The Curse of Salamander Street

by G. P. Taylor

  She stared at Mister Martin, her eyes angry and bright, her face set like stone. He thought for a moment, as he looked her up and down.

  ‘Very well – so mote it be. And if you die – don’t blame me …’

  *

  The Magenta rolled in the tidal wave that washed it like a lump of flotsam along the Thames. Obadiah Demurral adjusted the long white collar of his priest’s shirt and folded it neatly into his waistcoat. From his place on the bridge of the ship he could see the faint lights on either side of the river. They moved with the tilting of the ship and reminded him of the harbour at Whitby. Demurral gulped the air like a fish on the sand. He paced the deck, jittery and excited, and looked to a dark outline in the bend of the river. On the near shore was the Devil’s Tavern; its lights shone brightly, set against the walls of the warehouses that flanked each side. He gave no heed to the rowboat that beat ahead of him. His hand shivered in the cold of the night and, looking around once more to see all was well, he went below deck.

  The steps led to the door of what was once Crane’s cabin. Demurral knocked with the tip of his long white finger. The handle was turned from the inside and Galphus smiled to welcome him. Demurral thought that the man looked nervous – strange for an alchemist, he thought, as he nodded and looked at Crane and then to Raphah.

  ‘Boy,’ he said politely to Raphah. ‘In the time I have known you I have never told you why all this has come to pass. I am troubled that I should even think such a thought, but something in my mind tells me I should at least inform you as to why your life will be taken.’

  Crane moved uncomfortably. The leather bands were tight around his wrists; his chains had been exchanged for horse bonds that burnt his hands.

  ‘Why do you have to kill any of us?’ Raphah asked.

  ‘Was it not Riathamus who took the first life in the Garden? Did he not kill an animal to clothe the man who ate from the Tree of Life? Did he not want blood and desire sacrifice at all times? If those are the ways of Riathamus, then why cannot we demand the same? It began with blood and shall end with blood … Your blood. You three are the divine proportion – each of you chosen for this purpose. A Keruvim for the Angels, a boy for Adam and a girl for Eve. In all creation there is a meaning, even in your dying.’

  ‘Take of me what you want,’ Raphah replied as he smiled at him. ‘I don’t fear death or what is beyond … And as for Riathamus his demands are mercy, not sacrifices.’

  ‘We shall see. Your redemption is in my hands. I will be your judge and your jury.’

  ‘And Thomas and Kate – what of them?’ Raphah asked.

  ‘I will fill the Chalice with seven drops of blood from each of you. Not one of you are spoiled or tarnished by life – that is the way it must be. The Grail has more power within it than the Keruvim. It has the force of heaven, and to think you brought it to me.’

  ‘Then do it now, here and now, Demurral, but let me die fighting and not hog-tied,’ Crane shouted and spat.

  ‘Patience, Jacob, patience,’ Demurral said as he smirked. ‘I have waited many years for this moment and will not have it taken from me so quickly. Since the beginning of time mankind has waited to overturn the reign of the Almighty. Think it a privilege that you should witness this at first hand. You are a guest at the destruction of Riathamus. It is my second chance,’ he snarled at Raphah. ‘He should have killed me when he had the chance. Doesn’t he sicken you that he allowed me to bring you here? Don’t you feel abandoned by him? And yet you still give him glory?’

  There was a sudden rustling of the wind that rattled the windows of the cabin and blew the papers across the chart stand. All felt strangely cold as Raphah raised his eyes from the floor and talked slowly. It was as if a voice had taken his and spoke for him. ‘I tell you this, Obadiah Demurral. Before the crowing of the cockerel, you shall be gone from this world. Your flesh shall hang like rags from your bones for it is a foolish man who falls into the grip of a jealous God.’

  A Pocketful of Stones

  THE derelict quayside of Dog Island stuck into the river like a broken finger. To one side was a swathe of marsh that crowed and croaked with the sound of every wetland creature that had walked the earth. In the stillness of the night the screeches echoed and carried, distorted into grotesque calls by the wind. The water slopped against the side of the Magenta. Here, away from the tide, it stank of the London foul that frothed on the surface in a thick brown scum.

  The vagabond procession were dragged one by one from the ship along the quay and towards a small mound surrounded by a circle of densely planted silver birch. A shale path led like a long white finger through the tall reeds to drier land. It rose up, away from the river, but even there were signs that the tide had washed through the grass in flood.

  Demurral led the way, dancing like a small child, skipping every other step. Behind, the weary Galphus walked on, followed by twelve Druggles who hemmed in their guests. Thomas was bound like the others. Around his wrists were leather straps that he rubbed back and forth to loosen as he walked.

  For most of the mile they walked they said nothing. Thomas looked at the far-away dock. He could see the masts of ships on the other side of the island. To the west was the city. Lighting the sky blood-red was a fire and a pillar of cloud. In the distance, far along the path, he could see even more Druggles. They lined the shale walkway, lanterns in hand that shimmered in the growing breeze. Two held an arch of holly branches high above their heads as they walked through.

  Demurral bowed serenely, dropping to one knee and nodding his head. In his hand he held the Grail Cup. Soon they all walked up the stone steps, through the copse that surrounded the hill. Once they were at its shallow summit they were pushed into a circle that was cut in the goose-eaten grass and marked by chalkstone. Thomas could see the village of Greenwich and the burnt hulk of the Lupercal. It sat like burnt ribs at the southern tip of Dog Island. Three masts cast moon shadows on the water. The entire world seemed to be cut with silver and black shadows that lined each contour as if they had been drawn by hand.

  Thomas looked at Jacob and then Raphah. Kate was slumped on the ground, her body shaking. She sobbed and moaned as two Druggles hung Isabella’s portrait to a low bough of a larch tree. It hung out of place, incongruous in the landscape, as Isabella stared from her prison screaming at her captors.

  Demurral and Galphus bowed to each other as they silently walked the circle. Druggles in turn bowed to them as they went by. It was as if they had all become the workings of some gigantic living clock. When Thomas looked he realised they had each been placed at points in time: he at the ninth hour, Crane the third, Raphah the sixth and Kate at midnight. In the centre of the circle was a burning pot. It flamed and smoked with acrid incense that blew about them in the changing wind. Demurral walked the circumference and then stopped next to Kate.

  A Druggle stepped from the shadows without command and stood before the cauldron. He ripped open the front of his shirt to expose his flesh as he faced the river. His eyes spoke of Gaudium. Thomas could see the look of complete and utter glee on his face: the fixed grin, the quivering lips and sniffing nose.

  Galphus thrust his cane into the earth and called out as Demurral took a knife from his coat and one by one cut the strands and charms from Isabella’s picture. Immediately she broke free, jumping from the frame, and there, for all to see, the doorway to her world opened. The vortex from the painting roared like a thundering whirlpool as it sucked the air from the world. It rattled the branches of the trees as if its power would suck the stars from the firmament. Isabella ran to Kate and danced around her as Kate held out her tethered hands as if to be cut free.

  Demurral cut her cheek with the knife and dribbled seven drops of blood into the Grail Cup. Crane stiffened with rage, tightly bound to the trunk of a wizened birch tree. He could not move from his place, his hand clasped together by leather straps and tethered to the trunk.

  ‘No more, Demurral,’ he shouted. ‘I will see you dead b
efore you cut another.’

  Slowly and purposefully, Demurral went to Thomas and then Raphah. Before he cut each one, he looked to Jacob Crane and smiled. Galphus stared into the crystal, glancing frequently to Demurral as if for some sign of what should happen now.

  When Demurral had gathered the twenty-one drops of blood he stood in the centre of the circle and raised the Cup to the sky. Far to the south there was a crack of thunder. From the river bubbled a silver mist that crawled from the water and followed the path of a small inlet.

  They could all see it drawing closer and closer as the wind blew through the rattling branches above their heads.

  ‘She comes,’ Galphus said, looking deeper into the crystal. ‘She comes, Demurral.’

  Demurral looked into the crystal. In the swirling mist he could see a dark figure striding through the mist-laden fields towards the hill.

  ‘Who do you summon now?’ Crane shouted above the wind.

  ‘Your fate and my future, Jacob Crane. Cover your eyes and look not on the form of the Queen of Heaven. Soon you will stand in the presence of Hertha and you will die.’

  ‘Fear her not,’ shouted Raphah. ‘All that comes is a demon from hell, sold to the world as the mother of God. What you will see in her eyes, Demurral, is the brimstone that will consume you both.’

  There was a sudden deathly silence. All was still as the wind ebbed from the branches. Isabella walked slowly back to her picture frame and hid within the glade. It was as if she could sense what was to come. She smiled at Thomas from behind a ghostly yew tree.

  From around the hill came a pleasant whispering. It was like the call of dawn birds but uttered on the lips of a thousand excited children. From every tree then came the hissing of serpents and the rattle of snakes. Then it came.

  Gathering speed as it flew, a dark silhouette broke through the branches of the trees that covered the hill. It landed by the outer circle and, taking the form of a large fox, ran to the centre. Without hesitation, it dived through the skin of the Druggle who stood waiting as if he knew this would be his fate and welcomed it gladly. For several moments it vanished completely within him and then appeared again, a heart in its hand.

  ‘Demurral,’ said the voice of the woman as she transformed from the fox to human form. ‘Is all prepared?’

  ‘All is well. The blood is in the Cup and the divine principle is set. The seconds tick and our clock is ready.’

  ‘Then we shall steal time and the kingdom of heaven,’ Hertha said, wiping her hands upon her green velvet dress. ‘The gate is open, I see. And the child, Isabella, does she suspect?’

  ‘All is well,’ Demurral said again, as if they were the only words he dare utter.

  ‘Then let us chime the timepiece and bring an end to this all,’ Hertha said.

  ‘It will not end here,’ Raphah said.

  ‘Ah, Raphah … My brother has spoken of you many times. A thorn in the flesh born of righteousness. What angel shall you conjure to stop us tonight?’ she asked. ‘I have it on good authority that Raphael shall not appear as he searches for Tegatus in the depths of the sea. Tonight, Raphah-the-healer, it is you and I who shall decide the fate of the world. Think of it. What began long ago shall be completed here.’

  ‘You shall be sent to a place from which you will never escape,’ he shouted.

  ‘And you, you will beg me to let you die. All of you mean nothing to me,’ Hertha raged as she threw the remnants of the bloodied heart into the fire.

  ‘My Queen,’ Demurral begged. ‘The time has come, it is an hour from morning.’

  ‘The last one ever – how glad will I be to never see a sunrise,’ she said. She walked towards Kate and, lifting her head, kissed her cheek. ‘You will be the first to welcome death.’

  ‘Not as long as I live,’ Crane shouted. ‘I fear no witch from hell.’

  Crane looked defiant, his eyes bold as he held back his head. He feared no one. Hertha twitched as she thought and then suddenly pulled the crystal stick from the ground and, leaping the circle, smashed it upon his head, knocking him to the ground.

  ‘See,’ she said as she panted her breath. ‘I fear no man. Take him from this place and drown him in the river.’

  The Druggles took Crane’s bindings from the tree and dragged him across the circle towards the path through the trees. He could not resist, the flow of blood from his head blinding his eyes. He stumbled and fell as Demurral kicked him for a final time.

  ‘How things change, Jacob,’ Demurral said as he disappeared into the wood. ‘How things change …’

  Hertha clicked her fingers. Demurral and Galphus turned like two dogs.

  ‘Take his place, Galphus,’ she commanded. ‘It needs a soul to be in his place, the timepiece will soon chime. Cut the bindings from the others, they need to stand freely in their death.’

  With that Druggles cut the bindings on Thomas and Raphah. Hertha snatched the Grail Cup from Demurral’s fingers and began to spin and spin. She whirled like a mad dervish. It was as if with every turn the earth moved with her. The trees began to whirl about them, and Thomas could not stand as the vortex of Isabella’s portrait opened up once more and began to pull them all towards it.

  Hertha laughed as she danced around and around, her long red hair trailing like a comet about to smash to the earth. Raphah looked up at the swirl of stars above them and from far away could hear Crane’s tormented cries. Galphus gripped his cane and trembled as from all around him the souls of the dead were sucked from the earth towards the golden frame that hung from the tree.

  Thomas could see Kate as she got to her feet as in the swirling mist. Isabella came to her side. For a moment Kate looked at him and then fell back towards the vortex. From within the Chalice blood began to flow, covering the ground beneath them as the hill spun in time and space like the whirring of a clock. The Druggles ran into the dark wood, leaving them alone.

  ‘Raphah,’ Thomas screamed. He felt his skin begin to dry and the life flow from him as a purple haze surrounded him. ‘Kill her …’

  The world stopped as if time had ceased. Hertha stared at Thomas. He looked and saw her feet had changed to those of a ram. She moved towards him and with one hand suddenly gripped his throat. He screamed as he choked his breath. Kate ran as fast as she could and grabbed at Hertha. They began to fight, the girl holding the demon by her hair and beating at her with her fists.

  Demurral stood motionless, as if paralysed, as Thomas kicked at the creature. Raphah seized the moment and grasped the Chalice from her fingers. Galphus came towards him, cane outstretched, and from far away they could all hear the cries of a mob.

  ‘Leave me, boy!’ she screamed as Thomas dug his nails into her face and Kate pulled her to the ground. From Hertha’s back, two small wings arose from the flesh. They fluttered and beat like those of a small bat that in the night air began to grow hideously.

  ‘She’s getting away!’ Thomas screamed as Demurral finally broke himself from his fear and jumped towards him.

  Kate spun on her heels to see Isabella’s ghost grab Demurral and throw him to the floor. Hertha broke free of Thomas and lunged for the Grail. Thomas, without thinking, hit her about the face harder than he had punched anyone before.

  Hertha looked at him, stunned by the blow. She turned to Kate, who stood close to the open portal. With a sudden jab she pushed Kate towards the vortex. Kate stumbled and tripped, falling towards the inner glade as the world within sucked her closer. In a second she was gone, transformed between worlds and never to return. Thomas rushed to her as she held out her hand. He grasped her fingers that in a moment were pulled from him as Hertha dragged him back. Thomas saw Kate’s last smile. The Gaudium had lost its power in her death. She was like she had always been – his Kate Coglan and no other.

  Raphah lifted the Chalice into the air and shouted in his tongue as loud as he could, calling the names of the angels. Hertha laughed as she pushed Thomas away.

  ‘I have heard all those names before,
boy,’ she said as she reached for the Cup.

  In a single breath Raphah uttered the unutterable and screamed the hidden name of G–d. ‘Shaddai-El-Aadonai …’ he said again and again. The dirt beneath him began to awaken and the powers and principalities of the earth stirred beneath his feet like the rising of a volcano.

  Demurral pushed the bucket of fire and incense from its stand and spilt the hot coals at Raphah’s feet. The ground began to burn about him as fire leapt to consume him.

  ‘Die, Ethio!’ Demurral screamed as a wall of red flames encircled him.

  Raphah recited the true name again and again. With every word the fire retreated as the ground trembled.

  Hertha was beaten back by the flames. They burnt brightly, consuming the grass beneath her feet and chasing between her cloven hooves. The uttering of the Name filled the night air and called across the marshes. It was as if a power had been unleashed upon the world. It came in the sound of raindrops that beat against the river and fell from the sky like silver pearls. The whole of nature twisted within itself as birds and fowl flew in spirals like black clouds over the city with one mind.

  Hertha was silenced. She looked up in wonder as she dropped her hands to her side and sighed.

  It then happened so quickly that no one saw Thomas as he grabbed the cane from Galphus. With all the anger and pain that he had ever known – all the hatred that he had for the world, all the misery of his heart – he thrust it like a spear through Hertha’s chest, piercing her cold, cold heart.

  At first she just stood silently and looked at the crystal set on the black-lacquered rod. She giggled, as if this could never have happened.