The building was modern and the only bit of suitably ministerial furniture was Charles’ big, oak desk. He sat behind it and looked across at the people in his territory with an element of distaste which endeared him to Ceri because she was not included in his long-suffering look, and neither was Lily. Avery Sachs from MI5, though claiming to be from the Home Office, and General Morton from Army Special Projects did get the full weight of it, but neither of them appeared to care. The two of them had been arguing for the last thirty minutes over who should have seen the attack on Mending coming. Getting less attention was the old man sat nearer to Ceri and Lily, and looking disapprovingly at the two girls while trying to ensure that no one blamed his “department.” He was Geoffrey Halford, Bishop of Oxford, and Ceri suspected he had been assigned the task of being here because he had been too infirm to step back as quickly as his fellows.
Charles flicked his gaze at the youngest people in the room. Beside Ceri and Lily, but sitting a little back from them with a laptop balanced on his thin knees, was Dennis. Dennis was Charles’ Parliamentary Private Under-secretary who took minutes in meetings and made sure that his Minister actually got to the meetings. Charles’ expression was apologetic, and Ceri got the impression the apology was for what was about to happen more than for what was happening now.
‘I did not call this meeting so that I could listen to people covering their own backsides!’ Ceri winced as Charles’ roar cut through her ear drums. She had never actually heard him shout. Dennis, apparently, had since he just carried on typing without even a flinch. ‘What I want to know is what you actually plan to do about Miss Brent’s message?’
‘I can’t comment on the theological implications of angels communicating with this… young lady and her companion,’ Halford said, his voice doddering, but carrying a distinct hint of disdain.
‘None of your people have received any such communications?’ Charles asked him.
‘No, none.’ Again his tone was disdainful; if no clergyman or church-goer had been contacted, this man doubted a practitioner and a half-demon would be.
‘Security Services evaluation?’ Charles said.
‘We have no indication of significant South American intelligence activity in Great British territory,’ Sachs said. ‘We were able to track down Justin Falk, however. He entered the country over a year ago from Spain looking for political asylum from the fascists. The unit which raided his house in Landford found papers for Alfredo Chavez, the name he was using at the time. The Falk name appears to be his real one. He was born in Cornwall in sixty-seven to an Argentinian father and an English mother. Became highly religious, following in his mother’s footsteps, and left for his father’s homeland when he was seventeen. The next thing we know about him is him turning up as Alfredo Chavez.’
‘And he was living down by the New Forest, amassing a collection of torture equipment?’ Ceri asked.
‘That’s the way it looks,’ Sachs said. ‘We think he was getting deliveries by boat, would you believe. As far as we can tell, he had two safe houses set up. We can’t find anything linking him to other groups. We can’t find any evidence connecting him to other properties.’
‘But you also can’t find him,’ Lily said.
Sachs nodded, giving Lily a hard look. ‘No, we can’t. We think he’s gone to ground, possibly in the New Forest. Living rough wouldn’t be too different from what he was doing in the houses.’ The spy glanced at Morton. ‘As the most likely location for him to be holing up, we’ve dispatched Army teams to search the Forest, but no luck so far.’
Morton apparently felt the need to defend his servicemen. ‘It’s a large area, we’re looking for one man, possibly with magical help. We’ve deployed the latest equipment, but it’s not an easy task.’
‘No one is saying it is, General,’ Charles said in a conciliatory tone. ‘Now, is there any chance we can avoid killing these “friendly” angels while we try to wipe out the invading ones?’
Morton’s brow creased. ‘I’m informed that there may be.’ Ceri thought he looked a lot like he did not like the idea. ‘Forward observers have detected distinct features in the two groups of spirits and orders could be given to avoid hitting the native ones.’
‘You have concerns?’ Charles asked.
‘We have a civilian’s word that one of these things says they are fighting for us,’ Morton replied. ‘We could be assisting one side in a civil war. They could turn on us as soon as we’ve wiped out the invading forces.’
‘Bishop?’ Charles said.
‘The Church has no opinion,’ Halford commented. ‘Since these angels have not communicated with an expert in their nature we cannot know whether they are Fallen.’
The minister grunted. Ceri thought the bishop had spent too much time in politics. Apparently Charles did too. ‘Miss Brent, your opinion?’
Ceri glanced at Lily. The half-succubus looked annoyed, and the feeling coming over their link confirmed it. Lily gave a little nod and a twitch of her face which suggested Ceri should give them Hell. Ceri nodded slightly and looked back. ‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’m not a politician, or a tactician, but I am a scientist. I work off the evidence I have. The angels who have been talking to me are all over southern England. There are a lot of them and they have supernatural powers. If they wanted to attack us, they could have done it already. Instead they just watched until Gadriel’s boys turned up. They seem to be defending their territory.’
Morton grunted derisively. ‘And that’s your considered opinion is it?’
‘No,’ Ceri replied, ‘that’s my gut instinct, but it’s based on observation. My considered opinion is that I’d trust something which appears to be concerned for my welfare more than I trust a man who wanted to build a world-destroying weapon out of paranoia, or an old man who seems annoyed that an agnostic was selected to get a message from his god.’
Morton’s face darkened and Halford looked like he was going to have a fit of apoplexy. Ceri was more than a little surprised when it was Sachs who came to her defence. ‘I agree with Miss Brent,’ the agent said. ‘Tactically, the angels hold the upper hand and have done nothing with it.’
Charles was having a little trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Are you going soft on us, Avery?’
‘I made the mistake of underestimating Miss Brent before,’ Sachs said wryly. ‘She shows an uncommonly acute awareness of what is actually going on.’ He looked across at Ceri and Lily. ‘I wouldn’t say I entirely trust some of the company you keep, but you’re both capable and reliable.’
‘We aren’t entirely sure we trust all the company we keep either,’ Lily told him. ‘Sometimes you have to work with what you’ve got.’
‘I’m going to recommend that we treat the native angels as friendlies,’ Charles said. ‘It’ll go through normal channels, but it would be useful, General, if you passed it along as a matter of urgency. Thank you all for your time.’
~~~
‘Do you think they’ll really listen?’ Lily asked as they walked toward the tube.
‘I have no idea,’ Ceri replied. ‘We can hope.’
Lily grinned. ‘Have faith?’
‘Huh,’ Ceri grunted. ‘Faith in that lot? Well… I think we can trust Malcolm, and Sachs, amazingly enough.’
‘Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘We made a good impression, or he’s been keeping an eye on us.’
‘Perhaps both. If he knows what we did to find Terry Newton… I’d imagine that kind of thing might actually impress someone like Sachs.’
Ceri nodded. They had trawled through the underworld of London’s club scene, got information from powerful Unseelie Fae and vicious criminals. Ceri had tortured a man to get what they needed and then had had to kill Newton to save one of his victims. A lot of that had not made it into any official report, but you never knew what intelligence agents might dig up.
‘What do we do now?’ Lily asked.
‘Nothing. I don’t
think there’s anything we can do. If the Army and the Greycoats can’t find Falk, I don’t think we can.’
‘You found Naira.’
‘I had Jasmine’s help and really huge motivation.’
Lily glanced at her. ‘You’re not motivated to find Falk?’
‘Yeah,’ Ceri replied, ‘I am. Trouble is, I’m really not motivated to find Gadriel. I don’t want to meet him again if I can help it. Not. At. All.’
South Lambeth, December 14th
Clapham Road was not the most pleasant way to get from High Towers to Battersea, but there were not many pleasant ways to do it, and it was a bit convoluted on the underground and not really any faster. Another third of a mile and she would cut down Lansdowne Way and into pack territory, and then she would feel happier. Right now there was an odd feeling of oppression in the air. The moon was waning, maybe that was it. Ed had told her once that the more time she spent as a wolf, the more she would start to think like them. Maybe it was happening.
She looked up at the cloudy night sky and completely failed to see what it was about the view which made her pause for a second. Frowning, she looked around at the street. There were a few other people walking along the pavements, but nothing threatening.
Giving a shrug, Ceri started off again, shifting her bag on her shoulder. She took two steps and then stopped. There were no angels on the rooftops. She looked up again, alarmed, and something hit her from behind tossing her through the air like a rag doll. She had a second to see something, a figure in chainmail with wide, flaming wings, before her head hit the paving stones.
Part Five: Inquisitio per Sigillum
Ceri opened her eyes and winced at the pain that burned through the back of her skull. It was dark and cool, and she was naked and hogtied, lying uncomfortably on her stomach. The ground under her felt like bare earth; a cellar floor? That would explain the complete darkness. The other girls Gadriel and Falk had taken had been kept in a cellar and Ceri had no doubt she had been captured by them.
She tugged on her bonds and winced again. The sounds suggested chains, and they were attached via metal cuffs and a collar. And they felt… odd. There was something weird about the metal, or the way it felt against her skin. It was when she tried to work a spell to unlock the cuffs that she realised what was wrong; something was suppressing her magic. Ceri’s stomach twisted. No magic, bound up like a Christmas turkey, in an unknown location, with an angel blocking scrying…
The sudden explosion of light in the room cut off the panic which was about to set in. Raising her head got her a view of two pairs of boots, one pair topped off by leather trousers, the other by black denims. The latter set were moving, but stopped near her face a second later. A voice came from above her, thin with a slight Spanish accent; Falk, Ceri guessed. ‘In the year of Our Lord twenty-twelve, in the month of December, on this the fifteenth day, it has come to the ears of Brother Justin Falk, Inquisitor, that witchcraft is being practiced openly in this land.’
‘Yeah,’ Ceri said, ‘stating the obvious.’
‘The defendant will be silent!’ Falk snapped
‘The only thing the defendant can do is talk, so she damn well won’t be…’ Ceri stopped as Falk’s boot glanced off the side of her head. It was not exactly a powerful blow, but it sent searing pain through her already rattled skull.
‘You are accused of the commission of acts of witchcraft, and of acts of witchcraft, and of consorting with demons, and of consorting with beasts. How do you plead?’ It sounded like he was speaking from a script. Maybe he was.
‘Not guilty,’ Ceri replied. She was expecting another kick in the head, but what she got instead was a surprise.
‘The defendant’s arguments will be heard,’ Falk intoned. ‘Raise her up.’
Four sets of hands grabbed Ceri and lifted her upward. She was just wondering whether she was going to be held off the floor in this ridiculous position when she heard chains rattling. Her arms and legs were released, briefly, and she was allowed to lower her legs to the ground, but the freedom did not last. A second later chains clanked and her wrists were pulled upward and outward, and she was left standing in a crucifixion pose.
At least she could see Falk, and Gadriel standing behind him; the people, presumably angels, who had moved her were nowhere to be seen. The inquisitor was pale, but he had a few Hispanic features. It was his eyes which were the scary part; mostly he looked like a weak, skinny man who needed to eat more and work out some, but the eyes were dark, empty aside from a hint of wild fanaticism. The angel was androgynously beautiful in a hard, angular way. He was bald with a Roman nose, hard, blue eyes, and a muscled body currently covered in leather and chainmail. He looked like the Angel of War he was supposed to be, aside from the look he was giving Ceri’s naked body, and that scared her more than anything else.
‘Why am I naked?’ Ceri asked.
Falk glared at her, but apparently his desire to be magnanimous about her trial made him answer. ‘Witches commonly secrete items among their clothing to allow them to lie before God and withstand the questioning. We were unable to remove the collar from your neck or the chain around your ankle, but the enchantments on your bonds will negate any effect they may have and my advisor tells me the enchantments are of no danger.’ Ceri tried hard to keep the frown off her face; the chain was enchanted to not come off, but the collar? That was weird… Unless Luperca was with her somehow.
‘Your advisor,’ Ceri said. ‘Gadriel.’
‘The messengers of the False God told you my name,’ the angel said, a slight smirk on his lips.
‘They don’t seem to like you either,’ Ceri replied, ‘though they didn’t resort to insults.’
‘Your arguments,’ Falk snapped. ‘State why you believe yourself to be not guilty of the charges.’
‘I don’t work witchcraft and I’ve never “commissioned” anyone to practice it for me. I work magic, but not witchcraft. And I think I’ll call your advisor as witness to that.’ Ceri looked straight into Gadriel’s eyes as she said it.
‘It’s true,’ the angel said. ‘The defendant is not a witch, she is a sorceress.’
Ceri’s eyes flicked to Falk. The lack of surprise or anything similar indicated that he did not understand the implication. ‘Leviticus nineteen, sixteen,’ Falk said. ‘You are not to practice divination or sorcery.’
‘So you’re changing the charges?’ Ceri asked.
‘The punishment for witchcraft and sorcery is the same,’ Falk said.
‘Huh,’ Ceri grunted. ‘I don’t “consort” with demons or beasts.’
‘I have observed you myself with both,’ Falk countered. ‘You live with a succubus, you fornicate with werewolves.’
‘Half-succubus,’ Ceri said. ‘Lily is a half-succubus. I’ve never had sex with a demon. If you’re going to tell me that half-demon is sufficient then I’m going to have to question your nature as a Christian.’
Rather than answer, Falk asked, ‘And your fornication with the beasts?’
‘Werewolves aren’t beasts. They evolved from humans, probably as a result of exposure and adaptation to the Reoviridae lycanthropia virus. They may be able to change form, but they are on the same genetic line as humans, not wolves.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you can’t afford to admit that, can you? If I’m right, you killed a werewolf and tried to kill Karen Mitchem on a false premise. You committed murder.’
‘The Convocation of nineteen fifty-nine declared that all those who become beasts by their own will are beasts,’ Falk stated.
‘Dogma,’ Ceri said. ‘Doctrine. Your Church needed to declare were-creatures as something they could destroy without thought. They needed an enemy for their war, so they just decided, without evidence, that were-creatures were beasts.’
‘Blasphemy,’ Falk said. There was a smile on his face, bleak but triumphant, as though she had fallen into a trap.
‘Fact,’ Ceri replied. ‘Not that facts have ever had anything to do with your Church’s decis
ions, have they? Anything facing the “Chosen People” has been fair game for millennia. They don’t have to attack you, they just have to be standing in the way of what you want.’
Falk raised his hand and Ceri braced herself for the blow, but Gadriel’s vibrant voice stopped it. ‘She has denied her guilt, Brother Falk. She must be questioned and appropriately encouraged to admit her guilt and given opportunity to recant her blasphemous ways.’
Falk lowered his hand, slowly and obviously reluctantly. ‘You are… right. The defendant will remain in isolation to consider changing her plea prior to questioning.’
‘You mean torture,’ Ceri said.
Falk looked her in the eye and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Only torture is guaranteed to bring the truth out of your kind.’ He turned and walked off to a flight of wooden stairs at the back of the room. The last thing Ceri saw before the room was plunged into darkness was Gadriel’s face. He was smiling at her.
~~~
Exactly how long she was left in the dark, Ceri could not tell. She could not tell whether she was alone. She heard nothing and saw nothing. There was no feeling that anyone else was there. Without her Sight, however, she was entirely blind. Gadriel, or one of the other angels which had manhandled her, could have been right there, watching, but she could not tell.
At first it had been easy enough, but with no way to move about her legs started to get tired fairly quickly. She tried resting her weight on her arms, but her shoulders started to hurt taking her weight. Sleeping was out of the question and she began to wish they had left her hogtied.
She blinked when the light returned, squinting as Falk descended the stairs. ‘Are you ready to confess?’ his reedy voice asked. There was no sign of Gadriel this time.
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Ceri said. She was feeling eloquent.
Falk nodded. ‘Your police confiscated my tools. I’ve been required to improvise, but I assure you that I have had considerable training in extracting the truth. You will confess everything to me.’ He stepped under the chain attached to her right cuff and walked behind her. After a second or two there was a scraping sound, and then water dripping. Ceri tried to turn her head to see what he was doing, but her movement was too restricted. Something wet and spongy was pressed against her left hip. ‘You are a sorceress and a blasphemer,’ Falk said. ‘Admit it?’
Thaumatology 06 - Hammer of Witches Page 19