Jack called in on Angus McNicol on the way back from the hospital, and got a shock when he saw the superintendent lying in his bed, drawn and grey and showing three days growth of white stubble. He told him everything that had developed so far, leaving out only Lorna Breck and the boy's description of the thing that had come into Rolling Stock when they were stealing bikes.
"So what next?" Angus asked hoarsely. He had lost a lot of weight. His wife brought in a hot drink and offered Jack a whisky, but he shook his head. He hadn't drunk whisky in a couple of years.
"Bloody ticker," Angus had explained. "I thought it was the 'flu. Buggered up the arteries. The doc tells me I need a bypass, and I'll probably get an early pension."
"Surely not," Jack said, dismayed.
"Nothing for it, so they tell me. Still, I'm told it's just a bit of plumbing. They do them every day of the week." Angus gave him a half-smile. "Oh, don't worry. They haven't written me off yet, but it'll be a while before I'm back on the size elevens. Should give me a chance to get the rose border in shape."
Jack didn't know what to say to that.
"Oh, come on Jack, it's not the end of the world," Angus said. "The only problem you've got is that arse Cowie. There's no way he's going any further, so you don't have to concern yourself that he'll get my job. But he'll put the knife in your back as soon as look at you."
"That's what I wanted to ask about. I need more men on this."
"I'll bet you do. I've been watching the news."
"It's getting out of hand. But when I put in a request, Cowie turned it down."
"You get that in writing?"
"Sure."
"Good man. You cover your back. If there's reasonable cause, a concern for the community or a threat to it, you can repeat your request to headquarters. And I'll make a couple of calls to let them know what's going on. You'll get your men."
Jack thanked him and left Angus propped up in bed with his book and a hot drink. He told him to get better.
"Better? Believe me I'll be running rings around you in a couple of months. You just get in there and get the job done and keep the place looking ship-shape until I get back. And remember, watch out for Gridlock."
"For what?"
"Gridlock. That's what they used to call your friend Cowie when he was in traffic. I got that from yon daft bugger John McColl. Now there's a man you can trust."
Angus was as good as his word. In the early afternoon, Jack faxed his request to the central office and within half an hour he got confirmation that there would be another twenty officers at his disposal immediately. He got John McColl to work out rosters so that the incomers were paired with local men who knew the area. Despite the re-inforcements, he didn't know how many men it would take to stop what was happening in Levenford.
If what Lorna Breck said was true, and if young Jed Galt, hands burned right into the bone, was not raving about what had happened in Rolling Stock, then what he was hunting was something he did not comprehend.
A monster? A spirit? How did you stop one of them?
Jed Galt had said he'd stopped it with a drill. Jack had ordered an immediate search of the grounds around the hardware store, and within an hour of his arrival back at the station, they turned up a Black and Decker power drill lying under the scaffolding nearby. It was blistered and scored as if it had been sprayed with concentrated acid and the twist bit at the front was contorted and bent. Jack hefted it in his hands and called Andy Toye.
"You read my mind," the professor said brightly. "I was just about to call. I've been speaking to a few folk."
"I've spoken to dozens," Jack told him. He gave him a quick run-down on what had happened so far, including his talk with Lorna Breck in the late hours of the night.
"Oh, there's no question about her," Andy said. "I'd like to get her in here some time and do some real tests. She does seem to have some sort of gift, but it appears to be random."
"It also appears to be plugged in to what's happening down here," Jack interrupted. "She saw it last night and she called me. She was in a right state. I haven't got any estimates on the time, so I don't know whether it was before or during or after the event."
"I'd use her if I were you," Andy advised. "But on the other matters, I showed the photographs of the writing on the walls to a friend of mine in Leicester. He agrees that they are probably anagrams."
"Certainly anagrams," Jack said. "We've found one of the other people. He jumped in front of a train. And his name starts with the letter you predicted, so now we're searching for this O'Day."
"But not just an anagram of the names," Andy said. "That's why Crowley's Goetia puzzled me. It gives a list of what are allegedly the major netherworld princes, what you might call Satan's right hand men, and it purports to show how they can be called up, although the details are very skimpy. Basically it's a potted biography of each, how they appear, and how to address them when they do."
"And?" Jack asked.
"It's the rest of the paraphernalia. The tarot cards, the ouja-table and crystal. Carlsson at Leicester is more of an expert on the history of the occult. He's a palaeo-etymologist."
"That's going to need some explanation."
"Studies ancient languages, most of them extinct. Came up with an interesting idea from the Magyar cultures of eastern Europe. Apparently they thought they could raise demons to tell the future, or do favours. It was a fairly complicated ceremony involving several stages and the final use of a crystal globe. The demon would appear within the crystal, trapped within it for safety reasons and it would make the stone move to spell out the fortunes of those at the sitting. But it had to be called by name, because according to the lore, and also going by Crowley's book, each of the demons has a specific talent. Some of them are better for curses or bringing good luck, that sort of thing. In the first book of the Lemegeton, taken from the Hebrew, and supposed to be where Solomon got all his wisdom, there were four great princes of the underworld, and about seventy earls. Beneath them there were supposed to be legions of other assorted demons and the like. Once invoked by name, they had to stay and do the bidding of the summoner until another rite sent them back.
"To hell?"
"Yes," Andrew said brightly. "To the netherworld. Hades. Whatever you like."
"You think that's what they were trying to do?"
"I believe so. Something like that. Each of the people would have to bring the talismans from the previous telling. That's where, I imagine, the tarot cards come in. That's in the Magyar custom, related to some of the Sanskrit rites from the far east. But I think, and Carlsson agrees with me, that this particular invocation might have gone wrong."
"How do you mean?"
"As part of the summoning, I told you that the particular entity had to be called by name. It is possible that first of all the special bindings had not been put in place, the ceremony needed to ensure the spirit or demon would be kept within certain parameters, to keep it from actually appearing in the real world."
"Like in a pentangle or something? From the movies."
"Quite, though that's an old wives tale."
"It all sounds like old wives tales."
"Well, you did ask," Andrew said, not taking offence. "The clue was in the anagrams. Almost certainly the words were made up of the initials of each surname. Carlsson feels that possibly, they were open at the time. By that, I mean that they had opened themselves up and invited the spirit, not into the room, but into them. If you recall the Goetia. There was a mark on the margin on one page."
Jack hadn't noticed, but he said nothing.
"I wondered about that." Andy started to quote, as if he was reading. Jack assumed he was.
"The twenty ninth spirit is Astaroth. He is a mighty, strong Duke and appeareth in the form of an avenging angel, riding on a beast like a dragon. Thou must in no wise let him approach too near, lest he do thee damage by his noisome breath. Wherefore, the magician must hold the ring in his face, of pure iron or fine gold, or talisman blessed by consecrated hands and that will defend him. He can make men wonderfully knowing in all things."
Andy paused and drew breath. "Seems like a delightful character."
"And that's what they were trying to raise?"
"Possibly, but I think it went wrong. It is possible they got part of the rite, but did not complete it. I don't believe it was Astaroth."
"So what then?"
"That's where Carlsson was a help. He has an old text, an addendum to the Lemegeton, which purports to list the houses of the seventy two princes. He checked on Astoroth, and discovered his lieutenant, right hand devil of you will, was called Eseroth. Not a nice fellow. Let me read this to you."
"For none may escape the hunger of Eseroth, the other one, the ravener of the night. Guard your children well in the dark shadows, and lock them away after sunset. For high nor low places will not hide them from the beast. He cometh in the shadow."
Andy finished. There was a silence on the line which dragged on for several moments before Jack asked. "That's it?"
"That's it. Etheros, a spirit of the air; Heteros, the other; and Eseroth."
"Sounds like a devil with dyslexia."
"But all the same letters, and the only one which fits the Lemegeton appendix. It fits with the mark on the book we found, or at least there's a close association. A ravener in the dark. Likes high places. Is known, among everything else as The Other. And so far it has killed children."
"And you think this can be done?"
"Believe me, there are more things possible than you'd imagine."
"But what about this Magyar thing. Does it say how to get rid of it, supposing it actually exists?"
"Oh, it can be dismissed and returned, according to the addendum. Apparently that's not too difficult. But there would be one problem in this case."
"And that is?"
"There's nothing to show that there were any bonds," Andrew said.
Jack thought about that for a moment. It was all too much to take in. He asked a final question.
"This Magyar thing. Is that some kind of religion?"
Andrew laughed. "Oh ye of little erudition, or even a certificate in geography. Did you never collect stamps as a youngster?
Jack admitted that he had not.
"You would have known then. The Magyars are quite an ancient people. Originally they were part of the indo-European migrations who settled in Eastern Europe. The word Magyar is what they call their country and themselves. We call it Hungary."
When Andy hung up, Jack sat at his desk in complete silence. Devils and demons, things called up from the underworld. Despite how he was beginning to feel about what Lorna Breck had said, and from the description, garbled and hysterical, given by the boy in Keltyburn Hospital, he still wasn't ready to believe in ghosts and sprites and things that materialised in the night. Some form of ESP he could comprehend, but all of his work, every murder that he'd ever worked on, had been caused by people. Bad people, warped folk, but human beings. He'd wondered about child sacrifices, but only in the context of deranged, demented and sick people, not from the standpoint that there actually was a devil.
But then Andrew had said one little magic word that somehow changed his viewpoint.
Hungary.
The professor hadn't known anything about the old woman, except that she was dead. Andrew had made no reference to her nationality, and certainly Jack hadn't thought it relevant to tell him. But now he'd described some sort of ancient fortune-telling, devil-raising rite that had come from that strange and obscure country. Contrary to what his friend had said, Jack did have a certificate in geography, and though all the boundaries had changed beyond recognition since the iron curtain had rusted, he still knew where was where. He closed his eyes and pictured the globe. Hungary. East of Germany. North of Yugoslavia. Transylvania had once been part of the Hungarian empire. Tales of Vlad the Impaler, true stories from the dark ages that had spawned the legends of Dracula and the vampires. People had believed them, said they had been true. Could they not also be true of the old travellers who had come through the Khyber pass from India with their strange gods and cults and settled in the plains of Hungary?
Could they have raised devils? Could an old Hungarian woman have called up something from a dark place and let it out to steal children in the middle of the night.
Jack thought of Andrew quoting from an old text. The other one, the ravener of the night. Guard your children well in the dark shadows, and lock them away after sunset. For high nor low places will not hide them from the beast. He cometh in the shadow.
It was stilted and pedantic. But, Jack thought with a sudden realisation, it fit his bill. He was hunting a killer who came in the night and took children. A night hunter who climbed the high places. Was it all possible? And how did you get rid of a killer some old woman had brought up from wherever it was that devils lived?
Even more to the point, who the hell would believe him?
He put his elbows on the desk and laid his chin on his palms, trying to get his thoughts in order.In the later morning Superintendent Ronald Cowie arrived in the station, saw the fax from headquarters confirming the extra officers to help with the investigation, and almost burst a blood vessel. Jack listened to him rant for half an hour, without taking in a word of it. He had other things on his mind.
He was still thinking about it when Bobby Thomson called up and told him there was a problem at St Rowan's Church. A man had locked himself up in the belltower and was refusing to come down.
"Just send a squad car, Bobby," Jack said, irritated, wondering why the duty sergeant was bothering him with a nuisance. "I'm up to my eyes."
"We did. They've had no luck. The man says he won't speak to anybody but yourself."
"Dammit, Bob. The world's full of eccentrics. He can stay up there until new year for all I care."
"Well, he won't come down and he insists he's claiming sanctuary. I don't know what our rights are, but he's demanding to talk to you. Says his name is O'Day."
Jack's mouth was open to stop Bobby in his tracks with a curt dismissal and it promptly shut with a snap.
"I think it's the bloke you've been looking for," the sergeant added. By this time he was talking to a dead telephone. Jack had slammed the receiver down, turned, grabbed his coat and gone flying out of his office.