The Dark Detective: Venator (10 page)

“...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 reveals 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?”

“Peroraro,” said the book, and the blue light faded slowly.

“It’s gone,” she said, softly.

“Ask it again,” said Max, angrily.

“Revelo,” said Sophie. “Revelo!”

But the book lay quietly on the lectern.

“I think that’s it,” said Sophie, shaking her head.

“It can’t be! It’s given us nothing. It’s useless!” said Max, panic sparking behind his eyes.

“On the contrary, Detective,” said the Professor calmly, “I think it’s been remarkably verbose for a book that hasn’t revealed its secrets in half a millennium.”

Max got the impression that the Professor was more than a little miffed that the book had consistently refused to reveal its secrets to him and had only opened up for Sophie.

The Professor continued:

“We know that the Mother cannot be stopped from taking form. Plus it mentioned ‘two charms’ so those must be some sort of magickal artefacts – I would suggest that one of them is this amulet that you mentioned was taken. Further, this person who plans to call the Mother will lead many people: so you’re looking for someone who suddenly becomes high profile – that could be a musician, an actress, a celebrity chef, even a great religious leader. You’ll just have to read the signs.”

“And what about that last bit,” said Sophie, thoughtfully. “The bit about Her only being stopped by someone who is ‘impure’?”

“Yes, that puzzled me momentarily,” said the Professor with a look of suppressed glee. “Although I suspect under the circumstances, my dear, that the book is referring to you.”

“What?” said Max and Sophie in unison.

“Yes, indeed,” said the Professor, who seemed delighted at the confused expression on Sophie’s face.

“Are you saying...” said Max, who was having trouble understanding the English language at that precise moment, “Are you saying that defeating the Mother of All Evil has been left up to a born-again Level Two Chava demon?”

“It does rather look that way,” said the Professor with a half smile. “How do you feel about being the Saviour of the world, my dear?”

Bad Tidings

Max sat in stunned silence during yet another taxi ride, back into central London. Sophie, on the other hand, was annoyingly buoyant and talkative.

“You’ve got to admit it, Max, darling, the PTBs have quite a sense of humour. I mean, me – Saviour of the world – what a riot!”

Max leaned against the cab’s back seat and closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything around him.

Sophie was determined to make him speak.

“Max, really! I didn’t think you were the kind of boy to sulk – just because I’m the Chosen One and you’re not. After the way you’ve treated me, you know, killing me and everything, I really think you might be a bit happy for me.”

Max sighed and opened his eyes.

“Sophie, I’m absolutely delighted that you’re going to be the Saviour of the world, I truly am. For once it will be someone other than me putting their neck on the line in the fight against evil. In the words of the wise philosopher – Go for it!”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” said Sophie huffily. “Anyway, what do you mean about someone else putting their ‘neck on the line’?”

“Well, when word gets out that you’re the Saviour of the world, don’t you think that’s going to make you a primetime target for the Mother?”

Sophie was quiet at last. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said finally in a small voice.

Max felt rather mean that he’d spoiled her enjoyment of the moment; after all, a Level Two demon couldn’t expect to be hailed as the Saviour of the world every day of the week.

“But it’s odd though,” he went on. “Why you? Why not some other demon? What’s so special about you that the PTBs sent you back to help me and to save the world? In a nutshell, Sophie, what aren’t you telling me?”

She looked genuinely distressed and a frown wrinkled her lovely brow. Then a stubborn, mulish expression fixed itself to her face and she crossed her arms, her mouth zipped tightly, and uncharacteristically, shut.

“Well,” said Max, after a short pause. “We’ll just have to work extra hard to keep you safe – you’re too important to let anything happen to you.”

“Oh, do you promise, Max?” said Sophie, her lovely lips quivering enough to reveal just a glimpse of ivory fang. “Will you look after me?”