Blood of Angels (Curse of Weyrmouth Series Book 2) Read online

  Blood of Angels

  Curse of Weyrmouth Series Book 2

  Written by David Longhorn

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Weyrmouth, 1587 AD

  Chapter 1: Monday Morning Blues

  Chapter 2: Messages in Light and Blood

  Chapter 3: A Winter Night in Weyrmouth

  Chapter 4: Mixed Signals

  Chapter 5: Information Overload

  Chapter 6: Living History

  Chapter 7: Lost and Found

  Chapter 8: The Wreck of the Charlotte Clore

  Chapter 9: Unholy Orders

  Chapter 10: Mirror, Mirror

  Epilogue: Offerings

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  Prologue: Weyrmouth, 1587 AD

  James Kayll locked the door of his shop, glancing up at the sign of the apothecary above his head. The placard with its picture of a pestle and mortar was hanging askew, its iron bracket twisted. The previous night's storm had battered the coastal town badly.

  I got off fairly lightly, Kayll thought. Others lost chimney pots, slates.

  Without conscious volition, he turned to look to the south, towards the cathedral. In the December dusk, the great tower was just visible against the dark blue sky. It rose above the smoky miasma of Weyrmouth. It was too far for Kayll to tell if the tower had sustained any damage.

  If the stones have been seriously harmed, God save us. They will be hungry for blood.

  Kayll turned the collar of his cloak up against the winter chill and pulled on his leather cap. It was almost Christmas, traditionally a time of good cheer for free-born Englishmen and women. But Kayll felt nothing but anxiety as he hurried through the narrow streets, doing his best to avoid pools of foul water and patches of ordure. The crowds made it difficult. But gradually the streets grew quieter.

  The house of Richard Park lay upriver, where cleaner water could be drawn from the Weyr. As Kayll left the heart of the city behind him, the air became less smoky. A chill wind off the land cut through him, though, and he wished he had taken a drink of ale or wine before closing up. A few flakes of snow began to fall, gently stinging his face.

  “Good evening, Master Kayll!”

  Kayll recognized the voice of Roger Dayton, the son of a prosperous landowner and the youngest member of their group. He could just make out a figure on the corner up ahead.

  “A cold evening, Master Dayton,” replied Kayll, looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. It was full dark now, and the street was dimly lit. But he worried that being seen with Dayton might cause tongues to wag. The man was pleasant enough, but had a reputation for wild living at his father's expense.

  “Fear not,” said Dayton. “We are quite alone. Walk with us, friend.”

  “Us?” murmured Kayll.

  He squinted into the gloom and made out a short, slender form standing by Dayton.

  “Is this a member of the – of our company?” Kayll asked, hesitantly.

  There was a nervous giggle.

  “Is that a woman?” demanded Kayll, more loudly than he had intended to.

  “Shush! Both of you!” urged Dayton, looking up at the houses around them. “We may be overheard!”

  Dayton took Kayll by the arm and led him swiftly up the street. The small figure followed them. When the woman entered a patch of light cast by a window, Kayll saw a pretty, young, but pinched face. He recognized her after a moment.

  “But that's one of the dockyard tarts!” Kayll exclaimed. “You can't bring a prostitute here!”

  “Hey!” exclaimed the girl. “I'm not deaf you snobby bastard!”

  “It's all right, Meg,” soothed Dayton, “my friend is just a little surprised.”

  He paused, leaned close to Kayll to whisper in his ear.

  “I am under orders from Master Park himself,” he explained. “I was told to bring a woman of no great importance – one whose word would carry no weight. Child-bearing age, I was told, and not too undesirable. Not too worn out, or poxed. I thought one of her kind would suffice.”

  Kayll did not ask how Dayton had assessed the girl for her mysterious new duties.

  “But why?” hissed Kayll. “What for?”

  Dayton shrugged, turned to walk on.

  “We are not to reason why, my friend,” he said over his shoulder. “Now come on, or we will be late.”

  Park's serving girl let them in, casting a sharp eye at Meg but saying nothing. The girl followed Dayton and Kayll up the narrow stairway to the upper chamber of Park's house, where the Shadow Council always convened. All the other members were present, and there was the usual exchange of greetings. Dayton made sure that Meg stayed on the landing, her face in shadow, but a couple of members saw her anyway. There were raised eyebrows, mutterings.

  “Good people,” said Richard Park, raising his hand for silence. “I know it is unheard of for an outsider to attend one of our conclaves. Stranger still, this outsider is a woman.”

  This prompted gasps and an upsurge in talk, much of it critical. Again, Park raised a hand, but this time he could not quell the entire Shadow Council.

  “This is outrageous!” spluttered a fat, red-faced merchant. “A woman cannot be trusted to not go gossiping at every door and corner! She will reveal our most secret business to the multitude, and we will be ridiculed at best.”

  “If not arrested for witchcraft,” added Kayll, surprised to hear his own voice. “The Queen has made it clear that such doings as ours could be considered treasonous. We dabble in prophecy and the like!”

  This prompted more intakes of breath as the implications of Kayll's words sank in. All knew that witchcraft carried many penalties depending on the seriousness of the offense. Some escaped with fines. But public execution was a very real possibility.

  “Good brethren!” shouted Park, bringing his fist down on the oak table before him. The blow shook the mugs and plates laid out for the guests' supper. “We do no evil here! Ours is a most holy purpose! And rest assured that the woman in question will say nothing of our most precious secrets. She will–”

  Park glanced over the heads of the councilors, seemed to reconsider what he was about to say.

  “She will be very well rewarded for her silence,” he concluded.

  “Not with my bloody money she won't,” grumbled the stout merchant, to general laughter.

  “Come,” said Park, ignoring the interjection. “Let us eat, drink, and be merry on this cold night! And bring the poor girl inside, young Dayton! Let her sit by the fire.”

  The crowd parted to let Meg cross the room to a bench by the hearth. She looked uncertain at first, but then seemed to gain courage and walked with her head held high. Kayll found himself admiring her strength of character. She was pretty, too, he decided, if a little careworn. As Meg passed through the company, Kayll noticed that when they saw her face a few of the men looked surprised, confused, and worried.

  No doubt a few of these respectable married men have availed themselves of Dockyard Meg's services, he thought. So many hypocrites among th
is fine band of Christians.

  Dayton accompanied Meg, ushering her to the bench and then going to fetch her a cup of mulled wine and some cake. After a few moments, the men relaxed and began to sample the viands and talk in low tones.

  “You have done well, John,” said Park, loudly enough for all to hear.

  Dayton raised a mug of wine.

  “I am, as always, willing to serve the greater cause.”

  To Kayll's surprise, Park opened a cupboard and produced a small flask. He handed this to Dayton. The two men exchanged a significant glance. Dayton unscrewed the flask, poured its contents into a mug of wine, and handed it back. The young man then took the mug, and a piece of cake, over to the girl.

  Seeing Kayll's puzzlement, Park took the apothecary by the arm and led him to one side.

  “You may recall,” said Park, “that I asked you for some herbal concoctions that would help my wife sleep? The strongest preparations you have?”

  Kayll nodded.

  “I do, Master Park,” he said. “And strong pain relief, too. I hope your good lady wife has had some benefit from these medicines?”

  Park gave a thin, humorless smile.

  “I owe you an apology, Master Kayll,” he said, without a hint of genuine contrition. “It was not for my wife that I required the concoction. It was for this most significant and wondrous occasion.”

  Realization dawned and Kayll spun. Before he could push through the crowd around the fireplace Park had grabbed his arm again, this time not at all gently.

  “It was commanded of me by He Whom We Obey,” hissed Park. “Do not let your tender heart hinder our great purpose.”

  Kayll had a sinking feeling, which became worse when he heard Meg's voice.

  “Here,” she protested, “this wine tastes damn funny! You trying to poison me or what?”

  “That's just because you're not used to the good stuff, girl!” replied Dayton, jovially. “Master Park imports the finest wines from Burgundy! It's not the watered-down muck you're used to in the tavern.”

  The girl said something in a lower voice, sounding uncertain.

  “Drink it down girl! It's free,” came Dayton's response.

  “She will not be harmed?” asked Kayll weakly.

  Park shook his head.

  “She will be blessed,” he said. “Consider what her life will be if she leaves now and goes back to the quayside to tout for custom among the sailors. How soon before her face is cared by the French pox, her eyes blacked, and bones broken by drunken thugs? At least here the unfortunate creature can do the Lord's work!”

  Park's eyes shone.

  A fanatic, thought Kayll. Why did I agree to join the Shadow Council?

  “We need your talents,” said Park, as if reading Kayll's mind. “When the time comes we cannot trust any midwife. Now, help me with the mirror. It is almost time.”

  Kayll followed Park into the adjacent chamber, a spare room bare of furniture apart from a small table pushed up against the far wall. The room was lit by candles, its windows tightly shuttered. Upon the table lay a tall, square shape, covered in a gray cloth.

  “It is a little too heavy,” said Park, removing the cloth, “for one man to manage alone.”

  The oblong mirror revealed was three feet high and roughly eighteen inches wide. Kayll knew it had been shipped at great expense from Italy. A craftsman in Milan had made it to Park's specifications. The glass was remarkably clear, almost flawless, while the frame was elaborately decorated with golden carvings.

  Kayll did not like looking at the carvings. They showed strange winged creatures that were almost human engaged in some kind of conflict. Park had told him they were angels. Kayll, whenever he looked at their faces, did not think they were the angels he had learned about in Sunday school.

  Between them, the men set the mirror upright, then brought candles to place on the table on either side. Kayll tried to focus on the task at hand, not think about what he suspected Park was planning. But despite his best efforts, a horrifying suspicion began to form.

  Park led them back into the main room and gestured Kayll to a trunk in the corner, then produced a large iron key.

  “Good friends,” he said, unlocking the trunk. “It is time! Now let us robe ourselves for the invocation!”

  One by one, the members of the Shadow Council received his hooded robe from Park. The twelve ordinary members donned simple brown robes of homespun cloth. Park, as the leader, wore a robe of black. Kayll often wondered how much it had cost. Dying something black, he knew, was extraordinarily expensive.

  “Is this necessary, Master Park?” grumbled the fat merchant. “We look like Catholic monks!”

  “An unfortunate comparison, sir!” snapped Park.

  There was a ripple of assent. Since the Reformation, Catholicism had been outlawed in England. In response, the Pope had declared Queen Elizabeth a legitimate target for assassination. A Spanish fleet was massing to attack England. The times were tense, and accusations of treason and heresy were being freely hurled back and forth.

  “We need to demonstrate some respect, some piety, for the ritual,” said Dayton in a soothing voice. “Come, let us not quarrel.”

  “You look a right bunch of silly buggers,” said a small, slurred voice. “All pouncing about in your daft costumes.”

  Kayll looked over to the fireplace to see Meg swaying on her bench. As she spoke, the mug fell from her hand. Dark liquid splashed onto floorboards and the girl slumped sideways. Dayton rushed over to grab her, pulled her upright.

  “Give me a hand, James!”

  Kayll found himself helping Dayton carry Meg into the next room. The rest of the council filed in behind them, with Park closely behind. Park shut and bolted the door behind them, then checked the shutters before pulling thick curtains over them.

  “Very well,” said Park. “Place the woman on the floor in the middle of the room. Feet towards the mirror. Legs apart.”

  “Should we remove her clothes?” asked Dayton, as he and Kayll deposited Meg in the required post.

  “No,” said Park, “I do not think they will prove a great obstacle to consummation.”

  I should say something, thought Kayll, as he straightened up and looked down at the girl on the floor. I should do something. This feels wrong.

  “Positions, please!” said Park. Kayll took his place in the semi-circle before the mirror. Park began the ritual chant. The rest of the Shadow Council joined in, somewhat more hesitantly than usual.

  They are unsure, as well, Kayll thought. We have followed Park unquestioningly, but where is he leading us now?

  As the chant continued, the thirteen men grew more confident, their voices raised in invocation.

  “Enlighten us, Ithuriel, clad in fiery raiment

  Instruct us all, Ithuriel, seer of fallen years

  Grace your supplicants with your shining presence

  Instruct your servitors, we will obey!”

  After a couple of minutes, there was a change in the atmosphere of the room. A candle guttered, almost went out. Kayll felt a slight breeze lift the hem of his robe. The gentle gust of air was hot. Then the mirror clouded, no longer reflecting the robed men and the austere chamber. Mist swirled behind the glass, and within the mist, a golden glow appeared. The luminescence grew, flickering slightly, until the room was bright.

  As if we had somehow opened a window to a midsummer's afternoon, thought Kayll.

  Though he had seen it many times, the small miracle of the mirror still amazed him, but his astonishment was always tinged with terror. He had been flattered when Park had recruited him to the council, pleased that his skill with herbs and roots was finally valued by a leading citizen. By the time it had become clear that Park was dabbling in the occult arts, it was far too late for Kayll to back out. While no threats had been made, it had become clear that leaving the Shadow Council meant pariah status in Weyrmouth, at best.

  And now this, Kayll thought. What possible use could a bei
ng of a higher order have for this wench?

  “Enough!” ordered Park, raising his hands to silence the company.

  By now the light from the mirror seemed brighter than the sun at noonday. It continued to grow more intense, pulsing rapidly. Kayll closed his eyes.

  Never this strong before, he thought. What if it continues to grow stronger?

  He had a sudden, horrific vision of a room full of charred corpses. But then, through closed lids, he saw the radiance begin to dim. After a few moments, he risked a peek, and found that the light was back to a bearable level. What's more, a distinct shape had begun to form in the mirror.

  “Ithuriel!” proclaimed Park. He flung himself down onto the floor. The rest of the councilors followed suit, pressing their foreheads to bare boards.

  “What's going on?” Kayll heard Meg say. “Is it morning already?”

  A voice came from the mirror.

  “Is this the vessel?”

  As always, Kayll shuddered at the sound of the angel's voice. It was, he often told himself, a beautiful voice, perfect in pitch and timbre. But it was chillingly inhuman in its sheer perfection. It sounded like the creation of some unearthly musical instrument. The voice did not spring from any material source. There was no breath or flesh behind it.

  “It is, O Great One!” responded Park, looking up.

  Kayll turned his head slightly to one side, while keeping it in contact with the floor. He could just make out a blurred face in the mirror. Light flooded from it, and its eyes and mouth were mere patches of less intense radiance. Kayll sensed rather than saw that Ithuriel was looking down at Meg, sprawled full-length before the table. He held his breath waiting for the being's verdict.

  “The vessel is satisfactory,” said the angel, after a few moments. “You have done well, my followers. Now you may leave me.”

  This was something new. Kayll looked sideways at Park, who seemed to hesitate. Then the leader stood with his head bowed and began to back out of the room. The others followed his example. The result was a clumsy series of collisions as half-dazzled men collided near the exit. But no one thought to turn their back. It would have been a show of disrespect.