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

  Despite being beautiful, intelligent and from a rich family, she identified with life’s downtrodden freaks and misfits, because she’s been told she was one herself, by her father! She’d confessed she liked girls and boys as well, but especially girls. She loved Ophelia! Her father said she was to be quiet, that she was going to marry one of his business colleagues, rich and of good stock. She’d screamed at him and said that she’d never forgive him for putting his other freak in a care home – her younger brother David, who had mental problems. She said she wanted all the freaks in the world, freaks like herself, to rise up and slaughter every last bowler hatted stock broker, pompous merchant banker, old fart judge and moneyed duke and dowager. The big wigs down at daddy’s golf club, with their brandy and cigars, their snooty wives and big houses would one day be bloodied and beaten.

  The girls watched the chauffeur unload a trunk from the car. The mother kissed the top of the bespectacled one’s head. The car pulled off. As the boys went through the stone archway and into the quadrangle beyond, the girls got up and followed.

  *

  Bill unpacked the last of the things his mother had put in the trunk: various velvety jackets, a college scarf, flared black trousers, white shirts all neatly pressed and starched, a spoon, a knife, a fork and a single dinner plate. He looked at the yellow envelope for Professor Nox, placed on the heavy oak desk, at the single brass bed and cracked sink in the corner. This small room in Connaught Hall was going to be his home for the next three years and it all looked very spartan, with polished floorboards, ochre walls and dark wood cabinets and bookcases. The only thing he’d brought that could be considered his own was a leather-bound copy of The Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin – something he’d found in the library room back home that had ignited in him a compulsive fascination. With a heavy sigh Bill left his room and knocked next door.

  Arthur answered with a grin.

  “Come into the parlour my good man,” he said.

  Bill stepped inside and was amazed at what he saw. Arthur’s room was the same as his own but it couldn’t have looked more different. The walls were lined with many posters of a band performing on stage. The band members all had long hair, colourful paisley shirts unbuttoned to the waist, electric guitars and swaggering postures. Bill noticed the bookcase in the corner was filled with tatty well-thumbed paperbacks. Cool looking comics were scattered across the floor. On the writing desk was a pile of records and a record player.

  “Interesting,” said Bill indicating the posters, “who are they?”

  “Only the best bleedin’ rock band in the universe, Crocodile. I can’t believe you don’t know ‘em.”

  “Miss Spital played me some Chopin once, but-”

  “Well prepare to have your mind well and truly blown away, my good man,” said Arthur putting on one of his records. A wild thrashing of heavy metal guitar and demented singing filled the room.

  As Bill listened he realised he didn’t have his own collection of interesting books, had no cool comics, or posters of a favourite band. He had none of the paraphernalia that showed he was a normal eighteen year old lad. He had no memory of such things, just a few months of study with Miss Spital at the Manor. With a sigh, and a hope that one day his memory would come flooding back, he tapped his foot to the driving beat and tried to enjoy it. But then he thought of his mother’s words about Professor Nox and the plan for nightly injections and his heart sank.

  “This is going to be a great year,” said Arthur.

  “Can I have a couple of those posters?”

  “Parties, girls. Wait ‘till they get a load of us cool young hipsters. It’ll be fantastic.”

  “I do hope so.”

  Over the sound of the music they heard rapping at the door.

  “Someone to tell us to keep the noise down, I suppose,” said Arthur, sulkily turning off the record player.

  Bill opened the door and was amazed by what he saw. Two very pretty girls were staring directly at him, each dressed in a low cut black dress with black velvet jacket and many bangles and beads.

  “Can we come in?” said Lilith.

  Bill went bright red. They were the first girls he’d ever talked to, besides Mother and Miss Spital. He managed to mumble, “Well, I-”

  “Of course, come in ladies,” said Arthur with a friendly grin.

  “We heard the music,” said Ophelia.

  The girls came into the room.

  “My name’s Lilith and this is Ophelia.”

  “Cool names,” said Arthur. “I’m Arthur. And this is Bill.”

  Bill inclined his head slightly and studied the girls. Lilith looked quite brazen and determined but Ophelia was obviously softer. He liked the look of Ophelia, she was very pretty.

  “Cool clothes,” she suddenly said to him. “The velvet jacket, the ruffed shirt. It’s very cool, a bit daring to wear that sort of thing these days. But as you can see we love all that stuff.”

  “Well, err, it’s just a jacket.”

  “Are you trying to be a warlock?”

  “It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, to be honest.”

  “Where did you get it? We get all our clothes from a groovy little shop called Underworld, just off the high street.”

  “Well actually my mother packed my things. She supplies my clothes.”

  The girls looked at each other and laughed.

  “Is this your first time away from home?” said Lilith.

  “Yes.”

  Bill felt very uncomfortable. It wouldn’t take many more questions before they realised there was something wrong with him. He didn’t want to look like some sort of freak. He tried to think of what Arthur would say. He knew his friend would have no trouble saying all the right things.

  As Bill squirmed, Lilith studied him closely, pondering his suitability.

  “What was your first kiss like?” she asked suddenly. “Who was your first girlfriend?”

  Bill went bright red and didn’t reply. Lilith grinned.

  “Hey,” said Arthur, “why the twenty questions?”

  Lilith felt happy. She’d found her victim. The boy to take her into the darkness. She approached Arthur and smiled slowly. “Got any booze? Love the posters by the way.”

  “Crocodile are the coolest. Wait until you see my record collection. It will blow your mind. No booze I’m afraid but we’re buying some tonight.”

  Arthur and Lilith went over to the record player and began rifling through the records. Ophelia looked at Bill, who was still blushing awkwardly. She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. Bill sat next to her, his heart pounding.

  “You’ve not talked to many girls before.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  Ophelia noticed a tattoo poking out from Bill’s shirt sleeve.

  “What’s that?”

  Bill reluctantly pulled his shirt sleeve up and showed the image of the salamander to Ophelia. “I don’t really know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders. “It was a present from my mother.”

  Ophelia was starting to think Bill was a bit odd. “Where are you from?”

  “I live in Underwood, at Brimstone Manor.”

  Ophelia’s eyes widened with shock. “What! You ever heard of Rowena Ramsbottom? Lord Percy Valentine?”

  “Should I have?”

  “Brimstone Manor. It’s all in here,” said Ophelia showing him the small leather-bound book she was clutching. “This is proper freaky literature. One hundred years old. Don’t tell anyone I’ve got it. You’re a warlock, so I know you’ll dig it.”

  “What is it? Can I take a look?” Bill was quite excited. This little book may shed some light on Brimstone Manor’s weird activities. Something in it may help him remember who he is.

  At first Ophelia was very reluctant to show her prize possession to a complete stranger. But there was something about Bill’s innocence that she trusted. Maybe he could t
ell her more about Rowena or even the mysterious and sexy Lord Valentine. She opened the pages and they both read.

  Sun. 8 Sep. 1872. – Last night was a disaster! I will endeavour to explain how my mood has fallen from its state of utter joy to one most grave and embarrassing. I attended the ball on Saturday and, as expected, it was a most marvellous affair, with all the ladies in beautiful silk dresses and the gentlemen in their finest top coats. The warlocks in attendance had their own table at dinner and only drank from decanters of their own; but during the dance they mingled and were most charming, read Tarot and spoke of many mysterious things. One in particular gave me a lot of attention, introducing himself as a Mister Victor Tainn. I was flattered but obviously wanted to be with Percy, who stole me away at every opportunity. How we danced! At the end of the evening Percy did what I had been hoping he would do – he declared his love! This would have been the most joyous night of my life but for what happened next, what may have ruined my chances of happiness with dear sweet Percy. As the throng was leaving I bid him goodnight and stepped into a carriage that awaited me. As it drove off into the night I realised I was not alone, Victor Tainn was with me! I begged him to take me home and he was at first most courteous but then became like an animal, ripping my dress, saying he wanted me for one of his own, mumbling chants and even biting me on the hand. I jumped out of the carriage and ran …

  Wed. 18 Sep. 1872. – I am afraid I cannot deny it any longer. I have been infected by a most strange and wretched illness. The wound on my hand has healed with miraculous speed but its vile contamination is still within. Mother and Father hardly know me as I have become so solitary and sullen. There is a craving which consumes my mind but I don’t understand it. I hear a voice in my head that frightens me. I was driven so mad with a craving to spill blood and mutter a foul curse that I took a knife and went out to the stable block. Beauty was there and I am afraid I slashed her hind, cursed that wretched creature for all I was worth, and drank the oozing warm liquid. The voice was silenced for a short time. Poor Beauty! How I revile myself! Could Percy ever love such a despicable creature?

  “She’s Arddhu!” said Ophelia. “She’s been cursed by Arddhu Og.”

  “Arddhu who?” asked Bill.

  “You never heard of the Cult of Arddhu Og? I thought you were a warlock?”

  “No.”

  “Me and Lilith are very knowledgeable on all that sort of stuff. We read some very subversive books. The cult was started in these parts, around that time. If you get into it you can go to some amazingly dark places, blow your mind.” Ophelia stopped herself, thinking she’d said too much.

  Lilith left Arthur and came over. “I’m not sure about the one over there. Maybe, but maybe not.” She pointed a long red nailed finger directly at Bill, “but this one, oh yes, he certainly is suitable.”

  Ophelia tensed up, looked at Bill awkwardly and jumped up off the bed. She backed away and stood next to Lilith. “He lives at Brimstone Manor.”

  “And? You’ve talked to him, is he suitable?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course he is.”

  Lilith grinned. “Then we can go ahead. We need to go and see the Prof.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes now. You sure you’ve got the guts to go through with it?”

  Ophelia went pale and said reluctantly, “Yes.”

  The girls gave the boys a cursory wave goodbye and quickly left.

  Bill could still smell Ophelia’s sweet perfume. His stomach was churning. He felt confused, elated. He wondered if he was in love.

  Arthur looked very excited. He was rubbing his hands together in glee.

  “That Lilith is so cool. She really likes Crocodile and I think she really likes me. We need to buy some booze for next time. First day and we meet two gorgeous girls. I love this place already.”

  Yeah, right,” said Bill vaguely, thinking of Lilith pointing at him so dramatically. The expression on her face was strange, almost evangelical, similar to the strange look Beryl had often given him. He wondered what she thought he was suitable for and guessed it wasn’t anything good.

  Chapter Three - The Professor Reveals Her Secrets

  Thy ceare is placed upon yon ground, be sure to lay it in a clean place – it must not be mixed with dung or twigs or any such foule things. Take one that is pure of heart and not lain with man nor maiden. Bound thy victim lest they might escape their doomed fate. Slash them true and goode with a silver dagger and let a fair and weighty extraction of thy victim’s bloode mix with yon ceare. Chant the incantation with all your heart and see a springing forth of the blackest magic.

  – Extract from Almanac Regenerationis.

  – By Ross Theobold, Warlock, South End, 1765.

  Professor Julia Jareth made her way slowly up the stairs to the upper floor of the main quadrangle of Conatus college. Her back was bent and her hands were trembling as she pulled a key out of her pocket. She opened a door and went into her study. The curtains were drawn, so the room was dark and gloomy. She switched on a small brass table lamp that failed to make the room much brighter. There was an old writing desk in the corner, a cracked leather chesterfield and many books lining the walls.

  The Professor was feeling absolutely wretched. Her curved spine was aching badly, her arthritic fingers were pained by even the slightest movement, and a clump of hair had fallen out earlier in the day when she’d tried brushing it. Rage and depression clung to her mind like a dark heavy mist.

  She’d gone a couple of days longer than she should have done before getting a fix. It was a very busy time of year, with new student arrivals and all the ensuing paperwork, which meant she’d not found the time to go into town, enter that foul place – the Witch’s Hat – and hand over a large proportion of her monthly wage for another little ebony box. But she’d forced herself to go and buy one and was glad. The change was coming on fast – she’d begun to hear whisperings of the foul voice she feared more than anything. She knew she’d better hurry up and sort herself out before she lost control and did something she’d regret.

  She dragged herself over to her bedroom. Taking a key out of her pocket, she unlocked a cupboard built into the wall and pulled out an odd-looking contraption called a Hex Box. It was a cube of metal pipes that contained a battery, wires, relays and a silver bowl built into the top. The Professor switched it on and it began to hum quietly. Hands trembling, she pulled out the small ebony box from her jacket pocket and opened it. It was velvet lined and filled with a row of six glass phials and a long sharp needle. She took out one of the phials and removed the stopper. It was filled with an acrid smelling clear liquid that she tipped into the bowl on the top of the machine. Almost immediately it began to heat up and swirl very slowly down a tiny hole in the centre.

  A long thin plastic tube came out of the bottom of the machine and the Professor took the needle from the ebony box and screwed it to the end. The liquid came creeping down the tube until it stopped at the needle. The Professor lay down on her bed and rolled up her jacket sleeve…

  What do you think you’re a-doing, yon wretched wench? You are my lowly subject and I demand to be heard!

  Professor Jareth’s heart convulsed with fear. It was the voice, the dreaded voice in her head! With trembling hand, she struggled to stick the needle into a vein in her forearm. She was sure she knew that the voice belonged to a God, one of bile, blood and vitriol. It was with her, breathing down her neck, coming to take her…

  Lying back, she closed her eyes and let the liquid seep slowly into her bloodstream. She lay for twenty minutes, hardly daring to breath, waiting for the sound of that dreaded whispered voice to return. But she heard nothing. Aches and pains subsided and she began to feel like she was getting back to her old self.

  An image of a bearded, handsome young man appeared in her mind. She knew she was remembering a very special night, ten years ago, when she was a pretty, fresh-faced young girl, a student at Conatus. He was Professor of Ancient History and his name was
Simon Drew. They were in his rooms, drinking wine and laughing. A vague smile played on the Professor’s lips.

  But then her spirits crashed as she remembered the truly terrible thing she’d done to him, only a few days after that happy night. How she so desperately missed her dear sweet Simon! How dearly she still loved him! How she wished she could turn back the clock and somehow stop herself from doing what she’d done. She hadn’t seen him for ten years but thought about him every day. She couldn’t go on with the misery of her lonely life any longer. She longed to see him, to beg his forgiveness and be with him again.

  The Professor was brought out of her reverie by a soft knocking at the door. She pulled the needle carefully out of her vein and put the metal contraption and the ebony box into the cupboard and locked it. She was feeling much better. Her depression had lifted, there was less of a pallor on her sunken cheeks and she could stand up straight. But her joints were still sore and she knew she’d have to get that dreaded machine out later in the day and have the rest of the fix. She’s taken some but had no idea if it was enough, enough to keep the voice away.

  The Professor opened the door and saw Lilith and Ophelia.

  Lilith looked pretty pleased with herself.

  “We’ve found him,” she said. “It’s time.”

  “Are you sure?” said the Professor. “We have to be sure. It’s required to be unsullied by sex.”

  “If he isn’t a virgin then I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

  “Excellent. Then we’ll go and get what you require.”

  The girls followed Professor Jareth down the stairs and out into the main quadrangle. Lilith was very excited. The way into the dark world was finally opening up for her. They left the college, went down the long drive and out through the gates into the street. This was a long journey for the Professor, who walked slowly with a stick. She was wheezing badly and they had to wait a while until she got her breath back.