A Dangerous Energy

by John Whitbourn

  The chalk dust of the pentagram began to jump and shift. Fear really set in now; within minutes Tobias could see that the dot was a solitary man striding along and in some subtle way the road had shifted so as to pass directly under the chalk window.

  When, five minutes later, the man climbed through the window and into the room Tobias was clammy with cold sweat but his mind had his body in a vice-like grip. The lines of the pentagram were slowly washing back and forth.

  The visitant seemed to be an ordinary man or rather a youth, skinny, sallow and narrow-shouldered. He wore black business clothes, such as might be seen on any London street, with a somewhat ‘fast’ embroidered waistcoat. He had a bitter, sullen expression on his pale face and his hair was sandy and unkempt. He was even smaller than Tobias and carried a simple walking cane.

  ‘My name is Bellaston,’ he said. ‘How do you do?’

  Tobias had been prepared for almost anything, but not this; he was disarmed – but only for a few seconds.

  ‘I have summoned you to perform a mission for me at the conclusion of which I will release you from my service for ever. I so swear.’

  ‘What poor swine is it that you do not have the guts to kill yourself?’

  ‘Kill for me in some unobtrusive manner one Hugh Redmayne, once of Derby and now in the household of the Bishop of Southwark. Do it at eight and thirty of the clock so that I may be elsewhere.’

  Bellaston looked at him briefly, said ‘No’, and advanced towards his summoner. Within an instant he halted and a quizzical look crossed his morose face. A second or so later he raised an eyebrow at the magician and changed his mind. ‘Very well.’

  Tobias’ control had barely survived this last incident; he was on the very verge of panic and capitulation.

  The youth, or being, called Bellaston returned to the magical ‘window’ and climbed back in. The desolate moor and town were no longer there; Tobias saw that the demon was now in the upper hallway in the Bishop’s Hall opposite his own room. He observed that the huge grandfather clock at the top of the stairs said almost eight-thirty p.m. Elijah Green entered the picture and went into his chamber, completely ignoring Bellaston. Hugh’s room was at the end of the hallway and the demon seemed to know this. He entered the darkened chamber and a weird grey luminescence emanated from him in the light of which could be seen Hugh, still dozing on his pallet.

  Bellaston appeared to snarl, and twisted his walking stick. The handle gave way and a needle-thin blade, glowing white-hot, appeared from the false scabbard. He drew back the bed clothes and Hugh did not stir. With one surprisingly rapid and vicious thrust he drove the sword-stick up Hugh’s anus. The young priest bucked and heaved, his eyes and mouth instantly wide open but not a sound escaped him. The spasm lasted but a second and he was still again. In a most gentle fashion Bellaston closed the eyelids and composed the face out of its grimace; finally he replaced the bed clothes.

  The hallway was clear and Bellaston clambered through the portal once more. Behind him the scene returned to its previous appearance.

  The whole episode had taken less than three or four minutes but Tobias was too busy and apprehensive to consider his success yet. He prepared to recite the dismissal.

  ‘Before I go I would like to show you something, Tobias.’

  Thus Bellaston interrupted the final rite and the magician watched open-mouthed as the demon crossed the room and quite deliberately wiped a whole section of the pentagram off with his foot.

  Instantly Tobias knew all was lost but, showing the same characteristic that had endeared him to Joan as a child, he refused to die acquiescently. His killing spell affected Bellaston not a whit. Significantly, though, the demon’s stiletto remained sheathed.

  ‘As you can see, Tobias, your pentagram is useless, quite useless. This sort of business requires experience, knowledge and fearlessness, and you have none of these. Did you seriously think that I kill and perform at the beck and call of any and every apprentice that catches my attention? Consider yourself dead meat, Tobias – dead meat granted an unbelievable second lease of life. At the very least I require a real sacrifice, a baby or two, a virgin child or some such cliché; consider yourself very fortunate that you seem to have friends that speak to me and intercede for you.’

  He turned and walked away.

  ‘One thing, though,’ he added halfway through the portal. ‘In the long run it might be better for you if I had killed you today as I should have done. Good day.’

  He was gone.

  Tobias watched the prim figure dwindling along the road. Bellaston was dragging a reluctant, writhing figure. In that land, night was not far off and the gloom quickly swallowed the demon and his prize.

  The wall reappeared.

  Tobias was almost in shock. This was too much to take for the moment; he postponed analysis of the whole thing until a later date. He sat in his ruined pentagram and said and thought nothing for what seemed a long time.

  I gained what I wanted: Hugh is dead. I did it myself, by my magic. What do I feel? Triumph? Satisfaction? Remorse? Pity? I feel absolutely nothing.

  After clearing the room and removing all evidence of his presence, Tobias made it to the Bergmans by five minutes past eight. He had dashed into a nearby tavern over the bridge and downed two measures of brandy to stop his shaking and calm his breath. Outside the tailor’s shop he swallowed a restorative potion he had bought and the colour slowly returned to his face, the nausea of fear left him. When at last he was ready to face other humans again, he plunged in.

  Tobias thought he put on a consummate performance during the meal although perhaps he was a little too expansive in compensation. Feigning fatigue and citing tomorrow’s duties he ensured that each and every Bergman realised the time (it was a quarter past nine) and then left.

  This was, however, a mere mummer’s role compared to the self-control he had to exercise upon returning home to Southwark Hall.

  An angry Alan Lumley had gone to rouse the absent Hugh and instead found someone quite beyond rousing. By nine forty-five or so, when Tobias arrived, things had calmed down somewhat. The body had already been taken to the Chapel of Repose after a hastily summoned surgeon had pronounced life extinct. The Southwark household had neither the nature nor inclination to speculate idly or gossip on the matter to any great extent; most of them had a more than passing familiarity with death. Accordingly, little was expected from Tobias beyond a measure of surprise, curiosity and regret. It took all his discipline to restrain his real feelings and provide that measure. Since he was considered somewhat unemotional, no one was surprised at how little his famous equilibrium seemed to be disturbed by the tragedy.

  To his satisfaction and delight no one seemed to recall the long-past feud, he saw no suspicion behind the glances that came his way. Since he could provide a ‘cast-iron’ alibi for his whereabouts at the presumed time of death he felt doubly secure.

  At night, though, things assume wholly different proportions and Tobias could not sleep for going over that day again and again looking for faults and loopholes in his act. Worse still he was increasingly conscious of the mental wall he had constructed to hold back any immediate analysis and assessment of his deed. For the moment, survival was far more important. One week, he thought, was what was needed; if he could get through one week, then he would be clear. Everything – emotion, spirit and humanity – had to be sublimated to surviving as a wholly innocent young priest, free of sin in thought and deed, for just seven days.

  So thinking, he slipped into a self-imposed trance that his tutor had prescribed for moments of deep prayer and communion and he used this as a substitute for sleep.

  And he dreamed, though not actually sleeping, of Joan holding up a canvas bag which contained the body of Hugh. Hugh was an elf and then he was alive and ran screaming out of the sack and he, Tobias, killed him again but still he ran …

  Dawn came, carrying with it a welcomely improved sense of perspective. Tobias was ready to face his week o
f apparently saintlike innocence. It was, of course, this subtle change to unnatural, exemplary behaviour that aroused suspicion in the many faceted, if erratic, mind of Sir Matthew Elias. The death of journeyman Wakeling had puzzled rather than upset him since he was by nature somewhat thin-blooded and little affected him deeply. Another local surgeon had examined the body at his request and confirmed that internal bleeding was the cause of death. Such things were not unknown, he said; oft-times the arteries were not resolute enough to carry their load of blood and in such cases the soul must fly to God.

  Sir Matthew was minded to leave it at that, but time hung heavy on his hands at that particular juncture since the Southwark household had reached a level of training and cooperation whereby little or no routine supervision was needed.

  So he turned his butterfly-mind to the problem one afternoon when his light lunch was violently squabbling with his queasy stomach (itself the product of last night’s experiments). Just suppose someone had done away with Hugh, a healthy young man. Who and how? Who didn’t like him? No one that he knew of; there again he didn’t know the men too well, must ask Faulkner about it. Who would know how to do it and have the nerve? Just about any of the men they’d trained; pointless line of enquiry. Anyone behaving strangely? No one, but then how could you tell with this bunch … hold on, what about Oakley? Cold sort of fish usually, but not this week … and didn’t he once give Wakeling a slight roasting? Yes, he did! Yes, he might have done it, not the sort of bastard to need much reason, they’re all as mad as hatters … how to find out though? Simple, ask him.

  Sir Matthew had had his room cleared somewhat and concealed some of the more dubious or reprehensible contents. Against all custom and knowledge, he shared his large teak desk with another today. This other was a woman of uncertain, but probably middle, age. She was dressed in a fashionable crinoline of quite some style. Her face was partially covered by a veil and by the shadow of a large feather-adorned hat of the type favoured by high society. This lady said nothing and gave no sign that she acknowledged Sir Matthew’s presence; all her attention was centred upon a silver bowl of clear liquid placed on the desk in front of her. Once or twice she made hand passes over it and then covered the receptacle with a black lace kerchief from her valise.

  Sir Matthew observed this with a cold eye and then, suddenly animated again when the woman had seemingly completed her task, he rang his desk bell.

  He just had time to compose himself and assume an authoritative mien before Wally Faulkner and Tobias came in. Both men were inscrutable in expression and carriage but a sense of the guard and the guarded was very keen between them. Faulkner left without a word and, unbeknown to Tobias, stationed himself the other side of the door. Sir Matthew had told him to issue himself a pistol and bring it fully primed and loaded.

  Tobias had given undivided thought to the unprecedented interview ever since having heard of it some few hours before. He was in little doubt as to its subject and in the first few moments of wild thought had considered flight. He rejected this as abject and the automatic negation of what he had achieved. Far better to take the chance offered him and call Sir Matthew Elias’ bluff (if that’s what it was). Initially he’d had some vague idea of fighting his way out if events took an ugly turn, but once in Sir Matthew’s office all such thoughts fled posthaste. He doubted if even his most insidious and deadly spell would surprise or effect Elias, whereas it was almost certain his own head would vanish in a gout of flame if he made any hostile move. Besides, without a doubt, Faulkner or some other was stationed behind the door. Brazen it out but try to take him with you if all is lost.

  ‘You called for me, Sir Matthew?’

  ‘Yes, Oakley – yes indeed. I believe you can help me complete a line of thought I have been amusing myself with lately.’

  ‘My duty is to serve you, the Bishop and the Church in that order, sir.’

  ‘Quite so, Tobias. Just so. Mind you – you left God out of that list … ’

  ‘An oversight, sir.’

  ‘Doubtless, lad; we all at times forget that God oversees us all.’ Sir Matthew favoured Tobias with a sunny smile. ‘How do your magical studies go, lad?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, Sir Matthew.’

  ‘Yes. So I have heard. Were you complicit in the death of acolyte Wakeling?’

  Tobias was too alert and subtle to be caught out by this sudden change of tack. He put a convincing tone of surprise and conviction in his reply.

  ‘Not at all, my Lord – how could I be when it was Nature that carried poor Hugh off?’

  ‘Nature has many facets and servants, Tobias. You will learn this as you get older.’

  Sir Matthew turned to the woman beside him, who had been studying something under a lace cover throughout the interview, and conferred in a low whisper.

  Witch-bitch, thought Tobias.

  She slowly shook her head.

  Tobias’ question master turned to face him again and rested his chin upon a cradle formed by his fingers. His watery eyes stared at Tobias and through him to some unknown place.

  A long silence dragged on but Tobias felt no impulse to break it. He felt entirely in control and resigned. The genesis of a spell was mulling in his mind.

  It was a bizarre scene: Sir Matthew staring through a young magician who stood to attention, his eyes in turn glazed and contemplative. The veiled, unknown woman sat with her face unseen and downcast. Time had gently seeped away from the room and only the loud tick of the mantelpiece-clock remained as evidence of its existence.

  Sir Matthew at last focused on his interviewee. He had made a decision.

  ‘Have you ever considered death, Tobias?’

  Tobias instantly had some pat answer ready about it being the duty of all good Christians to ponder on the after-life, but rejected it. Elias’ voice contained undisguised menace and the situation had gone beyond pretence.

  ‘Sometimes when I see it take others, Sir Matthew, but not often.’

  ‘Let us postulate your death young Oakley, say relatively soon. Do you know what an epitaph is, lad?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ He was of two minds whether to try and kill Elias now and at least bow out with some pride.

  ‘And what would you say would be an appropriate one for you?’

  ‘I would need to give it some thought, sir.’

  ‘Well, let me suggest one for you, Oakley. If you should die in the near future how about “A Dangerous Energy” written in large letters across your tombstone, eh?’

  ‘I submit to your superior judgement, my Lord.’

  ‘Superior judgement and a certain amount of prophecy in this case. Of course murderers are not buried in consecrated ground and hence don’t have tombstones or epitaphs do they?’

  ‘No, my Lord.’

  ‘No, well let’s just say that your behaviour in the remaining time up to your graduation will have a very direct bearing on whether my prophecy comes true. Do you truly appreciate what I am saying?’

  ‘Absolutely, my Lord.’ Tobias’ face was frozen and inscrutable.

  ‘Now get out.’

  Tobias had the presence of mind to bow to the lady and then to Sir Matthew before leaving. Wally Faulkner was there and escorted him down the stairs without a word.

  Sir Matthew was silent for a little while and then, without turning, said, ‘Thank you for your services, milady. In view of the debt I owe you and the possible need I may have for your help in the future, you may rest assured that no hint of your, shall we say “unorthodox” magical proclivities will reach the ears of the relevant authorities. I will arrange for a carriage to take you to some point near your residence.’

  He rang a bell and in due course the silent witch was escorted out by a Southwark menial.

  Sir Matthew poured himself a generous libation of Bells whisky and studied the Thames through his window.

  Who cares, he thought. Let them kill each other. Why should I judge? Murder them all, who’d miss them? They’re all damned anyw
ay.

  CHAPTER 7

  In which our hero listens to the wise words of his employer.

  Almost a year to the day later, Tobias Oakley was alive and well still. On a rainy 30th March in the year of our Lord 1979 he was sitting in one of the front pews of Southwark Cathedral waiting to be ordained as a ‘priest thaumaturgist’ by the Bishop. Awaiting a similar fate with him was Elijah Green and twenty or thirty assorted journeymen from other schools. The ‘Feast of the Magicians’, as it was known, was always a great event and excuse for celebration, and the larger English churches took it in turn to play host to the ceremony and ensuing mass. This year it was Southwark’s show and so Tobias and Elijah were not unduly taxed in travelling to their transition to professional adulthood. Simon Skillit should have accompanied them but after a catastrophic assessment in his priestly examinations due to overweening external interests, he was in considerable disgrace and only in the observing congregation. He would have one more chance next year, failing which a dismal career as his noble father’s personal magician awaited him.

  Tobias was resplendent in a freshly laundered dark red gown. The ring of stars around his arm was surmounted by a band of a different, more smoky, red. He was gaunter than was normal for him and his eyes had lost much of their previous humour. The year past had been a considerable strain to him. He had known without a shadow of doubt that Sir Matthew would have him strung up if the mood so took him and for the first time he experienced the agony of knowing that his very existence was dependent upon something outside his influence. As a man little given to relying on anyone else this was a constant goad to his spirit. Throughout, a small voice had whispered exhortations to flee this uncertainty but it was never more than an annoying undertone. Tobias felt this was a test and, lacking complete confidence, tests were as a divine command to him. He did not know it, of course, but this was one of his greatest weaknesses. So he had stayed and behaved like the model and devout, young trainee-priest. In a perverse way this worked to his benefit in that it ensured that his studies prospered and he was able to score exceptional marks in the final graduation assessments. Elias’ trap was never sprung and Tobias thus felt his own courage was proven. He had arrived at the object of his ambitions and today was sitting in a house of God to bear witness to that fact.