by G. P. Taylor
“They are Rhabdomanteia . . . I can see they intrigue you, Mister Malachi.” Malpas stepped forward and settled on one knee before the fire. “You and I are both seekers of the future. In my own primitive way I consult the unseen in the hope that I will be guided. With these arrows I dowse for knowledge. I cast them before the fire as I ask a question and, to the trained eye, the pattern of their landing reveals the answer.” Malachi didn’t reply. As instructed, he kept his gaze fixed to the floor. “It may be primitive, but it does convince me that this world is not all we will inhabit. . . . But Tersias is a real oracle, and getting a name for himself in high places. Only this afternoon the King himself asked if we were to meet. As his guardian you may soon find yourself in important company.”
Malachi bristled with pride. He patted Tersias on the back of his steaming coat, the night damp evaporating in the heat of the fire, his face reddening with the flames. “I hope you will feel free to ask whatever you desire of my little companion. We are somewhat dishevelled, having been robbed by a gang so vicious that we only managed to escape with our lives.”
“Robbed, Malachi? And you never saw this event before it happened?” Malpas snickered. “Did they take you for much?” he asked as he rubbed the bruise on the side of his face.
“Everything I have ever had—a golden guinea, my beautiful timepiece . . . It was only the fact that they would have to feed Tersias that stopped them from stripping him from the carriage and making off into the night.” Malachi looked up, catching a glance of Lord Malpas eye to eye.
“There has been a scourge of robberies in this city. I myself was victim of a foul fiend who took from me something very precious, and it is for this that I have called you here tonight. If you answer me successfully, I can make you a rich man. What the boy said at the Charing Cross intrigued me. So let him speak and later we will have supper. . . . Skullet, snuff the candles and let our oracle be lit by the firelight.” Lord Malpas shuddered with pleasure as he scooped up the Rhabdomanteia and placed them carefully into a green felt bag that hung like a Christmas sack from the large stone fireplace.
Skullet snuffed out candle after candle. With a steady hand, Malachi cajoled Tersias into the centre of the rug and faced him towards the large chair that Malpas had sunk into. The firelight reflected off the boy’s face and lit his empty white eyes with a bloom of deep red light that seemed to surge from his soul.
“Now, my Tersias . . .” Malpas spoke softly to him. “I need an answer to my question. As you said before, I have lost a box—something that was entrusted to me by my father. I am a sick man and soon will have need of it. It has been in my family for many generations. Tell me, dear Tersias, where can it be found?”
Tersias listened for the familiar sound of the approaching Wretchkin, but was surprised to find utter silence. Malpas waited impatiently, scratching the palms of his hand with his pointed knuckles. He looked at Malachi, trying to catch his eye, then nodded to Skullet.
“What my master is saying is—” Skullet paused as he gulped his breath. “Do you know where the box has been taken and by whom?” He banged the black rod against the wooden floor.
“I cannot speak yet . . . ,” Tersias replied. He turned his head quickly about the room, hoping to see a sign of the spirit.
“By what power do you speak?” Malpas asked.
“By the voices that come into my head.”
“And they are not with you now?” he asked quietly as he scanned the boy up and down in the light of the savage fire.
“No, my lord. I am alone.”
“Tell me, boy . . . these voices, are they from a creature that visits you?”
“Not even I would ask him that,” Malachi argued, looking Malpas in the face.
“Then you are a fool, Malachi. For this oracle is a seer of spirits. His blind eyes have been surpassed by a vision that can see what mankind has desired since Adam fell by the treachery of that woman.” Malpas turned to the boy and took hold of his hand. “Do not be afraid of me, Tersias. I, too, have desired your gift. I understand it. Does a creature visit you, and bring voices that you hear?”
“ ’Tis as you say, Lord Malpas. For some time now it has come upon me, each time getting closer and closer. I can see the spirit in my head and hear the voice like a dawn bell.”
“Do you fear it?” Malpas asked.
“More than ever. When it comes, I feel a shiver run down my spine.” Tersias shuddered in remembrance.
“Call this creature, Tersias. Ask it to come to you, there is something that I need to know.”
Tersias pictured the creature in his mind. He begged silently for it to come to him. “Open the window,” he said quickly, stepping back from the fire. “I can hear the creature calling.”
Malpas sprang to his feet and ran to the narrow window. He quickly opened it and the stench from Thieving Lane filled the room. He looked around the room in expectation, his eyes searching for sight of the creature. Skullet stood by the fire, rod in hand, outstretched as if to protect himself from what was to come.
“Is the creature here?” Malpas asked as he paced back to the fire, his gaze fixed on the narrow window.
Tersias shuddered as he heard the call of the beast as it rose up from the waters. Over the houses and rooftops it beat its wings and then, forcing its way through the window, burst into the room.
“Powerful company you are keeping, boy,” the creature said as it stroked his face. “I know this house well and Malachi will be lucky to leave with his life. What does this Lord Malpas want with me now?”
“A box, the box you spoke of before is still missing,” said Tersias.
“So this creature knows my intentions?” asked Malpas.
“I hear you, Malpas,” the creature spoke through Tersias. “The boy will speak for me and I will answer only that which I want. Over me you have no command. I am not a slave like others you control. I know much of your family and that which you seek has been close at hand. The Alabaster isn’t far away. A street-robber fills his belly with the guinea he stole from Malachi. Find him and you find what you desire. But you best be quick—your family enemy does not want to see you have such a gift.” The spirit was momentarily silent; then it stepped towards Malpas, looked into his eyes, and Tersias spoke for it again. “Tell me, Malpas, do you feel death crawling through your bones, is that why there is an urgency to find the Alabaster?”
“ ’Tis as you say, dear creature, as you say.” Malpas sat sullenly in the chair by the fire and stared at the floor. “I am the last in a long line of a fine family. My wife, Griselda, sits in the country house at Strumbelo and fills her mind with pure thoughts, never wanting to lie with me, and in the Alabaster is my legacy and my chance to live on and again be with my father.”
“Cast your net to the north. You have spies who can find this villain in a day, but act quickly. They intend to sell your green box and flit with the money. They tire of London life and seek the country air. As we speak, plans are being made and the Alabaster sits under a flea-ridden bed next to a full privy pot.”
“Where? Where is this?” Malpas called out as the creature let go of Tersias and stepped towards the doorway.
There was a sudden, forceful blast of air as the creature sped from the room. Tersias was thrown towards the raging fire. Skullet pushed Malpas from his path as he jumped from behind the leather chair, taking hold of Tersias by the coat and pulling him to the floor.
“A child like this is too good to be burnt, Mister Malachi. You should take care of your charge, else others take him into their consideration.” Skullet got to his feet and brushed the singe from Tersias’s sleeve.
VII
SKANDALON
Maggot hid behind the statue of Saint Sebastian that peered down from the top of the empty church across from Vamana House. The boy ran his hand back and forth across the grimy white carved marble and felt the broken arrows that pierced the statue’s flesh. Maggot was idling away the minutes of the night, waiting for Malachi a
nd Tersias to appear. He wondered why the saint had died this way—shot through with thirteen arrows whilst still fresh-faced and just out of youth.
From his hiding place at the height of the church roof, Maggot stared to the ground. He had climbed the rickety wooden scaffolding higher and higher, from gargoyle to statue and finally up the laddered arrows of the marble saint. He sat there like a black crow brooding on what was to come. This was a view of London he had seen many times before by day and by night. Maggot had climbed chimneys and swept the soot from the fine houses of Curzon Street with Jonah. Some were big enough for him to climb out of and gulp the air, taking in the sunlight and looking over the rooftops to the edge of the city. He would wait and wait, staring at the scene before descending into the hot, black hell with its blinding stench and blackened bricks. Then he would appear into the room, soot-black and white-eyed.
Now he looked down through the nighttime gloom at the stone façade of Vamana House. He clung to the back of the saint and thought of Tara and Jonah eating their way through the guinea in the Bull and Mouth as they waited for him to come and tell that Malachi was marching back to Cheapside. His belly groaned like an old man as he thought of food. In his mind he could smell the roast meat and fresh bread, tinged with the malted brew. Maggot licked his lips and closed his eyes, imagining the taste of the feast he was missing.
They had drawn lots as to who should eat and who should bleat. The bleater would stay behind and keep watch whilst the eaters would dine on Malachi’s stolen money. Maggot pulled the shortest straw. Yet in his high nest he felt safe. No one could see him here.
The sound of voices and the slow opening of the door pulled Maggot back from his daydream.
“Stay, Malachi. My home is your home,” Malpas protested as Skullet held Tersias by the hand, not wanting to let go.
“We have stayed too long, my dear lord. But I will return tomorrow and Tersias will speak again for you,” Malachi said anxiously as he tugged Tersias towards him, trying to free him from Skullet’s grip.
“I insist, it would be my pleasure. This is a fine house with soft beds and good food. I will even light a fire in your rooms. Imagine, your own fire and breakfast served by Skullet.”
The words loosened Skullet’s grip. Malachi managed to prise Tersias from his twisted, bony fingers. He opened the cage door and bundled the boy onto the carriage, then snapped shut the lock and twirled the key before sliding it into his pocket. “I have horses to attend to and the boy likes his own bed,” Malachi said, then paused as his mind flashed to find another falsehood. “There are duties that I have to do for the oracle that can only be done in secret.” He smiled as he spoke, his thin lips pulled tight against his crooked, stained teeth.
“Then you will be back tomorrow?” Malpas asked.
“Tomorrow,” Malachi replied, and he took hold of the long handles of the cart and pushed as hard as he could, squelching off into the mud.
Malpas gave a shallow wave as the cart made off into the night street. He stood and watched as a feeble Malachi made slow progress along Thieving Lane.
“Take the militia and follow them,” Malpas whispered to Skullet, unaware that his murmurs floated upwards on the night breeze. “Make sure they go to Cheapside. Leave the guard all night, and as the sun rises, have them arrested and taken to the Fleet Prison. Search the house and bring me anything you find.”
“With what shall they be charged?” Skullet asked as he rubbed his hands together.
“Robbery. I slipped a silver spoon into the boy’s pocket as we came down the stairs. Malachi was so busy trying to escape from us that he failed to notice. It carries my crest.” He laughed. “I know every judge in London and on my word they will have the old dog hanged. I shall step forward and plead for the boy’s life, begging the court to spare the blind beggar, and he will be given to my care. Griselda has always wanted a son. Now she can have one and earn her keep.”
As Malpas turned and scurried up the steps and into the bleak hallway, Skullet stopped and looked up at the front of the old broken-down church. He felt as if he was being scrutinised, inspected and dissected by piercing eyes . . . that God himself was staring down in judgment. For several moments he looked at each of the statues that lined the high eaves. From the roof a host of street-doves bolted from their sleep and rose up high into the night sky. They swirled and twisted ever upwards to the bright moon, taking Skullet’s gaze towards the crest of stars. He gave a shudder; the cold mist shivered his heels as he turned from the night and into the house.
Maggot glided down the marble saint and edged his feet towards the large stone gargoyle. It sat, squat and fat, on a small ledge overlooking the shuttered church door that had been nailed up when the congregation had wilted into extinction. Above him he heard the sound of wingbeats like those of an eagle wafting the air steadily as it circled unseen above his head. As he stepped onto the gargoyle, Maggot looked around, hearing a creature rush by, cutting the air with its crisp wings.
It was then that his back was struck by a sudden and forceful blow. Maggot clung onto the gargoyle as blow after blow rained down upon him. He could see nothing—it was as if he was being struck by an invisible creature that hovered above him. Far to the north a flash of deep red lightning fired the night and in a brief moment he saw the terrible outline of the Wretchkin, its face of torn flesh staring down at him, wings outstretched and clenched fists hammering at his body.
In fright, Maggot let go of the gargoyle and he began to fall through the old scaffolding to the street below. His leg struck a wooden brace that held the scaffold to the church, sending him spinning down towards the statue of a knight, its long lance upstretched towards him. Shafts of wood began to cascade about him as the wooden bracing lifted from the building and began to collapse to the ground. For a brief moment, he glimpsed the Wretchkin silhouetted by the full moon high above him. The beast glared down from the pinnacle of the church as it pushed the final strands of scaffolding from the stonework, and then suddenly vanished.
The falling wooden struts clashed against the stones as Maggot fell earthward, the knight’s lance getting closer with each second. He screamed as the shaft thrust towards his face. The lance pierced his frock coat, dragging him to a violent halt. Maggot dangled from the tip of the shaft as the rest of the scaffold gave way. Thick swirls of dust danced in and out of rods of moonlight as the debris of the scaffolding smouldered like the remnants of an earthquake.
Terrified, he kicked and twisted against the lance, trying to shake himself free. His coat ripped and Maggot fell to the ground, crashing into the rubble. Without hesitation he jumped to his feet and began to run. The pain of the fall shot through his body and his leg gave way again and again. Maggot hobbled as fast as he could, tears of pain welling up in his eyes as his leg twisted with each step.
Never looking back, eyes fixed firmly ahead, face set like flint, he crawled through the muddied streets and dingy alleyways by the banks of the Thames. There was an eerie emptiness. The fear of another comet forced the people who had returned to the city silently back into their houses. At the Charing Cross the circus celebrations had gone, leaving only the dung of Ozymandius lying in a cold pile upon the monument steps.
Maggot hobbled through the silent streets. From Bloomsbury Square came the shrill call of a large dog. He felt a dampness smothering his hands and in the half-light looked down to see them covered in blood.
The sound of laughter took away his pain and fear. He could hear Jonah singing, music spilling from the door of the Bull and Mouth into the empty street. He looked towards the light that flooded from the inn as if it were the only place in the whole world where life carried on.
The baying of the hound came again, its shrill echo leaping from building to building. A dread voice told Maggot to hide and take shelter until the light of morn cast away the shadows—but then he thought of Jonah and what he had to tell him. If he didn’t act soon, Malachi and Tersias would be well on the way to Cheapside.
Maggot ran towards the door, arms outstretched. “JONAH! JONAH!” he shouted fearfully, the words erupting from his mouth.
Jonah rushed outside as screams filled the street. In the moonlight he saw a large black dog galloping towards him from the shadows of St. George’s Church. And there was Maggot, falling on his knees, calling out in pain as he held out his hand for Jonah to save him.
The black dog stopped three feet from Maggot and sniffed the scent of steaming blood that rose from the boy’s leg. It growled at Jonah, who was unable to move. It took another pace towards Maggot, bending its head as if about to take him into his mouth and drag him into the dark night.
“LEAVE HIM!” Jonah shouted at the dog, struggling to pull himself from the grip of fright that froze his bones. The animal stared at him with its piercing black eyes.
Suddenly Jonah’s eyes closed to the world as the entrancing glare of the dog took over his soul. A deep, hidden memory exploded, bringing with it the exact same sight: Jonah was looking up, staring into those very eyes. He was a child of four months old, wrapped and swaddled, in a room lit by a meagre fire. He could smell the dog’s breath as the beast panted above him. Then it came—the heavy paw with its dirty brown claws that tipped the cradle onto the floor and sent him spilling into the straw. It growled and nuzzled him as it tried to pick him up with its mouth. Jonah saw again the fireplace of his house as the memory filled his mind, provoked by his fear. No one came, he was alone. The creature pulled at the rags and dragged him facedown across the floor. Clumsily it lifted him across the threshold and into the lane. Jonah heard again the shout and the screams of his mother as she sat entertaining outside the house.
Jonah found himself choking as he gulped the night air.
From behind him came a sharp, brittle click as a pistol hammer fell. There was a scream as the bullet grazed the hound and knocked it backwards through the air. Jonah watched helpless as the beast got back on its feet, growling.