Carefully he checked the circle and the triangle. Both were equally important. The triangle was where Beleth would actually appear, but the circle was Brimstone's protection if the demon got out. It was growing dark in the attic – there was a storm brewing outside as often happened with a demon evocation – so he lit a candle to make the examination. There were no breaks in the circle. The intestines outlining the triangle glistened wetly in the candlelight, but there were no breaks there either.
Brimstone went back to the cupboard and collected the rest of the things he needed – charcoal, a metal brazier, a large bundle of asafoetida grass, a rough haematite stone, several wreaths of verbena, two candles in their holders, a small bottle of Rutanian brandy, camphor and, most important of all, his blasting wand.
It was a beauty – fully eighteen inches long and carved from premium bloodwood polished to a high sheen so that the tiny veins were clearly visible. A Northern Master – now long dead, curse his greedy, grasping, black little wizened heart – had graciously accepted an enormous fee to carve the microscopic runes that acted as channels for the energies. It had been attuned to Brimstone's personal harmonic by the Virgin of Ware. All very expensive, but worth it. Especially since the cost was hidden in the company ledgers.
The Book of Beleth was the last thing he carried into the circle.
Brimstone checked to make sure he had everything. Once he started the operation, there'd be no going back for something he'd forgotten. When you were calling demons, you stayed inside the circle until they were safely gone if you knew what was good for you. So you made sure you had everything to hand before you started.
When he was certain there was nothing missing, he took the haematite stone and used it to inscribe a second triangle, inside the circle this time, touching the circumference at all three points. Then he put two large black candles in their holders and set one to the left of the triangle, one to the right. He surrounded each with a verbena wreath before lighting the wick with a brief touch of his wand. Going nicely, going very nicely.
Thunder rumbled distantly as he inscribed the protective lettering. He used the haematite stone for that as well, leaning cautiously over the edge of the circle to write the word Aay on the floor in the east. Then he moved to the bottom of the internal triangle and wrote JHS along its base. As he finished the 'S', the lettering of both words began to glow slightly, a good sign.
Next he filled the brazier with charcoal soaked in the Rutanian brandy. It lit with a whoosh when he applied the blasting wand. Once the flames died down a little, he added the camphor and a heady smell began to fill the attic room. He took a deep breath. He was ready to go!
Brimstone took up The Book of Beleth, drew himself to his full height and closed his eyes. 'This incense of mine, Oh Great One, is the best I can obtain,' he intoned in a voice that sounded like the rustling of dead leaves. 'It is purified like this charcoal, made from the finest wood.' He waited for a moment, then went on: 'These are my offerings, Oh Great One, from my deepest heart and soul. Accept them, Oh Great One, accept them as my sacrifice.'
In his hands, The Book of Beleth began to glow softly.
Brimstone droned on about the Great One for some time, even though the Great One had never done much for him that he could remember. But The Book of Beleth insisted so he supposed he should pay lip service, just to be on the safe side. When he'd ploughed through all the prescribed prayers and added more camphor to the brazier, he got down to the real business.
'Prince Beleth,' he intoned, his eyes wide open now so he could read the conjuration directly from the book, 'master of the rebel spirits, I ask thee to leave thy abode, in whichever part of the world it may be, to come and speak with me. I command and order thee, in the name of the Great One, to come without making an evil smell, in fair form and pleasing face, to answer in a loud and intelligible voice, article by article, what I shall require of thee – ' How to get more gold, for a start, he thought. How to get more power. 'I command and oblige thee, Prince Beleth, and I vow that if thou fail to come at once, I shall smite thee with my frightful blasting wand so that thy teeth shall drop out, thy skin shall wrinkle, thou shalt have boils on thy bottom and be subject to night sweats, ringing in the ears, falling sickness, flaking dandruff, arthritis, lumbago, uncontrollable dribbling, deafness, runny nose, ingrowing toenails. Amen.'
So far it was all standard stuff. Not word for word, of course, but the sort of evocation he'd used to call up a dozen lesser demons at one time or another. What came next was different. Oh yes, very different.
Brimstone held his breath. After a moment, the first spark crackled from the head of the furthest globe. Almost at once, trapped lightning arced from globe to globe, creating a triangle above to match the triangle below. A heady smell of ozone filled the air and the equipment crackled and roared.
'Come, Beleth!' Brimstone shrieked above the racket. 'Come, Beleth, come!' The book was glowing fiercely now and trembling in his hands. He'd read somewhere the tome was what made all demonic invocations work, whether you had it with you or not. So long as it existed somewhere, the road to Hell was always open to a man who knew the spells.
He stopped to listen. Behind the crackle and roar of the lightning, there was the faint sound of a distant orchestra, then a shimmering within the triangle. Brimstone swung his blasting wand to point it like a musket. 'Come, Beleth!' he repeated.
The music grew louder and the shimmering turned into a hooded form that gradually became more solid before Brimstone's eyes. The creature in the triangle was more than eight feet tall, broadly built with staring, bloodshot eyes. It threw back its hood. There were powerful ram's horns growing from its forehead.
'Enough!' Beleth roared.
Brimstone swallowed. There was something about Beleth that made him nervous. Well, actually everything about Beleth made him nervous. He'd called up demons before, but they'd all been small fry. This was the first time he'd managed a prince. He licked his lips. 'Oh mighty Beleth,' he began, 'I beseech – no, I command thee to remain within thy triangle of goat guts for such time as I – '
Beleth growled. 'Command? You dare to command me?' He had a surprisingly piercing voice for something that rumbled like the thunderstorm outside.
'C-c-command thee to remain within the triangle of g-guts for such time as I determine and – ' Most demons blustered. You had to be firm with them otherwise they'd try to walk all over you.
'Quiet!' Beleth thundered.
Brimstone shut up at once. He hoped the monster couldn't see he was trembling. It occurred to him that maybe this whole business hadn't been such a bright idea. You were always hearing horror stories about how difficult the larger demons were to control. Of course, much of it was Faerie of the Light propaganda, but there was obviously a grain of truth. To his horror, Beleth leaned forward so that the upper half of his body loomed over the boundaries of the triangle and even impinged across the edge of the circle. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. He swung the blasting wand to point at Beleth's head.
The demon stared at the weapon and smiled.
'Beware, Beleth,' Brimstone said tightly, his jaw clenched to stop his teeth chattering. 'For I shall so smite thee with my frightful blasting wand that thy teeth shall – '
Beleth's smile widened and a curious discordant ringing sound began to fill the attic room. It crawled into Brimstone's head to fuzz his thoughts and cause an eerie blood-red veil to rise behind his eyes. The wand in his trembling hand began to droop, then melt. Even in his terror, Brimstone set up a howl of protest. The money!
Beleth watched as the wand dissolved completely, then raised his gaze to Brimstone's face. 'You don't have to threaten me.'
'I don't?' Brimstone said.
Beleth shrugged. 'A simple contract of sacrifice will bring you what you want.'
Relief flooded through Brimstone like a balm. Every demon asked for a sacrifice. 'Doves? Cats? Dogs? Nice little sheep?' he asked. 'You don't want a
bull, do you?' Bulls were expensive. Not to mention tricky to kill. A sudden thought struck him. 'Wait a minute – it's a rare breed, isn't it? Something on the endangered list?'
'No, nothing like that. I just want you to sacrifice the second person you see after you leave the circle.'
Brimstone's eyes widened. 'You mean a human sacrifice?'
'Exactly!' Beleth rumbled.
Brimstone released an explosive sigh of pure relief. 'Piece of piss,' he said.
There was a knock on the attic door as Brimstone was intoning the ritual licence to depart. He had his contract now, properly signed in blood by both parties, but Beleth still hovered in the triangle.
'I told you I didn't want to be disturbed,' he shrieked. 'Go away! Go away!' He dropped his voice and went back to mumbling the licence: '…adjure and conjure you to leave this place, fully and without hesitation, returning whence you came, there to remain until – ' A part of his mind was wondering how he was going to turn off the lightning box now his blasting wand was destroyed.
'Something out here you should see, dear boy…' It was the voice of Jasper Chalkhill.
Brimstone abandoned the licence and tossed a handful of asafoetida on the fire. Beleth popped like a balloon as the smoke rolled over him. Asafoetida always did for demons, commoner or prince. The stench was so foul it made burning sulphur smell like perfume. 'Coming!' Brimstone called. He snuffed the candles hastily and stepped out of the circle fumbling for his key. Behind him the trapped lightning hissed and spat from globe to globe, but he'd find a way to switch it off later. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. The first person he saw was Chalkhill, grinning broadly. He'd been doing something to his teeth so that they fizzed and sparkled in the light.
The grin died as Chalkhill sniffed. 'Have you been dismissing demons?'
Brimstone ignored him. 'What is it? What do you want me to see?'
Chalkhill gestured with his head and the grin returned. 'A handsome young man,' he said. 'We caught him skulking in the factory.'
Brimstone opened the door a little wider so he could see who Chalkhill had brought with him.
Five
The commotion behind him swelled until it sounded like a riot, but Pyrgus Malvae was more concerned with what was going on in front. The guards on the observation platform were no longer looking bored. They were running from every direction to head him off. Two of them were already between him and the exit door.
Pyrgus dodged to one side. A guard lunged after him and Pyrgus tripped him up. The second guard was a lot more cautious. He drew a stun wand from his belt, placed himself squarely between Pyrgus and the door, and waited.
Pyrgus hesitated. There were running footsteps on the platform, footsteps on the stairway behind him. Time was not on his side. He feinted to the right, but the guard refused to move. His eyes were locked on Pyrgus and stayed there. He was not a particularly big man – only a little taller than Pyrgus himself – and Pyrgus might just have taken him in a straight fight. But this wasn't a straight fight. The guard had a stun wand and Pyrgus was hampered by the cat cage.
They stared at one another. The pursuit closed in on Pyrgus from all sides. His eyes flickered from the guard for just a second and he saw that the kittens had left their mother and were lined up with their noses pressed against the wire, watching him with great round trusting eyes. Pyrgus did the only thing he could do. He drew the Halek knife.
The guard's eyes widened when he saw the translucent blade. He spoke to Pyrgus for the first time. 'I got a stun wand,' he said.
'And you might stun me with it,' Pyrgus nodded. 'But you'd better do it first time, otherwise you're dead.'
The guard stared at him, his gaze wavering between Pyrgus's face and the knife in his hand. Charged energies writhed like serpents beneath the crystal surface. Pyrgus held out the blade and flicked it so sparks trailed from the tip. 'Just a touch,' he said. 'That's all it needs – just one little touch.' He thought he caught a flash of fear in the guard's eyes and made a snap decision. If he didn't get away within the next few seconds, the guards would be on him like an avalanche.
Pyrgus hurled himself forward. But he twisted his body so there was no chance that the knife might touch the guard. For just the barest moment the man held his position, then his nerve broke and he jumped to one side, the stun wand flailing wildly. Pyrgus was through the exit door before he recovered his balance.
He slammed the door behind him and raced up the corridor.
He knew he wasn't going to get away. The guards were already boiling into the corridor behind him, alarm sirens were sounding all over the place and any idiot could figure out the first thing they'd do was close the exits. So in a minute he'd be caught and the cat and her kittens would be taken back into the foul production plant. Pyrgus didn't care much what happened to him – he'd wriggled out of worse predicaments – but he couldn't let the kittens be killed. He raced round a bend in the corridor and lost sight of his pursuers for a moment. A sign hanging from the ceiling said TOILETS with an arrow pointing right.
He made the right-angle turn without hesitation. A quick glance told him the toilets were empty (and none too clean). He hesitated. It was possible the guards might run past without realising where he was, but he was not about to bet on it. He spun round to see if he could bolt the doors, but they were spring-loaded affairs without locks. Outside, he could hear the guards approaching in the corridor. There were loop handles on the doors and he looked around for a broom or something he could jam between them. There was no broom, nothing. The sounds were closer now. Would they run past?
'Check the toilets!' he heard someone call.
It was all over. Unless he could find something to jam the doors. A thought occurred to him, but he dismissed it. Then he looked at the kittens in the cage and thought it again.
Pyrgus set down the cage and pulled out his Halek knife. Six months' saving and even then he'd had to win it on a bet. He'd never own another one. Incredibly, he heard the kittens' mother purr. 'Oh, shut up!' Pyrgus muttered. All the same, he couldn't let her die. He shoved the Halek knife between the two looped handles.
It would shatter at the first onslaught, of course. But when it shattered, it would send a charge through the door. The wood would absorb most of it, but enough would get through to stun anybody within the first few feet. And that would give the rest very good reason to pause. It wouldn't stop them, but it would buy him time. He swooped down to grab the cage as the first wave of guards struck the doors. Pyrgus didn't even bother to look back, but he heard a howl as the Halek blade shattered, then screams and a scuffle outside. He hurled himself towards the little window at the far end of the toilets.
He had to stand on a washbasin to get near it. For a moment he didn't think he was going to get it open, but desperation gave him strength. The window looked out over a steep roof and was just big enough for him to climb through. He pushed the cage ahead and flicked the catch. The cage swung open, but the cat and her kittens only looked at him.
'Go on!' hissed Pyrgus. 'Get out of there! Get out of there now,' For heaven's sake you're cats, aren't you? Cats are supposed to be at home on rooftops.'
There were crashing sounds behind him as the guards found their courage and piled in. The queen cat stood up, glanced at Pyrgus briefly, then stepped out on to the roof. Her kittens followed her sure-footedly. Pyrgus flung the empty cage away and started to wriggle through the window. Rough hands grabbed his ankles.
'Oh no you don't!' an angry voice growled.
Kicking and struggling, Pyrgus was dragged back down from the window. The last thing he saw was the cage arcing out over the edge of the roof to drop down towards the ground below.
Pyrgus relaxed. At least the kittens were safe now and the guards would hardly kill him for rescuing a cat. 'All right, all right!' he said. 'I'll come quietly.'
'Let's kill him,' muttered one of the guards. There were more than a dozen of them milling round. Two had Pyrgus by the arms. A burly man wi
th a sergeant's insignia on his uniform stepped forward. 'Yus, let's kill him!' he muttered as he punched Pyrgus in the stomach. Pyrgus doubled up and fought to catch his breath.
'Great idea,' said one of the men holding him. 'We could beat him to death and say he was resisting arrest.' He grabbed a handful of Pyrgus's hair and jerked him upright. The burly sergeant hit him again.
Pyrgus groaned and the whole hideous scene faded briefly to black. He shook his head fiercely, more aware of a drumming noise than anything else. Then consciousness returned and he realised three guards were now raining punches on his chest and stomach. With his arms still pinned, there was nothing he could do to defend himself. He tried to kick his attackers, but his legs wouldn't work – he felt they were moving through treacle. His body slumped and the thought occurred that he might really be beaten to death. The guards had the goblin look of Faeries of the Night, like most of Chalkhill and Brimstone's people. You could never tell how far they'd go.
Pain was flaring through his body and a blood-mist crawled across his eyes before a dark-eyed man in a green captain's uniform pushed his way through. 'What's going on here?' he demanded angrily. 'What do you think you're doing to that child?'
The guards punching Pyrgus stepped back quickly and the two holding him snapped to attention, dragging him upright as they did so. 'Nothing, sir. Sorry, sir.'
'Who is he – one of our workers?'
'Trespasser and thief, sir – that's not his coat,' one guard said smartly. 'Broke into our factory and stole our cat.'
'And five glue kittens,' the second guard put in.
The captain frowned. 'And you were beating him for that?'
'No, sir. Not necessarily, sir. He threw them through the window. Poor little things are probably dead by now.'
Faerie Wars fw-1 Page 4