Imajica. Clive Barker

of war updates, then the weather report, which promised a grey Christmas, accompanied by a spring-like balm. This would on past experience coax the crocuses out in Hyde Park, only to be spiked by frost in a few days’ time. At eight, still waiting by the window, a second bulletin corrected one of the reports from the first. A survivor had been claimed from the entangled vehicles on the motorway: a tot of three months, found orphaned but unscathed in the wreckage. Sitting in the cold gloom, Dowd began to weep quietly, which was an experience as far beyond his true emotional capacity as cold was beyond his nerve-endings. But he’d trained himself in the craft of grief with the same commitment to feigning humanity as he had learning to shiver; his tutor, the Bard; Lear his favourite lesson. He cried for the child, and for the crocuses, and was still moist-eyed when he heard the voices in the chamber suddenly rise up in rage. The door was flung open, and Oscar called him in, despite shouts of complaint from some of the other members.

      This is an outrage, Godolphin!’ Bloxham yelped.

      ‘You drove me to it!’ was Oscar’s reply, his performance at fever pitch. Clearly he’d been having a bad time of it. The sinews in his neck stood out like knotted string; sweat gleamed in the pouches beneath his eyes; every word brought flecks of spittle. ‘You don’t know half of it!’ he was saying. ‘Not the half. We’re being conspired against, by forces we can barely conceive of. This man Chant was undoubtedly one of their agents. They can take human form!’

      ‘Godolphin, this is absurd,’ Tyrwhitt said.

      ‘You don’t believe me?’

      ‘No, I don’t. And I certainly don’t want your bum-boy here listening to us debate. Will you please remove him from the Chamber?’

      ‘But he has evidence to support my thesis,’ Oscar insisted.

      ‘Oh, does he?’ said Shales.

      ‘He’ll have to show you himself,’ Oscar said, turning to Dowd. ‘You’re going to have to show them, I’m afraid,’ he said, and as he spoke reached into his jacket.

      An instant before the blade emerged Dowd realized Godolphin’s intent, and started to turn away, but Oscar had the edge, and it came forth glittering. Dowd felt his master’s hand on his neck, and heard shouts of horror on all sides. Then he was thrown back across the table, sprawling beneath the lights like an unwilling patient. The surgeon followed through with one swift stab, striking Dowd in the middle of his chest.

      ‘You want proof?’ Oscar yelled, through Dowd’s screams, and the din of shouts around the table. ‘You want proof? Then here it is!’

      His bulk put weight behind the blade, driving it first to the right then to the left, encountering no obstruction from rib or breastbone. Nor was there blood; only a fluid the colour of brackish water, that dribbled from the wounds and ran across the table. Dowd’s head thrashed to and fro as this indignity was visited upon him, only once raising his gaze to stare accusingly at Godolphin, who was too busy about this undoing to return the look. Despite protests from all sides he didn’t halt his labours until the body before him had been opened from navel to throat, and Dowd’s thrashings had ceased. The stench from the carcass filled the Chamber; a pungent mixture of sewage and vanilla. It drove two of the witnesses to the door, one of them Bloxham, whose nausea overtook him before he could reach the corridor. But his gaggings and moans didn’t slow Godolphin by a beat. Without hesitation he plunged his arm into the open body and, rummaging there, pulled out a fistful of gut. It was a knotty mass of blue and black tissue - final proof of Dowd’s inhumanity. Triumphant, he threw the evidence down on the table beside the body, then stepped away from his handiwork, chucking the knife into the wound it had opened. The whole performance had taken no more than a minute, but in that time he’d succeeded in turning the Chamber’s table into a fish-market gutter.

      ‘Satisfied?’ he said.

      All protest had been silenced. The only sound was the rhythmical hiss of fluid escaping an opened artery.

      Very quietly McGann said:

      ‘You’re a fucking maniac.’

      Oscar reached gingerly into his trouser pocket and teased out a fresh handkerchief. One of poor Dowd’s last tasks had been its pressing. It was immaculate. He shook out its scalpel creases and began to clean his hands.

      ‘How else was I going to prove my point?’ he said. ‘You drove me to this. Now there’s the evidence, in all its glory. I don’t know what happened to Dowd - my bum-boy I think you called him, Alice - but wherever he is this thing took his place.’

      ‘How long have you known?’ Charlotte asked.

      ‘I’ve suspected for the last two weeks. I was here in the city all the time; watching its every move while it - and you - thought I was disporting myself in sunnier climes.’

      ‘What the bugger is it?’ Lionel wanted to know, prodding a scrap of alien entrail with his finger.

      ‘God alone knows,’ Godolphin said. ‘Something not of this world, clearly.’

      ‘What did it want?’ Alice said. ‘That’s more to the point.’

      ‘At a guess, access to this Chamber, which’ - he looked at those around the table one by one - ‘I gather you granted it, three days ago. I trust none of you was indiscreet.’ Furtive glances were exchanged. ‘Oh, you were,’ he said. ‘That’s a pity. Let’s hope it didn’t have time to communicate any of its findings to its overlords.’

      ‘What’s done’s done,’ McGann said, ‘and we must all bear some part of the responsibility. Including you, Oscar. You should have shared your suspicions with us.’

      ‘Would you have believed me?’ Oscar replied. ‘I didn’t believe it myself at first, until I started to notice little changes in Dowd.’

      ‘Why you?’ Shales said. ‘That’s what I want to know. Why would they target you for this surveillance unless they thought you were more susceptible than the rest of us? Maybe they thought you’d join them. Maybe you have.’

      ‘As usual, Hubert, you’re too self-righteous to see your own frailties,’ Godolphin replied. ‘How do you know I am the only one they targeted? Could you swear to me every one of your circle’s above suspicion? How closely do you watch your friends? Your family? Any one of them might be a part of this conspiracy.’

      It gave Oscar a perverse joy to sow these doubts. He saw them taking root already. Saw faces that half an hour before had been puffed up with their own infallibility deflated by doubt. It was worth the risk he’d taken with these theatrics, just to see them afraid. But Shales wouldn’t leave this bone alone.

      ‘The fact remains that this thing was in your employ,’ he said.

      ‘We’ve heard enough, Hubert,’ McGann said softly. ‘This is no time for divisive talk. We’ve got a fight on our hands, and whether we agree with Oscar’s methods or not - and just for the record, I don’t - surely none of us can doubt his integrity.’ He glanced around the table. There were murmurs of accord on all sides. ‘God knows what a creature like this might have been capable of had it realized its ruse had been discovered. Godolphin took a very considerable risk on our behalf.’

      ‘I agree,’ Lionel said. He’d come round to Oscar’s side of the table and placed a glass of neat malt whisky in the executioner’s freshly wiped fingers. ‘Good man, I say,’ he remarked. ‘I’d have done the same. Drink up.’

      Oscar accepted the glass. ‘Salut,’ he said, downing the whisky in one.

      ‘I see nothing to celebrate,’ said Charlotte Feaver, the first to sit down at the table despite what lay upon it. She lit a fresh cigarette, expelling the smoke through pursed lips. ‘Assuming Godolphin’s right, and this thing was attempting to get access to the Society, we have to ask why.’

      ‘Ask away,’ Shales said drily, indicating the corpse. ‘He’s not going to be telling us very much. Which is no doubt convenient for some.’