by Jon Mayhew
Janus tapped his foot impatiently as he stood in the shop doorway opposite the pub.
‘Scrabsnitch should be here by now,’ he said, pulling a fob watch from his pocket and squinting at it.
‘What’re you goin’ to do, Mr Janus?’ Edgy said, huddled behind him, staring across the road at the glowing windows. He wished Henry was with him but Janus had insisted he stay at the Society. ‘Are we going to try to capture Mr Fager? Will you ossify ’im?’
‘Ideally, we’ll just chat to him,’ Janus muttered, tapping his watch. ‘We don’t have to ossify him. There are other ways, you know.’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a round pebble, blood red and pulsing with a gentle light.
Edgy stared, bewitched by the crimson glow. ‘What is it, Mr Janus?’
‘This is a demon pearl. If you throw it at the right moment, you can trap a demon inside it.’
‘Inside?’ Edgy said, his eyes widening. ‘How’s that possible, sir?’
‘The pearls are collected from oysters that cling to the bottom of the marsh fed by the River Styx.’ Janus rolled the pearl between his finger and thumb. ‘The theory is that pearls are formed around impurities and demons are the ultimate impurity. Throw the pearl at a demon and it absorbs him. Once trapped inside the pearl, the demon is in debt to anyone who frees him.’
‘But why,’ Edgy began, wondering if it was a wise question, ‘why not use them instead of ossifying demons?’
Janus pursed his lips for a moment. ‘I don’t like ossifying demons, Edgy, but sometimes even a pearl won’t do. Besides, demon pearls are rare to find and so are not cheaply spent.’ He paused as the muffled, shabby figure of Scrabsnitch emerged from the shadow on the other side of the alley. ‘Anyway, why ossify or use a pearl when I have Riddle Master Edgy Taylor at my side? Sharpen your wits, Master Taylor, we’re going to meet Belphagor.’
Edgy’s heart sank. Him? Riddle Master? Not after his terrible performance with Salomé on the rooftops.
The scrunch of Scrabsnitch’s boots on the rough ground of the alley brought Edgy back to attention.
‘Good evening, Mr Janus,’ Scrabsnitch said, raising his top hat. His voice was muffled by the scarf that covered his face.
‘Good evening, Mr Scrabsnitch,’ Janus replied. ‘Care for a flagon of strong ale and some demonic banter?’
‘Very much so,’ Scrabsnitch murmured. ‘I need some strong drink after my encounter with her ladyship.’ Janus stared blankly at Scrabsnitch. ‘Didn’t Edgy tell you of our close call today? Salomé herself, I believe, came into my shop after this young man, but he was too fast for her and took off across the rooftops!’
‘No,’ Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Edgy. ‘He didn’t mention it at all . . .’
‘I didn’t want to bother you, Mr Janus an’ I got away, no problem,’ Edgy lied.
‘I fear the boy is just being modest, Mr Janus,’ Scrabsnitch grinned.
Janus gave a smile and ruffled Edgy’s hair. ‘You may be right, Scrabsnitch,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get inside and see this demon. We’ll watch Edgy in action!’
Edgy groaned inwardly. Why don’t I just tell them the truth? He’d thought he was so clever at riddles but Salomé had beaten him twice now. What made him think that this Belphagor would be any easier? He was a fraud and now this demon would show him up. Before killing him or taking his soul, that is.
The heat from the crush of bodies in the pub hit Edgy as Janus pushed the door open. The wave of noise and the smell of unwashed bodies, gas lamps, tobacco smoke and ale jostled his senses, making him screw his face up.
Most of the drinkers appeared human but Edgy noticed the odd hoof or tail poking out from the mass. Edgy stood flanked by Scrabsnitch and Janus. The hubbub stopped and all eyes turned on them as they stepped further into the single room of the pub. The crowd parted before Janus like the Red Sea before Moses, a corridor of craned necks and curious eyes with, at the end of it, the burly, red-faced Bill Fager leaning behind the bar.
‘Evening, gents,’ he said, grinning through his bushy, handlebar moustache. ‘How can I help you?’
Is Janus wrong? This landlord looked human to Edgy. But, as Janus had said before: ‘There are demons and there are demons.’
‘What d’you see, Edgy?’ Janus asked, donning his Hades Lenses. ‘Looks ordinary to me. His glamour spell must be strong.’
Edgy shrugged. ‘Just old Bill, sir.’
‘Look harder, really peer at him,’ Janus whispered.
Edgy squinted at the landlord. The burly man’s outline blurred for a moment and a shadowy horned silhouette flickered briefly into view.
‘Wait a minute, sir,’ Edgy muttered. ‘I can see somethin’ now.’
‘Is that you, Edgy Taylor?’ Fager said, frowning and straightening up from the bar. ‘Didn’t recognise you with those fancy clothes on. Where’s Mr Talon these days?’
‘Ask him a riddle,’ Janus hissed, elbowing Edgy.
‘Excuse me, Mr Fager,’ Edgy said. ‘Could you tell me, what walks around all day on its head?’ Fager looked blankly at him. Edgy turned to Janus and said under his breath, ‘See, he must be human. He hasn’t got a clue what I’m talkin’ about.’
‘A horseshoe nail, that’s what walks about all day on its head,’ Fager said, making Edgy turn back.
The man’s outline shimmered and flickered again. Edgy glimpsed spiral horns, furnace eyes.
‘He’s our man, Mr Janus. Or not, as the case may be,’ Edgy said out of the corner of his mouth.
Janus beamed and turned to address the creature at the bar. ‘Belphagor, we know who you are. We would like to talk to you. To ask you some questions and invite you to join the Royal Society of Daemonologie.’
Belphagor stepped back from the bar, seeming to grow, his outline indistinct and flickering. ‘Royal Society, eh? And how d’you propose I join? As one of your statues to decorate your precious exhibition hall?’
‘Believe me,’ said Janus, holding up a hand, ignoring the growing murmur of the crowd at Belphagor’s shimmering change, ‘we no longer ossify demons.’
‘Try telling that to Thammuz, Janus,’ Belphagor spat. A ram’s head replaced his slicked-back hair and chubby face. ‘Or should I say, Janus the Stonemason. That’s what they used to call you, wasn’t it?’
Janus slipped his hand inside his pocket. ‘All we want to do is talk.’
But Belphagor’s attention had shifted to Edgy. ‘And you seem full of yourself, Edgy Taylor. Riddling’s a dangerous game. Never know what you might lose. Now you’ll riddle with me.’
My father left me three acres of land,
Sing ivy, sing ivy.
My father left me three acres of land,
Sing holly, go whistle and ivy.
I ploughed it with a ram’s horn,
And sowed it all over with one peppercorn.
I harrowed it with a bramble bush,
And reaped it with my little penknife.
I got the mice to carry it to the barn,
And thrashed it with a goose’s quill.
I got the cat to carry it to the mill;
The miller, he swore he would have her paw,
And the cat, she swore she would scratch his face .
‘Acre of Land’, traditional folk ballad
Chapter Seventeen
Riddle Match
Edgy’s heart pounded. Belphagor meant business, that was for sure.
‘Riddle me this, Edgy Taylor,’ the demon hissed. ‘What runs but never tires?’
‘Water,’ Edgy said.
Mustn’t get distracted, he thought. He had to fire another riddle back. This was how Talon used to do it. Back then if Edgy lost he got a beating. This time it could be worse.
‘What eats but is always hungry?’
‘Fire,’ Belphagor hissed back. ‘What sings a song that spells disaster?’ He cupped his hands in front of him. A pile of writhing maggots appeared in his palms.
‘Wind,’ Edgy said.
; Belphagor blew into the wriggling pile before him. A whirlwind of maggots and flies filled the pub, blasting Edgy off his feet and sending the drinkers into chaos.
‘Lord above!’ howled a bargirl, half stumbling, half blown towards the door.
‘’Ere, what happened to Bill?’ yelled a toothless old man, gripping his hat and rolling under a table.
Screams and shouts deafened Edgy as tables overturned and glasses shattered. Chairs whirled around in the putrid storm, crashing through windows, shattering mirrors. Edgy curled into a ball, covering his face. Bodies fell over him, voices swore as people struggled to get out of the pub.
And then silence, punctuated by the odd groan or curse.
Edgy peered up.
The pub looked like an explosion had gutted it. Chairs and tables lay splintered in pools of spilt beer. Long shadows flickered in the light cast by small fires started where gas lamps had been smashed. A thin mist of smoke gave the whole room a hazy, dreamlike quality. Most of the patrons had stampeded out of the door, but one or two bodies lay scattered like the wrecked furniture.
Belphagor sat cross-legged on the remnants of the bar, his spiral horns and ram’s head raised imperiously over them. His muscles flexed under a glistening blue skin. Edgy picked himself up, dragging mushed-up maggots out of his hair and ears. He retched and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Janus staggered to his feet, rubbing his head and groaning.
Scrabsnitch stood in the corner of the room, extracting a crushed beetle from his frizzy beard. ‘I’m getting too old for this, that’s a certainty,’ he grumbled.
‘Don’t worry, old man,’ Belphagor said, his voice deep and rumbling. ‘Your miserable life will soon be at an end.’ He strode on cloven hooves towards Scrabsnitch, who cowered in the corner.
‘But it’s my turn!’ Edgy yelled. ‘What can you catch many times but once it’s let out, you can’t catch again?’
Belphagor stopped, looked at Edgy and frowned. ‘Say the riddle again,’ he snorted. Edgy repeated it. Belphagor’s eyes flamed. ‘Give me some time,’ he said.
Edgy remembered the first time he had met Salomé and clicked his fingers like an impatient schoolmaster. ‘Come along!’ he snapped, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice.
‘No! Wait, let me think. A cold, a tiger . . . I don’t know,’ Belphagor roared, his eyes wild as his guesses. He stamped back and forth in front of Edgy, punching his blue fist into his palm. ‘Tell me the answer. You’ll have cheated somehow, that’s for sure!’
‘It’s breath,’ Edgy said, risking a grin. I’ve done it. Outsmarted the demon. ‘You can catch your breath but once you let it out, you can’t catch the same breath again.’
‘So simple. Yet it defeated me. You are sharp, boy.’ Belphagor stared down at him, nodding. Some of the fire had left his eyes, but his ram’s head still made Edgy shudder. ‘Very sharp. Watch you don’t cut yourself, young man.’
‘And now, Belphagor, you must submit to us,’ Janus said, stumbling forward through the wrecked tables and chairs. ‘We seek the body of Moloch.’
Edgy frowned and turned, blinking at Janus.
‘My debt is to the boy,’ Belphagor said.
‘And the boy works for us,’ Janus snapped back. ‘Now tell us where it is.’
‘Is that what you want?’ Belphagor asked, his orange eyes boring into Edgy’s. ‘You could have riches, more than you can imagine. You would never be hungry again.’
‘The Society keeps me fed,’ Edgy said honestly. ‘And Mr Janus ’ere looks after me. Tell ’im what he wants ter know.’
‘Well said, Edgy,’ Janus beamed, clapping his hands.
‘A poor choice,’ Belphagor said. ‘I don’t know where Moloch’s body is. Only the great Satan knows that. But I’ve heard tell that it lies frozen in a land of snow and ice.’
‘That’s all?’ Edgy murmured.
But Janus’s eyes grew wide and excited. ‘It certainly narrows things down a little, Edgy.’
‘You aren’t the first to ask this,’ Belphagor said. ‘A certain demon queen by the name of Salomé was riddling me this very afternoon. I imagine she wanted to know much the same thing. Honestly, the number of times she sent that dolt Thammuz in here, trying to out-riddle me.’
Edgy’s heart skipped. Salomé sent Thammuz?
But before he could speak, Belphagor leaned close to him, making him flinch. ‘You’ll not beat me again, boy,’ he hissed, throwing himself forward through the pub window.
Janus fumbled in his pocket and hurled the demon pearl after Belphagor, but it flew wide and bounced feebly off the blackened frame.
‘He’s gone,’ Scrabsnitch said, peering out into the empty alley.
‘But we’re another step closer,’ Janus whispered.
‘All he said was that Moloch’s body was frozen in a land of snow and ice,’ Scrabsnitch replied. ‘That could be either end of the earth.’
‘It takes time, Evenyule, my friend, but sooner or later the pieces of the puzzle will all fit.’ Janus stared out into the darkness. ‘And then imagine the excitement, the glory. To have not only proved the existence of arch-demons, but to have a specimen. Can you imagine the look on my brother’s face then?’
Edgy felt like a conquering hero as he made his way back to his room in the Society. He’d out-riddled a demon as easily as he’d shown up that snob Mauldeth.
He was so lost in his daydream that he turned a corner and almost ran into the man himself. Mauldeth loomed over him, glowering. Edgy’s mouth went dry.
‘You look very cheerful, Mr Taylor,’ Mauldeth sneered. ‘A fruitful trip out with my little brother?’
‘Er, yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean, nothing much to report, sir.’ Edgy nodded and bowed. Why did he feel like some kind of village idiot when he was in front of this man? Janus didn’t make Edgy feel like that.
‘Well, something’s put a spring in your step. Probably feeding you too much,’ Mauldeth said. He lowered his face close to Edgy’s and whispered, ‘Just be careful. Don’t get too involved with my little brother’s madcap schemes. You can always come to me if you have any concerns.’
‘No, sir. I mean, yes, sir,’ Edgy said, trying to nod and shake his head at the same time.
Mauldeth strode past Edgy and off down the corridor. Edgy stood and watched him disappear. Stuck-up toff, he thought. They’d show him. Madcap schemes indeed. Their discovery would make the scattered bones of Aldorath look so pathetic that Mauldeth wouldn’t be able to hold his head up at the Society again. As if Edgy would go scurrying to him at the first sign of trouble!
Henry greeted Edgy at the door with a wagging tail.
‘All we ’ave to do now, Henry, old chap,’ he muttered, stroking the dog’s ear, ‘is find that bloomin’ skull before Mr Janus reads about it in the book and we’re made.’
The night, the night is Halloween,
Our seely court must ride
Thro’ England and thro’ Ireland both,
And all the world wide.
‘Tam Lin’, traditional folk ballad
Chapter Eighteen
Hell Turkeys
The following morning found Edgy deep in thought about the skull and where to find it. In his mind it all seemed connected. Whoever had stolen the skull didn’t want Janus to find Moloch. Why else would they take it? Once he’d completed his morning tasks, he would go straight down to the exhibition hall and talk to Spinorix about any suspicions he might have.
He opened his bedroom door to find Sally standing there as usual.
‘Haven’t you got anythin’ better to do than to ’ang around ’ere?’ Edgy said. Henry cowered behind him.
‘There’s no law against it, is there? Besides, I’m good at houndin’ people – you wanna watch out,’ she retorted, folding her arms and slumping against the wall. ‘An’ anyway, Trimdon wants you to deliver the hell turkeys.’
‘Hell turkeys?’ Edgy repeated, forgetting his grudge for a second. ‘What’re t
hey?’
‘Disgusting’s what they are,’ Sally snorted. ‘Don’t you know nothing? The imps down below eat them.’
‘Down below?’ Edgy liked the sound of this less and less.
‘Yeah, in the boiler room.’ Sally screwed her face up. ‘It’s where you belong, if you ask me.’
‘Well, I didn’t ask you,’ Edgy snapped and stamped past her, followed by Henry, who crushed his belly to the floor and pressed his ears back as he passed her.
The smell of the turkeys greeted Edgy before he actually saw them. Ammonia, stripping the skin from his nostrils only to make way for the aroma of rotten eggs and decaying meat. Only worse. It filled the corridor as he approached Trimdon’s room. The little demon stood with three cages stacked on a trolley and his fingers squeezing his pointy nose.
The creatures inside looked as bad as they smelt. Fat, featherless bodies squeezed together behind the bars, wrinkled skin dotted with a few downy quills as if they’d already been plucked. Their long, scaly claws clicked on the floors of the cages, their big heads bobbed and long, bubbly wattles wobbled as they crushed to the sides of the cages to stare at Edgy. Their large, liquid eyes and cruel, curved beaks made Edgy shudder.
‘Hell durkeys,’ Trimdon said, holding his nose. ‘Don’t doe how ibs cad eat dem.’
Henry jumped up at the trolley, licking his lips and making the turkeys cry out – a cross between a hoot and a kark.
‘Where are they from?’ Edgy asked. The smell was bad but he’d experienced worse in his prime-collecting days.
‘Hell, ob course,’ Trimdon said.
‘Is it a real place?’ Edgy asked. ‘Is that where you go if you’ve, you know, been wicked?’
‘Is hard to exblain wib by dose blocked,’ Trimdon said, evading the question. ‘It is a blace though, kind of.’