by J M Bannon
CHA-CHUNK, the harpoon gun fired with a burst of steam and the iron spike flew, its line trailing behind. The shot struck square into the demon’s chest. Halvar let out a hearty roar of pride his aim was true. “I have caught your monster, Sister.”
That single harpoon was enough to bring down the largest animals on earth but it did not phase the Lord of Storms, who thrust himself up into the air with his powerful wings and alighted, the harpoon line spooled out as the demon flew but then it didn’t. Instead of going taut like when the whales would bolt away from the pain, the line piled up on the deck. The line slacked as Pazuzu came down from the sky and landed on the deck of the Thrift.
The demon descended with a crash the iron deck buckled and warped under the weight of the Storm God. There he stood on the foredeck of the Thrift over ten feet tall wing fluttering and his arms outstretched in exaltation of his rebirth on the mortal plane.
Rose stepped in front of the ancient demigod and evoked the Enochian language. “Pazuzu, bringer of storm and drought.”
“Who utters, my name in angel speak?” the demon asked as he pulled the harpoon from his chest. “I am Rose Caldwell and I stand before you not to bargain but to destroy you, behold I wield the Spear of Light.” Upon seeing the spear, the demon threw the harpoon at Rose.
She dodged out of its path and protected herself with the shaft of the spear. The harpoon glanced off the spear but the force of the demons thrust knocked her to the ground. The harpoon ended its flight impaled in the deck of the ship. Pazazu spoke to her in Akkadian “Do not foul my ears with the tongue of Angels, you are mortal you cannot wield that artifact.”
Pazuzu lunged at Rose and grabbed at her with his taloned hand; he would have reached her but the winged demon was stopped just before he could reach Rose.
The Maori had launched a harpoon into the back of Pazuzu, not one of the bulky steam harpoons, but an old wooden one of Maori design. He had wrapped the rope of the harpoon around his waist and arms and was holding the demon back from Rose single-handed. The Maori stared at the demon bug eye with his tongue out in a Maori war cry. The native was trying to frighten an ancient demigod. That moment of deflection was all Rose needed. She grabbed the shaft of the Spear of Light and swung it around, its tip grazing the demon’s chest slicing his hide making a sizzling sound. Pazuzu looked back at Rose and before he could fly or utter a word, she jammed the spear home. With a crack of white light and a strange vacuous crackling sound, Pazuzu was dissipated to the aether, no longer on the mortal plane and no longer in the multiverse to be summoned again.
At the end of her spear was the Spaniard, dead from a spear wound to the chest and a harpoon to the back. With the demon gone the Maori let go of the line.
Halvar cheered with a loud yell, smile and clenched his fists then ran to his Maori crew mate and lifted him up in a bear hug.
Rose said a prayer for the soul of the dead Spaniard looking up to confirm that the storm was breaking. “Can one of you get a tarp or a blanket to cover him up?” Rose dislodged the spear and made her way to the wheelhouse.
She stopped and turned to the crew looking at the Maori “what’s your name, Mate?”
“Pāora Te Potangaroa” he answered.
She walked back to him “How were you able to hold a demon with your bare hands and that flimsy harpoon?”
He held up his thick forearm and fist.
“I get it, you have strong arms but that was Pazuzu in full manifestation.”
“Pāora pointed to the bracelet on his wrist it was black lava stone beads and tiger eye. This tiger's eye gives me the clarity of vision to hit my desired target. The lava stone anchors me to the earth.”
Who am I to argue with him about where he gets his power? I wear a belt with dead saint’s teeth and hair to stop demons and call on angels. “That would come in handy.”
“You can have mine,” offered Pāora.
“No, you keep it, you know how to use it,” replied Rose, “but, thank you, for the offer of the talisman and most of all for your help in slaying the demon.”
4
THURSDAY, THE 31ST OF MAY 1860
2:37 P.M. GILCHRIST MANOR
It was a strange wire-type, from a name Preston had not heard in ages. Traube. Not Lorelei Traube, but her Father, Guild Baron Gustavus Traube, the high-ranking Alchemist and a wealthy apothecary operator. The cable requested a confidential meeting with Preston.
Preston wired back he could not travel and extended an open invitation for Baron Traube to visit Gilchrist manor. Not routine travel for Traube, he was an active member of the board of electors of the Alchemist guild in Königsberg. For him to call it would require a water or airship from the Prussian capital to England, then trains and cars to reach the remote Manor.
A reply wire-type arrived promptly after Preston’s invitation requesting to formalize the earliest feasible date and inquire about a satisfactory location for Traube to navigate the landing of an airship near the mansion. Preston joked to Brentwood where Baron Traube could park his balloon. Brentwood, one never to joke, offered options as to potential locations and queries as to the coordination of securing an airship. When Lord William was around the staff would need to deal with his unique requests from time to time, so having an airship land on the property may not have been the strangest request made by the staff. Preston had so few guests and sought to learn further about Lorelei Traube that he asked Brentwood to coordinate with the Baron’s secretary to make all the preparations and to ready the house for visitors.
The recent sea squall made airship travel to England treacherous, the Baron therefore postponed his trip and was arriving today at Gilchrist Manor. A thrum of the propellers could be heard miles away, Preston looked out the window and watched as the airship grew bigger and bigger. Strangely teardrop shaped and employing two smokestacks blasting black coal smoke into the air, the ship differed from the British vessels he read about in the papers. You could tell this one was Prussian designed; it had almost a fish like a shape, but the more Preston watched as it maneuvered closer, it was predatory as a shark. The Esperancé was close enough to the property that from the upper rooms Preston could look see the silhouettes of people in the pilot house of the airship. He smiled to himself as he watched the porters, footmen and some of the local field hands scurrying around the field. The only instruction they received was by wire type and likely no one, certainly not Preston, had ever seen anything like an airship.
Standing in the vestibule of the manor Preston looked out the central doors where his steward and butler awaited his guests. The more he thought about the open door and the extent of activity around him the faster his vision tunneled. His anxiety would show through short shallow breathes and tunnel vision, dulling of his hearing and complete loss of focus. His possession by Azul had unexpectedly caused him to suffer from nervousness of open spaces. Perhaps when his body was deep in a possession, his consciousness was roaming the maze designed to hold Azul. It was disconcerting as the maze also provided a place of solitude when he could escape voices in his head, including Azul and the committee of commentators he had created over the years.
A odd carriage pulled up, from the front, a small street car. Standing on its veranda, a youthful blond gentleman in a somber suit. The rest of the car resembled a large train cabin with multiple windows with draperies. Except for the boisterous Germans inside, the vehicle was silent. Unlike the noisy steam coupe Rose drove up from London and it was so much larger, her coupe could practically fit within it. When it came to a stop Preston watched as a sturdy redheaded gent wearing a tan driver’s duster walked out to the front platform. The driver threw a lever then flipped down a wooden step to allow Baron von Traube to exit carriage.
“Come out and take a gander at the Benz-o-cart!” bellowed the stout fellow. Brentwood came over to the vociferous German and leaned into him. Preston could see Brentwood was a little off put when Traube grabbed Brentwood’s hand and shook it.
“Ah not to f
ret Preston, your man here tells me you are unable to come out, then I will come in, not with the Benz-o-cart!” Traube yelled so Preston could hear him from outside.
As Brentwood and the Baron walked in Traube was providing instructions. “The man driving Benz-o-cart is my valet. He has my bags in the carriage and requires assistance.”
"Both the master of the house and I speak German. I will be happy to assist him in getting you and your things in place during your stay,” replied Brentwood.
Traube followed Brentwood's even-toned statement with guttural shouting in German to have Henrik come over and meet Mr. Brentwood, “Oh I am so happy you can speak to Henrik in his mother tongue, his English is insufficient, and by that, I mean nonexistent” announced the gregarious German.
“Mr. Brentwood, Henrik here will also require assistance to resupply the Esperance, she has a small crew that will need provisions for their stay and to refit the ship for our return.”
“Baron, we have more than sufficient space for your entourage, either in the house or when appropriate downstairs in the service dormitory. Just provide me with your wishes, none of your party need sleep on the ship.”
"Mr. Brentwood, Danke. I suppose the captain and some of the crew will stay aboard for safety’s sake but I will have Henrik extend the invitation.” The Baron and Brentwood stood in front of Preston as Brentwood made a formal presentation. “May I present Guild Baron Gustav von Traube, Elector of the Alchemists."
“and you are Lord Gilchrist,” Traube interrupted with a loud handclap and clicking of his heels. “My daughter said you were a mysterious bird, but if you're a bird you are the bird of the gilded cage, Yah? Your residence is Wunderbar! Are those woods to the west yours, Lord Gilchrist? If so, I would love to ride in them with you.”
“I am not the Lord of the estate, my father holds that title, Baron von Traube. However, as my guest, you are welcome to use our stables and ride without me."
“Ah yah, your father is looking for the source of the Nile or something in Africa."
“Something like that. He is managing a Royal Archeology Society expedition in Central America to locate a lost city the conquistadors referred to the fourteenth -century.
“Excellent! An adventurer, you not so much,” stated Traube.
Gustavus removed his hat, gloves and a linen driving coat and handed them to the waiting attendant. Underneath, the cobalt blue coat of the Alchemist Guild was an extraordinary hue. The Guild kept the formulation secret to assure that when the color was used, it heralded the Guild’s ability to produce fantastic materials.
“Baron…”
“You call me Gus,"
“All right, Gus, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I would like to welcome you to Gilchrist Manor. Would you like to enjoy a respite after your travels or should we step into the parlor to talk while we wait for lunch?” Preston suggested.
“I would prefer to see this library of yours that Lorelei says you have amassed. While I am not much for the reading I appreciate a connoisseur and the work it takes to curate the world’s finest collection. My daughter had advised me that yours is the greatest book collection of the metaphysics, yah?”
“Lorelei, invariably spoke of your direct nature. Of course, then let us go directly to the study” said Preston.
“How is Lorelei?” asked Preston.
"Well, Preston, may I call you Preston?"
"Yes, please do."
"Lorelei described your library, saying it was like no other she had seen; and as you may know that girl has been in quite a few libraries and bookstores in her life."
“Yes, it was in the Library of Humboldt University where we first met,” replied Preston as he opened the door to his infamous athenaeum.
The library was by far one of the biggest rooms in the mansion. As Preston built his collection, he had an extension put on to the house quadrupling the size of the study.
"I refer to this room as my study, just a place for me to work and have my resources close at hand."
"This is most incredible and these texts are all about the magical?" taking pause to absorb the extent of the collection, Traube queried.
"Most. I have tomes on other subjects, some I collected, others part of the existing library."
“You have stopped collecting now that you do not leave the residence,” proposed Traube.
"No, I have two book dealers I patronize. They work with me because of my eye. I can help them spot counterfeit works and find homes for the copies I already have or don’t feel compliment the collection. There are few texts I am still searching for, we have over fifty-four thousand items here from fragments of scrolls to some of the most exotic manuscripts," explained Preston.
"And this is the prize heifer?" The Barron was looking at the glass case in the center of one bookcase that held The Journal of Azul bin Hassan, Tazziz Farouq al Jani Djin. Preston approached the tomb and gazed at its illuminated cover, admiring the gilt edges of the pages. When he looked at that book it was like an opium addict remembering his first puff on the pipe.
"Yes, that is the book that became the obsession of my life and set me upon a path of the occult studies. There is no other like it in the Multiverse. After that I would have to say my collection of the original scrolls of Solomon, and there are the secrets of Solomon, the lesser and greater keys and the lost songs of Solomon. The complete collection, it had taken many years to find all of them."
"And before magic book study, what were you doing?"
“I studied humanities at Cambridge.”
"Your book dealers found all these?" questioned Traube.
Preston chuckled. "Oh no, most of this collection I uncovered, mining through varied collections, traveling to ancient locations and literally digging them up."
“And this is the largest mystical collection?” asked Traube as paced the room.
“I expect the Vatican may have more books but they do not have the right books. This collection is intertwined, connected to man’s first contact with the mystical and divine. In that respect, this may not be the biggest collection but in my view, it is the right collection of works for the mortal mind to learn of the immortal.”
“I am not a collector per se as much as an exhibitionist. The airship, the Benz-o-cart; the appointment of these vehicles is all custom and top end. From here, I travel to Paris to work with one of Napoleon's designers. The Esperance will be my private Versailles of the sky.”
“Indeed, the ship was very impressive as it descended, and your carriage, I have literally seen nothing like it.” Replied Preston.
“Ah, yes I’m proud to show that off. It descends on cables from my airship so I can alight in the airship then drive around in the Benz-o-cart. It runs from chemical batteries under the floor of the carriage that charge from the dynamo powering the current system on the airship. The boiler drives the propellers and the dynamo at the same time. I have a chemical process using strong acids to store the electrical power then serves power to the cart. It is not fast, but it is reliable.”
The was the pregnant pause.
“You didn’t answer earlier, about how Lorelei is doing. I can only assume that you wished to discuss the matter in private,” probed Preston.
“When was it you last corresponded with my daughter?”
< Do you think he knows?> asked Azul.
No he couldn’t?
“We have not corresponded for several years," Preston verbalized.
“I don’t have it on me but Henrik has it in my bag, I have one of Lorelei’s notebooks. Her most recent one and I hoped that you could assist to decipher its contents. I need your help Preston, I know how you two were with your puzzles and ciphers. I saw the silly notes she would send you and how excited she became to decode your letters.”
“Baron,”
“Gus,"
“Gus, I am not following why would I need to decode her journal."
“She has been missing for over a week and I am sure she has been kidn
aped. There was an accident at the laboratory she was working in and the Police and Guild believe it to be a work of sabotage. This was an important project for the Guild and she is the genius behind it. I am sure she has been abducted by competitors of the Guild looking to replicate our secrets. You know how she was, she could have whipped up some scribble in the notebook that is the clue to where they took her.”
"I see. You have come a long way so I can’t see why it would hurt to look,” offered Preston.
“Henrik! Henrik! Bring the notebook!” Boomed the Baron in German.
The first to enter the room was Brentwood, “Can I be of assistance, Baron?” Henrik scurried into the room with the notebook, plain and well used its spine broken and extra pages were stuffed into it. “Give it to Master Gilchrist, Henrik,” implored the Baron as he waved at Preston.
Preston opened the book and observed what would appear to the casual observer the writings of a lunatic, but he could see the sequences and the words begin to appear. His years of working on the riddles of Azul and reading ancient texts awarded him with an eye for this work.
“Baron, you are welcome to stay or you may take your leave to enjoy Gilchrist. I wish to give this the attention it deserves.”
“You will be the most upstanding host and friend if you can decode the book and find my daughter, you don’t need this fat old fool distracting you. Henrik, we take our leave to let the master do his work.”
Brentwood stayed. “Can I bring you anything, Sir?”
“Yes, make sure the inkwells are full and check my paper stock. I will be secluded until this document is decoded; bring my meals in and make every effort to keep the Barron entertained. Give him full run of the property.
“Yes, Sir," answered Brentwood.
