A Dangerous Energy

by John Whitbourn

  What they would never know was that he had been drunk, bewildered and outrageously cheated by the madame of the house. He had been lonely, far from home and had broken up the room in a piqued attempt to get his money’s worth. He had also broken his ankle in dropping out of the first-floor window. They could have simply walked after him and caught the crippled fugitive.

  Lumley, from some perverse idea, left Tobias and ordered him to stay until the man died.

  Tobias had no words while his victim continued to cry and bleed from nose, mouth and ears for a little while and then was taken. He learnt that he was not as hard as he had thought he was. Perhaps this was Lumley’s intention all along. Tobias’ other great lesson was that the simulation of a power-word spell bore no relevance to its actual performance. The act had no point of contact with the exciting exercise that he had thought it would be.

  That night he gained a year, and lost a piece of his defences for ever.

  For several days he was sick at heart but then his remarkable powers of recovery came into play and he began to think less and less of the fat American. Lumley and Staples watched him closely for a while and then deemed that he was toughening up nicely, a very promising young magician.

  During his seventeenth summer Tobias began to fill out and take on the appearance that would be his throughout his life. He was still undersized but Faulkner’s regime had given some degree of fitness. After the Southwark style he began to wear his hair long and on his free evenings would have one eye heavily made-up from some little paint pots he had bought in a market over the bridge. This was the very latest fashion among London’s young blades and under the Bishop’s strangely disciplined rule even trainee priests could adopt it. His face was unmarked by pox or other disfigurement and his fathomless black eyes relieved his visage of its sallowness. Some women would have considered him handsome, some not.

  Other things began to fall into place that year. Almost unconsciously he came to associate all advancement, prestige and happiness with the acquisition of magic powers and he accordingly worked at his studies like a man possessed. This is not to say that his motives were entirely selfish, magic was genuinely fascinating to him and its learning occupied the greatest part of his speculations. With Joan’s initial impetus he was fast outstripping the older but less inspired journeymen.

  At the same time, on what Father Guido Mori might have considered the debit side, Tobias floated in an ethical vacuum and was driven only by considerations of self. He discovered alcohol and the other pleasures of the Bishop’s dens and became the sharp young man about town in his free time.

  The one incongruous element in all this was that his visits to the Bergman family continued (he even cordially re-encountered the Rabbi once or twice) and on those evenings he dropped back into the path of decorum and decency. He was never drunk or boastful and this he rationalised by thinking, ‘a change is as good as a rest’. However this, like most rationalisation, was not the entire truth; once again he was enjoying the frisson gained from living in two entirely different worlds. Moreover he still liked the hospitable Hebrew family that had almost adopted him in his first lonely London days.

  Tobias’ father wrote from time to time. He duly replied but there was no depth or warmth in their correspondence. Father Guido had sent him one farewell missive and thereafter the tomb-like silence of the monastery engulfed him for ever. Tobias was quite sorry about that and presumed the most active interest in his moral welfare was now stilled. At the time he held it to be of very little account.

  On reaching the grand old age of seventeen and a half he found his life had fallen into a routine. During the day he worked hard at learning to be a magician and less hard at being a priest. In the evenings he either went drinking (with his fellow journeymen or the ‘ne’er-do-wells’ he had met in his wanderings) or was on Peace Promenade. By and large these were dull affairs and he took the opportunity to carry on his research and studying. By these means alone he had already mastered two new basic power-words. Once a week he sobered up and guarded his conversation to dine with the Bergmans and if Jimmy noticed the strain, it was never mentioned.

  He also learned how to function efficiently despite lack of sleep and a hangover every morning.

  By the Bishop’s standards he had fitted in well. He was not sure that this was the good life but at times it seemed pleasant enough. Work was his hobby and obsession, and his leisure was left free to use or misuse as he wished. In fact there was almost no other area of the Church where Tobias could have received such a laissez-faire, but high-quality training. All in all, he reflected as he bestrode his little world, it could be worse …

  Over the weeks he had formed special friendships with Jimmy Bergman’s younger son Daniel, and his eldest daughter Mary. Often they would shop or explore together, for by now differences of culture were largely forgotten.

  One day fate decided to speed events up again by inspiring Tobias to ask them to come and visit him at his home where he would ‘show them all over’. Daniel was twenty, Mary seventeen; they were curious and naturally accepted.

  It is apposite at this moment to bring Tobias’ fellow journeymen back into the story. In the period of just over a year they too had developed and ‘grown’. Elijah of Dyfed had had to work particularly hard at his studies and had reached a reasonable standard of literacy, his magical standards were similarly adequate but uninspired. He was a bluff, cheerful man with no great depth – in short, good company during one of Tobias’ nocturnal forays into Southwark.

  Simon Skillit from London had discovered women when he moved to live at Mucky Hall and after initial experimentation he enjoyed great success. Apart from classes or promenades, his fellows saw little of him. He too was likeable, having a dry wit and an ever-increasing well of dubious anecdotes which usually began, ‘Have you ever tried … ?’ Not so Hugh Redmayne from Derby, though. He, too, had expanded in character since the early days but this merely served to irk Tobias who thought that Hugh arduously limped through life dragging a pall of damp, foggy confusion with him.

  In fact most of this existed only in Tobias’ mind for each trivial encounter was poisoned by the initial dislike. For his own part, Hugh was unaware of any enmity since Tobias sought every opportunity to avoid him. However there was no denying he was a very good magician, as good as if not better than Tobias and he excelled in producing magically endowed objects (similar in nature if not function to Joan’s little wooden arrow). Furthermore he was a promising scholar and took the prospect of imminent priesthood seriously.

  Tobias grew to hate him unto death and once or twice idly considered the possibility of killing him and escaping detection, but the method and impetus eluded him.

  Inspiration, however, was winging on its way provided by one unwitting comment. A small enough provocation but, in the event, quite sufficient. Mary Bergman was a comely girl and Tobias had more than once assessed the chances of seducing her. He had decided against, partly because of the schism this would cause with her family if discovered, and partly because none of the Hebrews he met had shown any interest of that kind in Gentiles. Even so it was to her that he was happily chatting one day as he entered the Southwark establishment. Daniel, a large man with shaggy hair and brooding eyes, padded behind taking everything in. He felt he was penetrating the very heart of the goyims’ faith, the holy of holies – he had never entered a Christian establishment of any kind before.

  It was to be a remarkably short visit for, as ill-luck would have it, Hugh of Derby was waiting at the end of the entrance corridor and, even worse, he was in one of his occasional communicative phases.

  Tobias was prim, reserved but civil.

  ‘Hugh, this is Daniel and Mary Bergman, my friends from across the bridge.’

  As Hugh took his religion and calling seriously, to him the Jews were simply the Christ-killers and quite possibly poisoners of wells. ‘Goodness: vile Jews in a holy place’ he said. ‘Whatever next?’

  Tobias’ unconsc
ious reaction was to bare his teeth and for once allow the glaze over his eyes to drop, and it was recognition of this that saved Hugh from serious injury. The former flicked a finger at the latter and hissed one of his words. Hugh just had time to lift his forearm to parry and to commence a warding spell, and consequently the full force of Tobias’ angry incantation did not make its target. Even so Hugh’s face and neck was instantly covered in a brown-purple bruise. At another time he might have looked like a comically made-up Moor; just now it wasn’t so funny.

  The injured journeyman decided through the pain not to turn the other cheek and a split second later his spell hit Tobias’ covering arm just as he completed a ward. Obviously Hugh was better than suspected for despite this guard, the skin of Tobias’ arm and hand blackened and died.

  Less than a quarter of a minute had elapsed but neither party was in a condition to continue the conflict. Inevitably enough Geoff Staples chose that moment to come down the stairs and, utilising the rapid grasp of events that had gained him his post, he decided that reasoned argument could be postponed to a later date. One brief phrase was enough to freeze the two injured warriors in an unbreakable mental grip like fish in solid ice. However dangerous Hugh and Tobias were compared to ordinary men, they were nothing as compared to a good magician some years out of the Roman school.

  Daniel and Mary had wisely turned and fled.

  The statue masquerading as Tobias thought, I’m sorry I did that. Next time, I’ll kill the bastard.

  CHAPTER 6

  In which our hero is rebuked for his energies.

  However, one can’t go around engaging in magical duels willy-nilly even in the Bishop of Southwark’s establishment.

  Neither youth was allowed out of the hall for a month save on Promenade and a stiff religious penance was levied. Finally, just to emphasise the point in a physical as well as spiritual way, both Hugh and Tobias when deemed sufficiently recovered, made intimate and excruciating contact with Wally Faulkner’s fists and boots. ‘Nothing personal lads, just a lesson from above.’

  The experience laid them in bed for three and two days respectively. Nor was that all. It triggered something lying close to the surface in Tobias’ mind and when he was about and walking again, his ribs heavily bound up, it was as though he had just emerged fresh from Joan’s tuition. He saw what was to be done and the shortest way to it; emotion and cluttering contradictions had been cleared away and his mind felt clean and full of purpose once more.

  He went to the Bergmans and devised a comforting explanation to cover everything and promised to call again soon. It seemed that Mary and Daniel had been reticent in explaining their early return home and so Tobias’ task was not too difficult. The two junior Bergmans had come to accept his magical talent as an academic fact but seeing it in dramatic practice had nevertheless surprised them; he could see the process of re-evaluation in their eyes. In his new mood he cared little for the outcome.

  He formally apologised to Geoff Staples for his ‘lapse’ and gave undertakings as to his future behaviour. In time Willy Faulkner got to hear of this and knowing his man decided that something was amiss.

  Even more disturbingly Tobias went straight to Hugh Redmayne and begged his pardon, and proffered friendship. Hugh was at first disturbed and then, being of a forgiving nature as his gospel demanded, admitted that it had all been his fault and it was up to him to apologise; which he did. They shook hands, laughed over their collective bruises and breakages and offered mutual compliments on the efficacy of their own fighting methods. To formalise their reconciliation, it being a free night, they went by special permission to a moderately respectable tavern and drank the evening away in an excellent semblance of comradeship.

  Directly after, Tobias went to the washroom, dipped his head under a basinful of water to wash away the alcohol and then retired to his room. On a piece of notepaper he drew up a list of the personnel of the Southwark establishment and considered each in turn, noting beside each name his estimation of their memory and degree of natural suspicion.

  Over forty minutes later, after much hard thinking, he decided that six months would be a safe margin of time.

  Hugh of Derby would be killed in six months’ time give or take a day. Then with customary care and caution he tore the paper to pieces and put it down the privy.

  Later Tobias found himself starting to analyse the wisdom of his decision. How would this help his supposedly single-minded and ruthless path to a shining future? He discovered, however, that he had no interest in mere debate anymore and savagely thrust it away. The well that Joan had sunk in him was at last being tapped deep and a spout of white-hot bile was bubbling to the surface. He made a custom of spending a quarter of an hour each night meditating to formalise his rough plans.

  Within several weeks he had progressed beyond the meditation stage and by the end of the six months he had Mori’s ‘subjugation’ spell in his grasp.

  He did not alter his life style perceptibly but bit by bit sought to endear himself to the Southwark ‘powers’ and raise himself above any suspicion in connection with what was about to arise. To Hugh he continued to show degrees of conciliation and pleasantness until they might well be considered friends.

  At last even Faulkner decided that this was just another adolescent tiff that had blown over, thank God, and please Lord may neither of them bear a grudge against me. For all his professed disdain of ‘witch doctors’, Willy had seen too much of magic in action ever to regard its threat without fear.

  In March 1978 Tobias was due to go to a dinner party organised by the Bergmans in honour of his fast-approaching eighteenth birthday. That same night Hugh was on the rota for Peace Promenade at nine o’clock.

  At seven, Tobias entered a cheap hotel-cum-brothel with a garish floozy not of his acquaintance and booked a night room.

  Hugh was asleep in bed in preparation for the long night ahead.

  At ten past seven Tobias dismissed the girl with a half-fee, explaining that a surfeit of alcohol made further association pointless.

  Hugh slept on.

  Tobias put the room’s sparse, cheap furniture to one side and, using chalks he had brought along in a small satchel, drew a pentagram, taking up as much of the room’s area as possible. The two candles and holders provided were placed either side of the uppermost point.

  For a long time Tobias stood and just stared at his creation. It had to be perfect, every line and angle firm and strong. As satisfied as he could be, he went to the wall opposite the leading pentagram point and roughly drew a rectangular shape some four foot across.

  There being no excuse for delay he returned to the pentagram and sat cross-legged in the middle. From the satchel he drew a small bowl, a bandage, a tiny wooden rod, and his belt knife which he placed before him. He had wanted to bring his small library and his own notes on demonology but had abandoned the idea as impractical. Accordingly he’d had to memorise everything necessary and so now all depended on his powers of recollection.

  Everything was ready. Strangely enough, despite the vast gaps that he knew must exist in his researches, Tobias felt no fear; he felt nothing at all. This was the outcome of six months’ scheming and no emotion could be allowed to intervene now.

  The candle flames were quite steady and the room was very still. He was pleased to find that his absorption was such that though he could hear the beginning of the Southwark revels outside, they failed to enter any conscious level of his mind.

  Tobias shut his eyes and for a long while concentrated on his breathing, taking short, but silent breaths. Bit by bit he gained quietness until he could hear the unmistakable beat of his own heart. At first in his mind and then in a whisper he began to recite a rhyme. Intrinsically the words were meaningless but Tobias brought his ‘talent’, which was essentially power over belief, to bear on them. His mind was open, defenceless, and anything at all would be accepted. Still the rhyme remained without significance.

  He carried on for another long wh
ile and then with an inward sigh stopped and snapped his trance.

  A complete and utter waste of time.

  But the room was cold and musty and the candles were guttering slightly. Tobias exulted: his invocation had reached something and he had stupidly remained in his trance, unable to notice it.

  Part of him was surprised and unnerved by this success. The magician’s great enemy, fear, made an appearance.

  Hurrying lest his advantage considered itself ignored too long, he fumbled with the knife and rolled up his left sleeve. Slashing deeply he opened his basilic vein.

  ‘Christ, oh Christ that hurt!’

  He leaned over the bowl and blood trickled along his arm and into it. He recited the rhyme and it helped to dull his recognition of the pain. In seconds that took years the bowl was half full and Tobias was feeling faint.

  ‘Come,’ he invoked and his voice sounded as if it came from far away in a deep fog.

  The bandage he hurriedly swept on to his arm, and with the rod he turned it into a tourniquet. Looking up as quickly as he could, he saw that his chalk rectangle on the facing wall had taken on the appearance of a window and greyish light was seeping out of it into the room. In pain, groggy and still fearful but growing more confident, Tobias saw that everything had gone as it should. ‘Come,’ he repeated.

  Now he could see through the ‘window’ and he was transfixed. He saw what looked like moorland at dusk; across it a small road wound into the distance. There appeared to be a grey and brown town there, many of whose windows were already ablaze with light. The picture was fascinating but somehow he knew it was not a benign landscape; nor was it any earthly view. A dot set out from the town and walked along the road.