Maxie’s Demon (33 page)

The rabbi
nodded. ‘My future grandson-in-law, Nathan. Wants to be a scholar. He should be so quick with his pen. Welcome
to my home, gentlemen – and behave in it as you would in your own,
Herr Ritter
Kelley. Will you not sit down? Leah, some wine!’

Dee settled gingerly into the rabbi’s best chair, glancing about – uneasily, but curiously, at the manuscripts especially. Kelley hawked and was about to spit on the bench, then remembered the dagger and sat down with a thud, hunched up and glowering from under the hood.
They were squirming like Bible-Belters in a gay bar, afraid to so much as touch the furniture in case it contaminated them. I realised suddenly that my entire attitude had probably told Loew more about the future than any of my garbled history.

Again, though, Dee surprised me. He hesitated only a little when Loew poured him wine, and as he took it – well, you couldn’t call it a bow, but he unstarched
his neck just a fraction. ‘I – ah – am aware of your name and reputation, sir,’ he said, with almost no effort. ‘I read Hebrew, although I do not speak it, and … Whatever the – ah – popular prejudice, I have never been one to undervalue the scholarship of your people, or the virtues of their philosophy.’

‘Ah,
exactly how I have always felt about yours,’ twinkled Loew. ‘Whatever the popular prejudice.
And there is no denying your accomplishments, sir – as Master Maxie here demonstrates. I am grateful to you especially, Master Kelley, for sending him to me. But dispatching him home now, that is the trick, is it not?’

‘Home and free!’ I snapped. ‘Without this bloody link you’ve landed me with – and without the power going to Brother Edward here. Or to you yourself, Doc, or anyone ever again.
Whatever we’re dealing with, it sure as hell isn’t angels. Even you saw that for yourself.’

‘Folly!’ growled Kelley. ‘Did I not make all clear to you, as it was made to me? This is a thief, a coward, a liar and lecher, a thing of the lowest vice! Small wonder the angels took an unseemly form to vent their wrath upon him!’

Dee looked deeply troubled. ‘That alone would not explain what I saw,’
he said quietly. ‘Surely even the flaming sword before the Garden must be a thing of grace as well as terror. I saw and felt otherwise. And against this I have only—’

‘You have the angelic word!’ said Kelley sharply.

‘Aye,’ said Dee miserably. ‘But through you, Brother. As for so many things. And why should that be so? If I may stand before these creatures, why have they never spoken to me directly,
even when the art of scrying came to me at last?’

‘That’s always the way with mediums,’ I thrust in. ‘Why should something that’s true just happen to operate like a conjuror’s trick? And to the conjuror’s benefit!’

Dee went white.
Kelley – talk about body language. His was saying a mouthful.

Rabbi Loew’s gaze flickered about, and he stroked his ratty beard. ‘Until now, sirs, I have only seen
you through Master Maxie’s eyes. As he himself admits, he is not unspotted; but I do not believe he lies. That channel of power is a false and perilous one, and should be cut off altogether.’

Kelley exploded, but subsided as suddenly. Not because of the dagger, but because Dee motioned him silent. The old man’s mouth was working, but he spoke steadily enough. ‘What then do you counsel, Loew?’

Loew rose, and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘What this young fellow requests. That you, learned sir and doctor, conduct your rite of exorcism; and that you, Master Kelley, take no part. And that I stand aside to … guard the ground, as it were. Against intrusions.’

‘You?’ Dee’s brows shot up. ‘But this is a sacred rite!’

Loew shrugged. ‘Is it, sir? I know of inquisitors who would not agree. And
your pyre would stand somewhat higher than mine, as the world reckons. For myself, it does not matter, I believe, as long as the intent is good, and I take no actual part. Save against any evil that appears.’

Dee
looked like a disappointed baby – which in many ways he was. All sorts of feelings chased across his face; but after only a moment he raised his hand.

‘A golden prospect!’ howled Kelley,
nearly apoplectic. ‘You’re just tossing it away!’

Dee looked down at him with something suspiciously like pity. ‘He who can do such a thing at need is truly free. We shall proceed as you advise, masters.’

E
VENING
WAS GATHERING
as we passed through the city gates, Dee and myself together. It appeared that Jews still had more of a problem with suspicious activities like entering and leaving, and Loew was taking another route, a secret one probably. We were headed back to Dee’s preferred launchpad, the hilltop outside the walls we’d been bound for when I’d tipped Brother
Ed into the brassicas; and I didn’t like that one bit, because it meant he knew the place. Dee had insisted that there was nowhere else remotely suitable, so free from prying eyes. And besides, why should Master Kelley interfere? Had he not given his solemn pledge—

It was
easier to go along with the old fellow. At least we ought to be able to see trouble coming. Probably there was a twentieth-century
tourist hotel up there, but right now it was stark and isolated, home to nothing except a wide clump of bushes and a few trees, stunted and windblown. They looked incredibly sinister against the grey clouds. I imagined a brigand lurking behind each one, about to jump out and yell
SURPRISE
!

We
dismounted and tethered the horses at the foot, and made our way up the grassy slope. It wasn’t that
steep, but Dee was old and I was puffing and wheezing under his enormous bag of paraphernalia. ‘Christ, what’ve you brought, the bloody kitchen’ – I remembered they hadn’t really invented sinks – ‘table?’

‘Nay, sir,’ Dee answered seriously. ‘Only the Holy Table of my art, and the frame that bears it. I trust it will endure being thus carried.’

‘Great. What about me?’

‘Great effort is purifying,’
said Dee serenely, digging in his staff. ‘It will help to shrive you somewhat for the ceremony.’

I was about to say something that would set my shriving back maybe a year, but he uncapped his staff. In the bleak dusk the head gleamed with a strong pearly light, far stronger than it had been even in the sewers. ‘You see? This engirdling realm you call the Spiral must impinge here most forcibly.’

‘I thought it had to be crossroads. Or something.’ I couldn’t manage a longer sentence.

‘And so this is,’ said Dee, pointing his staff at a litter of white stones beneath the bushes. ‘In Roman times – and perhaps before, who knows? – there was a watchtower here, overlooking the conjunctions of road and river, and the commerce and conquest that flowed along them. This was their nexus. There may
be other forces at work also, in the clouds perhaps. From this height I have seen visions there, things of which I can say little, but may be known in your day. Great wheels and discs of light—’

‘Oh. Wouldn’t happen to mean flying saucers, would you?’

Dee chuckled. ‘An apt enough description. You have a pretty wit at times, young sir. And what is known of these?’

‘Not
a lot. Meet a bloke called
Fisher, ask what he thinks. Can I rest a moment, please?’

‘Oh, ’tis but a few steps now.’

‘Urrg.’

Eventually I staggered through the bushes and collapsed in the middle of a slight grassy dip, enclosed by the crumbled walls. Dee lifted the bag off my back and began setting up his paraphernalia, while I lay gurgling on my face, utterly and totally shriven.

There was that bloody table, in a padlocked
case swathed in all those embroidered drapes. They revealed a white-painted surface about three feet square, surrounded by a thick gilt border painted with clusters of what looked like Hebrew characters. In the centre was a great six-pointed star formed of two gilt triangles, what Dee called the Hexagram, with a square at the centre, divided into twelve smaller squares, each with its own
character in blue and white and gilt. Like the embroideries, it was beautiful, and it must have cost a fortune. Dee liked to do his enchanting in style.

Muttering to himself, occasionally chanting a line, and every so often pausing to bob and bow to what I guessed were the four quarters of the compass, he bustled around setting his scene, or whatever he called it. I figured the supernatural powers
were in for a pretty good show.

He unfolded
what I thought would be the tablecloth, but turned out to be a wide square of light canvas, painted with black lines and letters, like a crossword with no blank spaces. I crawled back hastily as he spread it out diamondwise on the grass; I hadn’t forgotten the green-lit pattern on that lonely farmhouse floor. He set up the table, propping up the legs
with what I thought were wedges, but were actually other padlocked boxes, apparently containing magical seals. Bob bob, bow bow, mumble mumble all the while.

Then, prodding me gently out of the way again, he produced a jumble of sticks which bolted together to form an enormous pair of compasses. Putting one end carefully in the centre of the Table, he scribed a huge circle in the grass around
the dell, marking it in places with a chunk of stone and filling in the line with powdered chalk. This took him a while, because he kept genuflecting and muttering. Once he dropped the chalk and vanished in a sort of personal white-out, sneezing violently.

Then, resetting the compasses and using his staff as a ruler, he extended another six-pointed star into the circle, marking the lines with
strips of gold brocade ribbon. Every so often he waved the compasses above his head, with gestures. Mutter mutter, mop and mow; now he was really getting into his stride. He took up the stones marking the circle, and replaced them with low bowls, into which he poured a sort of thick, smelly sludge from a flask. ‘Mummy!’ he exclaimed as I retreated hastily.

‘Sorry?’

‘Mummy paste – brought at
great cost from the deserts of Egypt, and ground by I myself. A very fine piece, nearly a whole arm still enwrapped, with many rare balsams and spices. Sovereign for the rheumatics and many other complaints, but also of passing potency in various formulae. As here, with sulphur and naptha and verdigris, myrrh, bitumen and many other substances—’

‘Hi,
Rameses,’ I murmured, trying not to gag. Dee
sniffed the stuff lovingly, coughed violently – sending a plume of chalk leaping from his beard – and stoppered the flask decisively.

‘I wish you were able to assist,’ he said sadly, ‘or that Brother Edw—It takes much longer thus alone; but we are now prepared and fit to commence our ceremony. Indeed, we should, without delay.’ He looked up. The sun was falling now, a cool disc behind rushing
plumes of grey smoke, beginning to be tinged with pink. I hauled myself up, and peered around. There was no sign at all of the Rabbi.

Dee exclaimed testily, ‘Well, well. A few minutes more, perhaps. But we really should make the preliminary Invocation as soon as we may, or there will be no time before sunset.’ Carefully he lifted one bowl off the circle’s rim and stepped inside, replacing it
behind him.

‘Er – shouldn’t I be in there too?’

‘On no account!’ he exclaimed, horrified. ‘To be in such an enclave of power would be most perilous for you, leaving you exposed to whatever force may be summoned therein. That is how you first incurred this link, dropping from above on to the Hexagram without breaking the outer ring, which would have dissipated the spell. Cross it not nor break
it, at your deathly peril! Is there no sign of your friend the Jew yet?’

It was
ridiculous, but I felt somehow exposed and chilly outside that circle, as if Dee was safe in some way I wasn’t. ‘Nobody,’ I said, pacing around the bushes. ‘You don’t think something could have …’

Dee sniffed, the way some people shrug. He was beginning to look petulant, and if he was feeling as cold as I was, I
didn’t really blame him. A chilly breeze whispered aimlessly about the trees. Suddenly Dee exclaimed impatiently, ‘Enough! I really must make my beginnings now. My feet grow frozen.’

And, ignoring my protest, he fished out a tinder-box, struck a light and lit a long wax taper. As this flamed up in the grey twilight he carried it over to the first bowl and lit the mess inside. The green flame
that spurted up was all too familiar, though it burned lower and less bright as he hastily clapped a perforated lid on to it. Swiftly but with ceremony he lit the others, and was just touching the flame to the last one when a sudden icy gust swirled around me out of God knows where and blew it out.

Then, hard on its heels, came an even stronger blast, and out went the others, in streaks of bitter
smoke that made me choke. The bushes bent, even the leafless trees bent and creaked. The chalk puffed up, the brocade strips bulged and lifted as if small scurrying things raced beneath the flattened grass. The cover lifted off one bowl and rolled tinkling across the grass.

‘Recover it!’ yelled Dee, as his beard blew up into his eyes. He grabbed at his paraphernalia as the wind plucked and pushed
at it, one foot on the ribbons, one hand on the Holy Table. Riffles like ocean waves rolled across the dense grass, lifting like a cat’s hackles. I grabbed the cover, burned my fingers, danced around swearing, and only Dee’s anguished shout warned me I was on the margin of the circle, teetering against the impossible wind that felt like so many hands pushing me over.

Then
against the reddening
skyline a shabby little figure struggled into view, in a ballooning gown that threatened to whisk him off skyward like a ragged kite, still clutching at his absurd hat. He waved cheerfully, or that was what it looked like. All at once the gown sank down as if somebody had deflated him, the boiling motion faded from the grass, the trees relaxed and I managed to get my balance. The Rabbi leaned across
the bushes. ‘Good evening! A little restless, perhaps.’

Dee was plastering down his wispy hair under his skullcap, which had almost blown off. ‘Ah’m! A certain … disturbance. Not altogether unknown. I confess I was unprepared for a manifestation of such strength, alone as I am. I am grateful for your assistance. The – ah –
claviculum Solomonis?
’