by James Moore
“I will see to it at once."
They stopped outside a pair of tall, black doors, marked in gold with magical monads, Sarah's on the left and another, equally complicated one on the right.
“The Doctor’s conjuring room,” Mr. Winthrop explained. “I am not permitted inside except in absolute emergencies, but I’m certain the Doctor will excuse you, given the circumstances." He bowed with a click of his heels, gesturing to an antique Chinese lacquerware table. “Your refreshments should be awaiting you here when you emerge.”
Mr. Winthrop took the handle of the right-hand door and twisted, pulling open the massive portal and letting out the smell of incense and smoke and the sound of chanting.
“By Adonai and Elohim, I bind you!” cried Dr. Dee as Use slipped inside. Mr. Winthrop shut the door behind her with a muffled boom. As she stepped over a sigil on the floor in front of the door, Ilse heard a snap from her camera, the lens cap popping off and rolling across the floor through the drapes that screened the chamber from the door.
“By El and Eloha and He who is known as Tetragrammaton, I bind you! By Elohim Sabaoth and Sadai and Adonai Melech in the High, I bind you to do that task for which you were summoned and no more, returning thereafter to the hell which is your prison, foul spirit, to trouble this earth no more.”
“Bugger all that, you old Anglican lackey!” said a voice, hissing and whispering with the crackle of flames. “Are you going to let me blow up Parliament this time or not?”
Ilse edged round and slipped through the black draperies, looking in to see Dee in the center of one conjuring circle, Sarah and her sword in another, and in the middle of a third, a hideous Spectre, sparkling and crackling with flames. The thing was dressed like a scarecrow, flaming rags and tatters bound together with firecrackers and bits of twine, the fuses hissing but not burning down. The creature’s head was a huge rotten turnip, carved into a jack-o’-lantern with coals of hellfire behind the eyes and open mouth. A crown of sparklers hissed in an infernal halo over its head.
The Spectre was the first to notice her. “Eh wot?” it said, then held up a string of firecrackers and a handful of sparklers. “Sparklies, girly, pretty crackers. Let us out, and we’ll have some fun, eh? You helped to make me. You burnt me and hated me with all the little ones. We taught you how to play with matches, love, and all we ever gave you was fun. C'mon, let old Guy Fawkes out and we’ll have a lovely time of it, just like old days. First Parliament, then the rest. The Great Fire will seem like nothing. It’ll be a jolly holiday for everyone.” Dr. Dee's head snapped around sharply as if he had heard something, then gave a quick glance to his apprentice. “Sarah! See to Fawkes.”
“Yes, Doctor." Sarah raised her sword and held it before her. “By Michael in the East, I bind you, unclean spirit. By Raphael in the West, I bind you, damned one.” She turned to each quarter, invoking the archangels and binding Fawkes.
Ilse spotted her lens cap on the floor near Dr. Dee’s circle. She started to reach for it, but he held his hand up in warning, staring at it intensely. He gestured with his ebony wand and ordered, “By the sight of God focused upon this room, I conjure you, whatever you may seem to be, to appear in your true form, with no deceits or trickeries. By my will and the will of God, let it be done!”
The lens cap twitched and disappeared in a puff of smoke to be replaced by Charnas the Imp.
“Rats!" pouted the demon, snapping his fingers. “That was one of my best tricks too." He stuck out his tongue at the Doctor.
“Charnas," breathed Dr. Dec.
“The Imp, not the Lord — otherwise, you'd be in trouble," Charnas sang mockingly, skipping around the room and looking at the circles. “Wow, nice wards. You copy ’em out of a book or something?”
“Let me out!" crackled the Spectre. “Let me out, little imp, and we’ll turn this city into an inferno!"
“Good idea if you ask me, but these wards are tighter than a Tory’s purse strings. For social programs, that is." Charnas poked a nail at the one around the flaming scarecrow, and the air sparkled with divine light, the tip of the nail disappearing in violet smoke. “Ow!” Chamas yelped and stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking on it. “Sorry, guy. You’re stuck in the can — though you don’t look a thing like Prince Albert.”
“I’ll blow him up too!" hissed the Spectre. “I’ll blow up all the wicked Anglican kings!”
Chamas pointed one thumb at Guy Fawkes and with the index finger of his other hand made the crazy sign to Use.
Dr. Dee had his attention divided between the bound Spectre and the unbound imp. “Out with it, Miss Decameron. Quickly."
“Out with it?” Charnas fell to the floor in a fit of giggles.
“Kurt Westphal, the Ventrue Archon, and I were both captured by Crowley. We just escaped." Use paused, collecting her thoughts. “We just stopped the Brujah from blowing up Parliament."
“Yes, let’s blow up Parliament!” cried the Spectre. “Let's blow it all up!"
“Unnecessary,” Dee said, responding to Use, not Fawkes, “I already suspected the Ventrue would. The Brujah were merely a distraction and alibi. However, they did set explosives?”
“Yes,” Use said, “but the police and Ventrue will have already dismantled them.”
“Immaterial.” The Doctor glanced to Charnas. “Yet the imp means that Zho has made his presence known, as I feared he might, and Crowley is always a random factor in any equation. Did the madman mention anything of import?”
“Yes, he said his revenge had begun, and that the Comte was displeased, whoever that is.”
A dark look came over Dee’s face. “That would be St. Germain. A fig for Crowley’s revenge, but the Comte is another matter altogether. We can’t risk it. Sarah, begin the banishment."
Sarah began calling out names of angels as Fawkes screamed, “What?! You were finally going to let me blow up Parliament, you wicked old negromancer! I always knew you were an Anglican! We died for you, you old fraud! Once a black magician, always a black magician!” The fuses strung throughout his clothing sizzled brighter and his fingers shot flames like Roman candles, the sparks disappearing at the borders of the ward.
“By Adonai and Elohim, I banish you!” Dee cried. “By El and Eloha and He who is known as Tetragrammaton!”
“Back to Hell!” Sarah cried, getting into the spirit of things. “Back to Hell, you flamin’ wanker! Back with the other conspirators! By Gabriel, Michael, Uriel and Raphael! By Matthew, Mark, Luke and John! By Tahaoelog, Thahebyobeaatanun, Thahaaothe and Ohooohaatan, the Kings of the Elements and the Four Quarters they each preside over! By all these and more, we banish you and we bind you!”
“By Elohim Sabaoth and Sadai and Adonai Melech the Most High, get you to Hell!" boomed Dr. Dee.
The Spectre went up like a fireworks fountain, hellfire shooting up between his rags and bits of string. A hole opened in the floor at his feet, skeletal hands wreathed in flame reaching up and dragging him down, screaming. Like flames winking out on spilled alcohol, the hellhole then irised closed, vanishing with a final shimmer and wail.
“Yeah!" cried Charnas, shaking his fist. “And don’t you come back! We like the Anglicans where they are!"
The imp then grinned at everyone and vanished in a puff of lavender smoke.
A second later, a black teacup poodle ran past Ilse’s ankles and out through the crack in the drapes, yipping happily. Ilse couldn’t be sure, but she would have sworn that the dog had a tiny purple mohawk.
Sarah made a move to go after it, but then Dee held up his hand. “No, Sarah. Do not be distracted by what occurs outside the circle. Demons and black spirits are ever drawn to these invocations, even ones which do not concern them. Now give your thanks to God and dismiss the quadrants.”
Sarah nodded, and she and Dee went about the end of the ritual, giving thanks each of the angels and archangels and acknowledging God by each of his permitted names. At last Sarah cut her circle with her sword and Dr. Dee his with his wand.
“Thadius Zho," Dee murmured as he came up alongside Use, gesturing for her to follow as Sarah held aside the curtains. “This means trouble, though I should have expected as much after meeting Carl Magnuson."
“How... ?” Ilse began, but he put up a hand for silence.
“No more,” he said. “Our conversations are not secure until we banish that imp from this house. But I know the Imp of Charnas, and where it goes, Zho soon follows. It’s part of their bargain."
They passed out of the black-draped room and through the door, which was open a crack. “Charnas is far too clever to be sealed in a locked room,” Dee said, shutting the door and turning the handle downwards. “However, he will most likely hide in plain sight, disguised as some object the color of his soul, such as your lens cap.”
“Oh, lordy!" Sarah exclaimed. “We’ve got to play ‘Button, button, who’s got the button?’"
“Quite.” Dr. Dee looked about, but between the black lacquer table, the black enameled vase, the ebony frames to the pictures and the black doors, there were a great number of places for the imp to hide.
Mr. Winthrop was good to his word, however, and on the table were a teapot and cosy, along with three cups, Royal Doulton china stamped with Dee’s personal sigil on one side and the seal of House Tremere on the other. Nothing apart from the table, however, was black, and Use took a cup, Sarah assisting her with the British vampire tea ceremony.
“I take it,” Dee said, rather distractedly, “that the imp witnessed all of your dealings with Crowley and this Archon, Westphal?"
Use nodded. “In detail.”
“Then relate them.”
Use did so, with only the occasional question from Dee or exclamation from Sarah.
“Mr. Crowley’s really gone crackers this time, that's all I can say,” Sarah remarked finally, pouring herself another cup of blood and trying to get the Doctor to take his, which remained on the tray, untouched.
Dee continued to ignore it. “Crowley is the least of our problems, Sarah. When I first met him, Edward Kelly was an overconfident charlatan who’d had his ears cropped for counterfeiting, and if Crowley is truly his reincarnation, then all I can say is that the man has changed very little.” Dr. Dee scanned the hallway. “Thadius Zho and the Comte de St. Germain, however, are both troubles worth countenancing."
He turned around, taking stock of everything in the hall, then paused at Use, his eyes coming to rest on her camera. “Miss Decameron, that is a Monocle of Clarity?"
Use nodded.
Coldly Dr. Dee put his hand out, accepting the talisman without a word, then raised it to his eye and scrutinized the passage. An instant later, the left pupil of a duchess in one of the portraits shed a single inky tear which ran down her cheek, landing on her finger and blossoming into a painted black bird. “‘One for sorrow!’” cried the crow, then flew out of the painting and down the hall, laughing raucously.
“Bother," said Dr. Dee, with all the emotion he seemed capable of. “We will have to ward each room in turn — or negotiate with Zho.” Dee tilted his head slightly then. “Or negotiate directly with Charnas. The fiend hates Zho and will try to swindle him as wickedly as Zho swindled it. Or, I should say, its Lord.”
“Doctor," Sarah said, pouring Use the last cup, “shouldn’t we be worrying more about Mr. Crowley? I know you don’t like to talk about him, but Master Loony Toons is a lot more trouble than just some old demon worshipper."
Dee started down the hall with Use’s Monocle, gesturing for them to follow. “Zho is no demon worshipper. He's a demon swindler, and that's something far more dangerous.” They rounded the comer of the hall, into another of Malmsey House’s endless ornate passageways. “As the imp told Miss Decameron, he made a pact with Charnas, the Lord of Misrule, for various favors in exchange for his firstborn child.
I was not aware that the murder of his wife was part of the deal, but as this is the case, I suppose the fiend did get a consolation prize of sorts.”
Ilse felt a chill finger down her spine at Dee’s cold and clinical analysis of the horrible memories that still fluttered at the back of her mind, but the Doctor only continued, “Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, there are peculiarities to the magical laws regarding the sale of children, or at least there were in the contract he signed with Zho. Either way, the Lord of Misrule could not take Zho’s child, or its soul, until such time as there were no members of the bloodline with a superior claim.” The Doctor inspected a black candlestick with the Monocle, then moved on. “That has not happened as yet, as Zho is not the first immortal mage of the line.”
“Who?” Ilse began.
The Doctor waved for silence. “Not now, Miss Decameron. Walls have ears, and while the demon no doubt already knows, there's no sense in confirming any suspicions he might have. Likewise with the Comte, so consider the matter at a close."
Use was already familiar with the imp’s ability to ferret out information, though she suspected that Dee did not want to keep the information so much from Charnas as from her. But you couldn’t be a Tremere without knowing how to bide your time in silence. Ilse followed.
Sarah was the first to broach the last permissible subject. “Doctor, what are we going to do about the Ventrue?” Her fencing sword scraped the wainscoting as she hurried down the hall after him.
“Absolutely nothing,” Dee said, “and the imp may tell its master that, if it so chooses. We’ve taken no direct action against the Queen of London, and we’ll deny all knowledge of the Brujah’s pathetic attempt to carry out our threat. If Lady Anne wishes to take hearsay by way of a demonist and his familiar to the Camarilla, she’s quite welcome to do so.”
He investigated the tail spots of an ermine mantle in a coronation portrait. “At very worst, she’ll discover we control the restless soul of Fawkes and have him ready to do our bidding, though that knowledge should prove as disquieting as it is useful. We’d suspect she already knows, for we sponsored Fawkes and the first Gunpowder Plot, and we have fostered the bonfires and rituals for the four centuries since to grant his spirit the dark Memoriam necessary to create a Spectre of unparalleled might. The revilement of four centuries’ children is a font of destructive power even Lady Anne should be able to appreciate."
He continued down the hall, pausing to examine a black marble Cupid. “It’s time that she knew we have this weapon at our disposal, and to convey this information, I can think of no better means than a small fiend, especially one as malicious as Charnas.”
Dee smiled faintly then and dandled the Monocle, as if relishing the expression Lady Anne would have when Charnas told her of the Spectre of Guy Fawkes. “I shall hope for Lady Anne’s sake that she has taken no reprisals on behalf of her missing Archon. Otherwise we may truly have to give Fawkes the holiday he so much desires."
“And Mr. Crowley?" Sarah asked.
“Crowley, by his very nature, is unpredictable,” Dee said as they entered another room, this one as dark as Charnas’ spirit. “The best one can do is try to expect the unexpected. But as for the imp, its psychic traces lead here. Sarah, shut the door."
“Yes, Doctor.”
The room was black, but then Sarah flipped the switch, and the chandeliers lit one by one with a sparkle and hum of electric lights. It was a theater, with balconies and a stage and an endless number of props and costumes stacked and stored about, looking as if it hadn’t been used in at least a hundred years.
“Hmm," said Dee. “The Theater, the Devil’s rightful playground, and doubly so for one such as Charnas.” He perused the room, scanning with the Monocle.
“Very well, imp,” he said at last. “We haven’t the time for this, and in that you’ve won. Now reveal yourself, and perhaps we can strike a bargain."
The only sound that greeted Dee’s words were faint echoes from the comers of the hall.
Dee handed the Monocle back to Ilse and stood, regarding the room. “By Adonai and Elohim, we conjure you to appear before us, Imp of Charnas," he into
ned, voice heavy and solemn, “and by the name of your own Lord, Chamas, and the titles by which he is known, do we charge you to reveal yourself: Charnas, Lord of Misrule, Margrave of Mockery, Master of Foul Merriment, Duke of Dark Mirth, Fiend of Frivolity, Baron of Black Comedy, Mountebank of Mischief, Clown of Carnality, Harlequin of Horror...” Dee’s gaze traveled across the room as he said this and paused as he came to an old Punch and Judy theatre in one comer, a knowing look coming over his face, “...and Prince of Puppets.”
In the rack of old puppets to one side, the black Devil twitched to life, wiggling as if a long-fingered hand were inside it. “That’s Professor of Puppets!" the Devil cried out in Charnas’ voice. “Prince goes with Pernicious Puns!"
The puppet then tumbled out of the rack, growing in size and unfolding its legs until at last Chamas landed on the floor in his usual form, a red Devil puppet on his left hand. “Hello!” he said, waving the puppet’s arms, not breaking his sly grin. “I’ve come to take you to Hell, Dr. Dee!"
Dr. Dee's face was impassive. “If I am to take the part of Mr. Punch, Chamas, the script says that I will destroy you."
“Yes!” said the Devil puppet on Charnas’ hand. “But have you made the necessary sacrifices? Have you killed your own child, your wife, your mistress, a servant of Order, a minion of Chaos, a creature of Balance, a murderer, a scholar, a beast, a ghost and Death itself?"
“I have!” said the Punch doll to Chamas’ right, and fresh blood gleamed on the end of his slapper as he began to bludgeon the Judy puppet.
“We are not children,” said Dr. Dee. “We are not so easily amused. What price would you take to leave this house?" “Your soul!” cried the Devil puppet.
Dr. Dee gazed on impassively.
“Their souls?” the Devil inquired, glancing “You cannot sell that which you do not hold claim to, Charnas,” Dr. Dee said with faint malice. “Surely you, of all demons, know that.” He regarded the imp for a long while, eroding the fiend’s grin with an icy stare. “What exact task did Zho set you?”