Faerie Wars

Four

Silas Brimstone locked the door. He had a grin on his wizened old face and a book in his wizened old hands. The book looked even more ancient than he did, a massive, dusty parchment tome bound between heavy boards. Brimstone's wizened old fingers stroked the faded gold leaf of the inlaid title: The Book of Beleth.

The Book of Beleth! He could hardly believe his luck. The Book of Beleth! Everything he'd always wanted was between those heavy boards. Everything.

He was in his attic room, a gloomy, poky, low-ceilinged chamber with few furnishings and more grime than the glue factory. But it had everything he needed. Oh yes, it had everything he needed. Brimstone giggled to himself and scratched a scab on his balding pate. Everything he needed to bring him everything he wanted.

Brimstone carried the book to the single, grubby window and opened it beneath the light. On the title page there was a heavy black sigil made up of curls and loops like the doodle of an idiot child. Below the sigil some long-dead scribe had written six stark words:

Beleth holds the keys to Hell.

'Yes,' chuckled Brimstone. 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' His rheumy old eyes glittered with delight.

Everything he'd always wanted and the book had cost him nothing. What a bonus that was. What an unexpected pleasure. What a strange, deep turn of fate. For years he'd searched for Beleth's book, fully expecting to pay out a small fortune when he found it. But when it came to him, it came so easily – and at no cost whatsoever! Well, no cost worth considering. A pittance to the bailiff who threw the widow from her home and seized her pitiful possessions in lieu of rent.

What fun that had been. Brimstone stayed for the eviction. He tried to attend all his evictions. He enjoyed the way the tenants begged and pleaded. The widow was no different from the rest, except a bit younger and better-looking, which added to the pleasure. Her husband was just three hours dead. Tripped and fell into a vat of glue, the clumsy cretin. Ruined the whole batch. But then he'd always been a troublemaker – one of those bleeding-hearts who wouldn't boil the necessary kitten. Brimstone hurried round to tell the widow – he loved bringing bad news – then asked her about the rent while she was still in shock and crying. Just as he suspected, she couldn't pay now that her husband was dead. He had the bailiff round in twenty minutes.

It was an exceptionally entertaining eviction. The woman wailed and screamed and fought and howled. At one point she even threw herself at Brimstone's feet, begging and pleading and scrabbling at his trouser-leg. It was as much as he could do to stop himself giggling aloud. But he maintained his dignity, of course. Gave her his more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger lecture about fiscal rectitude and the responsibilities of the tenant. God, how he loved giving that tight little lecture. The bailiff knew the form and didn't drag her off his leg until he'd finished. Marvellous. If it hadn't been for her little dog, it would have been his best eviction ever. Her little dog peed on his shoe.

The bailiff's men brought her possessions round to his office. Not that she had very much, but he liked poking through his tenants' belongings and destroying anything that might have sentimental value. The young widow was much like the others – a few shreds of pitiful clothes, a handful of well-mended pots and pans, one or two cheap ornaments. But there was a wooden chest that looked far better quality than anything else she owned. It was bound with metal bands and padlocked.

'What's this?' Brimstone asked the bailiff's man suspiciously.

'Dunno,' the man said dully. 'She said we shouldn't take it because it wasn't hers. Keeping it for an uncle or some such. But we took it anyway.'

'Quite right,' Brimstone told him. He fingered the padlock with sudden interest.

That padlock gave him a lot of trouble when the bailiff's man left. It was too well-made to pick and the metal binding round the chest wasn't iron as he'd thought at first, but something far stronger. There was even a security charge running through the wood that made it impossible to smash open unless you wanted to risk considerable injury. Brimstone had to drain it off before he tackled the chest seriously. By then, of course, he knew it had to contain something valuable. Nobody took that much trouble just to store their washing.

When the chest resisted all other attempts to open it, he invested in a piece of firestone that turned the lock to molten slag while leaving the remainder of the chest intact. It was nearly half an hour before it had cooled down enough for him to touch and by then his heart was thumping with excitement. What was it the widow had been storing? Gold? Jewels? Family secrets? Artworks? Whatever it was, Brimstone wanted it. But before he threw back the lid, he had no idea how much he wanted it.

As he stared into the chest, he simply could not believe his eyes. The book lay on a bed of straw. It was bound shut with an amber ribbon, but he could still read the faded lettering: The Book of Beleth.

Brimstone's hands shook as he reached inside the chest. He took several calming breaths. It might be a forgery. Heaven knew there were enough of them about – he'd even bought two himself from dealers who turned out to be no better than thieves. But when he slid off the ribbon and opened the boards, he knew at once this was the real thing. The parchment was brown and foxed with age. The hand-drawn lettering was archaic in style, the ink authentic in its fading. But most important of all was the content. Brimstone knew enough about magic to recognise the ritual as genuine. He'd found it at last! He'd found The Book of Beleth!

For three days and three nights, Brimstone studied the book. He refused all food except for a little gruel and declined all strong drink. For once he allowed Chalkhill to run the business affairs without interference. The idiot wasn't likely to lose too much money in so short a time; and even if he did, Brimstone would soon make it up now he had The Book of Beleth. It was the portal to Hell, the key to riches. The man who had The Book of Beleth had all the gold in the world. What a fool that widow was. If she'd only known what was in her safekeeping, she could have paid the rent a thousand times over. She could have owned Chalkhill and Brimstone. She could have overthrown the Purple Emperor himself! But she hadn't known and her stupid dead husband hadn't known and now the book belonged to Silas Brimstone.

In the attic room, he prepared to put it to use.

Brimstone left the book by the window and shuffled over to the cupboard in the west wall. From it he took a bag of coffin nails, a hammer and the dead body of a young goat. It smelled a bit since it was more than four hot days since he'd sacrificed it, but nobody would notice once he started to burn incense. He set a bucket to one side to catch the remains, then drew his dagger and began to skin the goat.

It was sweaty work, but he was good at it. He'd been killing animals all his life and in his younger days he'd skinned most of them. When the pelt was removed, he threw the naked corpse into the bucket, then set about cutting the kidskin into narrow strips. Using the coffin nails, he fastened them to the wooden floor in the form of a circle. The noise of the hammer echoed through the attic room, but he'd given orders he wasn't to be disturbed and the servants knew it was more than their lives were worth to disobey. The circle had to be nine feet in diameter. He banged in the last nail and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

The ring of kidskin had a sinister look. In places it seemed almost as if some rough beast was oozing up out of the floor. Brimstone grinned and cackled. It was perfect. Perfect. Beleth would be pleased.

After he'd rested for a bit, he went back to the bucket where he cut open the stomach of the goat and carefully drew out its intestines. The book hadn't specified what guts he should use, but waste not, want not: it was cheaper than going out and killing something else. He used the last of the coffin nails to tack the intestines in the shape of an equilateral triangle just outside the circle of skin in the south-east corner. It was good. It was very good.

He went back to the cupboard and brought out the energy equipment he'd had made to the specifications in the book. It consisted of three metal lightning globes, each set on top of its own steel tower and linked by cables to a small control box. Everything was ridiculously heavy, but the cables were long so he managed to drag it a piece at a time. He set a tower at each point of the triangle, with the control box between the triangle and the circle. Fabrication of the gear had cost him more than five thousand gold pieces, a hideous expense and a huge nuisance since every penny had to be embezzled from the company and the ledgers cooked so his partner wouldn't find out. But everything would be worth it when he called up Beleth.

Brimstone was getting antsy now, anxious to begin his ritual, but he knew the preparations were important. One wrong step and Beleth might break free. Not good. There was nothing as much trouble as a demon prince on the rampage. They ate children, blighted crops, created hurricanes and droughts. Much more trouble than the skinny little big-eyed demons he was used to. Besides, a freed demon never granted wishes.

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.