Pariah

by Donald Hounam

  ‘I want to see the boy,’ Caxton announces.

  ‘Beryl,’ I say quietly. ‘Give him a couple of days.’ She looks at me. Not fierce, but like she’s staring into a clock or something, trying to figure out how it works. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me you knew who he was?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I shrug. ‘I should’ve.’

  And while everybody’s still standing there with their mouths open, I dodge round Caxton and head for the outside door. I’m halfway across the street when I hear Marvo’s voice—

  ‘You do realise she’s taking the piss.’

  ‘Caxton?’

  ‘Don’t be a prat – Kazia!’ Marvo’s heading down the steps after me. Washed out. Hair all over the shop. ‘You know she doesn’t love you.’

  ‘Think I’m stupid?’ But I can’t help asking: ‘Why shouldn’t she, though?’

  ‘She just doesn’t, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ I say, although it isn’t. ‘I know you’d have to be mad to want anything to do with me—’

  Marvo blinks.

  ‘So you’re right: she must be taking the piss. But I can’t stop myself. She acts like she – well, there’s something . . .’ I wish I really knew what it was. ‘So I’ve got to help her.’

  ‘And that’s what she’s countin’ on.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean she’s not in trouble.’

  ‘Frank—’ Marvo’s caught up with me. Her fingers are heading for my cheek, but I turn away and head off round the corner towards the canal. She really doesn’t know when to give up. ‘I’m not saying she doesn’t want something from you.’ Marvo’s right behind me. ‘Just saying, it’s not what you’re hoping for.’

  I’m telling myself that she’s just jealous when she goes on—

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I try to imagine a zebra in a pork-pie hat.

  ‘That I’m just jealous. Well, I am. I don’t get you, Frank. You know she’s trouble—’

  ‘And that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know what she’s done. I know she’d be mad to love me and since she’s not mad—’

  ‘There’s something not right with her.’

  ‘You’d be a bit bonkers if you’d been through what she’s been through—’

  ‘So is that all you’re worth, Frank? A girl that’s not right in the head?’ Marvo’s lost another toggle on her duffel coat, and her shoes are all scraped and spattered with mud. Not just washed out, a Montgolfier crash.

  ‘I just need to know she’ll be all right,’ I say. ‘Don’t you get it?’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  You know what? I mean, it’s kind of pathetic, but all this makes me feel like a real person who’s worth worrying about. I don’t really want to hear what Marvo thinks about Kazia. It’s obvious she’s got it in for her; it’s pretty obvious why, and I ought to be flattered and all that.

  But the thing about Marvo is, I owe her. She kind of told me once she was in love with me. I don’t believe that – like I said, you’d have to be mad, you know? But it’s been fun working with her again.

  Interesting, anyway.

  And if I’ve enjoyed it, well, maybe she has too and I suppose, yeah, she’s going to miss me . . .

  I realise I’ll miss her.

  ‘Are you going to stop hitting me now?’ I ask.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, now I’ve found Sean for you. Are you going to stop—’

  She smiles. ‘Last time.’ And whacks me. ‘OK?’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Deep breath. Kazia.’

  But when we reach the canal, Kazia has gone and I get to watch Marvo trying not to look pleased.

  There’s really only one way this can end.

  A few hours later, two Knights of Saint Cyprian throw me into a chair. Ignacio Gresh, the Society’s Grand Inquisitor, looks up from his desk. He’s wearing his usual black suit. His black tie has a simple pentagram embroidered on it in gold thread. The scarring across his face looks like he was in a fire, but nobody seems to know exactly, and he’s not telling.

  The room is lined with books and files and it’s not exactly cheerful. A big, grisly ivory crucifix on one wall. A glass case stuffed with holy relics: teeth, bones and bits of hair that fell off dead saints. There’s a window with a view over the town, and a small door in the corner leading to a chamber that nobody I know ever got into – but the novices all used to say it contained chains and sharp things for Gresh to cheer himself up with during the long winter evenings.

  It’s ten minutes since I strolled up to the front gate of the Society’s headquarters and turned myself in.

  ‘Mr Sampson.’ Gresh’s smile would curdle blood.

  ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

  ‘I’ve been a fool,’ I say, in what I hope sounds like a tone of repentance.

  ‘You’re still a fool.’ He nods to the Knights. As the door closes behind them, he pushes his chair back and walks round the desk until he is standing behind me. I feel his hands press down on my shoulders. ‘So tell me: where is the Superior General?’

  All the time it took me to walk here from Oxford, I wondered how I’d answer this question. The good news is that the Inquisition won’t torture me or use magic to get the answer out of me: any spell to extract the truth from somebody only tells you what you want to hear.

  ‘He’s dead,’ I say. ‘A demon.’

  ‘And who summoned this demon? You . . . or the girl, Kazia Siménas?’

  OK, that came as a surprise. But at least it means there’s no reason to be coy. I tell him all about Kazia and Matthew and Alastor. When he asks me where Kazia is, I tell him the truth: I’ve no idea.

  I’m still trying to convince myself that I don’t care.

  As far as Gresh is concerned, the only lie – the only really massive whopper – is not admitting that Matthew’s still there, stuck down in the cellar with Alastor. I dunno, I’ve got no idea what to do about him. Maybe I’ll think of something . . .

  Meanwhile, either Gresh buys my story or he’s just pleased to get me out of the way. Two days later I have a pilgrim’s emblem pinned to my woolly hat and I’m on my way to Rome.

  On foot.

  Acknowledgements

  A big, big thank-you to my agent, Stephanie Thwaites, at the Curtis Brown literary agency; to Ruth Knowles and Kirsten Armstrong at Random House Children’s Publishers; and to everybody else who has helped make Pariah far more coherent than it would otherwise have been.

  Thanks also to all the gang at The Economist, and especially Penny Garrett, for keeping me in gainful employment; and the staff in the Canterbury High Street branch of Caffè Nero, for all the caffeine.

  Eternal thanks to Cecily Macnamara, David Simmons, Tim Williams and Chris Bidmead. (And apologies to Bidmead, who is still waiting for the lunch I promised him after Gifted.)

  The titles of chapters fifteen and forty-four were lifted from an art installation (Two Seagulls or One Seagull Twice, 1973–4) by my old Dublin chum James Coleman.

  Pariah was written with the help of two excellent writing applications: Scrivener and Ulysses.

  Finally, I should like to apologise to the real Dominicans who, I am absolutely sure, have never had any sort of truck with demons.

  Glossary

  ASB

  The Anti-Sorcery Brotherhood. Founded 1898; membership unknown. It does what it says on the tin: it’s a brotherhood (so no girls) and it’s dedicated (if you can describe a crowd of arseholes as dedicated) to the destruction of the Society of Sorcerers.

  CID

  The police Criminal Investigation Department, easily recognisable by their bleached hair and bewildered expressions.

  College wars

  1927–31. For centuries the various colleges of Oxford University were happy to compete on the sports field. Then someone came up with the bright idea that real weapons and live ammunition would liven things up a bit. By the time everyone got
bored, most of the university was a pile of ashes.

  The Concordat

  The Church formally recognised the Society of Sorcerers as a religious order in 1563. But it was a match made on earth, not in heaven. The Society kept hauling demons up out of hell to make things explode. The Church complained about the noise, but the Society was having too much fun to care. After the Society turned the pope into a piano, both sides agreed that enough was enough; and in 1908 they finally signed the Concordat, a document the size of an encyclopaedia in which everybody promised to behave. Some hope . . .

  Contiguity

  See Sympathetic magic.

  Dictionnaire infernal

  An (incomplete) encyclopaedia of demons, written by Jacques Auguste Simon Collin de Plancy and first published in 1818.

  Doughnut City

  Oxford. So-called because of the burned-out Hole in the middle where there used to be a university (see College wars).

  Elemental

  A form of natural energy that even a post-peak sorcerer can channel and convert to physical form, usually resembling a human being or an animal. They have purpose, but – unlike angels and demons – no consciousness. Basically they’re slaves, except that you don’t have to feed or shelter them, or look after them in old age, since they can be made to disappear at the flick of a finger.

  Ghost

  Magically powered vehicle that allows the rich and powerful to get from point A to point B without having to smell horseshit.

  Grimoire

  A book containing a collection of magical procedures. Because we don’t make this stuff up as we go along, you know. We get it out of books written by dead guys who made it up as they went along . . .

  The Hole

  The burned-out wasteland in the centre of Doughnut City, left behind after the College wars.

  Inquisition

  If you’ve built yourself a religion, you’ve got to have rules. And if anyone breaks those rules you have to set them straight. Pain seems to work. Pope Leo XVII gave the Society of Sorcerers permission to set up its own private inquisition in 1787.

  Jack

  Policeman, uniformed or plain clothes.

  Mandrake

  A thick plant root with magical properties, often branched so that it resembles a small human figure with arms and legs. Sort of. According to legend, when dug up it emits a scream that will kill anyone who hears it; so people used to tie a dog to the plant and retire to a safe distance before calling the animal.

  Montgolfier

  The Montgolfier brothers, Joseph-Michel and Jacques-Étienne, made the first public ascent in a hot-air balloon in 1783. After that people started using lighter-than-air gases like hydrogen, and added engines. Very quickly they realised you could drop explosives from them.

  Nekker

  General term of abuse for sorcerers, a contraction of necromancer. Necromancy – from the Ancient Greek νεκρóς (nekrós), ‘dead body’, and μαντεíα (manteía), ‘prophecy or divination’ – is the art of raising the dead to foretell the future. As if dead people care about football results.

  Pentacle

  A design written on paper or parchment, or engraved on metal, and used to command or to protect against demonic forces. There’s good money to be made selling protection from disease and sure-fire winners at the races. Also known as an amulet or talisman.

  Pentagram

  A five-pointed star, drawn without lifting the pencil from the paper and a symbol of . . . well, pretty much anything you like.

  Post-peak

  The Gift – the ability to work magic – appears in early childhood and peaks around the age of seventeen. As it fades after that point, a sorcerer is said to be ‘post-peak’. The Gift becomes undetectable after about twenty-five.

  Presbyopia

  The age-related inability to focus clearly on near objects. It starts to kick in around twenty and is acute by twenty-five. Symptoms are eyestrain and headaches, and difficulty seeing in dim light or focusing on small objects or fine print. Spectacles help, but not very much. Gardeners, for example, can see enough to work; but they need a kid to read the instructions on the packet of seeds.

  Scryer

  A magic mirror. Some sorcerers have claimed to be able to see the future this way; but its general use is for communicating over long distances.

  Society of Sorcerers

  Founded as a secret religious confraternity in 1513, partly to share ideas, but mainly to prevent arguments between rival sorcerers turning into Armageddon. Officially recognised by the Church in 1563. Relations have deteriorated over the last fifty years or so. The Church has accused the Society of heresy. The Society is rumoured to be sharpening its wands.

  Sympathetic magic

  The principle that physical objects are invisibly linked by magical forces that a sorcerer can detect and analyse. Contiguity (also known as contagion) is the affinity that persists eternally between any two objects that have ever touched each other, or between the individual fragments of a single object. Simultaneity is the link between all events occurring at the same moment in time, anywhere in the physical universe. Similarity is the relationship between objects that physically resemble each other.

  Tatty

  The police force is run by idiots whose Presbyopia makes them effectively blind. Any kid under twenty can still see clearly, but tatties are special: they’re incredibly sharp and they get ‘insights’ that tell them stuff nobody else could have worked out. The downside is that they go completely blind aged around thirty.

  Thomas Aquinas

  Born 1225, died 1274. Philosopher, theologian, saint.

  Tonsure

  A silly haircut. Sorcerers adopted it to prevent demons grabbing them by the hair. Monks took it up because they thought it made them look cool. To be fair, standards of what constitutes ‘cool’ have changed since the Middle Ages.

  The Vatican

  Also known as the Holy See. The pope’s business empire, based in Rome.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Donald Hounam grew up just outside Oxford. He toyed with Medieval history at St Andrews University, and wrote a PhD thesis on apocalyptic beliefs in the early Crusades. He threw paint around at the Ruskin School of Drawing in Oxford, then found himself in Dublin where he threw more paint around and reviewed films until his flatmate set the building alight one Christmas, whereupon he scuttled back to England and started making up stories . . .

  ALSO BY DONALD HOUNAM

  ‘A fresh, thrill-packed magic and mystery story that delivers a new twist . . . Hounam could be on to something very big here.’ – South China Morning Herald

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  First published 2016

  This ebook published 2016

  Text copyright © Donald Hounam, 2016

  Cover artwork copyright © Sean Freeman, 2016

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978–1–448–17368–6

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