Wormwood

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘How do you know who it will be?’ Blake asked, as the screams from Cheapside flitted like leaves across the city spires and wind-blown bells chimed without help of hands.

  ‘It has to be a girl, in her prime, pure and faultless. Hezrin has always taken those who have a streak of violence. They are chosen at birth and watched through their lives. Her advocates will observe the child for years and then at the right time will snatch the child from life and Hezrin will be transformed.’

  ‘Tomorrow is All Souls’ Day, it’s the birthing-day of my servant girl Agetta Lamian. I always give her the day off. She stole the Nemorensis and took it away.’

  ‘Then she could be the one, and the real reason why you were given the book. Did you never doubt as to why such a gift should come to you?’ the angel asked, keeping his meeting with Agetta a secret.

  ‘I thought it was a gift from the gods, handed to me for safe keeping.’

  ‘It was given to you so the child would fall under its influence, that she would have her mind opened to the things of the spirit and her youth stolen from her. You are a pawn in her game, a passing folly for Lady Flamberg.’

  ‘She wants to see the city destroyed and all the people with it,’ Blake said as the madness of howling dogs grew louder.

  ‘They fear the sky, they sense what is to come and in their anger do what any creature does in fear …’ the angel said as he pulled the collar of his coat. ‘It attacks – it scents down its victim and then attacks.’

  Blake replied quickly as the howling echoed around the streets. ‘Her father said she had run away with a man from his menagerie. They said he was a foreigner, from Italy, a man with wings.’ Blake laughed. ‘They would have me believe that she eloped with a man with wings.’

  ‘Did this foreigner have a name, by chance?’ Abram asked.

  Blake tried to remember. ‘He did. He was called … Tegatus. That’s it – the man was from Italy and was called Tegatus.’

  ‘Then all is not lost, for this man is not an Italian or even human – he is an angel, a heavenly emissary sent to search out Yerzinia and bring back word of her life. Like a moth to the flame she enticed him and scorched his wings. I pray he has not fallen too far and that blackness hasn’t covered his feet. What good is it for him to gain the world yet lose his eternal life?’ He looked at Blake. ‘Tegatus is like a sheep that has gone astray and has turned to his own way. There may still be a chance for the girl and for us all.’ Abram walked several paces to the quayside and looked down the swollen river to the houses on London Bridge. ‘Do you know a bookseller called Thaddeus Bracegirdle?’ he said as he edged closer to Blake.

  ‘I know the name well, a strange man with beady eyes and the nose of a pig.’

  ‘Is his shop a place that the girl, Agetta, should frequent?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘She is a bright girl, self-taught, but not one for bookshops,’ Blake said, firm in his reply.

  ‘I was in that shop and met your servant. She acted if she knew Bracegirdle, as if he were a friend. There were other creatures in the shop – children.’ He waited and looked around, not wanting to be overheard. ‘Dead children, their spirits trapped and sealed in the building. It was like walking over the chasm of Hades, never have I felt such a powerful presence of malevolence. Do you know a reason for this?’

  Blake seemed surprised and faltered in his answer. ‘It was a church once, a small chapel for travellers coming into the city. There is a legend that at a certain time of the year as the rays of the sun touched the water, a whirlpool would appear under the bridge. To jump into the maelstrom would take you through a gateway to the next world. When the plague came to the city many people, fearing death, would jump from the church into the water, never to be seen again. It became a place of death and not life. The last one to jump into the water was the priest – he rang the bell for matins, locked the door and threw himself into the water. They say the river never freezes at that part of the bridge, the boiling fires of the underworld heat the current and the steaming breath of a dragon rises from the depths.’ Blake tried to see the connection. ‘It became a bookshop after that, and Thaddeus Bracegirdle is a friend to many a strange character.’

  ‘Lady Flamberg?’ the angel asked.

  ‘Everyone in the city knows Lady Flamberg,’ Blake replied with a smile. ‘She has always been around.’

  ‘And she has never changed, never grown old. Whilst her husband has become fat and wizened she looks like the girl he first met fifty years ago.’ Abram looked towards the bridge. ‘She fears this transformation will be her last, so in this she must not fail. The comet is all part of her plan, a new life and a new city.’

  ‘They said they would go to the north, to a house in the country, and watch from there,’ Blake said, recalling what Lord Flamberg had said.

  ‘Yerzinia will not go far from this place. She has surrounded herself with loyal followers and tomorrow, as the full moon rises from the sea, the comet shall strike and the transformation will be complete.’

  ‘And London?’ Blake asked quietly.

  ‘Will be destroyed, and the bowels of the underworld will spew forth their spectres to torment the living – well, those that are left.’

  ‘What of the girl?’

  ‘She will be stripped of her body and cast out to wander the wilderness for ever. Hezrin will use her like a carriage and the wasted body of Lady Flamberg will become a rotting corpse. Lord Flamberg will wake to find his wife a putrid mass of skin and bone.’ The angel laughed. ‘But there is more than the transformation. You were right – the comet is a sign of a new world, one poisoned and darkened, ruled by a foreign power that will enslave you all. She will build a new city of corruption and fear, a dragon shall be its herald and will sit at its gate.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Blake asked the angel.

  ‘What will I do?’ The angel seemed amused. ‘Am I expected to do anything? I was just going to sit back and enjoy the spectacle, see the human race disintegrate before my eyes. What do you expect me to do? You are a man of magic and science, surely you have some power to stop all that is about to happen.’

  Blake was silent, staring across the city. Black crows swirled above the streets that were littered with corpses and the remains of broken carriages.

  The angel looked at him closely. ‘What do you see, Blake?’

  ‘I … I see that we are lost. All it has taken to bring this city to an end was the coming of the comet. Scattered like the cut grass, thrown to the wind, as if we were the husk from the threshing floor.’ He looked around at the devastation. ‘This place is all I have ever known, and it has been stolen from me. What can I do?’

  ‘Children of dust, blown by the slightest breeze, feeble and frail like an old dog ready for destruction. Is that what you believe?’

  ‘I believe that we have been discarded by whatever force sent you. The decrepit Immortal has given us over to the power of a fallen angel,’ Blake shouted at Abram.

  ‘Can’t you see that this has come about because you rejected the one that could redeem you?’ the angel shouted back at Blake, and he kicked over a barrel of salt fish that was stacked on the quayside. ‘Blentish have always relied on their own instincts to do right. You have searched for power and wealth for yourselves, you have starved your soul with your fancy philosophies and none of you have noticed. It would be better that you believed in nothing than everything served to you as belief.’

  ‘But what –’ Blake tried to interrupt.

  ‘You make me sick. As soon as calamity strikes you raise your hands to the air and cry out to the sky for help. You hope that all will be forgiven and goodness will come running like a frail servant bound in chains of your making, bowing and begging and tugging at his old grey beard, thankful that he’s been remembered. Well, it’s not like that!’

  Abram’s words, screamed at the top of his voice, echoed around the empty streets, rattling the panes of glass in the shattered windows and booming like the first coming
of the sky-quake. Blake felt the angel’s hot breath blast his skin, pushing him backwards, as tongues of fire shot from the angel’s mouth and engulfed him in bright orange smoke. ‘The best that you can aspire to in your own strength is like dirty rags to us. Humanity has no goodness within itself – that is a delusion of the faithless, the blind that lead the blind. Your noses are so far into the dirt that this world is all you see and you tremble with fear when it is being taken from you. Open your eyes, you ape of Eden, and see what is really happening.’ The angel suddenly lashed out at Blake with his boot and kicked him with a shattering blow to the backside. Blake was lifted from the floor and thrown through the air as the angel panted gusts of smoke from its nostrils.

  Blake sat on the floor, dazed by the burning images that filled his eyes. He felt as if he had stared at the sun, blinded by its glare. ‘We do only that which we know,’ he said sorrowfully, like a scolded child.

  ‘You do what your greed dictates and expect the Immortal to pick up the pieces of your detritus,’ Abram said as he picked Blake from the floor. ‘Changed your mind, have you? Want me to leave you to this fight by yourself? Go on, Blake. You could find her and stop her if you wanted. Your friend Bonham would help you, if he wasn’t so busy snuggling in her bosom with the rest of them.’

  The sound of howling dogs got closer, and the screams of those too fearful to leave the city could be heard in Grub Street.

  ‘It is time for us to leave,’ the angel said as he looked to the sky. ‘Or you will be meat for the dogs.’

  As they turned to go, several men ran along the quayside. Far behind, a large pack of dogs gave chase, spurred on by their shouting. The men’s screams for help became drowned in the howls of the creatures that ran faster and faster. A large fat man in a white nightcoat stained in blood, unable to run any further, threw himself from the river bank and into the brown water, only to be sucked beneath the bubbling stew, his bald head bobbing amongst the broken boats before finally disappearing into the deep.

  Blake raised his sword-stick and braced himself. He was too confused to run, and the hope of ending his nightmare here, by the side of the river in the city he loved, grew more alluring with each second.

  ‘So we fight dogs?’ the angel asked, rummaging in his coat pocket.

  ‘In this country we help our fellow man, regardless of what it costs us,’ Blake replied defiantly. He waved his sword and growled, grunting like an old bear about to be baited.

  ‘This I shall enjoy. But forgive me if I have to disappear before its conclusion, I have never enjoyed the pleasure of canine company.’

  ‘If I die here, I die for something worthwhile,’ Blake shouted, lashing out with his sword.

  ‘Then perhaps I should wait and escort your soul to wherever you are going,’ the angel said, smiling.

  The mob ran faster as the hounds gained ground. A judge still decked out in his wig and red coat lagged far behind. Blake watched as his little legs ran nervously in boots too big for him, his feet slopping about in an expanse of old leather, as if in the panic he had seized another’s boots from the hangman.

  It was a deerhound that caught him first, pushing him to the ground with a sharp prod in the back, tearing the long wig from his head and shaking it like a captured rabbit. As the hound chewed on the hair, holding it with one paw to the ground and ripping it with its teeth, the judge got to his feet, kicked the oversized boots from his feet, and ran bare-foot towards Blake and the angel. The men ahead of him scattered and ran into the buildings that backed on to Grub Street, disappearing like frightened rats, slamming the doors and bolting out the animals that chased them. From there they looked down, unwilling to help the man who had once stood in counsel for them.

  ‘Run, man!’ Blake shouted as he set off towards the judge, brandishing his sword. Abram walked behind at a leisurely pace, admiring the architecture of the fine houses that fronted the river.

  The judge ran slowly and painfully towards Blake, gingerly lifting his feet as broken glass pierced his skin. Following the scent of blood another, larger hound quickly took up the chase and pounced through the air. With one swipe of its paw the hound knocked the judge to the ground, grasping his head firmly in its teeth and tearing at the flesh.

  Blake caught the beast a blow to the head, dropping it to the ground, dead. Again the judge got to his feet, panting and breathless, his face steaming with tears and his words choking like hot stones in his throat. Sword in hand, Blake waited for the approaching hounds that bounded towards him. In a final act of defiance he let out a scream that shook his whole body. Abram quickly reached into the deep pocket of his black frock-coat and grasped a small, round object. With great speed he aimed the crystal and with a sudden flick of his arm he threw the pulsating ball towards the stampeding animals.

  There was a blinding flash of light as Blake was blown from his legs and somersaulted several paces towards the river, landing against a stack of barrels. A thunderous roar sucked the air from his body and dragged him helpless across the ground, pulled in by the force of the blast.

  All was silent. Stunned, he lifted himself from the earth, but could hear nothing but the loud ringing in his ears. He looked around. The pack of dogs lay dead, scattered by the blast and torn limb from limb. Abram Rickards sat on a low wall, smiling and wiping white dust from the shoulder of his long black coat. Slowly, the sounds of the world returned to Blake, the echo of the blast jumping from building to building and rolling across the Southwark fields and around the tannery tower far over the water.

  ‘I had to join in, I just couldn’t resist. I find that Abaris crystals are such fun. They come in so useful and nothing can resist their power …’ Abram laughed. ‘Tell me, was it science or magic or something more powerful than either of them?’ The angel got to his feet. ‘Now, can we go in search of the Nemorensis?’

  24: Optime Disputasti

  It was the fourth hour of the afternoon and the dark embers of night were already stealing the sun and casting long shadows across the city. Agetta huddled by the fire in the corner of the bookshop and watched as Tegatus paced the floor, holding the Nemorensis in his hands and slowly turning the thick parchment pages. Since the time of their arrival she had felt its power growing within her. Every ounce of bitterness bubbled to the surface of her mind and twisted her heart – she sweated and cursed her mother for every false word and deed she had done to her, and the anguish of jealousy stung her lips with words that brought pain to her tongue. Dark words, words that could only be spoken under her breath for fear of being heard by the angel or by the child spirits that ran through the shop in their chasing games.

  The urchin had sat by the fire and stared at Agetta through the long afternoon. They were waiting for nightfall, and for the streets to clear of the refugees who now trickled across the bridge and out to the fields of the south. The spirit had at times faded, almost to the point of invisibility, and then as if lit like a new candle had burst into light, becoming as solid as Agetta. She was now opaque, and the fire glow beamed through her face.

  ‘Why won’t you go?’ she said angrily. She had said little else throughout the day. ‘It isn’t safe for you here, they will be back, and there are others who will do you harm.’

  Tegatus sharply interrupted. ‘We will stay till dark, and then you can haunt this place to yourself and perhaps you will be happy.’

  Agetta had never spoken to a ghost before. She had heard tales of their existence and had laughed and scorned the stories as fancy. Now before her sat a ghoul, its sallow face and deep black eyes looking out mournfully, its lips curled at the edges in despair at its condition.

  ‘You must go, or you will end up as one of us,’ the urchin said again, its cold shrill voice filling the room.

  ‘What is it like to be dead?’ Agetta asked, pulling her chair closer to the fire.

  ‘I’m not dead, I’m alive as you,’ the creature said.

  ‘But you were once alive and now you run about as a spirit, so you must
be dead. What was it like?’

  ‘The changing was easy – I jumped out of my skin and left it behind. Found myself here and things were different.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Agetta asked.

  ‘He has it,’ she said, scrunching up her shoulders and shivering. ‘Got it locked away somewhere, I saw it once but I can’t read. If I had my name then I would be out of here and going on. Don’t want to be here for ever.’ She gave a little laugh that sounded like the chattering of teeth.

  ‘You are not meant to talk with spirits,’ Tegatus said as he closed the book and put it back on the shelf. ‘Once they have left the world they are not your concern. Even angels try to keep them at arm’s length, and those who conjure them.’

  ‘Did Thaddeus steal your name?’ Agetta asked quietly.

  ‘The book-keeper enjoys our company, it’s like we are his family.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t he let you go?’ the angel asked quickly. ‘Surely that would be the kindest thing to do?’

  ‘Maybe we’re all he’s got, he ain’t got a family of his –’ The spirit suddenly went rigid, her eyes bulging from her head. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she said, and she quickly vanished.

  Tegatus pushed the Nemorensis back on to the shelf, grabbed Agetta and pulled her quickly behind the fireplace into the priest-hole. He snatched a candle from the table and they climbed into the chamber. High in the wall was a small hole cut between the stones with a clear view of the shop. Drawn by the chink of light, Agetta pressed her eye to the spy-hole and saw, amongst the yards of shelves and piles of books, Dagda Sarapuk. Walking through the aisles like a tall thin beetle, Sarapuk made his way to the back of the shop, getting closer to their hiding-place.