'Why, good sport, coz!' The devil did a little flip back into the shadows as Veitch advanced on it menacingly. A second later it was back, like a tame monkey sensing food.
'Let's kill it!' Veitch snapped.
'If only you could, little brothers, but you have not grown up that much in time passing!' It moved suddenly, so fast it was almost a blur, bouncing on the sofa across the room towards Marsh before disappearing back into the shadows. The farmer howled in pain. Four streaks of red appeared on his cheek. 'First blood to me, I think!' the devil said triumphantly; the voice came from nowhere in particular.
'Why are you here?' Tom continued calmly. He seemed familiar with the creature.
'Here to fill a void,' it replied. Somehow it was back on the hearth.
'I don't deserve it! I weren't doing anything!' Marsh howled pitifully.
'Nothing apart from living!' the devil cautioned.
'My wife left me a year ago, the farm's going bust, I feel sick all the time! I've suffered enough! There's no reason for this! It's not fair!'
'But that is the reason, Daniel. I am here because you have suffered. I am making you suffer more because I can, for no other reason than that. And if you seek meaning in life, perhaps you will see it there.'
'Do not listen to him,' Tom said. 'Lies spring easily to him and his kind. His only desire is to torment.'
'You wound me!' The devil clutched his heart theatrically. 'But because I can lie does not mean that I always lie. In a field of ordure a single pearl of truth shines brighter.'
Veitch pulled out his gun and rattled off a couple of shots. 'Don't!' Church yelled too late as the bullets zinged off the stone hearth. One shattered what appeared to be an antique plate on the wall while the other burst through the window. But Veitch's attack seemed to have got closer than Marsh's shotgun blast. The devil backed up against the wall, flaring its nostrils and baring its teeth at him. Veitch moved faster than Church could ever have imagined. He launched himself forward, swinging his foot and catching the creature full in the stomach. It squealed like a pig, arcing up, head over heels, to crash against the far wall.
It bounced back like a rubber ball, ricocheting off the floor towards Veitch, a flailing mass of claws and scales. Effortlessly it clamped itself on his head and neck, then threw back its head, opening its jaw so unnaturally wide its head seemed almost to disappear. Veitch had a view of row upon row of razor sharp teeth about to tear his face from his skull.
Tom moved quickly. Snatching up the coal pincers from next to the fire, he gripped the devil firmly about the neck and hauled it off Veitch; it yelled as if it had been branded.
'You and your brethren still do not like cold iron, I see,' he said snidely.
The thing wriggled like a snake in his grasp, but Tom heaved it forward and plunged it into the depths of the fire. It howled wildly until it managed to free itself from the pincers. Then it scurried off to the shadows to compose itself. 'Not fair,' it hissed like a spoiled child. 'You know us too well.'
'Quick,' Tom said, but it was too late. It rolled itself into a ball, then fired itself out of the shadows fully into Marsh's face. The farmer went over backwards, his nose exploding in a shower of blood. As he lay on his back screaming, the devil sat on his chest, ripping and tearing at Marsh's face. It managed to get in only a couple of swipes before Church took a swing at its head with the poker. The blow sent the devil rolling across the floor. Veitch fired another shot, this time blowing the leg off an armchair. And then it was away, tearing out the stuffing of the sofa, streaking up the wall, ripping up the paper as it passed, shattering a mirror with a cry of 'Seven years' bad luck!' before settling on a sideboard where it proceeded to fire crockery at them.
Veitch and Marsh fired off random shots, while Tom and Church dived for cover. Clouds of plaster dust erupted from the walls; the light fitting came down with a crash; the sideboard burst open, showering glassware across the floor.
While they stopped to reload, Tom scurried forward and whispered, 'We will never kill it like that. Trickery is the only way.'
'Let me address you as an equal,' he said loudly to the devil. 'What should I call you?'
'You may call me `master,'' the creature said slyly. 'If you wish to uncover my true naming word, you will have to do better than that. But I know your name, do I not, Long Tom? Your silver tongue seems to have forsaken its poetry for threats. And how is your Royal gift? More curse than gift, I would think.' Tom ignored him, pulling Church close to whisper in his ear. Then he turned back to the devil and said, 'Would you like me to see your future, little one?'
The creature squirmed. 'Thank you for your kind offer, Long Tom, but I prefer to live in the here and now.'
'Come, now!' Tom said with a broad grin.
The creature was so concerned at Tom's words that he failed to see Church circling round to his blind spot. Church felt a cold sweat break out on his back. The devil had shown he was terrifyingly fast and vicious; one wrong move and he could lose an arm, or worse. Tom was doing his best to distract the creature, but the things he was saying hinted at a hidden side of him which made Church feel uncomfortable.
'Perhaps I should compose an epic poem to your grandeur, little brother,' Tom continued.
'Indeed, that would be a deep honour from a bard so renowned.' The devil was not so arrogant now and he was watching Tom suspiciously, as if they were long-standing enemies who knew each other's strengths and weaknesses.
'But then what would I call it?' Tom said. 'Ode to a Nocturnal Visitor is so vague. Ode to-?' He held out his hands, suggesting the devil should give him his name.
For a second it almost worked, but then the devil caught himself and simply smiled. 'I am sure a rhymer of your great skill could imagine a fitting title. I-'
Church moved quickly, pulling out the Wayfinder from his jacket and holding it in front of him like a weapon, as Tom had instructed. The blue flame flared and licked towards the devil, who caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye and squealed. At the same time, Tom clamped the coal pincers on the devil once more. He howled as he futilely attempted to wriggle free.
'Now,' Tom said, suddenly threatening, 'we shall have some plain speaking.'
The flame sizzled like an acetylene torch as Church held the Wayfinder close. The devil tried to tug its head away, its eyes wide with fear, but it had nowhere to turn. 'Keep it away from me!' it hissed.
'The flame will consume you if we allow it-you know that,' Tom said bluntly.
'What do you require, masters?' the devil replied obsequiously.
'Just burn him!' Veitch snapped.
'No!' the devil cried. 'Anything!'
'This, then.' Tom's eyes blazed. 'You will leave Daniel Marsh alone for the rest of his days. And,' he added, 'you will do nothing to bring about that end earlier than fate decrees. Do you so swear?'
'On the warp and weft!' the devil screamed frantically. 'Now let me go!'
Tom nodded to Church, who retreated a few feet with the Wayfinder; the flame flickered back to normal and the devil bounded free to the hearth. When it turned, its face was filled with malice and it spat like a cornered cat. It turned to Church first: 'You will never find out why she died.' Then Veitch: 'There is no redemption for murder.' And finally to Tom: 'You carry your suffering with you.'
Then it pointed a finger at the three of them. 'Thrice damned,' it said coldly before bounding back up the chimney.
Marsh stared for a moment in shock, before falling to his knees in front of the fire, tears flooding down his cheeks. He looked at them incredulously, then said simply, 'Thank you.'
Church turned to Tom. 'Is that it? Will it be back?'
'Not here. But we will have to be on our guard from now on. Word will spread quickly through the brethren, and they hate more then anything else to be humbled by mortals.'
Veitch collapsed on to the sofa. 'Blimey. What's going on?' He looked at Tom. 'What's this brethren, then? They're not Fomorii.'
'There are many things that come with the night.' Tom poked the fire, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. 'Every creature of myth and folklore has its roots in Otherworld. And they're all coming back.'
Veitch looked puzzled. 'So it's like if London Zoo opened up all its cages at once.'
Tom nodded. 'One way of looking at it.'
Church rested wearily on the mantelpiece. The room looked like it had been attacked by a wrecking crew.
