by Robin Jarvis
Adam stared down at his hands. “Henry is right,” he said carefully. “Brindle has saved us both.”
“Toad’s whiskers!” Henry cried in disbelief. “Can’t you do better than that? Who rescued us from Old Scratch and tried to protect Jack? Who stopped Clink Kitson slitting my throat? What’s the matter with you?”
Before his friend could reply, Doctor Dee’s chair scraped over the floor and the old man left the table.
“We can learn nothing in this fashion,” he declared, crossing the room to clear a stack of books and parchments from the lid of a large chest. “I shall consult a higher wisdom than our own and settle the matter once and for always. If there is aught to fear from the Iribian then we shall soon know.”
Lord Richard shifted awkwardly. “No, John,” he objected. “I will not witness this. I never believed in this folly of yours and refuse to begin now. Let the matter rest – Brindle is as noble a being as I’ve ever encountered.”
“It is the only way,” the astrologer responded with a curt finality as he turned a silver key in the chest’s ornate lock and reverently raised the lid. “Or are you afraid of what we may discover?”
Richard Wutton grumbled into his beard, wishing the Queen’s astrologer was more liberal with refreshment.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered. “Though if you persist then I demand the children be excused. They have no need to see a feeble-headed old man make himself appear even more foolish.”
With infinite care, the Doctor removed from the chest a bundle of black velvet. “On the contrary,” he announced, “I believe that they are the very ones who ought to observe this wonder. Adam o’the Cogs most specially so.”
“What does he mean?” Adam asked. “What is he going to do? Why me?” Lord Richard gave a sorry shake of the head and shrugged.
“John Dee thinks he is going to confer with angels,” he answered with weary scepticism. “For too many years he has professed to having been granted visions and hearing voices. Knowing his taste for watery ale I do doubt it most sincerely. ’Tis all polemic nonsense, but I don’t see why you should be singled out for this pitiable display, Cog Adam.”
Bearing the velvet bundle over to the table, the astrologer laid it down gently. “Do you not?” he asked pointedly, and the question made his former friend avoid the piercing gleam of his eyes. “Do not think you have deluded everyone, Richard. You never did set much value upon my Enochian researches. May this night remove the scales of unbelief from your eyes. Many secrets have been revealed unto me by communing with the discarnate beings. In any case, it is always rewarding to educate the ignorant.”
In expectant silence, Adam and Henry watched him unwrap the folds of velvet and the hairs on their necks tingled with anticipation until the object hidden inside was finally revealed.
“Behold the shew stone!” the Doctor proclaimed. “The black mirror through which the celestial hosts hold converse with me. No one outside this chamber has ever set eyes upon it – you three are the first to be so honoured.”
Lord Richard and the apprentices gasped in astonishment. The shew stone was a disc of highly polished black glass in which the reflection of every candle flame leaped and flared; yet it was not the unusual mirror which surprised the onlookers, but that which framed it.
Encircling that smooth darkness was a broad band of yellowish metal overlaid with intricate, serpentine designs in which many small, coloured stones were set. They had all seen its like before and stared, dumbfounded, until at last, Henry blurted, “Brindle’s torc! ’Tis a perfect match.”
His master looked up at Doctor Dee in bewilderment. “Whence got you this?” he murmured. “How did this thing come into your possession?”
“Now you understand a portion of my disquiet,” the old man said. “This precious scrying glass was entrusted unto my keeping by the last of the special ambassadors, those many years ago. When I beheld your Iribian wearing a collar of the same devising, I was naturally curious.”
“Brindle did say he knew of the special ambassadors,” Adam broke in, “but he would tell me no more than that.”
The astrologer rubbed his long fingers together. “Then let us commune with those who can furnish a solution to these riddles,” he said, “and maybe allay our doubts. Lantern, pray attend to the candles and cover the window.”
Obediently, the copper secretary extinguished each candle in turn. With every quenched flame the room shrank back into darkness and presently the only light emanated from the mannequin’s hat and the pale glimmer of his green eyes. Ambling to the window, he pinned a blanket across it and the gloom closed in even more.
Doctor Dee cleared the shadow-engulfed table of everything save the black mirror and returned to his chair, bidding Lantern join them. “My copper companion is so much more than a mere secretary,” he told them. “His assistance with my mathematical calculations is invaluable to me, yet he is more than a common mechanical and possesses many hidden and secret talents. Oh yes, there is a great deal more to my friend Lantern than his sums and parts. He is the most talented and successful medium I have ever had the privilege to work with.”
“I don’t like this,” Henry breathed, his face splashed by the golden stars spilling from the conical hat as the mannequin sat beside him. “Is he going to do magic? I don’t want to see no devils conjured out the dark.”
“Henceforth you shall all remain silent,” the Doctor instructed. “There must be no interruption.”
“Get on with it,” Lord Richard prompted.
The old man threw him a warning glance and Richard Wutton mouthed an apology.
“Lantern,” the Doctor resumed, “take up the shew stone. Let us speak to the powers of the spiritual realm.”
Lifting the black mirror, the mechanical set it down before him, then spread his gauntleted hands upon either side and tilted his head back to gaze at the shrouded ceiling.
Doctor Dee closed his eyes. “Hear me,” he called in a voice charged with force and authority. “Ye immortals of the outer reaches. Harken to my prayer. Thou angels of the Creator’s glory, beneath the government of Uriel, I – John Dee – summon you here. Leave your sombre habitation. Come, be amongst us. By the Call of the Thirty I command it.”
Breathing shallowly in the semi-dark, Henry wiped his sweating palms on his breeches as fear swelled within him. It seemed as if the atmosphere in the room was becoming charged with a hidden, crackling energy. Beyond the range of Lantern’s radiance, the raven murk began to churn and seethe, as though teeming with inky, squirming forms.
The boy’s scalp crawled and gooseflesh prickled along his arms when Doctor Dee sang out a babble of Latin words. Henry turned to Adam to see how he was enduring this unnatural litany. His friend appeared mesmerised, yet when he became aware of Henry’s questioning eyes, he gave only the faintest of nods.
Feeling estranged from the others, Henry’s chest tightened as the dread mounted. In the corners of his vision he thought he caught sight of blurred shapes reeling behind him and he drove his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to ignore those imagined horrors.
Abruptly, Lantern’s candle started to fizz and spit, and the unexpected sound made Henry jump. Then the light flickered and dimmed. The warm, slender beams which radiated from the secretary’s hat changed hue until the four people around the table were flecked with pale silver speckles and the candle’s tapering flame transformed into a wintry, argent spike.
“Enter this, the uplifted realm,” Doctor Dee exulted. “Bosco-Uttwar, speak unto us.”
Behind the round lenses of Lantern’s eyes, the green glow diminished to a blank emptiness and the faint ticks and whirrs of his internals faded into silence. Henry edged away as the astrologer pointed at the shew stone and hissed, “See – the hosts of Uriel prepare the way.”
Over the surface of the mirror, a milky, phosphorescent vapour was moving, leaking from the ether like whey straining through muslin. Above the smooth, black glass it coiled smokily upwards
and Henry bit his lip to keep from crying out. In the encompassing frame, the coloured stones glimmered with light. Then, impossibly, the dark reflections shivered and rippling rings disturbed the surface as the mirror became like water.
Henry almost fell from the bench, scrunching his eyes to make certain they had not deceived him. Widening circles radiated out across the viscous glass but none of the mysterious liquid splashed on to the table or escaped the confines of the frame.
Adam’s eyes bulged in wonder and even Lord Richard was impressed, although he cast doubtful glances at Doctor Dee, hoping to catch him out in some trickery. The molten shew stone surged and eddied as invisible forces whisked through the glistening fluid, spinning and turning until a vortex formed in its heart, sucking a winding funnel down into unknown depths.
To the apprentices’ amazement the twisting whirlpool plunged beneath the level of the tabletop, sinking to an incredible, remote distance. For several moments the eerie phenomenon continued to swirl and then, far below in the darkest reaches, a dim spark twinkled into existence. From that spiralling abyss the distant star came streaking to the surface, imbuing the rippling edges with stark, frosty light. Out from the gyrating shaft it rose, floating noiselessly up into the shimmering vapour where it hung on the air, shining a cold, ghastly glare on to all their faces.
“I am here,” intoned a bleak, echoing voice and Henry whipped his head around in shock – for the disembodied words had emanated from Lantern. He was about to jump from his seat when Adam gripped his hand, compelling him to stay.
“Welcome,” the Doctor murmured, his eyes shining.
The voice spoke again and the copper of Lantern’s casing rang faintly, endowing it with a metallic resonance. “Why was the invocation made?” it demanded. “What sacred wisdom would you glean of me?”
“Forgive this summons,” the old man addressed the glowing mist, “but there are weighty matters here which require your guidance. A stranger has come amongst us. We are in need of your counsel.”
“A stranger?”
“One who has come from outside the uplifted isles. He calls himself Brindle – a merchant in balms and fragrance.”
The pillar of smoke flared as the star blazed with white fire. “Fragrance!” the voice chimed and to Adam it sounded almost panic-stricken. “Tell me, from whence does this merchant hail? Know you the sphere of his kind?”
Lines of concern etched themselves on the astrologer’s face as he too marked the note of alarm. “Yes,” he replied uneasily. “The world is called Iribia.”
The intense light faltered. “An Iribian …” rang the distressed cry. “Then all is lost.”
“Explain,” the Doctor called. “Why are you afraid?”
“Death shall sluice the streets,” came the ominous, frightened answer. “None shall survive. The Iribian will see to that. Listen to me, I beg you. Heed this warning and heed it well. ’Ware this stranger. Do not allow him to remain amongst you; expel him at once – it is your only hope for salvation.”
Shadows of doubt crept over Lord Richard’s features and he listened gravely.
“In the name of all you hold dear, harken to me,” the hollow voice urged. “The Iribian will slaughter each one of you. The carnage shall not end.”
“No!” Henry spat, his temper boiling. “Brindle’s not like that. I don’t care what you are – Brindle’s good and decent.”
“He is an Iribian!” the voice shrieked back. “His race are hated throughout the great darkness; they are a byword of horror and repugnance.”
Stunned, Lord Richard drew a hand over his face. “I cannot believe it,” he murmured.
“Know then,” the voice declaimed. “Learn the black secret of the perfume chasers and fill your hearts with terror. They are a pestilence, leaving only death and despair in their wake.”
“But why?” Richard Wutton countered. “What have Brindle’s people done? What is this heinous sin they have committed?”
The hanging mist pulsed angrily. “Across the Outer Darkness there bleeds a savage, ruthless trail. The teachers of the past, those who you called the special ambassadors – have you not wondered why they never returned to your islands? Why they abandoned you to this lonely night? Learn now the hellish truth and know the vile nature which lurks within your stranger’s breast. Every one of your special ambassadors is dead. Mothers and infants, the aged and infirm – the Iribian hordes butchered them all. Nothing could stop them, they were possessed and insane. The wise race who taught and guided you in the early years of the Beatification were slaughtered to extinction and their world is now a vast, desolate grave.”
The spirit’s awful words pealed about the chamber and everyone caught their breath. It was too hideous to imagine.
“I don’t understand,” Lord Richard uttered. “Why would they commit such a foul outrage?”
The star burned fiercely. “For the deathscent!” the answer came ringing back. “A whole race massacred, simply for the elusive scent released at the moment of death. That is what transformed the Iribians into the loathed abominations they are this day. Harvesting this subtle smell was all that they craved; to them it is above value. To inhale this most precious of essences, the Iribian will kill and kill again. He must – he cannot stop himself; he is a crazed, wild beast.”
“But surely,” Doctor Dee began, “there is no danger to us. We are a race apart from the special ambassadors. There is no deathscent to be inhaled here.”
“Vain, unhappy wretch!” the voice countered. “Unlearn your pride. Did you think your uplifted lives were prolonged simply by the grace of your God? Verily the children of mankind have been augmented, the tale of their years is stretched, because they too are in possession of this same secret gland. When you die, thou shalt surely excrete the accursed musk which only the Iribian wolves can detect. Once the merchant you have nurtured discovers this, he will slay each one of you and grow stronger with every merciless breath. Banish him whilst there is yet time. Purge your lands of this disease – shun him. At the peril of your souls, he must not unearth this concealed knowledge.”
Adam’s stomach twisted and clenched inside him as his confused suspicions finally became clear and he turned a drained, horrified face to Lord Richard. “He already has,” he choked. “In the woodland – he was with Jack. It happened then – I saw it. Brindle knows!”
Richard Wutton returned his stricken stare. “That villain Kitson,” he murmured. “Hobbling John said he had been cruelly butchered.”
“And the next morning Brindle’s eye was healed!” Adam cried.
The floating star flashed with icy light. “Then in truth it is too late!” the voice wailed inside Lantern. “He cannot deny his base, bestial instinct. The hunger will torment and burn in his blood. There is naught he can do to prevent it – his kind cannot control the killing madness. Even now he will be selecting his next victim. The deathscent enhances and invigorates his strength, and your weapons are too slow and primitive to halt him. If you love your lives then flee. Go from this reflected realm. It is doomed to death!”
Henry had listened to these ghastly words with increasing fury and anguish. Unable to bear any more, he leaped up and yelled at the top of his young voice as hot tears streamed down his face. “Stop! It’s a lie! This is a demon you’ve conjured – you’re a foul and filthy witch! Well, you’ll not turn me against Brindle!”
“Henry …” Adam began.
But the Wattle boy would not listen and glared at him in revulsion. “All of you are lying!” he bawled. “And you, you dirty orphan, you disgust me the most. Brindle loves us! He would never hurt anyone, he would never harm me! I know he wouldn’t. How dare you speak such squalid stories? He’s better than you, he’s better than all of you – he’s better than Jesus!”
With that the enraged apprentice gave Lantern a brutal kick and the mechanical went tumbling from the bench. At once the link with the strange, ghostly voice was severed and the glimmering star was instantly extinguish
ed. The black mirror ceased swirling.
Henry ran to where the secretary had fallen and blew into his hat before anyone could stop him. Immediately, the room was thrown into absolute darkness and Adam felt someone brush roughly past him.
“The window!” Doctor Dee called in the impenetrable night. “Tear down the cloth.”
Confused noises blundered in the dark as Lord Richard fumbled his way to the wall. There was a clamour of rustling paper followed by heavy bumps as unseen books were knocked from their shelves, then Richard Wutton gave a grunt and the blanket was ripped clear.
The light of the sparkling heavens came filtering through the latticed panes and by their dim gleam they found Lantern still lying motionless upon the floor. Henry was no longer in the room.
“He’s gone to Brindle,” Adam realised. “We must stop him!”
“Her Majesty,” Lord Richard uttered. “Brindle’s still with Her.”
They hurried to the curtained entrance, only to be called back.
“Wait!” the astrologer cried, running his hands over the tabletop. “The shew stone is not here! The crazed boy has taken it with him.”
Adam stared at Lord Richard and each shared the same sickening thought.
“If Brindle gets hold of that,” Adam whispered, “he’ll be able to construct a beacon and call the rest of his people here.”
Shouting Henry’s name, they ran down the spiral stair, leaving Doctor Dee to stoop over Lantern. The eyes of the mechanical flickered and the old man staggered to the window, where he gazed up at the glittering heavens.
“Lord have mercy on us,” he breathed.
CHAPTER 7
The Deathscent
With tears stinging his eyes, and clutching the black mirror tightly, Henry Wattle charged through the palace. The guards who had seen him and Adam go by earlier, escorted by Lantern, let him pass. Shaking their heads at one another, they wondered what unholy terrors the astrologer had shown the boy and knew better than to interfere.