The Fall of the House of Cabal

by Jonathan L. Howard

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. Horst calmed a little. ‘I only implied it.’

  ‘Ah. Ah.’ Horst turned upon his brother. ‘This is your fell influence at work. Insulting people without insulting them. This is you all over.’

  ‘And isn’t it heart-warming?’ said Cabal in tones sufficiently icy to dismay a mastodon. He was trying to concentrate on picking the lock. ‘Might I have a little quiet? This lock is not a physical object in the usual sense. It requires more finesse than one can bring to bear with a bent hairpin.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Horst, and stepped away.

  He and Leonie watched Cabal wrestling with the mechanism for some minutes, the only sound being the clicking of the reputedly theoretical lock, Cabal’s grunts of exasperation, and his occasional mutterings on the subject of somatic security. ‘Like a ritual … rule of three … second ring defined by bears…’ And so forth.

  In his defence, Horst managed to hold off making inane comments for what was, to him, a herculean period. Eventually, however, he submitted to his natural predilection for inanity.

  ‘Getting anywhere?’

  Cabal paused in his work. There was a dangerous quality to his motionlessness that suggested a praying mantis, or perhaps a land mine.

  ‘How do you pick a non-thingy lock, anyway? And did I actually hear you talk about bears earlier?’

  Cabal rose from the crouch in which he was working and rounded on Horst. ‘To address your points in the order in which you brayed them. Firstly, yes, I was getting somewhere, but now that progress has been lost. Thank you.’

  ‘Oops.’

  Cabal was advancing on his brother, who wisely was retreating.

  ‘Secondly, one picks a non-physical lock whose apparent physicality is camouflage for the common crowd with intellect, experience, and—very important this—total concentration. My concentration has now been shattered and will probably take several minutes to recover after my doltish brother put a boot through it. Thank you again.’

  ‘“Doltish” is a bit strong…’

  ‘And as for bears, the simple answer to that is—’

  A click interrupted him. Both men turned to see Leonie Barrow straightening up before the slowly opening door.

  ‘What?’ It took every iota of control Cabal had not to splutter. ‘How?’

  Miss Barrow held up a bent hairpin. ‘I see what you meant about bears, though.’ She looked at the growing gap betwixt door and frame and withdrew a little. ‘Usually I’m all for ladies before gentlemen.’

  ‘But not tonight,’ said Cabal, sliding past her, his gaze never leaving the door. ‘Very wise. Horst, come with me.’

  ‘Right behind you, Johannes.’

  ‘I was rather thinking of you going in first.’

  ‘Age before beauty? Although I have a claim on both of those, now I think of it.’

  ‘Supernaturally fast, strong, and resilient before mortal was my thinking.’

  Horst was preserving his resources and so did not blur into action. Instead, he went through the door cautiously and slow, the only supernatural ability in play being his senses, brought to a high keenness. To those behind him, he was swallowed into a murky gloom of strange shadows and faltering luminescence. A moment later, they heard him call quietly back to them.

  ‘This is the rummest plate factory I’ve ever seen.’

  * * *

  Horst’s experience of plate factories was probably slight, but despite that, there is an expectation within the mind of anyone entering a plate factory that there should be certain elements present. For example, plates. As Cabal and then Leonie joined him beyond the strange door and its inconstant lock, it became obvious that plates were in short supply there.

  ‘This really isn’t the factory.’ Miss Barrow’s voice was a breath of wonder.

  Cabal’s brow betrayed fleeting irritation. ‘I believe I said that. Repeatedly.’

  ‘Yes, and I didn’t believe you, obviously.’

  Whereas the exterior of the factory was of a practical brick build, its walls painted white and the specific section that the door let into low-roofed and topped with red tiles, the interior was a wide dome, the walls constructed of exquisitely shaped blocks of basalt, not one of which could have weighed less than a ton, and whose apex was perhaps three times higher than the single storey in which it was supposed to exist.

  The dome was supported by five thick columns of black marble, veined with a curious material that was sharp yellow in places but that seemed golden in others. The columns’ bases were connected by a great circle of brass inlaid into the floor and, within the circle, the columns were connected to their alternating neighbours by similar lines of metal to form a pentagram. Just visible in the dim light was a low archway behind the column furthest from the door.

  ‘Where does that go?’ asked Horst.

  ‘Hell,’ replied Cabal. ‘I believe I said that, too. Also repeatedly.’

  Leonie stopped dead in her tracks. This, she could believe down to the very roots of her soul. The thought that one could simply walk through that archway and ultimately end up within the kingdom of Satan filled her with a horror that was as profound as it was existential.

  ‘Why exactly are we here, Cabal?’

  ‘Ah.’ Cabal was pacing around the circle, examining it by the light of his torch. ‘So you finally take an interest.’

  ‘I thought you were talking figuratively! I kept asking and you kept saying, “An entrance to Hell,” so I thought, Very well, Cabal, have your moment of melodrama now and bathos later when it turns out you’re talking about Ipswich or somewhere, but you meant it. You actually meant it literally. So, I’m sorry for not taking you at your word, but now we’re here I have a pressing desire to know why are we here?’

  ‘We’re not actually going to go to Hell, are we?’ Horst had his hands in his pockets and was looking around the chamber like a schoolboy showing polite interest during an educational visit to an antimacassar museum. ‘For one thing, it’s probably quite a long way. I’d have suggested bringing bicycles if I’d known.’

  ‘We are not. You may calm yourselves on that point.’ Cabal had found a small and clearly deliberate break in the circle. He took a piece of chalk from his pocket, knelt by the break, and filled the gap with a drawn line. He rose to continue his survey. Any arcanist creating such a circle would only put a single break in it for convenience’s sake. But the circle may not have been laid by such an arcanist, or even a human. There might well be a second, far subtler break in the circle elsewhere, rendering the pentagram deliberately useless and a trap for the unwary. Cabal tried to avoid being amongst the unwary; it was a demographic with a poor life expectancy.

  ‘We are here because it puts us on the other side of the veil between the prosaic world and the Inferno. It has been my experience that crossing that divide by’—he nodded at the door, still ajar—‘even a few metres can make all the difference.’

  ‘Difference to what?’ Leonie was glad the door was ajar and had positioned herself within easy running distance of it, should needs be.

  ‘To the ease of certain procedures.’ Cabal completed his circuit of the pentagram and returned to the chalked link. If there was another break in the circle, it was a microscopic crack, and he really didn’t have time to go over every millimetre with a microscope.

  ‘What sort of procedures?’ asked Horst. He had unconsciously gravitated closer to Leonie, perhaps because he sensed the ease of the escape route she had adopted and might wish to use it, too, but more likely because, undead or not, he clove to the principle that being close to a pretty girl was infinitely better than not being close to a pretty girl.

  ‘What sort of…? Really, neither of you recognise a summoning circle when you see it?’

  ‘No,’ said Horst. ‘A summoning? I’ve read about those. Don’t they take ages and you need goats and a knife with a wavy blade and a virgin…’ Here, he unwisely glanced at Leonie and discovered that it was not only the gaze of the
sun that could wither him where he stood.

  Cabal was removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. ‘In the usual run of things, yes, except for the virgin. Never found a use for one yet.’

  Horst had learned enough wisdom in the previous ten seconds not to offer any suggestions.

  Cabal squared himself towards the centre of the pentagram, took a deep breath, and said, ‘Zarenyia!’

  His clear tone rang around the chamber for longer than perhaps it should have, and the echo diminished towards the very centre of the great five-pointed star.

  ‘Before you really get started,’ said Horst sotto voce, ‘how long is this likely to drag on? If it’s hours, well, you know I have to be mindful of dawn and everything, so just a rough…’

  Abruptly, the summoning was over. Leonie gasped, Horst said, ‘Blimey!’ and only Johannes Cabal did not take a step back. He only crossed his arms and, most strangely, smiled.

  Strangely for the circle was filled by a monster, a great beast of eight legs and the abdomen of a spider. Where the forebody of an arachnid might have been expected, however, a human torso extended, the upper body of a woman, her skin pale, her hair short and fiery red, her expression warlike. She wore nothing but, slightly unexpectedly, an angora sweater.

  ‘Who dares?’ roared the abomination. ‘Who dares summon Zarenyia the Merciless from her infernal lair, the webbed caves of many deaths? Which puny mortal…’

  ‘Hello,’ said Cabal, his smile becoming unnervingly fond.

  ‘Who?’ The monster looked upon Cabal.

  And then it squealed excitedly, clapped its hands, and capered on the spot, making a noise like a clan of stilt-walkers taking up tap dancing.

  ‘Johannes! Darling! I am so sorry about all that “Who dares?” business. I had no idea it was you!’ She moved quickly towards Cabal, and Horst was caught between bafflement and the feeling that perhaps he should save his brother from the monster.

  He need not have worried. The spider creature apparently became aware of something none of them could perceive, and slowed as she reached the edge of the pentagram. She eyed the air with disappointment.

  ‘A binding circle? Really, sweetheart? I thought we were past that stage.’

  ‘Madam Zarenyia.’ Cabal bowed to the creature, and—its smile returning—it curtseyed gracefully back. ‘The summoning circle is a mere technicality. I must, however, ask a favour of you before breaking it.’

  The monster steepled its fingers before it like an indulgent teacher. ‘Fire away, you charmer. You always did know how to get around me.’

  Leonie looked at Horst. Horst looked at Leonie. Those looks communicated that they had no words. They looked back at Cabal and the spider monster.

  ‘You have guaranteed my safety already, yes?’

  ‘Of course, and in perpetuity as far as I’m concerned. Unless you betray me or something frightful, in which case I shall kill you, but that’s not going to happen, is it? We’re best pals! No, you’re safe with me, darling. Cross my heart.’ And here she crossed a point midway up her sternum with a couple of transversal flicks of her fingers. She smiled, and the smile wavered as a thought occurred. ‘Well, I would cross my heart, but it’s back there somewhere,’ she indicated the great abdomen, ‘and I think it’s more of a mass of peristaltic pipes than what you’d call a heart, but the principle’s the same.’ Her smile returned. ‘“Cross my dispersed cardiovascular system and hope to die” doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it?’

  ‘That’s perfectly acceptable, madam,’ said Cabal, ‘but on this occasion I am not alone.’ He turned and pointed out Horst and Leonie. Somehow both managed smiles, although any list of adjectives used to describe those smiles must needs include ‘wan,’ ‘weak,’ and ‘insincere.’

  ‘Oh, you brought friends!’ The monster leaned her upper body to see them better. ‘Well, any friends of Johannes are friends of mine, I would say.’ Her gaze settled upon Leonie. ‘I say,’ she asked of Cabal, ‘are you and she lovers?’

  ‘No!’ said Leonie sharply, outrage outweighing caution. ‘We are not!’

  ‘Ooh, feisty. I like her,’ said the monster, talking to Cabal as if discussing a pony. ‘How about him, then?’ She nodded at Horst. ‘Are you and he lovers?’

  Even Cabal was taken aback by this. ‘Hardly, madam. That’s my brother.’

  The creature looked at Cabal for some seconds as if expecting further clarification. ‘And?’ she said when it was not forthcoming.

  ‘I draw the line at incest, quite putting the vexed subject of homosexuality to one side.’

  This revelation was greeted by a peal of happy, honest laughter. ‘This is why I adore you, Johannes. You’re so funny!’ She looked at Horst more closely before leaning down towards Cabal to say in a low voice, ‘By the way, your brother’s a deader. You know that, don’t you?’

  In doing so, her angora sweater hung loosely before her, and the V-shaped neck loomed open. Horst found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight although for reasons he could not quite remember. The monster glanced upwards and caught his eye. Her smile became coquettish and somewhat predatory. ‘Although not nearly as dead as he thinks he is,’ she said with the hint of a singsong behind the words.

  ‘Madame Zarenyia,’ said Cabal, both unaware of and injurious to the slight mental fugue in which Horst had found himself. Horst blinked; what had he been thinking about just then? But Cabal was still speaking. Horst focussed enough to listen.

  ‘Madam Zarenyia, this is my brother, Horst, who—as you so perspicaciously noted—is a deader. A dead man, that is. Specifically, a vampire.’

  ‘Such an interesting family you have, Johannes. Hello, Horst. I hope we can be friends.’

  ‘Madam,’ said Horst, and bowed awkwardly.

  ‘And this is Miss Leonie Barrow, criminologist and, for this endeavour at any rate, colleague.’

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Zarenyia spent far too long looking at Leonie. It felt to Leonie that she was being undressed and redressed in a variety of inappropriate outfits in the creature’s imagination. ‘And how did you happen to meet Johannes?’

  ‘He tried to steal my soul,’ said Leonie with more force than she had intended.

  ‘Really?’ Zarenyia glanced at Cabal and then back at Leonie. ‘And they say romance is dead.’

  ‘I’m afraid I shall require the same guarantees of safety that you so graciously extended to me to also apply to Horst and Miss Barrow,’ said Cabal, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents travelling around the other occupants of the chamber.

  ‘Of course. With the proviso that I may naturally defend myself and that any betrayal will be met with lovely amounts of retaliation, I hereby promise that I shall not kill, injure, maim, or otherwise cause physical or psychic or magical hurt to Horst Cabal and Leonie Barrow.’ Then the monster raised its right hand, index and middle finger raised together, thumb across the ring and middle fingers. She smiled brightly. ‘I here so swear. Dib, dib, dib!’

  Cabal moved to scrub out the chalk line with his foot.

  ‘Dib, dib, dib?’ echoed Leonie. ‘Are you serious? Cabal, what sort of guarantee?’

  Cabal looked back at her, and his expression was severe. ‘Madam Zarenyia’s dibs are more than good enough for me,’ he said, and broke the circle.

  ‘Free!’ screamed the monster, drawing itself up to its not inconsiderable full height and raising its arms. Cabal staggered back, stunned. Zarenyia smiled down at him. ‘Made you jump! So,’ she relaxed down again and rambled out of the circle, clapping her hands together once in satisfaction, ‘what’s the plan, Johannes? Will there be murder? I do hope so. I love murder.’

  * * *

  The chamber was as good a place as anywhere to discuss plans. Further, Cabal had a misgiving that Zarenyia—who occupied a space some five yards across from the tip of one arachnoid foot to the tip of its diametric cousin—might perhaps have a few problems getting out of the very humanly sized door. He vaguely hoped that she might have s
ome sort of trick for managing the door, but that enquiring might force attention upon such a dull matter when he was very much enthused by talking about what he had planned for them all.

  It took the best part of half an hour to explain the basic principles of what they would be looking for. (The overarching goal of an underlying principle of life that was called, for the sake of brevity, the ‘Fountain of Youth,’ was explained to Zarenyia in perhaps thirty seconds. This was largely because she was stupendously uninterested. ‘Yes, Fountain of Youth. Very important. Understood. Yes.’ She generally only perked up when the subject turned to possible threats and how they might be dealt with. It was plain she already had her strategies worked out for that.)

  ‘I have arranged transportation to the two nearest sites. Once those are investigated, we will each move on to the next site on our lists. We shall then rendezvous at a midpoint convenient for us all and compare notes.’

  ‘We shall?’ Leonie cocked her head inquisitively. ‘Why doesn’t one group go on to the fifth site?’

  Cabal looked uncharacteristically sheepish, albeit in an officious manner, like a bureaucrat caught out on the exact wording of sub-paragraph 27. Leonie read the meaning in that expression with great alacrity.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed.

  ‘Language, darling,’ said Zarenyia, legs folded under her in a nightmare of knees.

  ‘You don’t know. You don’t know where the fifth site is. How can we do this if we don’t know where all the threads of this great quest of yours dangle?’

  ‘Miss Barrow has a point.’ Horst seemed slightly shamefaced not to be supporting his brother, but only slightly. ‘Surely if we miss any of the sites, it’s all a bit pointless?’

  ‘The book contains no clues to the fifth site,’ said Cabal. He had coloured slightly under all this uncalled-for criticism and was moved to straighten his cravat. ‘Only that its location and significance will become plain once the other four have been found. I strongly suspect that the fifth site is of a different sort to the rest.’ He looked around their faces. ‘I believe it to be where the fountain itself exists.’