Wormwood

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘Do not fear. Enjoy the spectacle as it passes.’ Blake looked at the last line as if it fell from Flamberg’s own lips.

  He angrily crushed the paper in his hands and threw it into the street as he looked around for Yeats to explain himself. From the floor above, Blake heard the sound of footsteps scraping over the rough wooden floor. Then a door slammed shut and all was silent. Blake gripped the silver handle of his sword-stick. The lion’s head fitted neatly into the palm of his hand and soothed the burning from his palm, and the knowledge that inside the case of the stick was a sharp blade reassured him. Blake didn’t want to be taken by surprise as he carefully climbed the narrow staircase to the upstairs room.

  He crossed the landing that led into the small writing room at the back of the house. The walls were dark and grimy, stained with the dull yellow of tobacco smoke. The strong smell of Virginia leaf hung in the air, mixed with the fragrance of stale wine. There was complete silence. Blake called out, ‘Yeats where are you, man?’ His voice echoed around the lifeless room.

  He stepped further into the room and to his left saw the large oak desk with its high-backed leather chair. Slumped on to the desk like a sleeping bear was Yeats, his head resting on a pile of papers that littered the top.

  ‘Yeats, man – wake up!’ Blake prodded him with his swordstick.

  There was no reply. Yeats slept on, his head falling limply to one side, a long dribble of blood-tinged saliva coming from his mouth.

  ‘Wake up!’ Blake prodded him even harder. ‘Now is not the time to sleep.’ In his frustration he pushed him hard in the back to wake him from his dreaming.

  Yeats slipped slowly to the floor and sprawled spreadeagled across the rough boards. He was dead – his blue-tinged lips showed as much. His face was contorted with a shocked stare that gawked at Blake through lifeless eyes. In the centre of his chest was a neat fist-shaped hole, as if someone had used a searing ladle to precisely scoop out his beating heart. The wound had been burnt through his thick waistcoat and double vest, through the skin and deep into his chest, cauterising the flesh.

  Blake coughed, choking at the sight of the corpse that he knew so well in life and now terrified him in death. From the next room he heard the shuffling of heavy feet on wooden boards, then the quick slamming of a door. He turned and drew his sword from its case, holding out the glinting blade before him. He thought of Abram – he wished for the angel to be with him in what he could see was to come. In his mind he saw the other room. He knew that there would be a small cupboard set with a thick panelled door, and that there he would find his fate.

  Walking swiftly and quietly, he made his way from the room and turned through the narrow doorway. This was Yeats’s study; the room was littered with paper and opened books thrown across the floor. A large sofa was placed under the tall window that looked out over the dark alleyway, and in the corner a table was set with one place, a half-eaten meal still waiting on the Dutch plate, a small candle lighting the victuals.

  Blake’s vision became clouded, misted by strange thoughts of the Nemorensis and by a strong desire to see it again, to search it out from its hiding-place. It was as if the book called out to him in a song outside of time. Blake thought of Agetta and in great anger lashed out at the sofa with his sword-stick, cutting through the thick fabric and bursting it like cooked pig flesh, spewing white feathers across the study. They billowed through the air like spring snow, deep and white, covering the floor with a coating of down. He kicked the seat again and again, laughing as he did so and watching the pulsing waves of feathers rise higher and higher into the air, covering him in a dusting of plucked goose.

  Blake fell to the sofa laughing, but in an instant his reverie vanished as he heard the sound of gentle tapping coming from the dark oak panel in the wall just a few feet away. The patter got faster as fingers beat in rhythm. The whole room began to vibrate with the beat, every panel juddered and shook, and the noise now sounded as if it was coming from every corner of the study.

  Blake jumped to his feet, holding out his sword before him, flicking it back and forth as if to cut down some unseen enemy. ‘You can come out, creature. I have no fear of you,’ he said, his voice cracking with the final words, spoken through parched lips. ‘Let’s finish it here and now,’ he shouted, hoping Abram would hear his words and forget his sullen pleading to finish one task in life without his guardian.

  The tap-tap-tapping continued, growing louder with each beat, banging from panel to panel around the room like a regiment of ghostly drummers. ‘Leave me be,’ Blake shouted as the noise grew louder and louder. ‘Come out and fight face to face …’

  The drumming suddenly stopped, leaving an eerie silence and the swirling of goose down in whirlpools of air. Blake knew that his adversary was nearby, and his emotions swirled from the passion of courage to the despair of panic as he tried to imagine what was to come. He wanted to run, but something held him to the undertaking – he sensed that what he was about to endure was not of human origin, that some phantasm and creation of darkness was at work and was about to make itself known to him.

  Blake didn’t see the long thin panel that guarded the passageway to the river slowly open behind him. It was the low screech of the tight hinges that alerted him to the presence that now stood behind him. Turning, Blake saw the Sekaris leaning against the wall and gnawing on the blood-red heart that it held like a fresh apple.

  ‘Blake,’ said the Sekaris in a soft voice like the sound of a purring cat. ‘Finally we meet when we are alone.’ The Sekaris smiled at him as it chewed on tiny mouthfuls of Mr Yeats’s heart.

  ‘Why did you kill him?’ Blake asked, stepping back from the creature that blocked his escape through the door.

  ‘I was told to … And the idea became appealing to me.’ The Sekaris stepped towards him.

  Blake could see the pistol wound had healed in its chest and a patch of darker skin covered the lesion. ‘You heal well for a monster made of dirt,’ he said as his eyes flashed around the room, looking for a way of escape.

  ‘I had a good healer, one who came to me by night and blessed my wounds with angel tears and the longings of his heart.’

  ‘Angel tears?’ Blake asked. ‘The medicine of some quack magician, a charlatan and a liar.’

  ‘Strange way to talk of your friend,’ the Sekaris said as its eyes burned like the sun. ‘You could make this easy for yourself and just give yourself to me without a fight. I could make it as quick as I did for the other man. He died so readily, with such grace, he almost choked on his own tongue when he saw me. Lost for words and now so … heartless.’ It took another small bite from the heart. ‘It would be over very quickly, I promise.’ The creature gave a sharp giggle, and the leaves on its face rustled as if moved by a swift breeze.

  ‘I am a man – it is forged within me not to give up without a struggle. So come and take what you want from me, but you will fight for my flesh and my soul knows no price.’

  ‘So you think you have a soul? That you will live on beyond death? Don’t flatter yourself. Your kind is skin and bone with a mind that deludes them. All you are good for is eating and then only good in parts.’ The Sekaris laughed as he threw the last of the heart at Blake.

  ‘Then my steel against yours,’ Blake said as he swung his sword back and forth, halting the Sekaris.

  Several black feathers fluttered to the ground in amongst the white down that continued to spew from the slashed sofa. More and more they came, floating down like a dark fog that filled the room, and from every part of the house came the squawking of jackdaws that flocked and swirled all around him.

  Blake lashed out at the birds as they swooped and dived, lunging at his eyes. He struck one, then another and another as they exploded into black dust with every blow of the blade. With each stroke the Sekaris bided its time, waiting for Blake to tire as the birds pecked at his flesh and grasped at his hair with their razor claws. More and more birds filled the air as Blake staggered backwards to the fa
r corner of the room, the Sekaris watching his every move.

  Blake turned, jumped on to the sofa and smashed the window with the hilt of his sword. The noise from the street flooded in and the squall of jackdaws billowed from the room and out into the bright London morning.

  Blake jumped to the floor. ‘You and me, Sekaris – face to face with none of your hawks to help you now.’

  The Sekaris stood and laughed. ‘Your bravery comes a little too late, Blake. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.’

  It leapt towards him, snarling. In one step it had him by the throat, digging its long thin fingers into his neck and biting at his face. Blake stumbled backwards, falling across the couch and on to the floor. The Sekaris followed and gripped its prey, forcing its hands deep into his chest. Blake screamed as the pain burnt through the skin, his waistcoat and jacket charring and bursting into flame.

  ‘Give in, Blake, let me take your heart and I will tell you the truth about your soul!’

  Blake smashed the hilt of his sword into the face of the beast, scattering dry leaves across the floor. He saw fresh green buds quickly blossom in their place. The Sekaris twisted him against the wall, dragging Blake to his feet with incredible strength and holding him upright with one hand. It drew back its hand and made ready to kill Blake with one final plunge to grasp the heart and rip it from his flesh.

  A final, furious swipe of Blake’s sword smashed through the clay and yew wood, severing the arm of the Sekaris above the wrist. The green-encrusted hand dropped to the floor and its writhing fingers slowly dragged it across the boards like a dying spider. The Sekaris dropped Blake, who lashed out again with his sword, striking a glancing blow to the side of its head and scattering leaves like an autumn gale. It fell back on to the couch, reeling from the blow. Blake jumped towards the beast, stepping on the creature and leaping from it across the room towards the door to the secret passageway. He dived into the darkness, slamming the door behind him and fumbling for the bolt. His nostrils were filled with the stink of the river as he ran down the crumbling steps and the sound of the Thames got closer. High above he heard the crash of splintering oak as the Sekaris smashed its way through the door to give chase.

  Running in complete darkness, Blake barged from wall to wall through thick cobwebs that smeared his face. In the distance was the faint light of the tunnel entrance. He ran even faster, trying to escape before the creature’s echoing footsteps caught him. The light grew brighter and Blake could see the outline of a narrow door etched with sunlight, growing nearer was the sound of the Sekaris, squealing excitedly like a stuck pig as it chased him.

  Slamming into the door, he grappled for the key to turn the lock. It was stuck fast, corroded with rust, and snapped off in his hand. The shrieking got closer, like the sound of an eager child, as the Sekaris ran through darkness. Blake struggled with the door, unable to open it to gain his freedom, then turned to see the creature getting closer by the second, splashing through the dew puddles that littered the floor of the tunnel.

  Blake couldn’t escape. He saw the eyes of the creature glowing in the darkness as its teeth flashed white. In ten paces it would be upon him. He braced himself, and in one final effort lashed out with his sword-stick. He struck the beast across the chest as its momentum propelled it towards him. It smashed into him, crashing him against the thick wooden door, and with the force of the impact the door suddenly gave way, its rusty hinges breaking under the strain, and Blake and the creature spilled from darkness to daylight.

  For a moment they both lay stunned on the sodden steps matted in kelp that led to the river. Then the Sekaris sprang to its feet, and Blake looked up at the beast as it stared at him through day-blinded eyes. It lurched back and forth, the wound to its chest pulsing green blood that flowed down its stomach like a mossy veil. He lashed out again at the creature, striking a blow to its legs and cutting through to the yew bone. The Sekaris staggered and slipped backwards, falling several feet into the deep water of the old river. Blake spun around and looked over the edge and saw the beast bob in the water face-down, then swirl and twist as it slowly sunk beneath the thick brown stew.

  ‘Interesting,’ said a voice in the shadows. ‘I wondered how you would conquer the Sekaris.’ Abram Rickards stepped into the sunlight, perching the blue glass spectacles on the end of his nose and flicking the wire straps behind his ears. ‘A creature like that can survive many things and I have never known one to have ever drowned. To kill a Sekaris it is often best to strip out its chest and find the oyster shell placed as its heart. Tear it out and smash it, then the creature will truly be dead.’

  ‘So you were there all of the time, like some wet nurse waiting in the darkness for her child to cry out,’ Blake said as he got to his feet and stepped back into the entrance of the tunnel.

  ‘I would prefer to say I was intrigued.’ Abram smiled. ‘I promised you that I would not interfere and I kept my word. When I knew you had won, then I made myself known to you.’

  ‘So what would you have done if it had got the upper hand?’ Blake asked.

  ‘You would be dead. I promised not to intervene and I would have walked your soul into its future and listened to you complaining that I allowed you to die.’ The angel looked up to the sky. ‘But you have a greater problem than the Sekaris,’ he said, pointing to the comet that could clearly be seen high above them. ‘The advance of the star is upon us and nothing can now stop it.’

  Blake looked up and to his horror he saw white steam trails blasting across the morning sky as hundreds of pieces of celestial ice began to rain down upon the city. From every corner of the heavens came the deep groaning wail of mini-meteorites that vaporised and exploded high above them, and within seconds London was being blasted with a myriad of hailstones that had broken from the comet and sped as harbingers of what was to come. They shot through the atmosphere, hissing and bubbling as the heat burnt off the many tons of frozen mud and chalcedony that had travelled through time and space to bombard the planet. The sky burst open in a spectrum of colour as the crystals fell to the earth.

  Blake ran to the top of the steps. From the quayside he could see the great dome of St Paul’s, its vast roof like an upturned plum dish, glistening with the colours of the exploding sky.

  There was a long thunderous roar as a sphere of sizzling ice and rock spluttered through the atmosphere like a huge ball of fat thrown through the flames. It crashed into the church, and shrieks echoed through the stunned city streets. The shockwave surged through the lanes and alleyways, pushing aside all that stood in its path and devouring the feeble who were too old to run. It seemed as if the whole city was now fleeing towards the river, and as the final sky-stones plummeted earthwards the panic and roar of the crowd came closer.

  Blake looked at the angel, his eyes filled with hopelessness.

  ‘Into the tunnel,’ Abram said calmly. ‘The madness is about to strike.’

  22: Gemara Ge-Hinnom

  Far below the Great Pillar the clamour of the falling sky-stones rattled through the underground chamber and its walls shook with the final impact on St Paul’s dome. The chandelier trembled and the floor of the chamber moved back and forth, throwing the captives to the ground and lifting the door from its hinges. Rumskin blasted into the room and spun around, grunting like a caged monkey and lashing out at Tegatus, then vanished through the doorway to the stairs, screeching into the distance.

  ‘Another calamity has struck the city,’ Thaddeus said as he got to his feet. ‘Perhaps this will change their plans for you.’

  ‘What plans, Thaddeus? Who are they and why have they chosen me?’ Agetta asked.

  ‘They are builders of a new future, a new society. From what Morbus Gallicus said to me there is something happening of which you and I are a vital part. Something that my feeble mind cannot understand, but I know that they will do us no hurt.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here, Thaddeus. You’ll have to help us escape. We can give them the book, it’s of no use to us
.’ Agetta grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘We should stay, child, and see what they will want from us. I don’t think they mean us harm, just the angel,’ Thaddeus replied.

  ‘It isn’t you who will be transformed into a friend for Rumskin, is it?’ Tegatus said, taunting Thaddeus. ‘I will take my chances out there rather than wait for them to come and make chicken-meat of my flesh.’

  ‘I’m with Tegatus,’ Agetta said, letting go of Thaddeus. ‘You saw what that creature did to him. He doesn’t deserve to die, we have to get out of here.’

  ‘I say we wait. We could talk to them, tell them where the Nemorensis is hidden and bargain for our freedom. We would be fine, it would only be the angel that suffered.’

  Tegatus stepped towards the door and pulled on the hinges, prising them away from the wall. The lock snapped open and the door fell backwards as a rush of cold air blew in from the tunnel.

  ‘I’m going. I have suffered enough. Come if you will, but being here has made me realise where I belong and what I have left behind, and there may be a way of making right with my master.’

  ‘Where’s the book, Agetta? Tell me where it is!’ Thaddeus said. His voice was transformed and filled with anger. Gone was any hint of tenderness as he glared at her. ‘I want to know before you leave here. Rumskin could always be called on to come and find you.’

  Agetta realised that something was not right. Thaddeus spoke loudly, as if he hoped to be overheard. In one sentence he had changed, sounding more like a father than a friend, and she just a girl to be used for what she knew and what she could do. She stepped backwards, trying to get closer to Tegatus, and all her thoughts of hatred towards him quickly evaporated.

  ‘If I told you where to find the book, would you let me go?’ she asked as she held out her hand to the angel.