“He stopped to take a long, slow drag on his cigar. In truth, he did not look in the slightest like a man who had been shaken, but I had a feeling that Mr. Churchill is a man made of some pretty stern stuff, and that shaking him to the core might be rather a big task to undertake. I did not voice my opinion but contented myself with a sip of his excellent Scotch as he continued.
“‘My first port of call was to the old workings under the Temple—you have been there yourself, so you know where I mean. I looked at the statues of Mithras and the Bull, and I read the scrawls of later Saxon runic script that defaced them. From there I proceeded by a route too convoluted to relate, which involved study of far too many monkish scrawls in illuminated Bibles and the perusal of shelves in the British Library normally hidden from the public eye. I was on the verge on calling on you anyway, Carnacki, for I know you have the finest occult library in the country, but I stumbled on another clue that led me first to the Monument, and thence down to St. Katharine Docks. And now all need for research has passed, for the threat is here, now, today, and we have no time for preparation—it is action that is needed, and action I have called you for. Are you ready to serve your country, man?’
“‘As ready as the next chap,’ I replied. ‘But you have not given me anything to think on as of yet. You say the threat is Germanic, that much I have understood. But what is its precise nature?’
“‘It is a ravenous beast that has already started to consume the city. And if this city falls, then England falls, and the Empire with it, and the world will be the worse for its passing.
“But as far as precision goes—I cannot tell you; I can only show you. And for that, we must go to the docks. I have a carriage waiting. I just need your agreement—and your promise of discretion.’
“I gave both willingly. We finished our drinks and cigars, and shortly before luncheon I was back in another carriage, headed through town for the East End Docks.
“Churchill kept up a constant flow of conversation along the way—he struck me as a man who liked to talk as a means to his own decision-making. As we made our way through the lunchtime traffic in the City, he talked and I listened.
“‘I will not insult you by relating the history of the German Hex sign to you, Carnacki—but do you know just how potent that symbol has been through history—not just in its homeland, but all across Europe?’
“I merely nodded to show my assent as he continued.
“‘I have found them all over this old city,’ he said. ‘I was looking into the history of the Great Fire, for I have always thought that there is a story there that has not yet been told—and when I poked around some buildings that survived in the Monument area, I found the old signs carved into the walls. After I knew what I was looking for I found more. A lot more.’
“He told me about his discovery of Hex signs on the walls of many prominent buildings in the East End. Some of these were obviously of great antiquity, but while studying those, he discovered others—all too recent. Through research and some diligence on the part of the local constabulary, he was able to trace the history of the appearance of these newer markings back to what he considered an original spot.
“That was where we were now headed. There was more, something he would not tell me in the carriage.
“‘As I said earlier, this is something you have to see—have to feel—for yourself.’
“The carriage finally came to a stop in the Eastern Docks—an area I am not too familiar with—but even with my limited knowledge of seafaring practices, I knew that a quayside in this great city should not be lying empty and quiet just after midday. A group of armed men—standing around smoking until they were caught out by our arrival—showed me that the situation was indeed as serious as Mr. Churchill had intimated. There were two large ships at anchor, but that was not what we were here to see. Churchill led me along the shore a short distance to where more soldiers stood guard outside an ancient tavern that looked to have been there as long as the quay itself.
“Churchill turned to me before entering the building.
“‘I have to warn you, Carnacki—you must steel yourself. It is not an experience I would wish to undertake willingly for a second time, but it is something I need you to see, so I shall stand beside you.
“And with that, he opened the door and showed me into the inn.”
c
“It was a tavern of the older type—plain whitewash over rough stone walls, battered wooden trestles, and drinks served straight from the barrel behind a long, stout oak bar. There were no patrons, but Churchill and I were not quite alone. I knew immediately that I was in the presence of something old—old and very strong. The hackles at the back of my neck rose, and I felt a tugging in my mind, something straining to make its presence felt.
“Churchill grabbed my arm and turned me round, pointing at the far wall of the inn. The Hex sign was there—a three-foot-diameter circle containing a crude representation of a wolf’s head, snout raised toward the ceiling. And this symbol was obviously the source of the tugging and straining in my mind.
“I smelled pine needles, heard the rustle of wind in trees, and sensed the hot breath of something, right behind me. I turned around, but it was still at my back, growling softly and breathing hard. The hairs rose at the nape of my neck, and every fiber of my body wanted to flee, but I could not show my funk to the man at my side, not when he stood there so resolutely. I walked with him toward the hex sign.
“‘Do you feel it, Carnacki?’ he said, and it was as if his voice carried from a great distance and I had to strain to hear him above the whistling of wind in branches. We got within six feet of the red-painted symbol, then had to stop, beaten back by a fear of attack so oppressive as to turn my legs to jelly and drive all other thought from my mind.
“Churchill started to back away, and I was only too happy to join him in a hasty retreat back to the door. The strange effect grew weaker as we got further from the symbol, and by the time we were back in the doorway, it was almost bearable, although I still felt the hot breath on my neck and heard the rustle of wind in the pines.
“‘I am right, aren’t I, Carnacki?’ Churchill said, taking a hip flask from his jacket and passing it to me. ‘We are under attack?’
“I took a hefty slug—Scotch, again; not as fine as his Islay single malt, but dashed welcome all the same.
“‘I fear so,’ I replied. ‘You say there are more of these symbols?’
“He nodded as he took the flask back and drained its contents.
“‘All over the East End—and possibly beyond,’ he replied. ‘All of them are newly painted on some of the most ancient dwellings in the city.’
“‘And the effect is the same as here?’
“He nodded again. ‘What we felt in the tavern has been felt by hundreds—perhaps thousands, of ordinary English working folk—and it has them terrified beyond measure. You will not have heard of it, for I have made sure it is kept under wraps. But people have started fleeing the city, and that cannot be kept hidden for long. It is an attack on who we are as a nation, striking where we are most vulnerable—it is an attack of fear itself.’”
c
“Churchill told me that he considered the tavern as the original source of the phenomenon.
“‘What do you expect of me?’ I asked as I lit a smoke with trembling hands.
“‘Do what you do,’ he said. ‘Get to the bottom of this bally nuisance and stop it—banish it—just make it go away, before it grips the whole city in fear.’
“Now you chaps know me—I’m as patriotic as the next man, and keen to do my bit for King and country. But I was somewhat at a loss as to where to start, for it was obvious to me that the symbol in the tavern had been painted by someone—and anything I might do would be useless if he just went on his merry way and painted another somewhere else.
“I told Churchill of my misgivings.
“‘Leave that to me,’ he replied. ‘Catching spies is my domain
—this other stuff is yours.’
“‘I will need my kit and …’
“Churchill put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. A horse and cart came round the corner. The large traveling-box in which I kept my defenses sat in the back.
“‘I took the liberty of assuming you would say yes,’ Churchill replied. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
“I felt like asking for a bottle of his splendid single malt, but for all his qualities, Churchill, at that moment at least, did not look like a man to take a joke. We stood in silence smoking as his men lifted my gear from the cart. I noted that they left it as far from the tavern door as they thought they could get away with.
“‘I will do what I can to dispel the miasma of fear from here,’ I said as I readied myself. ‘But I cannot promise that I will have any effect on the other spots—I do not know the true nature of our enemy as yet.’
“Churchill waved a hand.
“‘Just get on with it, there’s a good chap.’
“It seemed that now he had my agreement, he was impatient to get me started. In truth, I was curious as to what might be behind the strange phenomenon I had felt in the tavern, so without further ado I carted my gear inside—no one offered to help me, and I was quite alone when the door closed, shutting me in.”
c
“I wasted no time in setting up my protections—even over by the door, I felt the crawling fear begin to worry itself into my mind. Once again I smelled pine needles, heard wind in trees. And there was a new note in the sounds now: a high, wild howl, as of a pack on the hunt.
“And I feared I knew the nature of their prey.
“I will not bore you with the details of my defensive circle or the nature of the set-up of my electric pentacle. Suffice to say that I am well enough practiced to have had it all done in double time, and barely five minutes after entering the tavern, I switched on the pentacle and stepped inside the circle.
“Soft azure blue washed the room, and the calming effects of my defenses were immediately obvious. The sound of the wind faded, as did the smell of pine needles. I still heard a distant howling wail, but it was far-off, and did not seem to disturb me in the slightest. Confident that my defense was sound, I bent and turned the pentacle up a notch.
“Washes of yellow joined the blue and at first I thought my combination of ancient magical defense and the modern-day attack of my color theory had already managed to successfully nullify the fearful force from the Hex symbol. But as soon as my pentacle’s colors washed against the paint of the symbol itself, something started to fight back. It seemed that the wolf’s head in the symbol moved, the head turning to look straight at where I stood. Then the colors began to flow, reds and blacks, oozing from the wall and pooling on the floor before starting to spill toward my circle. I felt tension in the air, more tugging and straining in my mind; something breathed, hot against the back of my neck.
“It took all of my effort to bend and turn the valves up another notch—but it had little effect. The red and black colors washed the whole far end of the room and threatened to overwhelm those put out by my pentacle, which in truth seemed somewhat puny in comparison. When the first hint of red hit my protective circle it sent up a shower of golden sparks that fizzed and hissed like hot iron plunged in water.
“The thing behind me breathed more heavily and started to growl. Fear gripped my chest, sending my heart racing, thumping like a drum in my ears as I bent and turned the valves up another notch on the scale—there was only one notch left now, and I had to save that for a moment of direst need. Blue light filled the room like the brightest sunlight, and I almost cried out in relief as the hot breath and growling ceased behind me.
“But any relief was momentary—the red and black thickened and coalesced, forming quickly into a huge hound formed of shifting color and shadow and darkness. It raised its snout, looked straight at me—and smiled as it launched itself straight at my defenses.
“I only had time to bend and throw the valves to their furthest extent before the beast hit them, hard, in an explosion of hissing sparks and howling, a blast so strong that it sent me teetering, almost out of the circle. My blue valve blew itself out with a pop and everything went quiet. When I managed to look again, there was only a shifting cloud of red and black color at the far end of the room, already fading.
“At the last, I caught a glimpse of something else—another room, somewhere beyond, in a dark place, and another circle, this one carved in the floor of a rough-hewn chamber. A man stood there—a tall chap with a dueling scar showing white on his right cheek, his well-groomed flaxen hair stark against a red and black backdrop provided by the swirling color around him. And just as I saw him, it was plain that he too could see me. He threw me a mock salute as we faded from each other’s view and I was left once again alone in the tavern.
“And yet, not quite alone, for almost as soon as I recovered my wits I heard it again: wind whistled softly in huge trees and I smelled the tang of pine needles.
“I packed up my gear and left hurriedly just as the first hot breath made itself felt on the back of my neck.”
c
“I had clearly failed, but if Churchill was disappointed in my showing, he did not show it. He made me tell him, twice, about the vision I’d seen there at the end, of the other chamber and other circle. And he seemed most interested in my description of my tall blond opponent.
“As we left the quay in his carriage—my gear having been securely stowed at the rear—he gave the order that the tavern be burned down.
“‘Raze it to the ground and piss on the ashes,’ he rather crudely told the gathered soldiers. ‘And report in immediately if that doesn’t work.’
“On our way back to Parliament he quizzed me further on my experience, making me tell and retell that tale until he was completely satisfied that I had not omitted a single detail.
“On arriving in Westminster we went firstly to his office, where he praised me for my courage and plied me with more of that fine Islay single malt. He even offered to stand for a meal in the Members’ dining room, and we were about to head downstairs when a rather flustered chap came to the door.
“‘There are more cases, sir—a great many more. I think it just got a lot worse.’
“I thought I might be dismissed at that point, but Churchill insisted that I accompany him.
“‘However unwittingly, this might have been our doing,’ he said. ‘And if it was, I shall yet have need of you.’
“He led me downstairs, through the warren of corridors that run the length of Parliament under the public areas, and deeper still into a series of chambers whose brickwork told of some antiquity, before we finally arrived in a long, low vault lit by a string of electric bulbs. A large cloth map of London ran the length of one wall, and uniformed men pinned red markers on it, a swath of which already seemed to cut across the whole East End of the city.
“‘How bad is it?’ Churchill barked. Everyone in the room seemed to jump to attention—Churchill might not be too well known outside these halls of power, but it was perfectly clear that, here at least, he was the man in charge. A sergeant brought over a clipboard that held a summary of recent reports.
“‘Two in Stepney, three in Whitechapel and one in the Docks, close to where you were earlier.’
“‘Well, that’s not so bad,’ I said, and received a glare from Churchill in reply.
“‘I’m afraid we are speaking in thousands, Carnacki—thousands more people affected by this blasted scourge—honest English folk turned into nervous wrecks by a bogeyman they can neither see nor touch. I will not have it, I tell you. I will not allow it.’
“If force of will were the only criteria for winning a battle, I do believe Churchill would never lose—but it seemed we were fighting a foe far too elusive to be easily bested.
“As Churchill was brought up to date with the report, I stood smoking a cigarillo and gazing none too attentively at the map on the wall. An
d it was as I was gazing, half a mind on the missed luncheon opportunity, that I saw it: there was a pattern to these occurrences. Churchill’s people had obviously been working on the theory that the phenomena were spreading out from a central point—indeed, they had the location of the old tavern on the docks marked as such. But I believed I had spotted something different—the red markers were spreading in the shape of a cone or funnel, originally opening out much further east than the spot on the docks, and widening fast as they reached the boundary of the city. If the phenomena kept manifesting in that pattern, then the whole of London would fall in a matter of days.
“Churchill joined me, and I showed him what I had spotted. Together we traced a line backward, joining the earliest reports, he taking the northern section of the map, myself taking the southern. Our fingers met at a point to the south of Ilford. The map indicated there was nothing there but marshland, but Churchill was already on the move.
“‘Come on, Carnacki—I not only know who it was you saw, but I now have a dashed good idea where we can find him. We might yet bring this matter to a rapid conclusion.’”
c
“Five minutes later we were back in the carriage and rattling through the late afternoon traffic, heading east again, but further north than on our previous trip, and managing to avoid any congestion. Churchill also managed to quell any qualms I had about lack of food by opening a compartment below his seat and removing his ‘emergency’ tucker box. Would that every day were such an emergency, for the box contained a selection of cold meats, some fine oatmeal biscuits, hard cheeses, and two bottles of a very smooth Merlot. By the time we lit up a smoke I felt a dashed sight better than I had at any other time that day.
“Churchill’s tongue had been loosened somewhat by the wine, and he finally brought me into his thinking. The Ilford marshes had been on his possible itinerary before he’d found the tavern on the quay, being the site of a Norman church built over a Saxon burial ground and a center of much activity in the immediate aftermath of the Roman’s leaving the country. And it turned out that my adversary in the other circle was a well-known German agent, a thorn in the side of the British Secret Service these many years. Churchill became rather animated at the thought that we might be close to catching the man.
Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate Page 12