Bread

by Stephen Brown

TAKEN FROM THE RIGHT AND ORDERLY NOTEBOOK OF SADFAEL THE MONK

  From the decor of the keep itself I knew that we were many hundreds of years ahead of our own time in the reign of the good King Stephen and from what the ghost of Duke Duster had told me I ascertained that I was probably between one and two hundred years back from the time I had just come from. Somewhere between 1800 and 1900 years after the birth of our Lord. I also learned that the creature I was after had appeared but stayed only briefly before he had gone out somewhere on foot. He was sure to be back though, as his repulsive, many tentacled head gear was still here, in the so-called billiards room.

  Creeping into this high ceiling room, crucifix in one hand, holy water in the other, I cast my eyes upon the abomination sprawled out before me, the very same jumble of boxes and sinews that had been glowing with the fires of Hades the first time I saw them. Splashing my holy water all over the room, I once again performed a rite of exorcism.

  This act being complete, I then took a long cudgel that was lying on the central table, which was uniformly green and fuzzy as if smothered by lichen. I then proceeded to physically smash the apparatus into as many pieces as I possibly could, all the time murmuring incantations of protection and blessings to cleanse the air which this demon has defiled with his Unholy presence.

  It was then time to put another part of the plan into action, which we had discussed for this very eventuality. I remembered Geoffrey Slush’s advice, to look for a telle-y-fone, should I happen to find myself in an era in which they were commonplace, and to call for the police.

  It was not without some difficulty that I contacted a policeman and strange though it was, I began communicating with him through this strange tell-y-fone device.

  “I wish to speak, if I may, with a policeman.”

  “This is Constable Dab speaking sir. How may I help you?”

  “I wish to report a goodly horde of stolen property which I have found,” I told him.

  “Is this right sir?” he asked after a moment. “And what property would this be? You can go ahead, I have a pencil.”

  “It is gold Brother Constable. Lots and lots of gold.” The tone in Constable’s voice noticeably changed.

  “When you say ‘lots and lots,’ sir, what are we talking about here? A couple of necklaces? A bagful of rings?”

  “Oh no, more than that Constable. Enough to fill up a horse drawn cart and perhaps enough for a second trip.”

  I heard many background noises at that point and then a second voice spoke.

  “Good afternoon sir, this is Sergeant Hickles. Could you tell me where you are exactly?”

  “I am stood by the telle-y-fone in the billiards room of Nine Feathers Castle,” I replied. I hoped I had been exact enough. I could have explained that the fone was positioned by a west-facing window for example. In the cup which I held to my ear I could hear a muted conversation going on.

  “Nine Feathers Castle? Where’s that?” the man called Sergeant was asking.

  “Isn’t that the old name for Lorrimer’s place sir?”

  “Brasshouse Gardens; yes, I think you’re right. Get over there with as many men as you can find Dab.” The voice grew louder as he addressed himself to me once more. “Is there anybody there with you sir?”

  “No Sergeant, I am alone, but the miscreant responsible will not be long in returning I fear, and he is a most dangerous and desperate man.”

  I did not say anything about Duke Duster’s ghostly presence and Geoffrey had told me that it would be for the best if I did not mention the Satanic origins of our foe, as this would only bring unnecessary hardships and confusion to those sent to apprehend him. Brother Sergeant took my name and told me not to go anywhere; some men would be arriving presently.

  Replacing the receiver as I believe it is called on its little hook, I then set about performing a special prayer of banishment. Slush had been through it with me several times, for though it was a simple rite, it was very important to our plans. The ritual would consign the larger portion of the demonic soul back into the fiery pits of Hell, leaving only a small portion behind in human form. Not enough to be able to spread its evil influences, but just enough to be aware of the punishment meted out by the forces of humanity and our Holy Father, the Lord God Himself. That way it was safe for us to involve any outsiders so I would not have to tackle the daemon, physically, alone.

  Not long after I had finished the police turned up. They are upholders of the law in the same way the militia and town vigils kept order in my day, and they quickly got to gathering up all the treasures secreted throughout the house. They recognised all, but for the sacred icons of the Bramfield parish, which I had already procured and placed inside a sack, ready to take back with me when the time came.

  Later that night, the devil - or whatever was left of him inside his mortal shell after my incantation - returned to the castle. Upon entering the billiards room where I had nervously seated myself, he drew up short, unbelieving at what he saw. Which affected him the more - seeing me or the sorry remnants of his machine lying in tatters across the room – I can only speculate.

  “What the…?” he began as he cast his gaze about the scene of destruction. Then, upon finally seeing me, the full fury of the Seven Hells was writ clear upon his face. “You!” he roared and before I knew it he had barrelled into me and we tumbled to the floor.

  I can only be thankful that the ritual of banishment had already robbed him of most of his strength – even as it was he was inhumanly powerful. I found myself upon my back with him sitting astride me, his hands closed around my neck! The fiend had sinews of tempered iron and I was like a newborn babe in arms in my attempts to remove him. A thick black curtain began to descend as my body struggled for air and a goodly part of me began to prepare for me to meet my maker.

  He must not be ready for me yet though because suddenly the curtain lifted! A dozen of the policemen hidden in the house had jumped upon my assailant and were even now setting about him with stout cudgels as well as their heavily booted feet. His screams were tremendous and as I rolled around gasping for air not ten feet away I realised I could not but pity him in the end.

  When the burly men dressed in darkest blue considered that the demon had been sufficiently quieted they took him away in a horse drawn carriage and threw him ungently into their dungeons. My quest was finally at an end and I had succeeded! Against all the odds, I had triumphed!

  I must try to keep the glee from my mind as I remember how downcast and pathetic he looked as the judge sentenced him the very next day to spend the rest of his life inside a prison for his many thefts, some of which had been quite violent. It is only now, after the celebrations held by the local townsfolk are over (and during which I was embarrassingly carried shoulder high) that I have been able to have a moment to myself.

  The Lord’s work has been done. My faith has been fully restored, and my heart is once again filled with the warmth of the love of God. I will allow myself some sleep (despite the fact the bed I have been given for the night looks nowhere even close to being as comfortable as the one I have been enjoying of late) before I push the button on my time travelling device which, I have been assured, will take me back to Canterbury.

  Still in the year two thousand and nine though. Whatever happens after that, well, I put that definitively in the hands of my Heavenly Father.

  ***