The Society of Thirteen

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Brewer.

  ‘Whoever it is, you cannot be seen here,’ replied Clay.

  Esther moved to the corner of the house where she could see two uniformed police officers and a third man, wearing a smart suit, standing on the doorstep. All three entered the house but, when Esther looked through the window, only the smartly dressed man was led into the room by Clay’s man. Brewer had turned himself invisible but Esther could tell from the waves of Conjury that he was still in the room.

  ‘I said no visitors, Fred,’ said Clay.

  ‘Chief Inspector Longdale would like a word,’ replied Fred.

  ‘I am very sorry for this intrusion,’ said Longdale.

  Clay dismissed Fred and waited until he had closed the door behind him before speaking. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I am leading an investigation into a very serious matter. The murder of a boy known as Hardy.’

  ‘Should the name mean something to me?’ asked Clay.

  ‘His body was found near the river, not so far from here.’

  ‘Are you speaking to everyone in the area?’

  ‘Not everyone,’ replied Chief Inspector Longdale. ‘I understand you recently visited the orphanage where this boy grew up, a place by the name of St Clement’s.’

  ‘As an orphan myself I am often looking for institutions worthy of my charity.’

  ‘How did you find this one?’

  ‘Lacking in compassion.’

  Longdale nodded but didn’t allow himself to get distracted from his line of enquiry. ‘The boy Hardy also revisited this place. He was given your name by the prioress.’

  ‘Therefore you think there must be some connection,’ surmised Clay.

  ‘Did the boy find you?’ asked Longdale.

  ‘He did.’ If Clay was disconcerted by the interrogation his cool exterior gave nothing away.

  ‘May I ask what he wanted?’

  ‘He wanted to learn my trade. He’s not the first to do so. He was looking for a way out. Sounds as though you’re saying he found one.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘The same thing I say to all that come asking. I tell them I cannot help them.’

  ‘You sent him away?’

  ‘I did not reach this position by giving away my secrets. I told him to stay out of trouble and sent him packing.’

  Chief Inspector Longdale removed his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and cleaned the lenses. He held them up to the light to check for smears and noticed a reflection in the glass. He turned to see what it was and saw the boy standing in the middle of the room.

  ‘Brewer?’ said Longdale, unable to hide the look of disgust on his face. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘You wanted Hardy’s killer?’ said Brewer. ‘You’re looking at him.’

  ‘Then I think you had better accompany me down the station. Both of you.’ He pulled out a set of handcuffs and slapped them over Clay’s wrists.

  ‘Brewer, what are you playing at?’ asked Clay. ‘I had this under control.’

  ‘Control?’ Brewer laughed bitterly. ‘You got no control.’

  He raised his left hand and sent books flying from the shelves, raining down on Longdale’s head.

  ‘No good will come of this,’ shouted Clay.

  The books flew around the room, their covers flapping like wings. Longdale tried to bat them away as they continued to attack. The door rattled as the police officers tried to get in but Brewer had sealed it shut with another spell.

  ‘Stop this now!’ demanded Clay.

  Brewer turned to face him and smiled.

  ‘Brewer?’ Something rattled above Clay’s head. He looked up to see several nails fly out of the wall, allowing a large rusty chain to drop to the floor. The first chain from which Clay had ever escaped reared up like a huge snake and slithered towards him. With his hands still cuffed, Clay was unable to prevent it wrapping itself around him.

  ‘Let’s see you escape this time,’ said Brewer.

  Clay’s face revealed undiluted fear. The chain was crushing his ribcage, restricting his breathing. Esther moved her staff and snapped her fingers and the links disconnected and fell to the floor. Brewer turned to look through the window. His face was even worse than before, the warts so bulbous that he could barely open his eyes. He raised his hands and sent the chain links through the window towards her. Esther raised her hand and the chain links and bits of broken glass flew harmlessly past her.

  ‘This is none of your business, orphan,’ said Brewer.

  ‘I won’t let you kill them,’ replied Esther.

  ‘And who’s going to stop me killing you?’ said Brewer. With another wave of his hands he ripped a bookshelf from the wall and sent two spear-like pieces of wood at her. Esther’s hand was already raised in defence and the shards caught fire and burnt so fast that by the time they hit her they were nothing but blackened ash.

  ‘Brewer, you have to find a mirror before it’s too late,’ said Esther.

  ‘You want a mirror?’ replied Brewer. The mirror from the wall came free and Esther prepared to protect herself but Brewer had other plans for it. He made it hover above Longdale’s head. The vicious books were holding him down, preventing him from getting away from the heavy mirror.

  ‘Why would you want to protect these pathetic souls?’ asked Brewer.

  ‘Because I can.’ Esther sent the mirror out of the window, over her head and smashing against the wall behind her.

  ‘These spells will kill you,’ she warned. ‘You need to stop.’

  Brewer raised his hand but, as Esther braced herself, he collapsed. The lifeblood was taking its toll. The boils on his head and neck pulsated. He reached a hand to touch his face.

  ‘What’s … what’s happening to me?’ he asked.

  ‘The Earthsoul is reclaiming its lifeblood,’ said Esther.

  Brewer’s scream sounded like a wild animal. He tore off his shirt, revealing his blistered torso covered in throbbing boils. Longdale stood up and the two policemen finally got through the door. All three stared in astonishment at Brewer, writhing on the ground.

  ‘Help me … ’ he begged, crawling towards the window, reaching out a hand.

  Esther vanished from sight.

  Brewer snarled, wriggled and kicked then, one by one, the blisters burst, releasing deep green pus from within, like volcanos erupting all over his skin. The liquid gushed over his body and dragged it down to the ground. It oozed from the open sores that covered him and stained the carpet. It dripped through the floorboards.

  The other two policemen had turned away in revulsion but Chief Inspector Longdale kept his eyes on Brewer until he was no more than a mass of rotten bones and flesh.

  ‘What is this witchery?’ he whispered. ‘Clay?’

  There was no reply.

  He turned around. ‘Where is he?’

  The officers shrugged. He had been there when they entered but when they searched the room, all they could find were a pair of open handcuffs.

  Chapter 63

  Kiyaya

  Esther stopped under a streetlamp and gazed out at the river, trying to find some comfort from its power, but nothing could erase from her mind the image of the lifeblood bursting out of Brewer’s tortured body. She shuddered as she wondered if the same fate awaited her. When the time came, would the Infected blood that rushed through her veins return to the great underground rivers of the Earthsoul? Or would the same instinct that had caused her to perform the Creation Spell in the first place push her to choose an animal existence like that of Mondriat or Olwyn, rather than death?

  When she started walking again she became aware of a presence behind her. She gripped her staff and turned around. Kiyaya stood there.

  ‘You must come,’ he said. ‘Your friend needs you.’

  ‘Tom? What’s wrong?’

  ‘He is being tricked by the magpie.’

  ‘What’s Mondriat making him do?’r />
  ‘The boy is performing shaded magic far beyond his reach,’ replied Kiyaya. ‘He is creating a potion so complex, it will take a great deal of his spirit. He will be very weak once it’s finished. I fear he may not recover at all.’ Kiyaya offered his left hand. ‘Come. I can take you. You must place your hand in mine.’

  Esther went to take it.

  ‘No. Your right hand,’ said Kiyaya. ‘It will only work if it is your right hand.’

  Esther hesitated, knowing that to move her staff into the other hand would leave her vulnerable and unable to use Conjury to defend herself.

  ‘Quickly. There is not much time,’ said the Indian.

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘We are beyond the point of trusting now,’ he replied simply.

  Esther moved her staff into her left hand and took his. His skin was soft and warm. She watched him move his staff slowly. As he brought it heavily down on the ground, it was as though he was smashing a mirror, except that it was not glass that broke but the world around them. They fell like shards of glass.

  Chapter 64

  Completion

  As Tom worked away on the spell, Mondriat fluttered around the tunnel with the book in his beak, so that Tom could see the picture. Mondriat could see the boy was getting tired, but he was so close now.

  ‘There are only three strokes left,’ said Mondriat, dropping the book from his beak as he spoke.

  ‘What strokes?’ panted Tom.

  ‘This spell has a triangular cauldron at its heart,’ said Mondriat. ‘It draws on deeply shaded magic.’

  Tom drew the final three lines and created a large cauldron in the tunnel floor. Finally, he lowered his staff, exhausted.

  ‘Well done, Tom.’ Mondriat clapped his wings, excitedly. ‘Masterfully done.’

  Sir Tyrrell and Mr G. Hayman gathered around Lord Ringmore, who had barely blinked since Tom had begun.

  ‘Is it done?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘Of course it’s not done, you old fool,’ snapped Mondriat.

  ‘Wait.’ Tom held up his hand, head bowed, too tired to say any more. Slowly he rolled up his shirt sleeve and held an arm over the centre of the cauldron. Mondriat fluttered up and landed on his arm.

  ‘You are weak from the rigours of the spell,’ said Mondriat. ‘The loss of blood will weaken you further.’

  ‘Do it,’ said Tom.

  ‘Very well.’ Mondriat jabbed his beak into the soft skin of his palm and Tom closed his fist around the broken skin before allowing a couple of drops to fall.

  ‘What is this black magic that calls for the boy’s blood?’ demanded Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘It is a potion,’ whispered Mr G. Hayman.

  The Society members watched in silent astonishment as Tom’s blood sunk into the ground and the red liquid oozed out of the earth’s pores, filling up the cauldron.

  ‘It’s ready.’ Tom staggered back and would have fallen had Lord Ringmore not been there to catch him.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘This is powerful magic, you half-witted buffoon,’ said Mondriat. ‘Creating a spell such as this would take its toll on the most experienced Conjuror.’

  Even though Lord Ringmore could not understand Mondriat’s words, he could see Tom needed rest so he dragged him to the side of the tunnel and placed him down gently before joining the others.

  ‘I can’t see,’ said Tom.

  ‘Your senses will recover,’ said Mondriat.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Preparing to drink,’ replied the magpie. ‘And look, they even remembered to bring glasses.’

  Sir Tyrrell opened a case and pulled out three silver goblets, one for each of the Society members.

  Mr G. Hayman held up one to inspect it. ‘These are rather grand, aren’t they?’

  ‘They were sold to me by one who swore them exact replicas of the Holy Grail itself,’ said Sir Tyrrell. ‘I thought they would be appropriate for an occasion such as this.’

  ‘I daresay the price reflected the boldness of the claim,’ said Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘They are fine pieces and should do well for our purposes,’ said Lord Ringmore, keen get on with it.

  ‘They stoop to fill their cups now,’ said Mondriat, excitedly.

  ‘How should we do this?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘As one,’ said Lord Ringmore. ‘We are in this together.’

  ‘Should someone say something?’ asked Sir Tyrrell, holding his cup in both hands. ‘You know, to mark the occasion.’

  ‘Honestly,’ remarked Mondriat impatiently. ‘Even a short time with these fools would feel like an eternity.’

  ‘I think a simple toast,’ said Lord Ringmore.

  ‘To the Society of Thirteen?’ asked Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘To the rest of our lives,’ stated Lord Ringmore.

  The others repeated the toast and touched goblets before downing the contents.

  ‘They’re drinking … they’re drinking,’ said Mondriat, but Tom was too weak to respond.

  With their goblets drained, the Society members looked at each other uncertainly. Mondriat hopped up and down on Tom’s shoulder.

  ‘Is that it then?’ asked Sir Tyrrell. ‘Are we immortal?’

  ‘I don’t feel any different,’ said Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘I feel rather lightheaded,’ said Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Tom weakly.

  ‘The lifeblood is within them,’ said Mondriat, watching with great interest. Never having seen this potion before he was also keen to know what would happen.

  ‘My eyes,’ said Sir Tyrrell. ‘My sight has gone.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Lord Ringmore.

  ‘The lifeblood has blinded us so that we may see the true nature of the world,’ said Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘Hold on, I see something,’ said Sir Tyrrell. ‘It is London, but it burns. Fires rage everywhere. People run through the streets, pillaging and looting like invaders and yet these are the city’s very inhabitants.’

  ‘My vision is unlike yours,’ said Mr G. Hayman. ‘I see a girl in a graveyard. Is this the future, the past? What?’

  ‘What about you, Ringmore? What can you see?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘Father,’ said Lord Ringmore. ‘I see my father. He is young again.’

  ‘The past, present and future are as one within the Earthsoul,’ said Mondriat.

  ‘What does this mean?’ demanded Sir Tyrrell.

  Mondriat became aware of the black cat by his side. He turned to see her bright green eyes watching intently.

  ‘Olwyn. Something has gone wrong,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Olwyn. ‘They are looking directly into the Earthsoul. Their spirits are being torn from their bodies.’

  Suddenly all three dropped to the ground, heaving and retching as though about to vomit.

  ‘Help me … ’ cried Lord Ringmore, reaching out a hand, his eyes wide with fear.

  His words were lost as he and the other Society members opened their mouths, but it was not the contents of their stomachs that spilt out. It was the white light of three human spirits evacuating their helpless bodies. The spirits sunk into the ground, leaving behind the three bodies, empty and lifeless.

  Chapter 65

  Preservation

  Tom was lost inside the shifting clouds that filled his head. The fog swam through his brain as Mondriat’s laughter echoed off the tunnel walls.

  ‘Olwyn, you clever, clever Conjuress, you,’ proclaimed Mondriat.

  ‘So you understand, do you?’ said the female voice.

  ‘Understand what?’ yelled Tom.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ urged Mondriat. ‘You knew this would happen, didn’t you, Olwyn?’

  ‘It’s the only way to get that which we desire,’ replied Olwyn.

  ‘What’s happened to Ringmore and the others?’ shouted Tom.

  ‘The Society of Thirteen is no more,’ sa
id Mondriat.

  ‘And yet they will rise again,’ purred Olwyn.

  ‘Well, two of them, at least,’ added Mondriat, bursting with excitement.

  It was too much for Tom to take in. He felt exhausted and distanced by the clouds in his mind.

  ‘So, let’s see,’ said Mondriat. ‘The potion purified their spirits, drawing them down into the heart of the Earthsoul without harming the bodies.’

  ‘You’ve killed them,’ said Tom.

  ‘No. They chose to drink and their spirits will now live forever within the Earthsoul,’ said Olwyn.

  ‘Why?’ shouted Tom. ‘Why have you done this?’

  ‘Is it not obvious?’ said Mondriat. ‘These bodies are perfectly preserved. So let us say we know a pair of Conjurors in search of new bodies; there would be nothing to stop them from slipping inside one of these fine specimens. There would be nothing to prevent them from returning to human form. Oh, Olwyn, you glorious Conjuress.’

  ‘I was thinking Lord Ringmore would suit you best,’ she replied. ‘The politician, as powerful as he is, carries too much weight with too weak a heart. I’ll take the female, of course. I don’t think I’m quite ready for male anatomy.’

  ‘So you knew all along. Why did you not tell me?’ said Mondriat.

  ‘Because I enjoy toying with you, my dear,’ said Olwyn. ‘I always did.’

  ‘But this is marvellous. We can return, you and I. We can be as we were before.’

  Tom’s head swam with confusion. In amongst the shifting shapes of the fog he tried to make sense of it all. There were strange sounds and a light so bright that it even shone through the fog in his mind. When Mondriat and Olwyn next spoke their voices had changed. They now used the vocal chords of Lord Ringmore and Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘I’m back,’ cried Mondriat. ‘I’m back and it’s all thanks to you, my wonderful Conjuress, Olwyn.’

  ‘My darling husband,’ replied Olwyn.

  Chapter 66

  Vanquishing

  When the broken fragments of the world reformed, Esther found herself standing in a tunnel in front of Lord Ringmore and Mr G. Hayman. Sir Tyrrell’s unconscious body was lying on a train track. To the side sat Tom. He looked lost and bewildered. Esther tried to run to him but Kiyaya held her hand tightly and prevented her from moving.