Bane of Brimstone (The Bill Blackthorne Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Bane of Brimstone

  The Bill Blackthorne Chronicles

  Book One

  by

  Mike Mannion

  www.mikemannionbooks.com

  Content Copyright © 2017 Mike Mannion

  All Rights Reserved

  Published in the United Kingdom

  First Publishing Date November 2017

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Chapter One - A New Life

  Chapter Two - The Coven

  Chapter Three - The Professor Reveals Her Secrets

  Chapter Four - A Midnight Rendezvous

  Chapter Five - Resurrection

  Chapter Six - Fighting the Hunger

  Chapter Seven - Obsession

  Part Two

  Chapter Eight - Meeting the Apostles

  Chapter Nine - Lilith’s Curse

  Chapter Ten - Reunion

  Chapter Eleven - The Witch’s Hat

  Chapter Twelve - Captured

  Part Three

  Chapter Thirteen - Percy’s Servants

  Chapter Fourteen - Distant Memories

  Chapter Fifteen - Small Mercies

  Chapter Sixteen - The Dark Manor

  Chapter Seventeen - The Journal of William Whitebeam

  Part Four

  Chapter Eighteen - Secret Revelations

  Chapter Nineteen - The Good Doctor Goes to Work

  Chapter Twenty - Rebirth

  Epilogue

  Chapter Twenty One - Escape by Moonlight

  Part One

  In which Iamia Daemonium comes to Conatus College

  Chapter One - A New Life

  And it must be said that the pagan threat is not to be underestimated. The pagan gods of old have been subdued by church building, the power of the monasteries and the Knights Templar. The old pagan gods have fallen away and are slumbering in the four corners of the kingdom. But do not underestimate their powers. Their old and wily magic is woven into the fabric of Britain, its power is steeped in every root and branch, every ancient village and standing stone. It would not take much in the way of rituals and spells to bring it all back. If this should happen then Christianity will be doomed, as would the modern world, which the pagan gods despise.

  – Extract from Sleeping Gods – A Treatise on Ancient Paganism

  – By the Right Rev. Jonathan Pryce-Davis, Bishop of Middenmere, July 1870.

  Bill Blackthorne was a young man with a very serious problem. He couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened to him before his eighteenth birthday – not a whiff of something vague or even half-remembered. There were no childhood holidays by the seaside, no running through fields on sunny days. He’d never known Father Christmas or bedtime stories or even a long and boring day at school.

  His life, as he knew it, began one chilly morning, when he woke up in a musty old four poster bed, in a dark corner of a wood-panelled bedroom, in a gloomy old house called Brimstone Manor. He had no idea how long he’d been living there and could recall nothing he’d ever done. He knew the world and everything in it… everything except his place.

  There was an intense, middle-aged woman lurking nearby in the shadows, gazing at him in a very disconcerting way. She was clutching a silver breakfast tray in her white bony hands, that contained a boiled egg, toast soldiers, steaming tea, and a plain brown book. She wore a white, robe-like dress printed with strangely shaped symbols. He noticed a glint from diamond-drop ear-rings and her fat lips were smeared with copious amounts of red lipstick. She placed the tray on his lap and loomed over him, like a vulture over carrion.

  “I said wake up, for breakfast! Bill darling, how are you?” She gave him a searching look. “You look so very different than before, a boy now.”

  Bill was very scared. He was too confused to gather his thoughts. He had no idea if this was the first day of his troubles, or the hundredth.

  “Who are you?” he mumbled.

  The woman puckered her fat lips and ignored his question, grabbing him by the hand and peering into his eyes. “Do you remember the cabinet, your cabinet? The feeder jars? The blood? Anything about last night? Anything at all? You must, it is vital!” She picked up the book, which Bill realised was some sort of battered old journal, and showed him scientific formula, scribbled inside. “You understand this? You must find the answer. It’s in here somewhere.”

  Bill dragged the sheets up until they were almost under his chin. “I have no idea who you are or what you want. Leave me alone.” He noticed a steely and intolerant glint in this woman’s eye, as she simmered with anger, which meant he didn't really like or trust her.

  She put the book down and sighed with impatience. “My name is Beryl and I am your mother. And know that I will never leave you alone.”

  “But… mother? You’re my mother? I don’t remember! Who am I? What am I doing here?”

  Beryl refused to tell him anything. “I cannot say darling. It would be too great a shock, you may go insane. You’re not ready, not just yet. I guess I need to speak to a colleague, arrange treatments.”

  “Do I have friends? Can I see them?”

  “They’re long dead and buried, gone now forever.”

  Bill didn’t reply. He picked up his tea, and with a shaking hand took a tentative sip.

  *

  He spent his days being privately tutored by a stern woman called Miss Spital, cooped up in the west wing library. As time went by Bill got progressively more frustrated. He became determined to find out something about his former life, so searched all over the manor, inside every cabinet and drawer, but couldn’t find a single photograph of his younger self. There were no toys, dusty birthday cards or kept mementos. There were no school books or comics. Not being about to remember your childhood was bad enough, but finding no evidence that it actually even existed was even worse.

  In one of the rooms Bill found a strange looking cabinet. It was around seven feet tall, had a polished brass door and was lined with copper pipes. Next to this were two large glass jars, on stands. There was a refrigerator, filled with plastic sachets of blood, and tables full of glass phials, Bunsen burners and carefully labelled pots filled with toxic chemicals. He wondered if this stuff was what his mother had asked him about.

  Late one night, Bill was woken up by moans coming from somewhere in the house. He crept out of bed and ventured downstairs, with only a flickering candle for illumination. Down in the hall he found Beryl, with a skinny, middle-aged man dressed all in black with slicked back greasy hair – a man he’d never seen before. They were forcing someone, who had their hands tied behind their back, through the cellar door. Bill gasped when this person turned and looked at him – he had horns and yellow eyes! There was a strange halo of light around his head.

  “Mother, what the…” he was terrified, lost for words.

  Beryl left the creature with the man and came over to Bill, grabbing him by the arm. “Darling, just forget what you’ve seen. Go back upstairs.”

  “But… what’s that? Is it even human? Who’s that with him?”

  Beryl glared impatiently. “Back upstairs now, mother’s busy with her work.”

  “No! What is this place. I wish I could remember something, anything at all!”

  The creature began to mumble strange words. It was in an odd language, archaic, guttural, but somehow Bill knew what they meant… The man in black pulled out a truncheon and hit the creature, making it stop. Then he pushed it away through the cellar door.

  “What are you going to do with it?” said Bill.

  Beryl’s eyes grew wide and intense. “You
may follow science, Bill Blackthorne, think it has all the answers, but we Apostles have our own beliefs, the tenants of the Christian Medical Cabal are sacred and immutable! Satan can be rooted out of the body, oh yes, rooted out with pain and degradation. We are performing a mercy.”

  Bill was speechless, shocked. Beryl gripped his arm very tight, between bony fingers, and guided him away. He left her and went back to bed, staring into space, trying not to panic, feeling more alone than ever.

  *

  During next day’s lessons, he couldn’t help but ask Miss Spital about people with horns and yellow eyes. “Are there many of them about?”

  Miss Spital adjusted her pointed glasses and looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if I have the authority to discuss those things with you. Let’s get on with geography.”

  “But it can’t be normal, surely? But then again, how would I know? Maybe it is.”

  “No questions. Eyes down and look at your book.”

  Bill gazed out of the window and thought of escape. He knew now for sure that there was something very sinister and dangerous about Brimstone Manor and longed to get away, to somewhere safe, somewhere where there were answers to his questions and no scary creatures with horns and yellow eyes. He wondered, as he’d increasingly done, about the outside world. He knew three people, Miss Spital, his mother and Mordred the butler, but how many other people lived out there, on the outside? He saw, through the window, a thick line of trees across the gravel drive.

  “Those trees,” he said.

  Miss Spital gave him a thin-lipped smile. “That’s Bogmire Wood.”

  “And what on past that?

  “If you go down the lane there’s a village, called Underwood, a sleepy little place. Nothing much happens normally, but today is the annual village fête.” Miss Spital stopped talking and checked herself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  Later that afternoon, when the day’s lessons were over and Miss Spital had left in her car, Bill decided to go outside. His mother was busy with one of her meetings – twice a week a group of oddly dressed but important looking people would fill the drive with expensive cars – and Mordred was preparing drinks and food, so this was the perfect opportunity. He crept out of the house and followed the lane through the woods. It was an exhilarating experience being outside. The sun was warm on his face and the light breeze was scented with flowers.

  When he got to Underwood and had walked into the cobbled village square he realised it all looked very familiar. He recognised the may-pole, the village shop, the old stone houses. He’d been here before, but couldn’t recall when. It was very frustrating.

  All the villagers were away, in a field he somehow knew was called North Down, very close to the village. He made his way there and found it filled with crowds of people. There were bullocks and pigs being shown in pens, sheep dogs running around after sheep, and a few makeshift stalls and tents selling home-made cakes, jams and beer. It was very odd to be surrounded by so many people after a cloistered life of Beryl, Mordred and Miss Spital.

  “How do,” said a young man walking past. “Not local? Ever been to the fête before?”

  “Hello,” said Bill. “My name’s Bill, I live at Brimstone Manor. I don’t think I have.”

  “Really? I’m Arthur. Do you want to meet my dad? He’s the vet. Come and have a look at the sheep show.”

  Bill noticed that Arthur was dressed in a type of clothes he’d never seen before. Faded blue trousers and a black t-shirt with a colourful picture of crazily dressed musicians on the front. He was a skinny lad with long straggly hair, and a happy-go-lucky grin.

  “Thanks.”

  They walked away, with Arthur chatting incessantly, asking Bill many personal questions that he didn’t know the answers to. Bill spent a couple of happy hours with Arthur and his dad, Jim, pottering around the tents and stalls, looking at a sheep with a sore hoof and watching a man in a white coat pin a rosette onto a young bullock. He went back home feeling elated, like he’d made a couple of friends. But when he got back and told Beryl about his adventures she grew angry and said he shouldn’t be leaving the house, not just yet. People would start asking awkward questions.

  But Bill was too excited and curious to listen to Beryl. Over the next few weeks he made many visits to Underwood to meet his new friend Arthur and his family. He was very easy to talk to, and Bill decided to let him know about his life at the manor. He wasn’t sure what this boy made of him when confessed that he’d lost his childhood memories, but went on to describe Brimstone Manor and the things he’d seen, including the creature being led into the cellar, hoping that by telling someone about his experiences they’d reassure him and say he hadn’t lost his mind. But Arthur had only said it was all very freaky and didn’t know what to make of it. Bill asked it creatures with horns were common in the world and Arthur laughed and said obviously not.

  *

  Then one evening in early Autumn, without explanation, Beryl told Bill he was to leave Brimstone Manor and go off to the city, to study at Middenmere University. Miss Spital had deemed him fit for external work.

  “I have arranged with Professor Nox to administer your chemical treatments,” said Beryl. “You must get well! There is important work you must do for us.”

  Bill didn’t know what to say. The farthest he’d been so far was to Underwood. The greater outside world was a complete mystery. He asked why she wanted him to go. What was he going to study? But as usual, Beryl told him nothing, merely saying she would explain everything in good time.

  “But before you go we have decided you must be initiated, to guarantee your loyalty.”

  Beryl forced him put on a long white robe. She took him by the hand and led him into the Great Hall, where he saw twenty people, also wearing robes, standing in a circle. He didn’t know any of them and they unnerved him with the way they stared at him, smiling serenely. There were red candles in gold candelabras and a huge crucifix chalked on the stone floor. Bill asked Beryl what was going on but she simply smiled and guided him to the centre of the circle. He was handed a bible and was made to speak a pledge…

  We are God’s holy flaming sword,

  that strikes down evil in any form –

  be it child or mother or babe in arms.

  We are prepared to die to fight evil.

  We are prepared to kill to fight evil.

  This is God’s will, our Heavenly salvation.

  When it was over a delighted Beryl said he was now a member of the Apostles, a very solemn society. “You’re one of us now.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  “You are now bound by sacred rite to honour it at all costs. One thing remains, the mark of our order.”

  Bill was guided over into the corner of the Great Hall, where an old woman laid him down on a chesterfield.

  “Hold out your arm dearie,” she said.

  She had ink and a needle, and gave him a painful tattoo. It was the strangest and most scary night of Bill’s life.

  *

  Next morning Bill found himself sitting in the back of the family’s black 1930’s Rolls Royce, gazing out of the window and watching trees give way to tiny stone houses as he entered Underwood. The village was so old it still had remnants of its pagan past – the stone circle at North Down, the tall Celtic cross outside the church, and the grotesque gargoyle faces engraved in some of the older houses to ward off evil spirits. Bill was glad to be leaving the Manor, but very apprehensive of where he was being sent and what he was expected to do.

  The Rolls drove up Market Street and passed the Unicorn – the village’s crooked, weather-beaten old pub. They entered the village square and drove around the maypole, then came to a halt halfway up a cobbled side street. Bill had managed to convince Beryl to call at Arthur's house – his friend was also going off to university and Beryl had agreed to give him a lift.

  Mordred, acting as chauffeur, let Bill out and he went up the path and rang the bell at a
crumbling three-storey place festooned with ivy – Arthur’s family lived above the veterinary surgery. Bill waited until Arthur’s mother opened the door – a plumpish woman in a floral dress with a shock of curly hair.

  “It’s time Mrs. Small. Is Arthur ready?”

  “I’m all of a dither, Bill. He wouldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t find any clean socks. He’s taking an age dressing and hasn’t finished packing. But by God I’m going to miss the little blighter.”

  Mrs. Small let Bill in and they went through a tiled hallway and into a kitchen full of hanging pans and a long wooden table. There were dishes piled in the sink and a steaming brass kettle. Arthur’s gangly older brothers, Davy and Jimmy, were sitting at the table devouring bowls of porridge and pouring over a Haynes manual for a Norton Commando motorbike. His younger sister Rosie, wearing a school uniform, was sitting at the other side eating toast.

  “How do,” they all said in unison.

  “Hello,” said Bill as a couple of dogs brushed past his leg. He noticed a trio of cats, watching him from one of the chairs.

  Arthur appeared as if from nowhere, carrying a battered brown suitcase.

  “Now you be good and make sure you telephone every night,” said Mrs. Small in a maternal voice. She handed Arthur a tartan thermos flask and a hefty pack of sandwiches.

  They went out into the hall and Arthur picked up a portable record player and a bag of books. “Don’t fuss mother,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.

  The boys stepped outside and walked towards the Rolls, with Mrs. Small calling after them, reminding them to clean their teeth.

  “What are you wearing?” said Arthur to Bill. “You need to be rockin’ a hip look if you want to impress these sophisticated uni chicks. Check out this little number.”

  Arthur waved a lower leg to show off the flapping action on his bell-bottom jeans and opened his denim jacket to reveal a shirt so floral it looked like someone had thrown up on it. There was a strong whiff of his dad’s highly pungent aftershave.