Gideon's Angel

by Clifford Beal

  “In the name of the Lord Almighty, get thee hence!”

  And I heard a voice from someone behind the creatures, further back along the hall.

  “You’ve done well to make it this far, Colonel. But that lamen will do you no more good here.” The small demons moved aside and Gideon Fludd stepped into view. The bat-winged ape, bold as brass, pranced closer to me. Its face cracked open into a grin, as if it knew something that I did not.

  “These creatures are also creatures of God,” said Gideon, moving out in front. Even in the poor light, I could see he looked terrible, every bit as sick as Billy Chard. His skin was drawn tight as a drum over his skull, voice reedy thin. “They are sent to torment sinners like you, Colonel. Those who would thwart the Will of King Jesus.”

  The little ape looked up at me and spoke, its hissing voice freezing my blood and sounding like it was at my very ear. “Perhaps he will listen to a friend, a friend who knows better.”

  I backed up, the pentacle still in my right hand, my sword poised and shaking in my left. I looked straight at Fludd. “Don’t speak your blasphemy to me, sir. You serve a false angel that has cozened you like a Southwark whore. And I’ll not let you pass me. Not while I live and breathe, sir.”

  The ape demon looked back to Fludd. “He needs his friend.”

  And I saw Fludd nod his agreement to the demon. I moved back again to put myself between Billy’s prostrate form and the enemy for fear they would enchant him while he lay senseless.

  That was when a new voice floated down the hallway from beyond Gideon Fludd.

  “You’re making a mistake, Rikard. It’s you that has been cozened by evil, turned away from the true path.”

  And he was there before me, his boots sounding as real as life as he rounded the corner and stood next to Fludd. He was as flesh and blood and looking at me with that old mischievous smile of his. Andreas Falkenhayn took a slow step forward, slipping his beaten broad-brimmed hat from his head and scratching at his long salt and pepper curls.

  “There’s so much I have to tell you, old friend. Wondrous things you would not believe possible.”

  “Andreas,” I breathed. “I saw you die in front of me. I watched you die.”

  Andreas smiled at me again, as if he had just caught me out again with one of his practical jokes. “I can explain that to you. If you let me, Rikard.”

  And it was Andreas. As big as life, just standing there, in his best black doublet and lace, hand on hip and rapier. My heart leapt at seeing him again but just as quickly I knew this was all very wrong. If Gideon Fludd wanted to reunite me with my old comrade, it was in death, not life.

  “Andreas... go back to where you’ve come. I cannot follow you, old friend.”

  Andreas extended his hand. He was so close now I could see every line on his weathered face, glowing like he had stepped in from a long ride in the cold. “You don’t need that bauble any longer. We’re on the same side now. Give it here.”

  The pentacle in my hand was dull and heavy, just a disc of old metal. Beyond Andreas I could see Gideon Fludd, nodding, encouraging me to listen to the words of an old comrade.

  “It is over now, Rikard. Give it here.”

  Clinging with one arm to the edge of Andreas’s right bucket-top boot was the little ape, wings pulsing silently like a butterfly on a branch. Andreas’s hand stretched a little further, his fingers curling up in a gesture of beckoning. His nails were black and grubby from a soldier’s toil.

  “Andreas, you must go back... don’t make me hurt you.”

  But how could I kill my friend? A friend who was already dead.

  “We can go back together, Rikard. We can leave this place.”

  The tail of the ape demon whisked as if irritated.

  I raised my right hand slowly, the pentacle gripped between thumb and forefinger. And then I struck with the left. I stabbed downwards with all my strength and skewered the black ape, nailing it to the floor. It screamed amidst a cloud of steam as the silvered sword melted it, the inscribed name of the Lord searing it back to hell. I heard Fludd yell out “No!” even as Andreas fell back, his hand flying up to his head as if in a swoon. My sword sprang into a guard position as I readied to take on the rest.

  It was then my eyes met with Andreas’s. And it was as if he had just woken from a long slumber. The look he gave me was one of pure confusion as if to ask: Where am I? This then slowly changed to awareness and his eyes widened.

  “Rikard, I’m not meant to be here. I know this.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Andreas. You’re dead now. Months gone by.”

  The German nodded, understanding returning to him. “I know.” And he looked at me with such old tenderness as if in that one moment all remembrance had flooded back to him.

  The sound of Fludd’s blade flying out of its scabbard brought me back to reality. He made straight for me, the other demons scurrying to the walls. I raised my blade to parry him. But in an instant, my old dead comrade ploughed into Fludd, sending them both crashing into the wooden wainscoting. Dead or alive, Andreas was back to his feet, his rapier shooting from its scabbard in one deft draw. I saw the little man-thing gape again, ready to belch another fetid tempest. I dived forward and thrust it clean through its chest just as Andreas parried a downward blow that Fludd had aimed at me.

  The demon thrashed about screeching on the floor, all arms and legs, and I found myself staggering back in a cloud of stinking steam. Gideon was fighting Andreas now, a look of utter shock on his ghoulish face. The hedgehog thing had wisely retreated back around the corner and I saw Gideon back pedal to follow it. His lips started moving rapidly, an incantation of some sort, and I remembered this was how he had conjured the things outside. And the fell creatures came again. Crashing down the hallway, the floorboards bouncing under my feet, they howled and squealed as they came. Andreas stood firm, between me and Fludd, sword raised high. He half turned to me.

  “Rikard, see to your friend and get out of here! I’ll hold them off.”

  I joined him, my sword raised next to his. He looked so alive, so real. And we were facing the enemy again, together, as we had done countless times before.

  “Rikard, don’t be a fool. Do as I say.”

  “I never abandon a comrade.”

  And then he turned to look at me again. “Then do not abandon the living. See to your friend.” His face took on an expression that nearly broke my heart. A look that said he knew exactly where he was and what fate lay ahead. He spoke again. “You cannot defend the dead, old friend. Jetzt... geht!”

  I locked eyes with him for but a moment, nodded, and retreated to where Billy lay sprawled. My sword still drawn, somehow I managed to haul him up with one arm across his chest. Half dragging, half carrying him, I stumbled backwards along the corridor, deeper into the old royal apartments. My last sight as I rounded a corner was Andreas Falkenhayn giving a battle cry and bringing his blade down upon some black shadow of a thing that rose up, more than a head higher than him. Then it was only the terrible sounds of the fight, the screeches and crashes, which came to my ears. I dragged Billy past the bewitched redcoats and further down another corridor. And I found my way barred by a locked door.

  And again, it was time to put my faith in the pentacle and my God. I prayed loudly, pressing the disc to the thick, ornate panelled door, all the while the sounds of the legions of hell echoing down the hallway. I closed my eyes, my will bent on getting through before we were set upon by the horde. Without a sound, the door fell inward under my gentle pressure. I whispered a hallelujah and hauled Billy in by his arms into yet another antechamber. The door I slammed and bolted, just as I heard the sound of flapping feet and grunts from the other side.

  Into the main chamber, I set Billy down and propped him against the wall. We were in a large room, well-lit. I took in my surroundings: a large sideboard, table and chairs, books strewn about on smaller tables, leaded windows letting in the bright silver glow of the night.

  I knelt next
to Billy. He was still alive. I tapped his scarred jaw, trying to rouse him, but was rewarded by only a feeble groan. There was nothing for it now. I was truly alone. I shut the second door to the antechamber and bolted that as well. Strangely, there was little noise on the other side except for what sounded to me like the snuffling of rooting pigs. When I turned again, sword in hand, there was a man standing next to the great table, watching me.

  “Have you come to kill me, sir?”

  I just stood there, staring at the man I had sworn to assassinate only weeks before. And now I was here. My great enemy was but a few paces from me. And I knew at that moment, I could cut him down before he could move a muscle.

  Oliver Cromwell’s eyes moved to a scabbarded sword that hung from a chair at the end of the table, and then they moved to me again. “Well, sir? I can’t abide men who dither. Make up your mind.”

  “General, I am here to protect your life.” They were words I never thought I would utter.

  “Forgive me, sir, if I take a sceptical view of your sudden appearance in my lodgings.” Cromwell took a few steps towards his sword but did not reach for it. I had never before seen him in person. He looked very tired, his heavy-featured face puffy, nose as red as his reputation. His doublet lay open, unbuttoned, a plain simple shirt underneath.

  “Sir, there is a plot against you under way even as we speak. Fifth Monarchy men are here in the palace. They are aided by...” And how was I to explain that the very gates of hell had opened up in St. James’s Park, spewing out an unholy host of devils?

  “How did you get past the guards?” Cromwell carefully placed both hands on the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Your regiment—and Mister Thurloe, I might add—are lying outside your apartments, on the floor and senseless. How else do you think I would have gotten past them?”

  “Your name, sir?”

  I told him. His eyebrows rose, the name sparking a damp memory, not quite igniting recognition. And then, after a moment, it came to him.

  “I do remember you, Colonel,” the words came out slowly, laden with distrust. “And as a king’s man you have more cause to kill me than to aid me.” He now reached for his sword, drawing the blade free as he stepped back, the table separating us. “So I will take the course more prudent and summon the guard.”

  I shook my head and kept my blade lowered. “They will not come, sir, and I beg you not to go through that door to find them. Your true enemy is Major Gideon Fludd and he stands ready to strike you down here and now. He has conjured up the Devil himself to help him.”

  Cromwell snickered at me. “God, you are bold, sir! Major Fludd of Okey’s dragoons? You will have to do better than that.”

  “Christ! Have you heard nothing of the din outside this room! The gunfire in the park?”

  “It’s been quiet as the grave, sir. So lay down your sword and yield.”

  “He’s speaking the God’s truth, General.” It was Billy, doing his utmost to pull himself to his feet. “I fought for Parliament. And I swear to you, this here Cavalier is the only thing between you and Satan’s host.” Billy’s shoulders were pressed against the wall, his feet spread wide. “For Christ’s sake, believe him.”

  Now it was Oliver Cromwell who seemed confused. But the sound of the door being rammed brought him around to the nature of things. A second crash brought the sound of splintering wood and crashing iron furniture.

  “Do I smell... burning sulphur?” A gentleman in a black skullcap holding a small book close to his chest had wandered into the room from an adjacent chamber.

  “Mister Milton,” said Cromwell to the newcomer, “we are under attack.”

  John Milton looked at Billy and me, squinting and holding up a hand to cover one eye. “These fellows?”

  There was a pause. “No,” replied Cromwell. “Someone... something else.”

  I looked at the doorway. “Sir, is your family here with you?

  “No, they are in Cambridge.”

  “We must get out another way. Can you show us?”

  Cromwell nodded just as another crash shook the room. I took Billy by his arm but he shook me off.

  “I can manage, Mister Eff. But lost my blade back there, I’m afraid.”

  “General, now if you please! We cannot fight what is coming through that door.”

  We headed for the room from which Mr. Milton had emerged. Cromwell pointed to Billy, the commander in him now coming alive. “You, sir, assist my secretary Mister Milton. He is nearly blind.”

  We entered the Lord General’s bedchamber even as the first outer door burst in, the howl of the demons reaching our ears. And Cromwell looked at me, his eyes suddenly grown large with surprise. He pointed to another door at the side of the bed and we all four poured through it into an outer corridor. Cromwell slammed the door behind us and grabbed me by my coat.

  “Why, sir?” I somehow knew he was asking me why I was helping, not why he was under attack.

  “Because there is the matter of a debt of blood, General. A life for a life. And it would seem I owe you mine.”

  His grip relaxed. “So mercy and justice has its reward, it seems.”

  A shriek issued from the room behind us, a cry of such strength and otherworldly horror that I felt the Lord General flinch as it pierced the door.

  “We can get down these stairs here,” he said, gesturing with his sword. “They will lead us to the Cockpit and thence outside.”

  And even that was no certainty. Billy dragged along a spluttering John Milton by the elbow and we all began pounding down a wide ramshackle staircase. “Where is the army, my lord?” Mr. Milton said, neck craning. “And just what is it that’s pursuing us, gentlemen?”

  I was bringing up the rear, the skin on my back crawling in anticipation of a black winged thing sinking its talons into me. “We are hunted by hell itself, sir! For pity’s sake, don’t stop moving!”

  True to his word, Oliver Cromwell led us to the old theatre, throwing open the double doors and rushing through, sword in hand, before I could urge him to hold back. The moment the doors had cracked open, groaning on their lazy hinges, I knew it was for ill. The Cockpit had been in near darkness when Billy and I had passed by the mezzanine minutes before. Now we were met with brightness, the light of a hundred candles spilling into the corridor. The stage had been set for our arrival.

  Cromwell gave a cry and disappeared from view, sailing into the air. I heard him crash into the benches beyond. Billy and Mr. Milton pulled up short, but they too were flung to the left as if by some great invisible hand. Behind me, the demon horde had made the staircase and already I could hear them howling and screeching as they arrived. The pentacle was in my right hand even before I crossed the threshold, my blade raised high in the other. But no tempest caught hold of me as I entered. I walked into the soaring chamber, my eyes locked on the figure of Gideon Fludd standing at the centre of the stage. A quick glance to my left showed me that the others were sprawled upon the floor, still stunned by the force that had beset them.

  The flip-flop of bare feet, mixed with the occasional clop of hooves, now reached my ears. I crouched, turned halfway to the doors behind me. The horde had now arrived, baying for flesh. I shot out my right arm and thank God the sight of the pentacle halted them in their tracks. Gideon’s laughter bounced across the round hall. I turned to see that he had extended his arm and that it was this gesture that had really stayed the advance.

  “Colonel, you have wielded the First Pentacle as surely as if it had been in my own hand. And now you have brought to me the object of the task I must complete. Just as I was told you would.”

  I slowly moved to where the others were. Billy was up on his feet, lifting up a squinting Mister Milton, but Cromwell was still on his knees, leaning on the wobbling point of his sword. Blood was running down his forehead in tiny rivulets.

  “General, are you whole, sir?”

  Cromwell looked over to me and nodded. I reached his side and raised
him up to his feet. He leaned into me, shaking his head like a hunting dog that had been swatted by a bear.

  “I suppose... this is your Fifth Monarchy man, then?” He wiped his brow, blood smearing his sleeve. He looked up at Fludd. “Treason and sorcery both, sir! You are doubly damned. I’ll see you gutted alive—”

  “I serve the king who is to come!” Fludd’s voice rang out, high-pitched and full of righteous joy. “Not the petty Tyrant who thinks he can thwart the will of God. And King Jesus will come when I do what I have been bid to do!”

  Mister Milton had turned to gawp at the black monsters now crowding the threshold of the theatre, their weaving eyes yellow and orange, jaws dripping. He placed a hand over one eye, then switched to the other, all the while moving closer to the doorway. Billy dragged him back to us, Milton’s mouth moving wordlessly, one finger pointing back to the legion of hell. I now saw that the light of the candles was far brighter than it should have been. They burned like sparking gun match, as brilliant as the sun. It was a light not of this world.

  “Come down and try and take us!” I said. “Or send in your hell beasts. I’ve sent enough of them back to the pit this evening. I can do it again.”

  Fludd strode across the stage towards where we stood. He was unsmiling and radiating disdain. “It is as it should be, a godless Cavalier defending an old enemy who is no better than he. Your debt will be paid after his, sir. My brother’s blood demands it.”

  If I was to fight alongside an old enemy and to do it here in this place, amidst gilded columns and dusty swags, an audience of heaven and hell alone, then I would do it. And I smiled. Smiled because it was as good a way as any to finish things and because my faith had been given back to me, handed to me on the sly, like a playing card under the gaming table.