at him. “It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen . . . apart from my dearest Solomon . . .”

  “And what did you see?” asked Malpas, intrigued by her desire.

  “Everything. . . . The land beyond the looking-glass, the keeper of the stone. I saw it all—taken through the quicksilver, pulled against my will, and yet when I opened my eyes and looked at what beauty, I didn’t want to return. Look,” she said, holding out several round filings of quicksilver. “These I picked from my hair, they are my only memory of the other side of the stone.”

  “My wife is a great dreamer, the elixir of the transformation has not yet fully released her from its grip.” Solomon spoke nervously, hoping that the words Tara spoke would not inflame Malpas further.

  “You may have drugged her into marrying you, but what she says of the stone is true. I, too, have seen those things, but my time for leaving this world has not yet come. One day I will have the courage to allow the keeper to pull me through the quicksilver, and in that land I will stay forever.” Malpas held out his hand to Tara. “Come, girl, we will look upon the stone together and who knows, it may open itself for us to dream.”