Gideon's Angel

by Clifford Beal

  D’Artagnan and Billy exchanged hard looks and it was clear they did not relish standing side-by-side. But it was Elias Ashmole who stepped inside first, guiding Isabel by her arm.

  “Allow me, young lady.”

  And then d’Artagnan and Billy stepped in. Da Silva looked at me and inclined his head. “You are not convinced, sir?”

  I stood near the staircase, my palm rubbing the pommel of the silver sword at my hip. “Something is not right. I can feel it. That sergeant never came back. And where is Thurloe?” I turned to look back along the wall of the palace towards the Whitehall road. There wasn’t a soul or a sound. I walked towards the park, skirting the magic circle. The stands of trees took on new and sinister shapes as I scanned them. And I became aware that it was as quiet as a tomb—not a single snatch of sparrow song, no cackle of a crow. No cry of a gull from the Thames. No whistle of wind over the roofs and chimneys above us. Nothing.

  I slowly drew my blade and ran my right hand along the silver fuller. The four letters of the Tetragrammaton twinkled in the reflected moonlight. I knew we were being watched. I could feel it. And then Billy was at my side.

  “Mister Eff?” he whispered. “Are you all right? What is it?”

  “Gideon Fludd is already here.”

  Billy drew his sword. “Where away, Mister Eff?”

  I looked from left to right, slowly watching for movement in the trees. And then, almost as if he had heard me, I saw a lamp light awaken out in the park, off to the left a few hundred yards ahead. They had surely been there for some time, waiting until now to raise the shutter of the tin lamp. To signal the meeting. Billy grasped my forearm.

  “Fucking hell. They are here.”

  “Get into the circle. I’m going to meet him alone.”

  Billy stepped in front of me. “Not a clever idea, Mister Eff. We’re both going out there.”

  “Listen to me. I need you here with the others. God knows what he has with him and outside the circle he could pick us off one by one.” Billy swore and protested again but I cut him off.

  “I won’t take any chances. I’ve got to find out if he has Maggie with him. And don’t worry—I’ll leg it back here if it gets hot.”

  “I don’t like it one fucking bit.”

  “Tell the others to stand ready.”

  His eyes met mine. Challenging me. But then he relented, gave a curt nod, and ran back to the circle.

  I let my sword arm fall into a wide, open guard, the point brushing the ground. And then I started walking across the scrub land, towards the twisted trees and the flickering orange light.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THREE FIGURES HOVE into view. Two tall, one short. The lamp lay upon the ground a few paces in front of them. Fludd was to my right, easily recognisable with his white hair, hatless as I had always seen him. To my left, one of his men, sword drawn. And the man was holding a woman up by her arm. She was cloaked and hooded but the form was right. It had to be Maggie. But she was not struggling, she was not even moving. Just standing as if frozen. I stopped a few paces from them and took my stance; feet spread, knees slightly bent and ready for a spring.

  Fludd looked at me, his eyes unblinking. He appeared even gaunter since I had met him last, his skull bones showing through his veined parchment-like skin. His black cloak, cinched up tight on his neck, hid most of his body and I could not then tell if he bore naked steel. His voice was sharp and carried a whiff of impatience.

  “We have unfinished business, Mister Falkenhayn. And the hour grows late.”

  “I have come. Now give me the woman.”

  “When you give me what is mine, sirrah.”

  My fingers tightened on my swordgrip. “I have what you want. But I want to see her face. Show me!”

  “Go ahead, Snook. Show him it is she.”

  Fludd’s man pulled back the woman’s hood. Marguerite St. John was there before me, her eyes wide open and looking out—past me, into the darkness. She was expressionless and wooden as if she was not there at all. I swallowed and felt an invisible fist in my chest. What had they done?

  “Maggie! Maggie, look at me!”

  “She is not harmed. Give me the pentacle and she can go.” Fludd then took a step forward, slowly folding back his cape to free up his sword arm. “But I’m afraid you and I have to settle the blood debt.”

  I reached into my breeches pocket and drew out Ashmole’s old medallion, closing it in my right palm. “It is here. Now release her.”

  Fludd gave a thin smile. “Not so fast. Hold it up that I can see it.”

  I obeyed, hoping my splayed fingers would obscure the falseness of it. “I shall place it here... on the ground... and step away. You will step away from the woman and move back towards those trees a few paces.”

  Fludd shook his head slowly. “You’re a trickster I feel I have long known. And I would know why you killed my brother.”

  I didn’t answer his question. I carefully knelt a little, enough to toss the medallion a yard or two off to my right. “There it is. Release her, Gideon.”

  I glanced over to Snook and now noticed that the man was near upon shaking with fear. His face was dripping with sweat. He licked his lips nervously and, oddly, kept glancing behind him. And his shoulders twitched like he was warding off a chill. He was terrified of Fludd—and something else.

  “Where are the rest of your comrades, Gideon? They seem fewer each time we meet.”

  Fludd looked at me with a look so poisonous it nearly stole my courage. And when he replied his voice was icy calm.

  “Their faith failed them. Some men are not able to treat with the angels.”

  “Or demons.”

  The poor ignorant soldier next to Fludd looked ready to jump out of his skin. He had moved his grip upon Maggie to her shoulder, more than ready to push her towards me so he could make his own escape.

  “And I reckon your men have come to a sticky end. At the hands of your angel’s companions.”

  Fludd’s boyish face contorted, his jaw clenching with rage. “Eistibus commands a terrible army. But his cause is holy. And I serve that cause.”

  “You fool! You serve the Devil. It is Andras and his minions that do the bidding. You must see that!”

  Fludd’s rapier rasped from its scabbard. “Blasphemer!”

  I stepped back, raising my blade. “For the love of God, man, open your eyes! What angel of the Lord would command you to do murder!”

  Fludd hissed out his reply. “Vanquishing the enemies of Christ is not murder. I am opening the road for the new kingdom and no one will stop me. Least of all you.” I saw his eyes dart down to the medallion lying in the grass.

  I fell back again, and towards my left, to get closer to Maggie who still stood as if a statue. “I won’t let you kill General Cromwell. For pity’s sake get out of here now before it’s too late.”

  Fludd had sidestepped closer to the medallion. Once he seized it and saw the ruse, Maggie would be in mortal danger.

  “Who are you, sirrah, to talk of murder? Why did you kill my brother?”

  It didn’t matter anymore. “I fought to defend my life. And I was in my own house. A house he had stolen.”

  I watched as Fludd slowly raised his chin, the import dawning. “Now I have more than one reason to kill you. Richard Treadwell the malignant. I was a fool not to have realised sooner.” The anger was roiling up inside him, I could see it. He was almost quivering as he glared at me. “The angel has given me power of his dominion. I want you to see the dark army that he has hired from hell.” He extended his blade towards me and slowly crouched until his left hand encircled the medallion. He did not even have to pick it up. The moment his fingers touched it, his face suddenly dropped. He stood up quick and backed away, smiling at me.

  “Trickster, trickster.”

  I tensed my legs, ready to make a rush for Snook and to seize Maggie. But Fludd was speaking to himself now, mumbling some words, foreign words that sounded harsh and clicking.


  “Major!” The reluctant trooper released his hold on Maggie. “I beg you, don’t do it! Don’t call them again, for God’s sake!”

  And a blur of cloak blew past me from behind, straight into the poor man, a blade slashing down into his skull with a muffled crunch. In a heartbeat, d’Artagnan had gathered up Maggie in his free arm and hefted her over his shoulder. I jumped to put myself between them and Fludd, before he could strike. But Fludd was walking backwards for the trees, still praying aloud, sword held high in guard. I advanced on him even as I saw the Frenchman stagger off with Maggie flopped over his back. I had to give him time to get her back to the circle.

  “Gideon, this creature has bewitched you. It has deceived you. Open your eyes, man! You’re doing the Devil’s bidding.”

  He was past listening. He was looking at me but not seeing me, lips forming some abominable chant. From beyond him, a thick fog moved towards me, about a foot high, and it carried a carrion stench with it. It was unnaturally rapid. The tendrils swirled about the tree trunks like a phantom river and kept on moving, sweeping around my knees and spreading across the park towards the palace walls—and the circle.

  Gideon Fludd stopped his mumbling. He raised his sword and looked straight into my eyes; once again a soldier facing his enemy. “It was the angelic host that threw down Lucifer and his servants into the Pit. And it is the angels that hold the key to that prison.” He had stopped retreating and was standing, feet firmly placed and cloak thrown back over his shoulder. “And that key they have given to me.”

  I became aware of a dull pounding, rising up from the ground. At first, it sounded like a herd of deer that had been alarmed and set into flight. Yet I quickly realised that this was the sound of something much larger than deer. And it was coming towards us.

  Fludd looked at me, a strange sort of smile appearing on his face. “You had better start running... Now.”

  And something inside me told me to obey. I bolted. Fast as my feet would carry me. I twisted around to glance behind and immediately wished I had not. Two huge infernal black dogs were bearing down on me, loping in great strides. I glimpsed their open jaws and wild rolling eyes before snapping my head round again and redoubling my flight. I was gasping already, the back wall of the palace looking very far away indeed, bobbing up and down as I pelted forward. I knew the beasts were closing because I could hear them now, deep rasping and growling sounds that grew louder. A loud snort at my back acted to spur me forward. I could just make out the little group gathered together. I yelled out. Less than fifty yards to the circle and now I could smell the creatures behind me, a horrid stench of wet fur and rotting meat. I dared not look behind now for they were nearly on top of me. I expected at any second to feel my back rent by great claws.

  I had a blurred view of da Silva and Billy and then I saw and heard a great muzzle flash from the circle. Elias had given fire. And with a final great cry I flew into the circle and rolled onto the ground. A second pistol shot reverberated across the palace yard and I rolled onto my back and looked out. The dogs stood some twenty feet away, side by side, motionless and staring straight at us. No one said a word and I watched my companions as each tried to make sense of what they were seeing. And then Billy was helping me up.

  “You brought our old friend back with you, Mister Eff,” he whispered. “And he’s brought his brother.”

  We all watched as the wave of low mist came to the circle us from all around. It rolled up fast, and then, as it reached the line of flour and salt, it rolled back on itself like the sea against a jetty.

  Da Silva stood at the circle’s edge, facing the beasts, his arms spread wide. I could hear the Hebrew words flowing from him as he prayed. Ashmole’s mouth still hung agape. I grasped his arm.

  “Elias, reload the pistols!”

  He looked at me, suddenly recovering himself. “I cannot believe what I’m seeing.”

  D’Artagnan muttered something in Gascon as he went into a fighting crouch. He was probably already worrying that a circle of flour would not stay two dogs the size of bears. I looked down again. There was Isabel holding Maggie, brushing back her long hair and rocking her gently.

  “Isabel, keep her warm.”

  The girl looked at me and nodded. She pulled her cloak about them both as they huddled. Elias worked furiously to reload his two doglocks and I noticed that all of us had bunched together, unconsciously seeking safety.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you,” said Billy darkly. “I couldn’t stop the musketeer—he said something about his duty and honour and was off like a shot.”

  I could not take my eyes off of the hellhounds. “You did the right thing, Billy.” But I was glad that the Frenchman had come when he had. His debt had now been repaid.

  “Where is Fludd now?” said Ashmole as both hammers clicked loudly into place.

  “I don’t know. But he’s not giving up on what he has set out to do. He’ll have to get through us though.” I thought I would then try something. I moved to the edge of the circle. I raised my sword and then took two steps outside, towards the black dogs. In an instant they began moving forward, and in the bright moonlight I could see the juices from their fangs dripping down the corners of their wide mouths. I retreated back into the circle. The dogs stopped, motionless as if stone, and did not move.

  “Elias, give me a pistol.”

  I levelled the barrel at one of the creatures and fired. A howl of pain erupted and one of them dropped down on its front legs, its huge head shaking. It was up again after a few moments but clearly chastised as it slunk behind its companion.

  “They can be hurt!” Ashmole said, clearly relieved we had some means of defence against the netherworld.

  “Aye, but we don’t know if we can kill them. Senor da Silva, are you well, sir?” I saw that the rabbi was, like the hellhounds, frozen to the ground.

  The old man kept looking outside the circle and towards the evil that stared us down. “I must concentrate on the prayer and the words from the grimoire. I will not be able to converse with you. The circle will fail if I do not keep my mind upon it.” He sank to his knees and folded his arms to his chest. Again I heard him chanting and he began to rock forward and back as he spoke.

  “Now what shall we do?” said Billy. “No sign of the regiment anywhere and us trapped here in this circle.”

  A cry from d’Artagnan brought Billy and I around. Isabel gave a muffled shriek. From the other side of the circle, a new threat was emerging from the shadows. It was what I had feared since that night in the cell when the imp had spoken to me. Ashmole had now turned as well to see what was coming.

  “Dear God,” he muttered.

  D’Artagnan’s voice rose up. He was saying his Pater Noster.

  They had come to the very edge of the circle. Curious, snorting and sniffing, three great demons stood there contemplating us. They were the size of men, walking on two legs that ended in a cockerel’s talons instead of feet. Each was different but all were equally terrible in appearance. And I had seen these creatures before: painted in countless murals and carved in stone across the cities of Europe. They were blackish grey in hue and naked, seemingly fashioned from parts of men and beasts. One had the head and long muzzle of a dog while another had a large goat-horned head with a bulbous nose and feline mouth. Their eyes were black as pitch, glistening and unblinking, without whites or pupils. Scale, fur, and skin covered their muscled frames and their hands bore long bony fingers, almost delicate, but sprouting scythe-like claws.

  The largest of the three extended a burly leg to the line of flour and salt, his three toes flexing up and down. Then he pulled it back fast, as if burned. The creature had no manhood, but instead, the head of a large toad-like thing grew from his loins, its tongue lolling out obscenely, probing the demon’s rippling thighs. And all sprouted great leathery wings from their backs, rising up and curving forward, making the creatures look even taller than they were.

  A fourth emerged from the dark
ness to join his brethren. And I watched in horror as I saw that it was dragging the body of a man behind it, held firmly about the ankle in its claws. It was the soldier Snook, Fludd’s last companion, the man that d’Artagnan had killed. While the dog-headed demon pinned the corpse down, sinking its leg talons into poor Snook’s chest, the bearer proceeded to twist and crack the man’s leg at the hip joint like a glutton tearing a drumstick from a capon. The rending noise was enough send me a step back—I was too stunned to do a thing.

  The largest of the demons, its enormous nose quivering, just stood there at the thin white line. It regarded us, openly curious and disdainful, then slowly crossed its arms as if resigned to a wait. Such a human pose was more than chilling; it told me that these things could think as men could. And then it spoke. With a voice that sounded strangled as if it was never meant to speak the tongues of men, the creature said: “Come out.”

  Its companions were tearing into the corpse now, rending arms and legs and ripping chunks of flesh with beaks and fangs. Behind me erupted a cry of defiance and Billy pushed past. And I watched as he threw a tremendous sword cut straight from the shoulder, aimed at the neck of the demon who stood an inch from the circle. I saw its arms shoot out but Billy’s blow came faster than it could react. With a dull thump, I saw the creature’s head fall to the side, nearly severed. A fount of black blood shot up, Billy’s sword hissing loudly as the liquid ran down the blade. And the demon fell back and collapsed among its brethren. The horde sprang up almost as one, roaring in fury at the sight of one their own somehow slain.

  “And that’s for what your little friend did in Exeter, you bastard!” Billy shouted, swinging his sword in front of him and daring the others to have a go.

  “Huzzah!” said Ashmole in a hushed tone.

  Da Silva pushed through, shaking. “Please, all of you, stay in the middle of the circle! More of the creatures are appearing!” As soon as the demons caught sight of the Pentacle of Solomon on da Silva’s chest, they ceased their clamour and moved back, leery of the rabbi. Perhaps some memory of a previous encounter with a conjuror had come back into their hate-filled brains. Billy’s victim was fast disappearing, melting in a puddle of steaming black corruption, but the sound of beating wings, low and slow, grew louder around us.