Chapter Twenty

 

 

“A LITTLE MORE haste, Mister Eff!”

Billy’s wrist snapped his sword sharply in an upwards slash, ripping open the black neck of a thing that possessed the head of a gargantuan wasp, great mandibles clacking as it tried to bite his blade. It thrashed at the top of the wooden steps, wisps of steam or smoke pouring from its wound, and tumbled back down the staircase, taking with it another devil.

I stood, forehead pressed to the oak door of the palace entrance, the pentacle in my shaking hand. Though I had said the names of God, as da Silva told me, the door had not moved an inch.

Ashmole’s pistol thundered again below us. Two more creatures had bounded to the top of the shingled landing, and Billy sent one sprawling with a curse and a boot in its belly. The other snatched at him but he leapt back and brought his blade smashing down into its skull.

He called out again, his words expelled between great gasps of breath. “They’ve latched onto us now, Mister Eff. We can’t get back down again so you better get us in!”

I stepped back and looked down the great staircase to see more than a dozen glowing eyes bobbing below, moving slowly upwards, the rasp of claws on the wooden treads enough to freeze the marrow.

I turned to the iron-bound door again. This time I placed the pentacle against the centre of the boards, my palm spread wide. And I cleared my mind and then quietly said the names of the Lord in the Hebrew tongue. And then in English. But there was no reward for my efforts; no sound of turning bolt or lock. Suddenly, Billy cried out and I wheeled to see him falling back with two devils on him, one the size of a child. I struck the head from one and Billy managed to free himself from the small one, scratching and screeching before punching it away with a gloved fist. I caught a glimpse of Billy hauling himself up again against the railing and then I was knocked off my feet by a black hissing winged ape. I tumbled backwards and into the door—which opened under my weight as easily as you please.

I was inside the palace, but with the creature on my chest and pinning my sword arm. It thrashed and jutted its head, pressing hard to sink its hooked yellow fangs into my throat. My right hand flew up, the pentacle firmly in my grasp, and with a punch I shoved the silver disc into its jaws. There was a tremendous burst of steam and stinking blood as the devil’s head exploded. The thing flopped sideways to the floor, twitching. Billy stood firm in the doorway, dispatching another demon with a savage cut then flinging the massive door shut. And I finally breathed when I heard the bolt slam home.

I propped myself up on an elbow, rubbing the gore from my face with the back of my gauntlet. The pentacle lay next to me, still sparkling despite the black blood that was spattered upon it. I reached out and grasped it, then slid it into my breeches pocket. Outside, the demons began to pound on the thick door, its hinges rattling with every blow.

“Aye, batter away, you bastards,” spat Billy. “They’ll not get through wood that stout.” He came over and helped hoist me up, his eyes momentarily fixed on the corpse of the demon. Already it seemed to be congealing, melting away as if its skeleton had somehow vanished inside it. “Come on, Mister Eff. Are you still whole?”

I nodded, glancing around the hallway. It was not totally dark. A large brass wall sconce threw out some light from its three candles, still flickering though nearly burned away to nubs. More candlelight spilled from around a corner a few yards away. But the ancient wood panelling, dark as sable, gave the hallway a sinister appearance, all the more alarming because there was nothing but silence within.

“You suppose the guards have fled, or gone over to Fludd and the Fifth men?” Billy hefted his blade and took a few steps towards the north end of the hallway.

“I fear it’s worse than that,” I replied.

There was something in the air inside the palace. Not a smell, but more a heaviness that brushed the nape of one’s neck like the hand of a ghost. I knew it was more than mere imaginings. It was a presence of the unholy, of something dreadful. Billy could sense it too.

“We’re being watched, I swear it,” he said, voice low.

“We may be too late. Pray that Fludd has not discovered Cromwell’s apartments yet.” I moved past Billy, sword at my waist, level to the floor and held back like a spring. I knew only that the Lord General’s lodgings faced onto the deer park. So long as we continued along the corridor, we would eventually find them. Billy moved up to my right, two steps behind as we approached the corner. Rounding this, the corridor turned again on itself left. Here, our way was lit by moonbeams through the long windows that lined the hall.

“Look!” Billy was at a window, the basket hilt of his sword slamming into the frame. Below us, outside, we could see the magic circle and the small cluster of figures inside it. And it was surrounded by moving shadows, black things that capered and crawled about, giving no peace to those who sheltered within it.

“We can only help them by killing Fludd, and quickly,” I said. “Keep moving!”

I had never been in this part of Whitehall before. It was damned old, the wainscoting cracked right through with age in places, the floors creaking so loudly we could be heard in Westminster. We moved on, and soon came to a large panelled door. This was unlocked and we found ourselves entering a large square chamber, devoid of furnishings but lit by more wall sconces. A railing to our right overlooked a vast open room below—the old Cockpit theatre. It smelled of wood rot and mould, harsh moonlight shining down from the windows along the cupola above it. We carried on, passing through another open door at the far end of the chamber. There upon the floor, propped up in a sitting position, chin upon chest, was a man.

Billy pulled the hat off the figure, who didn’t even flinch. “By Jesus, it’s Thurloe!”

I knelt down next to him. “Is he dead?”

“Why... I think he’s fucking pissed!”

Thurloe moaned a bit, his head flopping to one side. Billy gave him a shake but Thurloe only slid further down the wall.

“He’s not drunk,” I said. “He has been magicked—enchanted by some unnatural sleep.”

Billy’s hands jumped from Thurloe’s doublet as if he too might be caught by the spell. Looking into the next room, another antechamber by the look of it, I could see a pile of bodies stretched out on the floor. “Roundheads,” I said.

“So much for the bloody army then,” said Billy. “Looks like we’re too late.”

Sweat was pouring down his long face, his complexion the colour of his buff leather jerkin. His chest heaved deeply—he still had not caught his breath from the fight on the stairs outside. He was dying before my eyes.

I smiled a little and touched his forearm. “More campaigning than you expected when you signed up?”

He gave me a grin, dropping his head a bit. “As recruiting sergeants come, Mister Eff, you were damned convincing.”

I stood up and looked back along the hallway. “Something’s coming.”

It was a shuffling kind of noise, the sound of soft-shod feet accompanied by the clicking rasp of claws as if a dog was padding its way towards us. Billy was up fast, raising his sword and settling his grip anew. “You reckon they knocked their way through?”

I took a few steps towards the large square chamber we had just come through, trying my damndest to peer down the black panelled hallway with its gutting candles. And then they walked into view from around a corner. Two of the strangest creatures I had ever seen, straight out of a wine-soaked nightmare. They were walking side by side, like two old friends and neither taller than three foot. One was akin to a great hedgehog, a long snout protruding down, prickles covering its head. It had long arms and even longer claws and it walked upright with a kind of loping gait. All the while it was speaking some sing-song tongue to its companion, harsh and lisping, its long fingers flexing open. Its palms were pink as a man’s.

The other was a man, but as misshapen as any farm-born monster. It had a huge bald head that sat atop a stocky naked torso. No neck, the thing had to turn its entire body to look at its nattering friend. But it was its horrid mouth that struck me. It was like a wound from ear to ear, filled with yellow teeth and unnaturally wide. Its pug nose and small black eyes were a far cry from the creature next to it; the hedgehog had large orange orbs like a snake, black slits for pupils. So intent were they in their infernal conversation, they did not see us until they were nearly upon us. They stopped up short, the hedgehog’s claws scrabbling loudly. They stared, fearless. From between them emerged an even smaller creature. It was black as coal, a monkey with leathery wings that rose up from its hunched back. And I recognised it for the black thing that had visited me in my cell the previous night. It extended a long thin arm at me and let out a screech to wake the dead.

Billy swore and suddenly pushed past me. “I’ll send these little shits back to hell!”

“Billy, no!” I grabbed at his baldric to pull him back but he was moving too fast. I fumbled in my pocket for the pentacle but even as I drew it out, I saw the man-like thing open its huge maw, the top of its head practically falling backwards. It crouched a little, spindly arms and legs tensed, and then unleashed a gale of rank breath down the hallway straight at Billy. The force of this unholy wind knocked Billy backwards and blew him along the floorboards. I heard him hit the far wall with a sickening crunch. And he moved no more. Before the demon could aim a blast at me, I raised the Pentacle of the Moon and held it out before me.

“In the name of the Lord Almighty, get thee hence!”

And I heard a voice from someone behind the creatures, further back along the hall.

“You’ve done well to make it this far, Colonel. But that lamen will do you no more good here.” The small demons moved aside and Gideon Fludd stepped into view. The bat-winged ape, bold as brass, pranced closer to me. Its face cracked open into a grin, as if it knew something that I did not.

“These creatures are also creatures of God,” said Gideon, moving out in front. Even in the poor light, I could see he looked terrible, every bit as sick as Billy Chard. His skin was drawn tight as a drum over his skull, voice reedy thin. “They are sent to torment sinners like you, Colonel. Those who would thwart the Will of King Jesus.”

The little ape looked up at me and spoke, its hissing voice freezing my blood and sounding like it was at my very ear. “Perhaps he will listen to a friend, a friend who knows better.”

I backed up, the pentacle still in my right hand, my sword poised and shaking in my left. I looked straight at Fludd. “Don’t speak your blasphemy to me, sir. You serve a false angel that has cozened you like a Southwark whore. And I’ll not let you pass me. Not while I live and breathe, sir.”

The ape demon looked back to Fludd. “He needs his friend.”

And I saw Fludd nod his agreement to the demon. I moved back again to put myself between Billy’s prostrate form and the enemy for fear they would enchant him while he lay senseless.

That was when a new voice floated down the hallway from beyond Gideon Fludd.

“You’re making a mistake, Rikard. It’s you that has been cozened by evil, turned away from the true path.”

And he was there before me, his boots sounding as real as life as he rounded the corner and stood next to Fludd. He was as flesh and blood and looking at me with that old mischievous smile of his. Andreas Falkenhayn took a slow step forward, slipping his beaten broad-brimmed hat from his head and scratching at his long salt and pepper curls.

“There’s so much I have to tell you, old friend. Wondrous things you would not believe possible.”

“Andreas,” I breathed. “I saw you die in front of me. I watched you die.”

Andreas smiled at me again, as if he had just caught me out again with one of his practical jokes. “I can explain that to you. If you let me, Rikard.”

And it was Andreas. As big as life, just standing there, in his best black doublet and lace, hand on hip and rapier. My heart leapt at seeing him again but just as quickly I knew this was all very wrong. If Gideon Fludd wanted to reunite me with my old comrade, it was in death, not life.

“Andreas... go back to where you’ve come. I cannot follow you, old friend.”

Andreas extended his hand. He was so close now I could see every line on his weathered face, glowing like he had stepped in from a long ride in the cold. “You don’t need that bauble any longer. We’re on the same side now. Give it here.”

The pentacle in my hand was dull and heavy, just a disc of old metal. Beyond Andreas I could see Gideon Fludd, nodding, encouraging me to listen to the words of an old comrade.

“It is over now, Rikard. Give it here.”

Clinging with one arm to the edge of Andreas’s right bucket-top boot was the little ape, wings pulsing silently like a butterfly on a branch. Andreas’s hand stretched a little further, his fingers curling up in a gesture of beckoning. His nails were black and grubby from a soldier’s toil.

“Andreas, you must go back... don’t make me hurt you.”

But how could I kill my friend? A friend who was already dead.

“We can go back together, Rikard. We can leave this place.”

The tail of the ape demon whisked as if irritated.

I raised my right hand slowly, the pentacle gripped between thumb and forefinger. And then I struck with the left. I stabbed downwards with all my strength and skewered the black ape, nailing it to the floor. It screamed amidst a cloud of steam as the silvered sword melted it, the inscribed name of the Lord searing it back to hell. I heard Fludd yell out “No!” even as Andreas fell back, his hand flying up to his head as if in a swoon. My sword sprang into a guard position as I readied to take on the rest.

It was then my eyes met with Andreas’s. And it was as if he had just woken from a long slumber. The look he gave me was one of pure confusion as if to ask: Where am I? This then slowly changed to awareness and his eyes widened.

“Rikard, I’m not meant to be here. I know this.”

“Sweet Jesus, Andreas. You’re dead now. Months gone by.”

The German nodded, understanding returning to him. “I know.” And he looked at me with such old tenderness as if in that one moment all remembrance had flooded back to him.

The sound of Fludd’s blade flying out of its scabbard brought me back to reality. He made straight for me, the other demons scurrying to the walls. I raised my blade to parry him. But in an instant, my old dead comrade ploughed into Fludd, sending them both crashing into the wooden wainscoting. Dead or alive, Andreas was back to his feet, his rapier shooting from its scabbard in one deft draw. I saw the little man-thing gape again, ready to belch another fetid tempest. I dived forward and thrust it clean through its chest just as Andreas parried a downward blow that Fludd had aimed at me.

The demon thrashed about screeching on the floor, all arms and legs, and I found myself staggering back in a cloud of stinking steam. Gideon was fighting Andreas now, a look of utter shock on his ghoulish face. The hedgehog thing had wisely retreated back around the corner and I saw Gideon back pedal to follow it. His lips started moving rapidly, an incantation of some sort, and I remembered this was how he had conjured the things outside. And the fell creatures came again. Crashing down the hallway, the floorboards bouncing under my feet, they howled and squealed as they came. Andreas stood firm, between me and Fludd, sword raised high. He half turned to me.

“Rikard, see to your friend and get out of here! I’ll hold them off.”

I joined him, my sword raised next to his. He looked so alive, so real. And we were facing the enemy again, together, as we had done countless times before.

“Rikard, don’t be a fool. Do as I say.”

“I never abandon a comrade.”

And then he turned to look at me again. “Then do not abandon the living. See to your friend.” His face took on an expression that nearly broke my heart. A look that said he knew exactly where he was and what fate lay ahead. He spoke again. “You cannot defend the dead, old friend. Jetzt... geht!”

I locked eyes with him for but a moment, nodded, and retreated to where Billy lay sprawled. My sword still drawn, somehow I managed to haul him up with one arm across his chest. Half dragging, half carrying him, I stumbled backwards along the corridor, deeper into the old royal apartments. My last sight as I rounded a corner was Andreas Falkenhayn giving a battle cry and bringing his blade down upon some black shadow of a thing that rose up, more than a head higher than him. Then it was only the terrible sounds of the fight, the screeches and crashes, which came to my ears. I dragged Billy past the bewitched redcoats and further down another corridor. And I found my way barred by a locked door.

And again, it was time to put my faith in the pentacle and my God. I prayed loudly, pressing the disc to the thick, ornate panelled door, all the while the sounds of the legions of hell echoing down the hallway. I closed my eyes, my will bent on getting through before we were set upon by the horde. Without a sound, the door fell inward under my gentle pressure. I whispered a hallelujah and hauled Billy in by his arms into yet another antechamber. The door I slammed and bolted, just as I heard the sound of flapping feet and grunts from the other side.

Into the main chamber, I set Billy down and propped him against the wall. We were in a large room, well-lit. I took in my surroundings: a large sideboard, table and chairs, books strewn about on smaller tables, leaded windows letting in the bright silver glow of the night.

I knelt next to Billy. He was still alive. I tapped his scarred jaw, trying to rouse him, but was rewarded by only a feeble groan. There was nothing for it now. I was truly alone. I shut the second door to the antechamber and bolted that as well. Strangely, there was little noise on the other side except for what sounded to me like the snuffling of rooting pigs. When I turned again, sword in hand, there was a man standing next to the great table, watching me.

“Have you come to kill me, sir?”

I just stood there, staring at the man I had sworn to assassinate only weeks before. And now I was here. My great enemy was but a few paces from me. And I knew at that moment, I could cut him down before he could move a muscle.

Oliver Cromwell’s eyes moved to a scabbarded sword that hung from a chair at the end of the table, and then they moved to me again. “Well, sir? I can’t abide men who dither. Make up your mind.”

“General, I am here to protect your life.” They were words I never thought I would utter.

“Forgive me, sir, if I take a sceptical view of your sudden appearance in my lodgings.” Cromwell took a few steps towards his sword but did not reach for it. I had never before seen him in person. He looked very tired, his heavy-featured face puffy, nose as red as his reputation. His doublet lay open, unbuttoned, a plain simple shirt underneath.

“Sir, there is a plot against you under way even as we speak. Fifth Monarchy men are here in the palace. They are aided by...” And how was I to explain that the very gates of hell had opened up in St. James’s Park, spewing out an unholy host of devils?

“How did you get past the guards?” Cromwell carefully placed both hands on the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on me.

“Your regiment—and Mister Thurloe, I might add—are lying outside your apartments, on the floor and senseless. How else do you think I would have gotten past them?”

“Your name, sir?”

I told him. His eyebrows rose, the name sparking a damp memory, not quite igniting recognition. And then, after a moment, it came to him.

“I do remember you, Colonel,” the words came out slowly, laden with distrust. “And as a king’s man you have more cause to kill me than to aid me.” He now reached for his sword, drawing the blade free as he stepped back, the table separating us. “So I will take the course more prudent and summon the guard.”

I shook my head and kept my blade lowered. “They will not come, sir, and I beg you not to go through that door to find them. Your true enemy is Major Gideon Fludd and he stands ready to strike you down here and now. He has conjured up the Devil himself to help him.”

Cromwell snickered at me. “God, you are bold, sir! Major Fludd of Okey’s dragoons? You will have to do better than that.”

“Christ! Have you heard nothing of the din outside this room! The gunfire in the park?”

“It’s been quiet as the grave, sir. So lay down your sword and yield.”

“He’s speaking the God’s truth, General.” It was Billy, doing his utmost to pull himself to his feet. “I fought for Parliament. And I swear to you, this here Cavalier is the only thing between you and Satan’s host.” Billy’s shoulders were pressed against the wall, his feet spread wide. “For Christ’s sake, believe him.”

Now it was Oliver Cromwell who seemed confused. But the sound of the door being rammed brought him around to the nature of things. A second crash brought the sound of splintering wood and crashing iron furniture.

“Do I smell... burning sulphur?” A gentleman in a black skullcap holding a small book close to his chest had wandered into the room from an adjacent chamber.

“Mister Milton,” said Cromwell to the newcomer, “we are under attack.”

John Milton looked at Billy and me, squinting and holding up a hand to cover one eye. “These fellows?”

There was a pause. “No,” replied Cromwell. “Someone... something else.”

I looked at the doorway. “Sir, is your family here with you?

“No, they are in Cambridge.”

“We must get out another way. Can you show us?”

Cromwell nodded just as another crash shook the room. I took Billy by his arm but he shook me off.

“I can manage, Mister Eff. But lost my blade back there, I’m afraid.”

“General, now if you please! We cannot fight what is coming through that door.”

We headed for the room from which Mr. Milton had emerged. Cromwell pointed to Billy, the commander in him now coming alive. “You, sir, assist my secretary Mister Milton. He is nearly blind.”

We entered the Lord General’s bedchamber even as the first outer door burst in, the howl of the demons reaching our ears. And Cromwell looked at me, his eyes suddenly grown large with surprise. He pointed to another door at the side of the bed and we all four poured through it into an outer corridor. Cromwell slammed the door behind us and grabbed me by my coat.

“Why, sir?” I somehow knew he was asking me why I was helping, not why he was under attack.

“Because there is the matter of a debt of blood, General. A life for a life. And it would seem I owe you mine.”

His grip relaxed. “So mercy and justice has its reward, it seems.”

A shriek issued from the room behind us, a cry of such strength and otherworldly horror that I felt the Lord General flinch as it pierced the door.

“We can get down these stairs here,” he said, gesturing with his sword. “They will lead us to the Cockpit and thence outside.”

And even that was no certainty. Billy dragged along a spluttering John Milton by the elbow and we all began pounding down a wide ramshackle staircase. “Where is the army, my lord?” Mr. Milton said, neck craning. “And just what is it that’s pursuing us, gentlemen?”

I was bringing up the rear, the skin on my back crawling in anticipation of a black winged thing sinking its talons into me. “We are hunted by hell itself, sir! For pity’s sake, don’t stop moving!”

True to his word, Oliver Cromwell led us to the old theatre, throwing open the double doors and rushing through, sword in hand, before I could urge him to hold back. The moment the doors had cracked open, groaning on their lazy hinges, I knew it was for ill. The Cockpit had been in near darkness when Billy and I had passed by the mezzanine minutes before. Now we were met with brightness, the light of a hundred candles spilling into the corridor. The stage had been set for our arrival.

Cromwell gave a cry and disappeared from view, sailing into the air. I heard him crash into the benches beyond. Billy and Mr. Milton pulled up short, but they too were flung to the left as if by some great invisible hand. Behind me, the demon horde had made the staircase and already I could hear them howling and screeching as they arrived. The pentacle was in my right hand even before I crossed the threshold, my blade raised high in the other. But no tempest caught hold of me as I entered. I walked into the soaring chamber, my eyes locked on the figure of Gideon Fludd standing at the centre of the stage. A quick glance to my left showed me that the others were sprawled upon the floor, still stunned by the force that had beset them.

The flip-flop of bare feet, mixed with the occasional clop of hooves, now reached my ears. I crouched, turned halfway to the doors behind me. The horde had now arrived, baying for flesh. I shot out my right arm and thank God the sight of the pentacle halted them in their tracks. Gideon’s laughter bounced across the round hall. I turned to see that he had extended his arm and that it was this gesture that had really stayed the advance.

“Colonel, you have wielded the First Pentacle as surely as if it had been in my own hand. And now you have brought to me the object of the task I must complete. Just as I was told you would.”

I slowly moved to where the others were. Billy was up on his feet, lifting up a squinting Mister Milton, but Cromwell was still on his knees, leaning on the wobbling point of his sword. Blood was running down his forehead in tiny rivulets.

“General, are you whole, sir?”

Cromwell looked over to me and nodded. I reached his side and raised him up to his feet. He leaned into me, shaking his head like a hunting dog that had been swatted by a bear.

“I suppose... this is your Fifth Monarchy man, then?” He wiped his brow, blood smearing his sleeve. He looked up at Fludd. “Treason and sorcery both, sir! You are doubly damned. I’ll see you gutted alive—”

“I serve the king who is to come!” Fludd’s voice rang out, high-pitched and full of righteous joy. “Not the petty Tyrant who thinks he can thwart the will of God. And King Jesus will come when I do what I have been bid to do!”

Mister Milton had turned to gawp at the black monsters now crowding the threshold of the theatre, their weaving eyes yellow and orange, jaws dripping. He placed a hand over one eye, then switched to the other, all the while moving closer to the doorway. Billy dragged him back to us, Milton’s mouth moving wordlessly, one finger pointing back to the legion of hell. I now saw that the light of the candles was far brighter than it should have been. They burned like sparking gun match, as brilliant as the sun. It was a light not of this world.

“Come down and try and take us!” I said. “Or send in your hell beasts. I’ve sent enough of them back to the pit this evening. I can do it again.”

Fludd strode across the stage towards where we stood. He was unsmiling and radiating disdain. “It is as it should be, a godless Cavalier defending an old enemy who is no better than he. Your debt will be paid after his, sir. My brother’s blood demands it.”

If I was to fight alongside an old enemy and to do it here in this place, amidst gilded columns and dusty swags, an audience of heaven and hell alone, then I would do it. And I smiled. Smiled because it was as good a way as any to finish things and because my faith had been given back to me, handed to me on the sly, like a playing card under the gaming table.

“General,” I said softly, “I’m not certain that plain steel will afford you much defence but I have something more up my sleeve if you fancy giving a fight.”

Cromwell looked at me and for the first time I saw how truly old he was. His wispy, thinning forelock was matted with blood. “I have fought the Devil all my life, sir. I’m not about to stop now.”

“Fludd is convinced that killing you will bring the end of days as the Bible tells. It is the Devil that has bewitched him and given him these powers.”

Cromwell’s brow creased as he locked eyes on Gideon Fludd. “I should never have signed his damned commission.”

I turned to see Billy clutching Anya’s charm, his hand to his chest, preparing for the onslaught. Milton was loudly intoning the Lord’s Prayer, hands clasped. Billy looked at me, long past fearful, his hair plastered with sweat to his sallow face. “Orders, Mister Eff?”

“Hold on, Billy. And hold fast.”

He bent down and lifted a bench with which to defend himself. “Aye.”

Gideon Fludd raised his chin, looked around the cavernous chamber and spoke. “O Eistibus, my guardian! Show yourself that I may fulfil your holy command.” He turned around in a circle, arms on high, and I instantly felt my stomach drop past my knees. I remembered the last time I had seen him summon his false angel.

Cromwell lifted his sword up to take his guard. “Colonel,” he whispered, “If we both rush forward, one of us might be able to strike him down!”

I nodded, recognising it might work, but knowing full well that the moment we ascended the stage, Fludd would unleash the minions upon us.

“On my mark, sir.” I whispered. Fludd had closed his eyes, his lips moving fast.

“Now!”

I leapt ahead, reaching the low set of steps even as Fludd riveted his wicked gaze on me. But Oliver Cromwell had not moved an inch. I saw his eyes grow wide in disbelief as he strained to lift his feet.

“I’m unable to move, sir!”

I did not stop, but even as I mounted the stage, I saw the ball of white light take form behind Fludd. So blindingly brilliant, it caused lights to dance before my eyes. I stumbled forward, sword and pentacle raised, and then tripped over a loose board. I dropped to my knees, the wind knocked out of me as if I had been kicked by a horse. The Moon Pentacle flew out of my grasp, tumbling through the air and pitching over the front of the stage. It rang crisply as it struck a bench below, then bounced and rattled its way to a floor thick with years of dust.

Fludd possessed his own pentacle that he held before him, a talisman to control what he conjured. I scrambled to regain my feet—I was only two steps away from striking distance—and promptly was knocked down again by the force of the vivid white orb. It shifted shape suddenly, growing larger even as Fludd backed away towards the rear of the stage. This was no mechanical sleight of hand from Cardinal Mazarin’s theatre. This was real. The light was taking form. It towered over me, the form of a man but monstrously huge: legs, arms, slender torso, and a great set of spreading wings at its back. Still too brilliant to see clearly, I shielded my eyes as Andras arrived into the world.

The glare began to dissipate a little, and, as I lowered my hand I found myself looking up ten feet into the face of the demon. Its golden hair, large flowing curls, seemed to float about its head. I could not tell if it was seeing me for its wide eyes were utterly milk white, like those of some marble statue. But it was its awful mouth—the beak of an eagle—that froze my heart. It was a pitiless visage. Andras slowly swivelled its huge head, taking in everyone in the chamber. I gagged as the overpowering scent of lilies engulfed me. The demon seemed to hover somewhere between solid form and dense white fog, long arms, horribly elongated hands and fingers moving excitedly. They played in the air like the limbs of a monstrous white spider, probing its surroundings.

“O Eistibus, great and dread angel!” Fludd’s voice trembled, not with fear, but with ecstasy. “Your enemies are delivered unto you! Fulfil the prophecy!”

I somehow managed to crawl backwards, reaching the edge of the stage near the small set of stairs. That’s when I saw the face of Andras look down on me.

“The angel knows the weaknesses of all men,” yelled Fludd, his self-righteous voice rising. “And yours he knows well—as do I!”

And it started. Rising up in my belly, seizing my chest in a vice of iron. I felt my arms go weak in an instant, shaking like I was some palsied cripple. My breaths came faster and faster, my heart pumping so fast I thought it would burst. My own Beast had been summoned up from inside of me. I could feel myself sinking down on the steps, as helpless as a babe fallen from its crib. From the centre of the floor of the stage, directly underneath the hovering demon, I watched as what appeared to be a pool of tar spread outwards, perfectly round. It grew to nearly cover the stage. Pearlescent and jet, it first appeared to be liquid but then took on the appearance of highly polished tile.

Gideon Fludd walked towards me, his rapier now drawn. I could not even lift my silver sword. He merely booted me aside, carefully stepping down to the theatre floor.

“You may watch the prophecy fulfilled before I send you to hell.”

And the dark angel remained floating, barely moving over the stage, more observer than participant. I could not stop the tears from welling in my eyes as despair, naked despair, washed over me and swallowed me up.

As if in some dream between sleep and wakefulness, I saw Billy move to step between Fludd and Cromwell. And so too, I saw another figure walk into view. It looked to be an old man with a crutch, a one-legged man, in rags. I raised up my head. It was the old veteran I had chanced upon in Fleet Street, the strange wizened man who had known so much about me, things by right he could never have known.

Fludd halted and turned towards the newcomer. And I saw Andras shimmer more brightly, the heat burning my face. The thump of the crutch was the only noise in the chamber. I saw Billy lower his makeshift weapon in awe of the old beggar’s entrance. The little man stopped suddenly as if stricken. And then his eyes were filled with golden light. So too his nostrils and open mouth. Rays of sunlight shot out from the gaps in his rags, growing in intensity until the beggar was one shimmering firework, growing larger and larger as we watched.

And he took on new shape. There before us was another being of the ether, on bended knee with one hand placed flat upon the floor. Every inch as tall as Andras, he was more man than wraith. His hair was long and white, his face beautiful to behold but the expressions shifting faster than I could perceive. From his back unfolded four huge white wings and he stretched his arms upwards, the muscles of his giant alabaster torso flexing and pulsing. He was real. He slowly rose up and stood, facing the monster on the stage. A great silver sword, rippling with purple flame, appeared in his right hand and the room was filled with the sound of a great whirlwind rushing in. The curtains and swags around the theatre flapped and began to rip as the tempest increased.

Fludd kicked me again as he remounted the steps to shelter behind his angel. Andras shook like a tree in a storm, its arms flailing, beak opened in a silent scream at the newcomer. In one great leap, the glowing ethereal giant was upon it, striking again and again with its burning blade. Andras thrashed, wrapping its serpent-like arms around this beautiful being that I knew to be the true angel. The sound of the wind grew to such a roar that my ears began to ring and both combatants grew brighter and brighter until I had to avert my eyes. The room was near upon white, all shades of colour dissipated. I could see Cromwell and Billy, side by side watching dumbstruck at what was unfolding. John Milton was on his knees, hands clasped in prayer, his sickly eyes huge with wonder.

I pushed myself away from the stage and the battle. Fludd was still cowering at the back, his face a mask of pure terror and confusion. Already, I could feel my Beast within subsiding, the panic ebbing away, my reason returning. I turned my head to where Cromwell had stood. He was now on his back upon the floor. A boy, just an ordinary boy, sat upon his chest, hands wrapped about the Lord General’s throat. Billy was a few paces away, his head shaking with disbelief at what he was seeing. I could see Cromwell struggling to pull the hands from his neck, his legs twisting and turning as he tried to throw the boy off.

“Billy!” I pushed myself up onto my feet, leaning on my sword, head swimming. Billy’s jaw was slack and he stood, rooted. And then, the boy turned to look at me. It was my son.

I staggered towards Cromwell. “No, sweet Jesus, no.”

Thomas beheld me with a look of innocent love, a sweet smile upon his lips. But still his hands worked upon Cromwell’s neck. The Lord General was beginning to go limp. I reached the pair and raised my sword over my head. My darling boy’s expression turned to fear.

“Father! Do not strike me!”

My arms shook. I hesitated. “It’s not you, Thomas,” I whispered.

Cromwell wasn’t moving anymore. I wrapped both hands around the sword grip and shut my eyes. And I brought my blade down with all my might, cleaving the boy’s skull. Instantly there was the loud hiss of steam and an unholy screech. My eyes open, I saw that now there was nothing but the prostrate form of Oliver Cromwell. Billy fell on his knees next to him, grasped his shoulders and gave him a shake. Cromwell gasped, and retched. And looking beyond, towards the doorway, I could see the great horde still held back, all of them transfixed by the battle that still raged upon the stage. I turned around, my sword slipping out of my hand and clattering to the floor. And I sank to my knees as I watched what was happening.

The flaming purple blade of the angel rose and fell and I faintly seemed to hear the sound of an unearthly wailing, of many creatures in great pain. And so too, I began to see that Andras was being forced down into the mirror-like pool upon the stage with every blow that rained down on it. The sound of an unearthly trumpet filled the theatre, reverberating from the rafters, and Andras sunk completely into the black pit, the angel rising above it with one great push of its wings. The legion of devils cowering by the threshold of the theatre, caught up like so many straws in the wind, somersaulted across the room and plunged into the dark abyss.

The whole stage shook as if it had been picked up and dropped. Fludd fell, the torn curtain he had clung to falling with him. He hit the stage floor, rolled and fell into the blackness. But it was not liquid, this pool. It sent out no ripples as he fell. He disappeared completely for a moment, then suddenly, his head and shoulders surfaced, his hands reaching for the edge. I was on the stairs again, staring unbelievingly at what my eyes were showing me.

“Jesus, help me!” Fludd was scrabbling at the edge of the stage, fingers desperate to find purchase. He screamed again. “Please, help me! I’ve seen it!”

I shall never forget his face for as long as I shall live. Fludd had seen his mistake as well as his fate.

“Treadwell! For pity’s sake... your hand!”

I leaned down, my arm moving out to him, to save him from the abyss. I looked at his hands. One wore the ring I too had briefly worn, the pentagram. But the other, the other bore a ring I had not noticed before. Upon it was the square and compass of the Craft. I grabbed him by both wrists and began to pull. He was crying like a child now. I could feel him rising up and rapidly his breast emerged from the pitch. But then I felt a tug, like a great fish pulling on a line. Fludd erupted into a long drawn out cry; whatever was tugging at his legs was bigger and stronger than me and I felt myself beginning to follow him down. As my chest fell level on the stage, I had to let go, and watched his face disappear beneath the surface, down into the ebony Pit. His last look was one of stark terror and disbelief. And then the Pit shrank, retreated as it had formed, until it too was gone.

I twisted around, my back sliding along the stage steps. The true angel had glided silently to where Billy stood, shaking. It reached out its hand and touched his head but a moment. Billy gasped aloud and collapsed as if pole-axed. Then the angel came to me. I looked up into his eyes, as human as any, and they were smiling. He lightly touched my head and I too swooned but stayed upon my feet. And he spoke to me without voice.

Your Faith has held you up. Be at peace!

The great glowing sword he held seemed to melt away in his hand and he raised himself up with a downward beat of his white wings, up towards the ceiling rafters and in a flash of golden brightness he was gone.

No one said a word. The Lord General of England collapsed down on a bench, staring up at the ceiling while he rubbed at his throat. Billy Chard looked numb. He slowly began to unlace his buff coat, hands still shaking.

“Billy Chard?” I said, my voice quavering, “Are you whole?”

Billy nodded to me. “I almost stopped you, Mister Eff. I almost... went for you. It was—I mean, it looked like my mother. And then you swung....”

I reached out and grasped his shoulder. “I saw someone there too. But our eyes were bewitched. It was not what it seemed.”

Billy’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “I know. But it was a terrible hard thing to see.”

And then John Milton raised his voice up, triumphant.

“We are as Joshua and Daniel, gifted among men! For we have seen the Lord’s Captain in battle!”

Cromwell turned to Mr. Milton, looking confused as to his own sanity.

Milton nodded and smiled. “It was the Archangel Michael, of course!”

And suddenly, my heart in my mouth, I remembered Maggie.