Ten for Dying

Chapter Forty

Julian the Jingler counted to seven, touched the magickal bracelets on both stick-thin wrists, murmured a guttural phrase in an unknown language that he had found through assiduous study of an obscure work by Apollonius of Tyana, and emerged from the bath.

This was the most dangerous time of all.

Few devils cared for water, fiery creatures that they were. But for the few steps it took him to reach the changing room and dress himself, Julian was protected only by the scanty number of amulets and charms it was possible to wear on neck chains and bracelets.

One or two bathers, new to the baths, gaped at the slight figure, white as a phantom, creeping across the tiles. The regulars had long since ceased to pay attention. There were many strange sights in Constantinople.

Julian did not hurry. He forced himself to remain calm. Devils had keen noses for fear, like street dogs.

As soon as he reached the bench where he had laid out his robes in the usual pattern he put on his sandals, left one first naturally. Why would he put on his right sandal first when devils had never swooped down to carry him off so long as he favored his left foot? If something worked, it was best to keep using it.

He methodically donned his clothing, so heavy with charms it made a comforting jangling like spiritual chain mail. Once he had armored himself again, he sighed with relief. Now he had only to return to his rooms by his invariable route-a route that had proved secure again and again.

He left by the front entrance, walked to the open square of the Augustaion, and passed warily through the crowds.

People drew away as he approached.

He was glad of it.

How did the inhabitants of this evil city, reigned over by a devilish emperor, survive living so blindly and haphazardly?

Or did they? How could anyone tell? Was the woman seated in the shadow of Justinian’s column, selling live birds from a wicker basket, nothing but an automaton animated by the devils which had evicted her soul to wander the underworld? For all Julian knew he might be the sole human being in Constantinople and only his amulets prevented the devils from seeing that he was not one of them.

A shadow passed over him.

He stopped abruptly with a fearful jingling.

It was only a raven. It landed on the discarded scrap of fish which had lured it into the crowds, stared malevolently at Julian, then flapped away, prey clutched in its claws.

A close escape perhaps?

Heart pounding, Julian passed along the side of the Great Church. He was no less troubled than Felix by recent events involving the missing relic, but it was necessary for him to concentrate on reaching home safely. Once he was back behind his locked door, surrounded by protective magick of every variety, then he would think about the problem.

He had never known the devils to be so active. He could feel their presence as he made his way through the streets. From the mouth of an alley came the almost imperceptible chilly draught as a gateway to the underworld opened and shut somewhere.

There was no apparent reason for the zig-zag route he followed. Julian himself could not have said why it was necessary for him to go down this alleyway or cross that square. It might be that the geography of the place inhabited by the devils did not match that of this world. If it were possible to see into that other world, it would be obvious why he needed to proceed exactly as he did to avoid unwanted encounters.

Finally he reached the street where he lived. He found it hard to breath, hard to restrain himself from breaking into a run which would alert the devils swarming in the city.

It didn’t matter how many times he completed his daily journeys successfully, the nearer he got to safety the more anxious he became.

Then he was mounting the stairs. He heard no pursuit from behind.

The hallway leading to his apartment was clear.

He tested his door. Still locked.

There remained only to open it, go in, and-

As the door swung open an enormous hand grabbed the back of his neck and flung him inside.