Maxie’s Demon (31 page)

Scrabbled like Moley on speed, but not fast enough. His sword thrashed the dirt behind my heels. I wasn’t going to get clear of him – not without help.

I burst out into the clean air – not that clean, any more – and bolted across the rubble, hell for leather, through the scrubby bushes that had taken root there. Behind me Kelley exploded out like a raging
bull, screaming for me in his fury. Whimpering, I bounded on over the wreckage, searching for any kind of bolthole. But there wasn’t much light, and nothing ahead but a substantial wall, pretty solid. If I could get over that, maybe …

There weren’t any convenient piles of rubble. Needs must, when you-know-who’s in the driving seat. I took a deep breath, swore it would be the last time and summoned
up the light again.

Nothing happened. I could hear Kelley rampaging through the stones, slashing at the bushes, getting nearer all the time. Still nothing – yet we had to be near enough the Spiral, didn’t we?

Then, sickeningly, I understood. This was their trap. They wanted me to confront Kelley. They wanted me to kill him, probably. They wanted that change in me. If I resisted the temptation,
they couldn’t be sure of me; so no more power. They’d rather have him, then; and if he killed me, he could just cast his spell all over again. They’d like that.

Though
Dee would be suspicious now, to put it mildly. Probably he could manage without Dee this time – or force him to help? I doubted that. Unless he threatened Jane.

I really hated that idea.

I resented it, and the resentment swelled
all my other resentments. Right now Kelley stood for most of them. My lips trembled, and I thought of that telephone. I could just give him a scorching – no. The cutoff inside me was absolute, as certain as a voice in my ear. No kill, no power. And he was coming, now.

I put my back to the wall. I remembered the bone-grating pain in my arm. I thought of how he’d conned Dee, and Jane. He deserved
all he’d get. If that’s what I had to do …

I imagined the heaviest slamming, crushing blow I could. I saw the force of my will hammering down on Kelley, right in front of me, crushing him to a smear on the stones. I felt the power come. I saw it, as if I had eyes in the back of my head, a red wave rising on a tide of laughter. And beyond it, that face with the eyes like the bodies of women, the
features that writhed.

With a snarling shout of triumph a crap-coated Kelley burst through the bushes.

I ducked my head suddenly and glared at the ground beneath me. The wave broke, the power surged out of me. Light burst out under my shoes, and I went up like a rocket – action and reaction, nothing like it. Kelley’s lunge thrust his sword where I’d stood, and it was struck from his hand and
flattened to a smear of thin metal in an instant.

Curses – foiled again!

Almost at
once the power vanished, but I was already fifteen feet up the wall and dangling from the top. I heaved myself up and looked over. Another street; a reasonable drop. I looked back, raised a single finger in the air, American fashion. If Kelley saw it, that was fine by me; but it was meant for someone else. Then
I swung across, splayed my legs as the cat burglar had taught me, and dropped lightly.

I hit solid ground, steadied myself against the wall and caught my breath. It could never have been part of that old building at all. It looked much newer; though many of the stones could have been taken from the ruin. The street facing the wall – and that was odd, like Berlin in the divided days – looked even
older and shabbier than the rest, a row of crazy old crook-roofed buildings that leaned to meet one another like a witch’s nose and chin. Here and there, though, much taller roofs stood out, some of them really large affairs, neatly tiled with rows of windows underneath, new and gleaming, and high decorated gables. Others were being built, thrusting out of the little old shacks around them like
new spring shoots, assertive and strong. The road was just trodden earth and stones, but that too was remarkably clean compared to the rest of town. From here the contrast really hit you; something had been triggered here, a rush of money, maybe, or confidence. Except it was all behind a wall.

It didn’t add up, but I had more urgent things to worry about. I padded hastily off, listening for Kelley
clambering after me, but I didn’t hear a thing. He might be feeling a bit shocked, and serve the sod right. I’d saved his life. I’d taken a big risk to do it. And probably used up my one chance of conning them that way. They’d be on their guard now. All to save Kelley, little though I wanted it. Still less though he’d appreciate it. Ain’t life ironic?

Chances were
he’d have some explaining to
do to Brother Dee, now; and after that Dee might be more inclined to help me. But for the time being I’d better manage to stay out of the way – except how did I do that, four centuries before I was born, barely speaking the language, and, most importantly, broke? Fat chance. I needed more help – only how did I find that, four centuries – etcetera, etcetera?

Appeal to the Emp? Chancy, with chips.
Fairness, as far as he was concerned, was fair him. I considered running the psychic scam over him, but Rudolph might be a bit sour on that right now. If I’d only known a touch more history I might have offered to predict the future for him, but I couldn’t remember a bloody bit of detail about these times.

I walked briskly now, not at all sure where I was going. No, there was nowhere. Come daylight
I’d sneak back down to the Perfumed Grotto, hope Kelley had gone, make another hopeless stab at tracing my way. I shivered in despair. All that effort, gone to nothing. Ten to one I’d never get back now; and who’d care? Who’d even give it a second thought?

Haven’t seen Waxie Maxie around lately.

Yuh. Good riddance.

Yuh.

Epitaph
and all. Probably they’d assume Ahwaz had revenged his instant
coiffure.

I walked into a wall, and yelped. It hadn’t been there a minute ago. Not a wall – a pillar, carved and rubbly, almost wide enough to block the narrow street. A great cold clamp fastened around my neck, and lifted me lightly off the ground.

‘Urrk!’ I protested, kicking and strangling and clawing at the cold collar around my neck. It was being lifted by a huge man, and my blood ran cold.
The hidden man, the brigands’ real master – he’d given up on me, and come for me. I was dangling in front of a shadowed face, and I could guess what it would be, the face of my dream. Any minute now those slanted eyes would open—

The moon came out.
‘Let me go!’
I screamed, or rather gargled. Pretty stupid, but excusable, I think. It was a monstrous face, framed beneath a great matted thatch of
stiff, straight hair; but it wasn’t the one I’d seen. The features were blunt, forbidding, brutal, yet with a look of lurking intelligence; and the eyes were open, all right. I didn’t think they could ever close; they were blank carved surfaces, like all the rest. It was the face of a statue.

A day or two back that sight might have finished me, but I’d seen – well, nothing actually worse, but
pretty stiff competition. Then I did see worse.

That light wasn’t the moon; it was green, and it was coming from behind me. I twisted around, and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a green glow swelling behind the wall, rising and growing stronger with every second, like a hunter closing on a quarry. Frantically I redoubled my clawing at the collar. Only it wasn’t a collar, it was a stony thumb
and index finger. I started screaming in German,
‘Lass mich los!! Ich will nicht, ich kann es nicht – bin kein’ Morderer—’

A calm voice
spoke from somewhere around my knees. I was dimly aware of a small figure in dark robes who had appeared from around the thing that clutched me. He held up something, a flat tablet, and pronounced a phrase or two in a tongue that wasn’t German or Czech; the voice
was squeaky and unimpressive, but the words rolled awesomely out into the air. The green glow washed over the tablet for a moment, rippling. Shadow threw the jagged characters incised across it into sudden sharpness. Then the glow shrank with the suddenness of a scream, vanishing like a TV picture turned off. The great arm suddenly let me down until my feet touched the ground, just, but it didn’t
let go.

‘So,’ said the dry little voice in very guttural German. ‘Now that that’s out of the way, how about you tell my friend and me just what kind of a murderer you’re not – eh?’

I couldn’t see him now, but he didn’t sound as if he was being funny. ‘Something following me …’ I croaked. ‘Something … evil. Like demons …’

The unseen man made a strange noise somewhere around his sinuses. ‘You
tell me? They aren’t following you now. So talk!’ He said something quietly, and the fingers unclamped, just. I sagged like a leaky balloon, and to my horror I began to cry; I couldn’t control it. Then I shied violently; a hand had patted my shoulder.

‘
Geh, geh!
You are touched by evil, yes. But it does not have mastery over you, not yet. Be a man, and come.’

I managed to stand
up and stop sobbing,
more or less. This close I could see a bit more of him in the dimness – hardly impressive, shorter than me even, and slightly stooped, wearing a dark robe with a circle on the back and some kind of round hat. He was looking me up and down with bright eyes, the way a suspicious bird inspects you. In fact he looked a lot like a bird. ‘Yes, the smell of trouble clings about you – among others,
feh!
’ He was right. Some of the sewer miasma still clung. At least I hoped it was that. ‘For indeed, if I am not armed with the wisdom of Schelomo – you would call him Solomonus, yes! – in these matters, well, at least I have the nose!’

He certainly had, and tapped it proudly. His long curls wagged like a spaniel’s ears. He was ridiculously reassuring. I found myself grinning at him. ‘Me too.
I’ve been sticking it into some very unpleasant places. Maybe I shouldn’t risk getting you into anything—’

The little man shook his head firmly. ‘You have already done so; and that is my business. Any such force as this loose within these walls is my concern. Besides, you are evidently a stranger and in need of help and hospitality, and that is a sacred duty. I am named Jakob son of David, with
the taken name of Loew, and I have the honour to be a scholar, a teacher and a
reb –
you know what that is? – here within the Jewish quarter.’

‘The – so this is the ghetto, then?’

‘The what? Is
that an Italian word? I am afraid I have never heard it. But this is where the tribe of Israel may rest awhile from their wanderings, by gracious permission of the Christian Emperor. It is forbidden to
those of your faith; but you are in need. You shall come home with me and drink a glass of wine, and tell me of this trouble.’

I looked at him, all the more reluctant. ‘This isn’t any danger to anyone else that I know of. Well, not directly. It’s my problem. It’s sheer luck I came upon you.’

He made that snuffling noise again, like a goat with catarrh. ‘Luck? Small chance of that, boy. Did not
my auguries tell me there was something wicked abroad? Some new trick of our Christian neighbours, I supposed. Of which there are too many! Sometimes merely robbers and thieves in search of prizes that carry little risk or shame. Many times rapists, the same. Sometimes’ – he gestured expressively – ‘worse. Fanatics, sowers of riot. But now, heh, and while I am alive, they have to reckon with the
terror that walks by night!’

He patted the giant arm affectionately. It had not moved an inch since it put me down, still hovering like an immovable tree limb behind my neck. ‘Come! He will do you no harm.’ He stepped past the huge form. Gingerly I ducked under the arm, and followed him.

My nerves weren’t too good right about then, but I’d probably have screamed anyway. As I passed the huge
shape wheeled around ponderously on stiff legs and came clumping after us. The little rabbi laughed. ‘Go, take his hand!’

I didn’t want to
offend – who, I wasn’t quite sure. Gingerly I stretched out my fingertips, and quailed as another set twice the size touched mine and slid across my palm, closing smoothly and with just the right pressure. They felt really strange. Stone – but not the sort
you trip over. Rough, powdery, porous. It brought back memories of school, art classes, clumsy thumb-shaped pots – ‘Like clay,’ I said. ‘Unfired clay. But it moves!’

‘Moist within, as are we!’ nodded the rabbi. ‘Of such the good Lord made Adam, and so that is his name also.’

‘Adam,’ I repeated, and the huge shape bowed low over me. The blank eyes were hidden, but the sense of watchfulness seemed
far greater. I let the hand go, and it remained as it was an instant, then sank slowly to its side. Like a machine; but this was no machine. I wished I could say I didn’t believe this; but after the last day or two I’d hardly have blinked if the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy dropped by. ‘And …
you
made this?’

The small man smiled ruefully. ‘By my hands given form, indeed; but according to an
ancient wisdom of our ancestors and the will of almighty God. I did only what any craftsman does – used knowledge to lend strength to weak hands. Unusual knowledge, of course; but the times were mortally hard, and we needed a champion. My hands it were that kneaded him out of a shapeless mass of clay, a
golem.
But it was the Lord of Israel alone who sent a mighty spirit of old to dwell within
those limbs, for a time, bound by the sign of great power on his forehead.’ The rabbi’s voice turned suddenly harsh and vehement. ‘In this, his own place, where the ancient wisdom is strong, and in the night, his own time, not all the Emperor’s guard could outface him!’ He chuckled. ‘And the Emperor has seen him, and knows!’

‘I wish I’d been a fly on the wall then!’

The rabbi chuckled, and
looped
his arm through mine. ‘Amusingly put, but you do not! For it was through the wall that Adam bar-Jakob entered! Come, come, my home is but at the street’s end, and there we may talk at leisure!’

It was an extraordinary little house. There were several of the high new houses along the street, apparently merchants’ and moneylenders’ homes, and a still higher roof Loew pointed out with some amusement,
a new and showy synagogue built by the mayor. Loew’s synagogue, where he directed the Talmud school, was smaller but no less dignified, not least because it looked immeasurably old. His house, practically leaning up against it, had the same air. The smoke-yellowed walls of its central room were so bowed out with age it felt more like a cave or a burrow, and it was nearly as sparsely furnished,
with a long, age-polished table and benches, a couple of tall fireside chairs and a few chests and boxes. But above the table was a great rack of shelves crowned with a
menorah
and other vessels and stuff in worn-looking silver, piles and sheaves of scrolls, and a fair number of books – a lot, probably, for these times. The rabbi’s round shoulders and bent back seemed to fit the walls, as if they
had shaped him, and his shadow raced up and down them in the drowsy candlelight as he bustled about, fetching me bread and wine.