The Dark Detective: Venator Page 7

  “Come on,” said Max suddenly, “we’d better get going. I’ll tell you about him on the way.”

  Sophie stood up and flinched.

  Max felt guilty. He’d forgotten that her ankle, although healing amazingly quickly, was still not up to full strength. He sighed. Having Sophie as a partner was going to get pricey.

  “We’ll catch a cab,” he said. “It’ll give your ankle a chance to heal.”

  Sophie smiled happily. She really hated travelling by public transport.

  “But don’t get used to it,” said Max. “The Yard can’t afford cab fares – this will have to come out of my salary.” What there was of it.

  “Max, darling!” she gushed. “Surely you can put just a teensy weensy little cab fare on expenses – just this once? It is an emergency after all.”

  Max frowned. His bank balance was, well, pitiful.

  “Hmm, maybe... just this once,” he said. “You know, you’re a bad influence, Sophie.”

  “Oh, I do hope so!” she said, giggling happily.

  Max flagged down a taxi on Cambridge Circus. “Maze Hill, please,” he said.

  He could tell that the driver was pleased to have such a good – which meant expensive – fare.

  The taxi zoomed through Soho, turned down to the river and chugged along the Embankment behind a queue of other taxis. Max was mesmerised by the fare counter as it steadily notched up the amount. He’d never spent this much money on a cab fare before.

  “So, tell me about this human – this man – we’re going to see,” said Sophie.

  She looked in her element, settled in the back of the taxi and reapplying her crimson lipstick, using the mirror in her compact.

  Max wondered just how painful her ankle really was. Part of him was tempted to test it to find out, but then decided that such an act would be ungentlemanly and, in the circumstances, uncalled for. Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe he could put the cab fare on expenses.

  He realised Sophie was waiting for an answer and tried to pull himself together: not easy with a Level Two demon in such close proximity.

  “His name is Professor Hamaliel,” he managed to say at last. “He’s an expert in demonology. Well, he used to be: he retired quite a few years back. But if anyone can tell us about the Mother, I’d lay odds that it’ll be him. Whether or not he’ll pass on the information is anyone’s guess...”

  “What did you two fall out about?” asked Sophie, curiously.

  Max paused. “It’s personal,” he said, with an air of finality in his voice.

  Sophie shrugged. Her attitude seemed to say, ‘I can wait. I’ll find out sooner or later’.

  “Does he know what you do?” said Sophie.

  “Yes.” Max hesitated, then decided that he could tell Sophie a bit more. “He used to work for the Yard as... a consultant, but... as I said, he’s retired.”

  The driver interrupted their conversation.

  “This is Maze Hill. What number d’you want, mate?”

  “It’s that big house on the right,” said Max. “The one with the iron gates.”

  The taxi swung onto the gravelled drive, its wheels making a satisfying crunching sound.

  “Here you are, son. That’ll be £43.80 – unless you want me to wait.”

  “No, thanks,” said Max, shelling out the notes. “That won’t be necessary.”

  The taxi driver looked disappointed. He’d have to look for another fare back into town or his profit margin would be thinner than he’d like.

  Sophie looked annoyed, too. But what was new?

  The house was in the middle of a large park and there wasn’t a Tube station or bus stop in sight.

  Max gave the driver £45 and waited patiently for a receipt. The driver wrote it out rather grudgingly and drove off in a huff.

  “How do you know that the Professor will be in?” said Sophie, watching the taxi disappear with a pained expression on her face.

  “He’ll be in,” said Max. “He never goes out.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “Hmm. Interesting,” said Sophie.

  Max rang the bell. It echoed somewhere deep inside the house. They waited a long time before quiet footsteps could be heard approaching.

  There was a pause then the door swung open silently.

  The man standing at the entrance was elderly with thick grey hair and a white beard. He had a slight stoop but otherwise looked fit and alert. It was impossible to tell his age.

  “Detective Darke,” he said with a look of distaste on his lined face. “It’s been a long time. It must be something serious for you to seek me out. And you’ve brought a friend. How nice. I suppose you want to come in.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” said Max, stiffly. He hated asking favours from a man he despised.

  They followed the old man down a walnut-panelled corridor into an attractive Edwardian sitting room.

  The old man waved them to a settee facing him. He paused, waiting for Max to speak, but Max sat stony-faced, staring into space.

  “Seeing as the Detective hasn’t got the manners to introduce us, may I take the trouble, my dear, of asking you your name? I am Professor Emmanuel Hamaliel. A bit of a mouthful, but I’m used to it now.”

  “Charmed!” said Sophie. “My name is Sophie Judas.”

  “Delighted to meet you Miss Judas,” said the Professor. “I must admit,” he went on, “I’m rather surprised to see you, Detective, with a Level Two demon, even one as beautiful as this young lady. A Chava demon, I believe?”

  “How clever of you!” twinkled Sophie. “May I ask how you knew?”

  “Ah, long years of experience,” said the Professor, smiling. “Although you seem to be missing your horns.”

  “How sweet of you to notice!” gushed Sophie.

  “One develops the nose, you know.”

  “Oh!” said Sophie, sounding rather put out.

  Max hid a smile.

  “So,” said the Professor, turning to Max. “How is your dear grandmother these days?”

  Max’s face flushed with anger and Sophie looked delighted at the possibility of a violent exchange so early in their meeting.

  “Don’t mention her name!” hissed Max, his voice low with menace.

  “I was merely being polite,” said the Professor icily.

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  “Well then,” said the Professor slowly, “What brings you to darken my door after so many months?”

  “We – I – need your help,” said Max, between gritted teeth.

  “Dear, dear,” said the Professor, kindly. “And what makes you think I’d want to help you ever again?”

  “It’s not for me,” said Max, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the arm of the settee. “There’s been some unusual demon behaviour – Level Threes are back in London for the first time in centuries. I need to know what I’m up against. I hope you can help. But maybe you’re not as well informed as you used to be.”

  “Touché!” said the Professor. “I see your temper hasn’t improved, Detective – or your manners.”

  “I always thought substance was more important than appearance – one of the many ways in which we differ,” spat Max.

  Sophie’s gaze flickered between the two men, a smile starting at the corners of her mouth. Low level bickering was just more grist to the chaos-mill that Level Twos loved to grind – whether or not they had been saved by the PTBs.

  “Why, gentlemen!” she said, happily. “I can see there’s some history between you – would you like me to leave the room, or perhaps I can share in your little secret?”

  With a visible effort, Max pulled himself together. The Professor looked even more cold and haughty.

  “We’ve been tracking a nest of Level Threes,” said Max, struggling to keep his voice even and his demeanour professional. “They’re called the Brood. We’ve taken out one nest at the Ritz and a solo operator at Temple Church. For some reason it wa
s dismembering a Level One called Ralph – one of my snitches, but a nobody for all that. Oh, and I think they took some sort of amulet from him. I didn’t get a chance to see it, but it seems likely that’s the reason he was killed.”

  Or to keep him from talking. Max thought he’d keep that bit to himself.

  “And the young lady’s involvement?” said the Professor, indicating towards Sophie.

  Max took a deep breath. “She’s my assistant. She’s been sent by the Powers That Be to help me stop the Brood from completing their objective – whatever that is. She’s here to help me... deal with them.”

  For the first time the Professor looked genuinely surprised, impressed even.

  “Well, well. That’s very unusual. In fact, that could be unique, but I’d have to check my books.”

  “And there’s something else you should know,” said Max. “When we took out the Brood demon at the crypt in Temple Church, he screamed the word ‘Mother’ as he died. It seemed odd. Sophie – we – thought it might mean something... like the Mother of...”

  “...all Evil!” said the Professor, looking both shocked and excited. “Yes, Yes. I see why that is the conclusion you would draw. Good gracious. I really must consult my books.”

  Max felt frustrated. He didn’t have time for this. “Is there anything you can tell us now? Anything that would help?”

  “Patience is a virtue, Detective,” said the Professor, hurrying from the room.

  “I can see why you don’t like him,” said Sophie in a stage whisper.

  The word ‘virtue’ clearly set her teeth on edge. Max sympathised. The word ‘patience’ had the same effect on him.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought. Then Max decided he’d had enough of waiting and followed the Professor through to his library.

  The old man was standing on the top rung of a sliding library ladder.

  “Ah! There you are. Here – take this.”

  He passed down an enormous, leather-bound volume entitled Malleus Maleficarum et Daemonii.

  “What’s this?” said Max, whose Latin consisted of, well, not much at all.

  “A very useful reference book from the late Mediæval period: it means ‘Hammer of Witches and Demons’. It was used by magistrates and judges to decide whether or not a woman was a witch or possessed by demons.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” sniffed Sophie, who had entered the room, undetected by either until that moment. “That book sent a lot of very nice people to the Nether Regions.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said the Professor, coldly. “That’s what it was written to do, although I really think I must quibble with your use of the adjective ‘nice’.”

  “Give me a break!” said Max. “Can this book help us or not? Does it say anything about the Mother?”

  “Of course she’s mentioned!” said the Professor, losing his veneer of calm control. “Do you think I’ve been climbing this ladder and tossing around heavy tomes for my health?”

  The two men stared at each other, tension chilling the air.

  Slowly Max relaxed. “Look – this isn’t helping anybody, least of all the next Brood victim. Can you just check the book and see what it tells us. If it tells me how to deal with the Mother, even better.”

  “I suppose that’s the nearest I’m going to get to an apology,” said the Professor, sourly. “But it’ll do.”

  He muttered under his breath about ‘young people today’ while Max slowly fumed in the corner. Sophie was, unsurprisingly, enjoying the chilly taste in the atmosphere.

  The Professor placed the book on a V-shaped lectern, specially designed to support the delicate spines of ancient books. Then he donned a pair of fine cotton gloves and began turning the heavily-decorated parchment pages.

  “There’s a brief mention here,” he said. “‘The fires consumed the witch who screamed for the Mother’. You see the Latin is very specific: ‘the Mother’, not ‘her mother’. It has been translated incorrectly many times over the years but Heinrich Kramer, one of the authors, was a very careful and highly educated man. He would not have made such an elementary mistake.”

  “How do you know that this hasn’t been incorrectly copied?” said Max.

  “Because, my dear Detective Darke, it is not a copy: it is the original,” said the Professor with a supercilious smile.

  “Really?” said Sophie, looking interested for the first time. “That must make it very valuable.”

  Her eyes glittered hopefully and Max wondered how much she’d get for an original Malleus on the black market.

  “The book’s off limits, Sophie,” he said, quietly.

  “Max, darling! How could you suspect me?” she pouted prettily. “I was simply wondering if it’s true about the original having mystical powers?”

  The Professor looked at her sharply.

  “What have you heard about that?” he said.

  Sophie smiled serenely. “Only that the book has hidden information for one who knows how to read it properly,” she said.

  Max looked confused. The Professor was one of the most learned men in the world when it came to demonology.

  “You haven’t managed to make the book speak?” have you, said Sophie, enjoying her moment as the centre of attention.

  Max could tell that the Professor was dying to contradict her. Finally he was forced to admit the truth.

  “No,” he said, a tight expression on his face. “The book has not revealed its secrets to me.”

  Sophie’s smile was dazzling. “Well, that’s not really surprising: you weren’t the right person to ask.”

  “Sophie! Do you mind telling me what on earth is going on?” said Max. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything!”

  “Of course, Max, darling,” said Sophie, happily, “I’d be delighted to explain. The book was written over 500 years ago by two Dominican priests: Heinrich Kramer, as the good Professor mentioned, and Jacob Sprenger. There were rumours for years that Kramer had done most of the work whilst Sprenger had merely enjoyed the reputation it gave them. But Sprenger contributed more than any human could know: he empowered the book with hidden knowledge – that only a non-human could extract. You see, having seen the evil of which humans were capable without any demonic intervention, he decided that humans weren’t to be trusted. He knew that only an entirely untrustworthy person, such as myself, could be entrusted with such a great secret.”

  “You’ve lost me, Sophie,” said Max, although he was deeply impressed with how well informed she was. “You’re saying that this priest decided that only a demon could be trusted? Why would he do that?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Perhaps he foresaw our very situation: I couldn’t say. But it does oddly fit our circumstances, don’t you think, Max, darling? Why don’t you let me read the book?”

  The Professor looked furious. “You will keep that demon away from my book!” he shouted. “She cannot be trusted!”

  “Actually she can,” said Max, his face a blank mask. “The PTBs made her sign a Blood Oath that she’d work for me and do whatever I say – or face permanent termination – and you know what that would mean.”

  The Professor looked as if he was about to explode with fury, but instead he slowly regained his composure and usual pallor.

  “I detest you and your methods, Detective Darke,” he said, “but I believe you are an honourable man for all of that.”

  He met Max’s eyes. “Likewise,” said Max.

  The words felt like acid in his mouth. Whatever it takes, he told himself.

  The Professor nodded. “She may read the book.”

  “Who’s ‘she’?” said Sophie testily, “the cat’s mother? I’m standing right here, you know!”

  “My apologies, my dear,” said the Professor, returning to his usual demeanour of suave charm. “I have forgotten my manners. It’s the company I’ve been keeping, don’t you see,” he said, throwing a brief glance at Max. “Please: approach the book. Let us know what it rev
eals to you.”

  Sophie stepped up to the lectern and raised her hands palm up, hovering over the book. “Revelo!”

  The book glowed with an eerie blue light and a disembodied voice rose out of the pages: “Percontari!”

  The Professor was dumbstruck and even Sophie seemed surprised. Max, as the only person in the room who didn’t speak Latin, was just hacked off.

  “What’s it saying?” he whispered to Sophie.

  “It’s telling me to ask a question,” she said. “What shall I say?”

  “Ask it what it knows about the Mother,” he said.

  To Max’s relief, she spoke in English. “Tell me what you know about the Mother of All Evil,” she said in a commanding voice.

  “She is the root of all darkness,” said the book. “She is as old as the world. She is formless unless called.”

  “What does that mean?” said Max, “‘Formless unless called’? Who’s going to call her?”

  The book ignored him. Clearly it was only going to respond to Sophie’s voice.

  “Ask it,” said Max.

  “What does that mean?” repeated Sophie.

  “The Mother is without form unless called by a Great Evil who is the leader of many. When her two charms are connected She will take form and walk abroad on the Earth.”

  “What does She want?” said Sophie.

  “Death,” replied the book.

  “Whose death?”

  “All living creatures.”

  “Find out how we stop it,” said Max.

  Sophie repeated the question.

  “How do we stop Her from taking form?” she said.

  “You cannot,” said the book.

  “Then what’s the use in knowing in the first place?” stormed Max, feeling like he’d just been kicked in the gut.

  “Wait!” said the Professor. “I think you’re asking the wrong question. Ask it what form she will take – and whether she can be stopped once she’s taken form.”

  Sophie repeated the question.

  “The Mother of All Evil will be called by a Summoner, one with great power, the leader of many,” said the book. “She can only be stopped by one who is impure.”

  “What do you mean?” said Sophie. “The leader of whom? Who is the impure one? What are the two charms? What do we have to do now?”