Yield to the one who seeks the remedy, and let peace prevail once more
Yield!’”
Hecate waited.
Brother Michael ventured an opinion. “So few words for such a violent adversary. Will it suffice?”
“That is all it says. There is nothing else.” For good measure, she read the words again, shutting from her mind the growling and scratching that continued at the library door. When she had finished the incantation a second time, she closed the book and replaced it on its shelf. Slowly, cautiously, she reached out toward the necromancers’ book. As her fingers touched the leather binding she noticed that all noises at the door ceased. The Embodied Spirits were evidently sensitive to the workings of the book. Hecate braced herself and withdrew it from the shelf. It put up not the slightest resistance. She smiled at Brother Michael, picked up her lamp, and walked back to her desk. She glanced over at the map. It was fairly wriggling with life now. Solomon sat on the edge of her desk, while the griffin flew up to perch atop the nearest shelf. Brother Michael drifted to stand beside Hecate. She glanced at him, took a breath, and then opened the book.
This time there was no reaction, no guardian fiend, no magic that would stop her.
The next discovery was that it was written in Latin. Hecate grinned. While not fluent, her father had seen to it that her education was a classical one. She would be able to pick her way through it and could rely on Brother Michael if she was uncertain. She flicked through the rough leaves and selected one at random, attempting to translate the title at the top of the page.
“‘For the purpose … of…’ What is that? ‘Seeing … For the purpose of seeing that which … stays’ no, remains, ‘that which remains…’” She let her finger slide down the page to the first paragraph which appeared to be made up of a list. This time, instead of translating, she attempted to read the Latin aloud.
“‘Veniant, cum vocati fuerint … faciant quod iussi sunt.… habeant decem vires.…’”
“For the love of God, child, stop! Read no further!” cried Brother Michael.
“What? Oh, yes, I see what you mean.…”
“That is a necromancer’s spell. You are summoning the dead!”
“I will have to be more careful. Clearly reading things out before I have translated them is unwise. At least there can be no doubt we have found the right book. This must be what was used to summon the Resurgent Spirits.”
“Let us hope that the reverse instruction will be contained within the same manuscript.”
“Perhaps you could cast your eye over the contents page? There may be something there of use?”
“Of course,” he said, leaning forward, clearly prepared to tackle the frightening text if it would stop her inadvertently raising more spirits from their graves.
While he looked, his lips moving as he silently read the list of entries, Hecate watched his face closely for signs of alarm. She was momentarily distracted by thinking she heard something, an unfamiliar sound coming from the stairwell, something above the curses and hammerings upon the door of the thwarted viscount, and no doubt his cousin and the constable. She held up her finger to her lips and Brother Michael stopped reading. Solomon and the griffin both turned to look in the direction of the door. Hecate listened hard, but hearing nothing more, dismissed it as the workings of her imagination and signaled to the monk to continue.
They had just settled into concentrating on the book once more when a single bell began to toll. Hecate and Brother Michael stared at each other.
“Lady Rathbone,” she said.
“She has raised the alarm!”
Brother Michael might have said more, but at that moment Corporal Gregory appeared before them. The soldier was not given to visiting the library, and he was clearly agitated.
“Miss Cavendish,” he spoke in an urgent whisper, “danger is close! I urge you to leave this place while there is still time!”
“Corporal Gregory, I thank you for your concern for my safety, but we are about important work. I cannot leave.”
“I tell you, something that means you harm has broken free of its bonds in the crypt!”
“More Resurgent Spirits!” Brother Michael whimpered as he spoke the words.
Hecate would not be rattled. “All the more reason for me to find a way to stop them while I have the chance.”
The young soldier looked horrified at her decision but then accepted it. “In that case, I will stand guard while you do what you must,” he declared, turning to put himself between the desk and the door, his sword drawn.
Hecate turned to the monk. “Let’s look for anything mentioning how to stop a spirit that has been summoned. Or anything that might pertain to the Essedenes themselves. Quickly now,” she urged him.
He did as he was bid, shaking his head as he scanned the contents. “Oh, wait.”
“You have found something?”
“Here it mentions placing a spell upon a grave called the ‘Centurion’s Call to Arms.…’ That might be relevant.”
“If it refers to summoning somewhere in the text, then yes, you may be correct,” she agreed, trying to keep up with his reading.
“And this … oh! This talks of ‘Mortuus est reversus’!”
She looked at him then. “‘Returning the dead’! Brother Michael, you are a genius! I would hug you if it were possible.”
His bashful smile was short-lived.
At that moment, Solomon began to emit a low growl. Slowly, he rose to stand, arching his back, staring in the direction of the door. He flattened his ears, hissing as if trying to scare away something that was clearly terrifying him. Hecate could not see anything, but she could sense something.
As she watched, the door appeared to bulge and buckle. For a moment she thought it would give way, allowing Lord Brocket and his dreadful allies into the library, but it held. What it was not proof against, however, was the swirling, fetid mass that was another Resurgent Spirit.
Solomon sprang from the desk and ran to take cover beneath it. The griffin took to the air. All the creatures and beings of the map stirred and fretted. Brother Michael shrank backward. Hecate found herself rooted to the spot, kept there more by shock than bravery. Corporal Gregory showed great courage, brandishing his sword, the brass buttons of his red uniform glinting in the patchy light from the single lamp as he held his position, determined to do the thing he was born to do, the thing he had vowed never again to fail to do: to protect. While his steadfastness could not be questioned, his ability to withstand the foe he now faced was in doubt. Through the wooden door came a twisting morass. In the gloom it appeared as a deeper lever of shadow; a pulsating cloud of darkness. Hecate thought at once of a murmuration of starlings, or a swarm of bats as they swooped through the night sky, before her mind inevitably recalled the flies that had attacked poor John. These were not harmless, mortal creatures. Before them was something unmistakably malevolent, and even in its shapeless state it was evident to Hecate that its focus was herself. What was more, given the scale of the thing, she feared what she faced was more than one single Resurgent Spirit.
Instinctively, she took a step back. The menacing mass moved forward. Corporal Gregory stood ready to defend his friend, but Hecate knew there was nothing he could do that would prevent the progress of what they faced.
“Stay back!” the young soldier shouted. “I will not permit you to pass!”
