Gabriel's Clock

by Hilton Pashley

  Clutching the clock so tightly, his knuckles turned white, Jonathan turned his attention to Belial. He was just as Elgar had described—a tall, thin, shambling corpse of a man.

  “Welcome,” said Belial. “Crow, please stop frightening our guests.”

  Keeping a close eye on Grimm, the demon backed away.

  Staring impassively at Belial, Ignatius sucked hard on the stem of his pipe. “You don’t look at all well,” he said. “Perhaps your past sins are catching up with you?”

  “Perhaps they are!” said Belial, a febrile light in his eyes. “The clock, if you please?” He held out his hand.

  Jonathan looked to his grandfather for guidance.

  “Give him the clock,” said Gabriel, somehow knowing what was in Jonathan’s heart. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Jonathan stayed where he was, uncertainty filling him. I’m giving Belial exactly what he wants, he thought. “Come, my little general,” said Belial, holding his arms wide in a hideous mockery of reassurance. “Let me show you the freedom of absolute power.”

  Jonathan looked at Ignatius. The vicar’s face radiated loathing for the monster that stood in front of them, but he placed a gentle hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “We are here with you,” he said. “You are not alone. Be strong. Do as your grandfather asks.”

  Jonathan took a deep breath and turned to face Belial. It was only the knowledge that he might kill everyone if he summoned his wings that stopped him from wiping that smug rictus of a smile from the archdemon’s rotting face. Dredging up every ounce of self-control he had, Jonathan stepped forward, his boots clumping loudly on the wooden floor.

  “Kneel before me, boy,” Belial demanded.

  Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the stench of decay that oozed from Belial, Jonathan sank slowly to his knees. The voice inside him was screaming now: “How dare you prostrate yourself? This is the thing that has destroyed your life, hurt your family and your friends. Why not just tear it apart? How can you kneel before it? It is not your equal!”

  Belial reached out, but instead of taking the clock, he placed his hands on either side of Jonathan’s head. Jonathan’s body seized as if he was having a fit—every nerve sang with pain, and every muscle fiber went rigid as Belial reached for the power where it raged impotently inside him.

  The voice was suddenly silenced, and Jonathan was filled with an awful, cold emptiness. He slumped twitching to the floor, and Belial gently lifted the clock from his numb arms.

  The archdemon bent his head to whisper in Jonathan’s ear. “You are mine now, little general. For the time being I have clipped your wings. You will do nothing unless I give you permission. You will obey me if you want to avoid your father’s fate. I tore off his wings piece by piece until he told me where you were. Then I dumped his body at Heaven’s gate. If he still lives, I’m sure he’ll be suitably dismayed to see an army marching to destroy him with his son at its head.”

  Despite struggling as hard as possible, Jonathan found he couldn’t move. His body refused to obey him, and his mind was just a reeling mass of pain. Every breath he took felt like he was inhaling broken glass. He couldn’t even close his eyes as tears ran down his face. Belial had him completely under his control.

  Dad, he mouthed, but no sound came out.

  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” bellowed Grimm. He wasn’t shouting at Belial, but at Gabriel.

  The big man was about to launch himself toward the archdemon, but Ignatius grabbed his arm. “No, Halcyon. Please. Have faith.”

  “Faith in what? I promised Jonathan I wouldn’t let Belial have him, and yet that’s exactly what we’ve just done. Do something, Gabriel!”

  “Yes, old man,” chuckled Belial, gazing lovingly at the clock in his hands. “Why don’t you do something?”

  “You have what you wanted,” said the angel. “You have my grandson and the key to Heaven itself. Let Cay go.”

  “Very well. Since I’m feeling all magnanimous in victory . . . Crow, let her father free the girl.”

  The second her bonds were untied, Cay leaped into her father’s arms, sobbing with relief as she hugged him. “Jonathan,” she cried, turning to stare at her friend where he lay pale and still on the floor.

  “Untie the angel as well, human,” said Belial. “Let’s have some fun seeing if he can put up any kind of a fight.”

  The ropes that bound him fell away, and Gabriel got stiffly to his feet. He shuffled blindly toward the sound of Belial’s voice.

  “Now, old man,” said Belial. “Why don’t you show me what an archangel can do? You won’t be able to summon help, of course. Even if you had the strength, your brother Raphael doesn’t seem to care much for anything outside Heaven anymore. In fact, rumor has it that your brother has gone quite, quite mad.”

  “I know,” said Gabriel, his voice immeasurably sad.

  “Once I rule in Hell,” taunted Belial, “I’m going to use this clock of yours to destroy your brother and capture Heaven. In his current condition, Raphael may even consider it a mercy. The best bit is that there’s nothing you can do to stop it!”

  Gabriel lowered his head, and Ignatius felt like weeping for him. Had all their struggling come to this? Humiliation and despair? Then the angel raised his head once more, and Ignatius couldn’t believe his eyes. Instead of being racked with sorrow, Gabriel was smiling.

  “I think you may be disappointed,” said the angel.

  Belial blinked in consternation. “What do you—?”

  “I’m Gabriel Artificer, and as I often say to Ignatius, there’s no point getting old if you don’t get crafty!”

  Belial choked out an incredulous laugh. “I have your clock. With this I can—”

  “DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!” roared the angel. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s a miracle of engineering fit to grace the bedside tables of kings, of queens.” He paused and turned to Cay where she sat huddled with her father. “Or even the bedside table of a brave young woman who wanted something special for her birthday.”

  Cay gaped in astonishment. “You mean . . . ?”

  “I mean that Rook made an assumption, and he got it wrong,” said Gabriel. He turned back to Belial. “Just because something looks like it should be the back-door key to Heaven doesn’t mean that it is. Perhaps it’s simply a beautiful present for a friend. You’ve got the wrong clock, Belial; the real one is somewhere else entirely. Happy birthday, Cay!” Gabriel clicked his fingers, and the sphere in Belial’s hands went dark and silent.

  The archdemon glared at him. Opening his hands, he dropped the lifeless clock to the floor, and it struck the wooden parquet and exploded, shards of glass and delicate components flying in all directions.

  Before Ignatius realized what was happening, before Grimm could raise Isobel, Belial reached out, placed his hands on either side of Gabriel’s head—and snapped the angel’s neck like a twig.

  Chapter 24

  DEUS EX MACHINA

  Staring through a haze of pain, Jonathan watched as Gabriel’s limp body crumpled to the floor. No longer an archangel, just a thin, blind old man who’d loved building clocks.

  “Grandfather!” he cried as he felt his heart breaking.

  It was finally too much for Grimm. Dealing Crow a stunning blow that sent him flying, the big man launched himself at Belial like an artillery shell. The archdemon just stood and watched him come. Grimm raised Isobel for an almighty strike to Belial’s head, but he didn’t get the chance. With supernatural speed, the archdemon stepped aside and raked festering fingernails across Grimm’s back. The big man screamed as if he’d been dipped in acid, then dropped to his knees.

  Belial turned to look at Ignatius, a guttural, liquid laugh bubbling up from inside him like marsh gas through stinking mud. The reek of rotten meat that flowed from him was so strong, it made Ignatius want to gag.

  “Now for you!” the archdemon spat, hatred burning in his eyes. And a terrible change began to overtake him. His skin rippled as whatever was hiding ben
eath decided it was time to reveal itself.

  “We need to get out of here!” shouted Kenneth, pushing his daughter protectively behind him and starting the change to his wolf form.

  “Not without Jonathan,” said Ignatius.

  “Hurry,” said Elgar. “I don’t know what’s happening to Belial, but it’s not going to be good!”

  Ignatius took a step toward Jonathan but was brought up short when, with a sound like tearing cloth, Belial’s body grew violently in size, the skin on his face stretching obscenely before splitting like old leather. The seams of his suit gave way, the shredded remnants swaddling a pulsating, malformed torso.

  “Dear Lord,” said Ignatius, his face deathly pale.

  “I didn’t know he could do that,” said Elgar, hiding behind Ignatius’s leg.

  Belial’s body gave one final heave as two huge, membranous wings erupted from his shoulders, the tatters of his suit and skin dropping to the floor with a sound like a wet towel. The change was complete.

  Unable to move, Jonathan stared as Belial reared up to his full height and roared at the ceiling, the black scales that covered his thickly muscled body glinting under the ballroom lights. His horned reptilian head, like a nightmare version of Brass, swung down to glare at Ignatius with an open mouth full of mismatched fangs. Crimson droplets spattered onto the wooden floor, and the creature gave vent to a rumbling, viscous chuckle.

  “Hiding one’s true form can be tiresome,” he hissed. “But occasionally I find that showing it is useful for instilling fear. Who would think that you could fit all this”—he spread his arms wide—“into that?” He indicated the stinking pile of flesh that lay oozing on the floor.

  Ignatius stood his ground, desperate not to show the fear that flowed through him. “Given that you’re an archdemon,” he said, “I’d have expected something a little more . . . impressive.”

  Belial snarled but didn’t rise to the bait. He turned his attention to Elgar. “Well, cat,” he sneered. “I see that you survived your exile after all. Do you feel comfortable in your skin? Have you learned your place yet?”

  Elgar hissed furiously, his fur standing on end. “Go to hell!” he spat.

  “Not yet, little demon. Not just yet.”

  With a gesture from Belial, Elgar slumped to the floor as if he’d been struck. He howled in pain, his claws skittering over the polished wood as his limbs flailed helplessly.

  “Stop it!” screamed Cay. “You’re killing him, you monster!”

  Elgar snorted his defiance. “Is that all you’ve got?” he grunted. But the pain was too much; the cat fell unconscious, his breath ragged and shallow.

  “Now what?” Ignatius asked Belial as Grimm clambered unsteadily to his feet.

  “Now I take my time killing you all.” The archdemon inhaled and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. “Killing you all . . . slowly.”

  “You talk too much,” said Ignatius, his teeth clenching his pipe.

  The archdemon roared and with lightning speed grabbed the front of Ignatius’s jacket and lifted him off his feet. “I think,” Belial growled at the vicar, “I’ll begin with you!”

  Jonathan watched in frozen horror as Ignatius struggled to get free while Grimm threw himself at the huge creature, wielding Isobel with all his strength.

  Leaving Cay in the doorway, the wolf launched himself into the fray. Within seconds both he and Grimm were doing their best to stop Belial from killing Ignatius while, unable to move, Jonathan could only scream silently as he watched his friends fight for their lives. He wanted to join them, to unleash the power that he knew lay somewhere inside him, but try as he might he couldn’t find it. The block that Belial had placed inside his mind was too strong. And without help, Jonathan knew, it could only be a matter of time before Belial tore his friends to pieces.

  Only a matter of time.

  For suddenly Jonathan heard a gentle chiming. He didn’t recognize it, but it seemed to be coming from his watch. Before his eyes, everything slowed to a crawl and then to a complete stop. The lethal dance with Belial froze midcombat, silence fell upon the ballroom, and the smell of apples and beeswax reached Jonathan’s nose. Then, mercifully, he was somewhere else. And he could move again.

  He found himself standing on a wide marble platform, hanging in space. Behind him two impossibly tall gates made of glass and gold reached up into the stars. The gates were so high that he couldn’t see where they ended, or even if they ended.

  Without warning a runaway train full of memories slammed into his mind—images of a terrible battle, of a shining city, of the joy of creation, of falling and of burning. Feeling himself being buried beneath their weight, Jonathan began to panic, clawing at the images as they swirled around him; then, just as it became too much, a pair of familiar hands reached out and grasped his, steadying him until the rush of memories flowed around—but not over—him.

  “Hello, grandson,” said Gabriel, his face free from injury, his eyes impossibly blue.

  “Gabriel?” gasped Jonathan. “But you’re dead.” His heart ached in his chest as he pictured his grandfather falling to the floor.

  “Yes.” The angel nodded. “It was the only way to save you all. He doesn’t know it yet, but in killing me Belial has doomed himself. It is my gift to you.”

  “But Belial has done something to me,” cried Jonathan. “I couldn’t use my power even if I wanted to!”

  “Oh, grandson,” said Gabriel, smiling at Jonathan with extraordinary warmth. “There is no point getting old if you don’t get crafty. Look around you—where do you think you are?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You are standing in a memory of Heaven. My memory of Heaven, back when I was first created. Behind you are the gates, and if you open them, you will see such wonders.”

  “But the gates are locked.”

  Gabriel nodded. “But I have given you knowledge. All of my knowledge. Everything I was I give to you. I once thought I would give it to my son, but ever since the day you were born I knew it had to be you. You will be a bastion against the dark—a guardian against the chaos outside of creation.”

  “But how can I have your memories?” asked Jonathan, bemused.

  Gabriel just smiled at him. “If you have my memories, you already know the answer. Look inside yourself. Believe it, know it. See what I have made for you.”

  Jonathan did as his grandfather asked and realized that the truth had been literally within arm’s reach all along. He looked at the watch Gabriel had given him and understood what a gift it had truly been.

  “Deus ex machina,” he said.

  “And you know what it means now, don’t you?”

  Jonathan nodded. “God from a machine. It’s not just a way to control Brass, is it?”

  Gabriel shook his head and grinned mischievously.

  “It’s the back-door key to Heaven too,” Jonathan continued, his voice filled with awe.

  Gabriel nodded.

  “And more than that,” said Jonathan, “it was your way of making sure that all your knowledge wasn’t lost if you died. Whoever wore this watch at the moment of your death would get it all.”

  “Deus ex machina,” said Gabriel, his face happy beyond measure. “There are so many ways you can find God in a machine.”

  Jonathan stared at the watch. He could feel it ticking against his wrist. It was warm and reassuring, just like the voice of his wings. His eyes went wide.

  “I can hear my wings!” he said. “They’re not shouting; they’re not angry.”

  “That’s because you have my memories. It will take a long time to master all that power, but I will be there walking beside you while you learn.”

  Jonathan nodded, tears running down his cheeks as he understood that he would never speak face to face with his grandfather again.

  “Now, grandson,” said Gabriel, “let me show you what it’s like to fly—what it’s like to slip the surly bonds of earth and touch the face of God!”

&nbs
p; A blow from Belial caught Grimm on the shoulder and knocked him across the floor. Moments later a vicious kick sent Kenneth, in his wolf form, flying through the air to land by the double doors. Free from distraction, Belial bent to devour Ignatius. The vicar of Hobbes End, pipe still gripped between his teeth, closed his eyes and prayed that he had the strength to die well.

  “BELIAL!” Cay screamed at the top of her lungs. “LOOK BEHIND YOU!”

  The archdemon paused, chuckling to himself. “You really don’t expect me to fall for that one, do you, little girl?” he asked.

  Ignatius opened his eyes and peered past Belial. His utter astonishment at what he saw almost made him drop his pipe. “No, really,” he said to the archdemon. “Look behind you.”

  The grin on Ignatius’s face irritated Belial, and with a snort the archdemon turned round.

  Staring back at him with cobalt blue eyes stood Jonathan. His body was covered in black armor, the overlapping plates wrought with exquisite craftsmanship. His neck was patterned with red scales, and two small horns grew from his temples. On his wrist was a small, battered watch with a worn leather strap.

  “Jonathan?” said Ignatius.

  Jonathan smiled at him and walked forward, the plates of his armor sliding and folding as he moved. It was as though he was encased in molten black glass.

  “This ends,” he said to Belial, his voice filled with power and controlled fury. “There’ll be no more death here.”

  The archdemon stood completely still, a wildly grinning Ignatius still dangling from his claws.

  “Let him go,” ordered Jonathan. “Now!”

  A look of stunned incomprehension plastered across his monstrous face, Belial opened his claws and let Ignatius fall to the floor. Amazed to still be alive, the vicar of Hobbes End ran to the door, sweeping up Elgar’s limp body in his arms as he went.