Chapter 3 - The Roaring Lion

Brennon examined the parvis in front of the church, the church itself, the embankment, the bridge and long, dirty cursed.

"How did it all begin?"

"I'm-m-m not s-s-sure, sir," Finnell wheezed: he was still shaking finely. "We're here ... we've fin-ni-ni-ished, so all bones are pulled out, and it will suddenly rin-n-n-ng like a bell!"

"What else is it?"

"Bells," said Kennedy. "The bells sounded in the church."

The pathologist looked much better than Finnell, despite being thoroughly crushed in the crowd. He also did not take his piercing gaze from the church, as if he regretted that he could not perform an autopsy.

"Here," Finnel nervously licked his lips, "Rin-n-ng, then. And how do they rin-n-ng when they over there, in the belfries on the floor roll around, cracked like your p-p-pan?"

"I'm sure there is a logical explanation for this," Kennedy declared.

"For example, which one?" said gruff lNathan.

"Well, I won't say so right away..."

"And then?"

"Everyone ran," the young policeman cringed, like a frightened child. "There was so fear, God forbid."

"Fear of what?"

Finnel was thoughtful.

"I can't say, sir," he finally answered. "But there was something there. Inside, I mean. It r-r-rang."

"Didn't you see it?"

The young man shook his head and hungrily fell to the mug with a sedative.

"The saddest thing," Kennedy grumbled, "is that the horses, too, got scared and ran away. Therefore, I don't even know where we will now find all the bones that were taken out of the crypt."

"Why did you leave the carriage?"

"My colleague, Professor Byrne, is afraid of horses. It seemed to him that they were frightened with something, and he flatly refused to sit in the carriage until they were reassured."

"You're lucky. What did he say about bones?"

"I think he himself will voice his conclusion when he was bring to his senses, because as soon as we started the discussion," Kennedy angrily raised his voice, "how did the shaped end of the world begin! What do we need the police for, who are fleeing from what is not known ahead of them own screech?"

"Yeah," Brennon said grimly and moved toward the church. The consultant was already there - squatting, he studied through the outlandish polygonal magnifier the left door leaf, while his hound sniffed the right one.

"Who ordered the doors to be removed?" Longsdale asked, sensing only the back of his head the presence of the commissioner.

"Chief of the fire brigade. All the same, they kept on one honest word."

The hound rumbled extremely displeased.

"In vain," Longsdale got up and leaned wearily on the porch. "Someone put a lock on the door that did not allow evil spirit to leave."

"What's the point? What prevented it from leaping through a window or a hole in the roof?"

"A lock is a locking spell," the consultant explained patiently. "It doesn't matter how many broken windows are here. As long as the doors with the lock are in place, it is extremely difficult for evil spirit to get out of the temple. The spell holds her inside, as if in a cage."

"And why did it wait so much time?"

"And you so lack a pile of corpses?" Longsdale put the magnifying glass in his pocket and rubbed his eyes. "It needed to eat in order to build up her strength. I asked you not to let people in here."

"There's nothing to be done about it," Brennon grumbled. "Are you able to work? You look like freaking shitty."

"I didn't sleep," the consultant pulled a flask from another pocket and took a few sips; Nathan caught a tart herbal smell. "Sleep is the only thing I really need."

"And in the rest isn't, right?' The commissar thought. The hound finished with his door leaf and jumped onto the porch. Stretching out his muzzle, he sniffed the portal warily and grumbled deeply.

"Is it still there?" Nathan asked hopefully.

"No," Longsdale answered. "The evil spirit was gone."

"And now it's wandering around the city?"

"Well, they often return to the point of the transition," the consultant consoled him. "It is possible it will arrange a den here."

"Yeah, takes a walk and came back. Can I come in?"

Longsdale and his hound looked at him appraisingly.

"You can't" the consultant finally decided.

"And you can, yes?"

"Do you have any idea what is in there? A normal human will not be able to breathe in such an environment."

"And you can," Nathan said through set teeth. "You are unnormal."

The hound noisily sucked in his nose and took a few uncertain steps to the portal, looked back at Longsdale. He nodded, and Paw trotted to the church. The consultant's eyes were glazed, and Brennon immediately suspected that there was some kind of narcotic potion in the flask. The commissar climbed the porch and was surprised to notice that the red hound was barely visible in the dusk, which was filled the church from the inside. Nathan only discerned a vague red spot, although the temple was supposed to flood with sunlight. The commissar cringed, squinted at Longsdale. He somehow strangely moved his head from side to side, and Brennon chose to distract for something. To his right lay one of the door leaves; the commissar jumped off the porch.

It was so charred that Nathan did not even understand how the consultant found this lock on it. And even more so, it was not clear to the Commissar how he could keep evil spirit inside. Surely the beast was just waiting for something. It could not appear in the church for no reason at all. Most likely, someone caused it from that side, it waited for his appearance and left with this mysterious toad.

"Sir!"

A desperate cry tore out Brennon of the abyss of gloomy thoughts about the future of the city, on which the otherworldly creature hangs around. He turned and saw Joyce. The young man stared at him almost imploringly and blurted out:

"We found your niece!"

"Where?" the commissar breathed out, before which the most terrible pictures instantly flashed. The policeman jabbed a finger - the sergeant carefully led Miss Sheridan along the bridge. The girl walked somehow unsteadily and all the while perplexedly looked around. True, seeing her uncle, she perked up and resolutely rushed towards the walloping.

"Margaret! What are you doing here alone? A girl can't walk around the city alone! Does your mother even know..."

"I lost my carriage and my Miss Tay," interrupted Miss Sheridan. "And I don't remember how I ended up where I ended up."

"Where did you end up?"

"In some residential quarter. I've never been there," Margaret wrinkled her nose fastidiously: "In the middle of some alley that smelled of addle fish and rotten vegetables."

"To Twinks Creek, sir," Joyce coughed, showing with his whole appearance "I'm not to blame!"

"What the he... What were you doing in this poky hole?"

"I don't remember," Margaret answered dauntlessly. "I, probably, got scared and ran away, and I don't remember anything from fear."

Brennon wiped his wet forehead. His sister, Mrs. Sheridan, could eat alive for less.

"Have you been here when it all happened?"

"Yes. Is Mister Kennedy all right? And with an elderly gentleman? What happened here?" the girl looked around with curiosity and flushed: "And he is here!"

"Who?" Nathan asked nervously (as often happened when meeting with his niece).

"Your Mister Consultant."

Brennon turned to the church. Longsdale pressed his hand to his forehead, as if suffering from a migraine, and fell to his knees. Blood ran from the nose to the lips and chin. Margaret screamed, grabbed a handkerchief from the reticule and scooped up a handful of snow. The commissar did not even have a chance to blink, as his niece was already applying an impromptu compress to the nose of a completely stranger, without even asking permission. At the same time, she managed to wipe the blood off his face with the edge of her handkerchief.

"Peggy!"

"I think he's sick," said Miss Sheridan. "Is there a doctor somewhere here?"

Longsdale's missing gaze finally cleared up and focused on Margaret.

"Miss," he asked, somewhat inaudibly because of a handkerchief, "were you here? Have you seen anything?"

The girl frowned, remembering.

"It's hard to say, there is some kind of fog in my head. I came to see the church..."

"What for?" intervened Brennon.

"It was interesting to me. I got to the parvis, and then... then..." she bit her lip in thought. "It seems to me that before the bell rang, someone was in the church."

"Human?"

"No. Something is... different."

"And on the parvis? Peg, you didn't notice - there was a man on the porch who could call a creature in the temple?"

"No. I mean, I didn't notice - there were too many people, and then everyone ran."

"Call?" Longsdale became interested, trying to delicately dodge the handkerchief. "You think the person blowing up evil spirit was here?"

"And why else would it be for the critter had an urge to go away?"

A hound came out of the church, saw Margaret and joyfully waved his tail. He jumped into the snow closer to the girl and put his face under her hand.

"Good afternoon, Mister Hound," Miss Sheridan scratched his neck with his elbow; her hands were occupied by a compress and a consultant. Brennon was about to stop this disgrace, that is, to take Margaret to the department so that she would record the testimony, but then on the other side of the canal the carriage appeared, which was ruled by the Longsdale butler. The Commissar breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to think what his sister would do and say if she found out what her innocent child was doing.

Raiden jumped off the high-bench, quickly crossed the bridge, looked around the church with a cursory glance, and hanging over his master and lord, hissed:

"You that, at all without supervision to leave cannot be?"

Brennon choked. Longsdale meekly replied:

"The cemetery was restless. And now I guess why," He glanced at the church and frowned. The hound snorted.

"For two days!" Raiden grabbed the consultant under his elbow and jerked him to his feet. "I went to my family for two days! And what the hell..."

"Well, be quiet, fellow," Nathan cut him off. "Here is a young lady."

"We are not introduced," Margaret said coldly. "Uncle, who is it?"

Did you sleep?" asked Raiden demandingly and looked skeptically at the staggering master; the hound withdrew from the discussion, trotting to the crew. "I ask, did you even sleep during these two days?"

"This is his butler," the Commissar cautiously said finally, not very confident in his words.

"It seems a few hours..."

"And then you joyfully climbed the evil spirits into the mouth, so that it gobbled you up and finally ate till full really!"

Margaret stared in astonishment at Raiden.

"I'll take him away," said the butler. "You can do without him for about fifteen hours?"

"Yes, it is quite..."

"Perfectly."

Longsdale leaned heavily on the shoulders of the butler, who was lower on his head. Raiden did not even sway and confidently dragged the consultant to the crew, without saying goodbye to the Commissar and Miss Sheridan.

"Mom would grind him to the dust," Margaret remarked. "Is that exactly a butler?"

"Not sure," Brennon answered thoughtfully. "But it's not about him. You're going to the department now with Joyce..."

"Uncle!"

"And I will not tell your mother where we found you and what you did."

"As if mom doesn't know about it. My companion already snitched for certain," Margaret smiled slyly: "But I'll go to the department if you tell me what happened here and why you called a consultant here."

"Young lady, you cannot dictate your conditions to the police."

"Oh, well. But what will I do there?"

"To testify," Brennon grumbled. He already knew that a conversation with her mother would not bring him any joy.

1st January

"In total, we have one burned corpse, he is Father Grace, it is not known how many bodies are from the crypt and forty-six were injured in the crush," Brennon concluded. The police chief puffed on a cigar.

"What's next?"

"Kennedy sorts extant remains from the crypt. I ordered the police to comb the neighboring blocks - maybe they will find more bones. Around the temple put up a cordon. All work in the church is stopped, residents are ordered to stay away," Brennon coughed. "Sir, we need the help of the priests."

Broyd raised an eyebrow.

"You're an atheist."

"May be. I'm an atheist, but if they will pour holy water on the parvis, read prayers and cover the temple with the holy sacraments or whatever they have there..."

"Do you not trust the consultant?"

"I trust. But it does not hurt to hedge. But you'll have to take on the hollyrollies, sir."

"Of course," Broid grunted. "For some reason you cause them nervous cramps. I will speak with the bishop. What else?"

The commissar got up and went to the window. It seemed to him that even from here he saw how idiots onlookers stretch in strings to the church of St. Helena.

"Longsdale says it's evil spirit. Now I go to him and ask to give any amulets to all the guys in the cordon."

Broyd looked at him over the cigar attentively and seriously.

"I understand how that sounds, sir, but..."

"I believe you," said the chief. "But, I remember, Longsdale said that evil spirit cannot be killed."

"He said," Nathan confirmed.

"What are you going to do?"

Brennon paused for words.

"Well, for starters, let the consultant find out what kind of beast it is. And then," the commissar smoothed his beard, "then... He mentioned that evil can turn the temple into its nest. Maybe if you burn her den..."

"I don't think it's a good idea to burn a creature that can turn a whole church into a fire," said Broyd.

"Well, do not burn. Blow up to hell and to fill up everything with salt."

"Salt?"

"Superstition," Brennon muttered. "About thirty years ago, in the villages they believed that if you fill up a bad place with salt, then the unclean spirit will leave it."

"Consult with Longsdale."

"And also, sir. I think we need to take out the residents of neighboring houses. At least for a while."

"How do you explain this to them?"

"I will find an excuse."

"Brennon, it can cause - what the hell! - will cause, no doubt, such a panic that..."

"Sir, we are very lucky that no one died in the crush, and I do not want to tempt fate for the second time. Longsdale did not say what this jerkoff gobble up - but I'm sure that it needs a dozen or two people for a hearty dinner."

"Then why didn't it eat anyone yesterday?"

"I do not know. I'll ask Longsdale. He should have come around already."

"Okay, go, Nathan. How is your niece?"

"She's fine, thank you, sir. Although her memory was a little lost from fear."

"No wonder," Broyd grumbled. "Three of us said yesterday that they wanted to quit. But strong men..."

Brennon sighed.

"I'll talk to them, sir."

Outside, the Commissar looked with some uneasiness at Mrs. Van Allen's cafe. In recent days, he has never seen her, although he went in two or three times (maybe he was prompted by anxiety). The cafe was hosted by Victor and her eldest daughter Marion; but none of the young men spoke to Nathan about Mrs. Van Allen anymore. And the Commissar did not feel so close a friend of the family to be the first to ask about her health.

Brennon quickly reached house 86. Raiden let him in: apparently, the consultant had finally a good sleep.

"It's impossible to kill him," Nathan thought inopportunely, "but is it possible to exterminate him with insomnia? What nonsense - he can't be killed! And if his head is cut off?"

Longsdale was waiting for him in that small drawing room where Brennon and the police chief passed the night after meeting with the utburd. The hound was lying by the fireplace; he lifted his face in greeting and immediately dropped it again on his paws.

"You had a hard time, buddy?" The commissar asked, noting the strange apathy of the animal.

"It takes strength," said the consultant. "Even in the absence of the owner, a walk along the den of evil spirits is not the easiest thing."

"And most importantly, useless," Brennon took the chair opposite. "It is unlikely that he will share his impressions with us."

"I know what he saw there."

"He wrote you a report in two parts?"

"I watched with his eyes," Longsdale said, not noticing that he had again shaken the picture of the world before his interlocutor. "Actually, this caused some loss of strength."

Raiden, who brought in a drink tray, snorted softly but expressively. Brennon clung to the glass to calm himself. Taking a breath, he fluently described what had already been done and what he intended to do. Paw turned away from the fireplace and listened attentively, gleaming eyes from the bowels of a thick mane.

"Do you think this all makes sense?"

The consultant nodded thoughtfully.

"But do you understand that these are provisional measure?"

"That's what I came for. What is this cholera? How did evil spirits come to the temple? Isn't... well, isn't the church the last place it goes into?"

"Common misconception. Undead avoid churches, but evil spirits desecrates it with pleasure, if they succeed."

"Then what's the point of dragging church knick-knacks into a cordon and reading psalms, or what have they got there?"

"I'm not saying that this will not work as a mechanism to protect people," Longsdale objected. "I said that it is impossible to exorcise evil spirits with their help."

"And kill? Can you kill it?"

The hound snorted no less expressively than the butler.

"No. It is a truly immortal spirit, and there is no death for it."

The Commissar considered this strange phrase.

"And what is there for them?"

"Imprisonment or exile to where they came from."

"To the other side?"

Longsdale nodded.

"Well then," Brennon said displeasedly. "Let's start in order. The victim was the priest of the church of St. Helena, father Adam Grace. I believe he was killed by the one who summoned this beast. But who then drew your lock on the door?"

"Father Grace."

"That is, he drew a lock, went back to church and gave himself to kill?"

"Well..."

Brennon got up, put his hands in his pockets and circled the room.

"After all, if the pater drew this thing there - it turned out that he knew what a toad could creep out into the light. Maybe he generally expected to be killed, hoped that he would cope with the killer... Can you determine when this castle was drawn?"

"I can try. But why?"

"Then," the Commissar didactic said, "that if Father Grace understood this heresy no worse than you and drew a lock on the night of his death, then the picture is one. In this case, it turns out that he was waiting for the attack and tried to prepare in advance. But if the lock was drawn long before - then it turns out that Grace could become a rector, knowing without knowing about any lock, and turned out to be just an accidental victim. But in the first case - there is a chance that he knew the killer, and then..."

"Either Father Grace was sacrificed," the consultant interrupted. Nathan stopped.

"What?"

"I need to see the bones from the crypt."

"Kennedy is still sorting..."

"Four hands, things will go faster," Longsdale stood up and called. The butler came as quickly as if he were eavesdropping into the keyhole.

"The department needs protective amulets from evil spirits. How much?"

"Well, twenty or thirty..."

"Twenty or thirty. Take care of them, Raiden. When you're done, send it to Commissar Brennon to the department."

"Will he be in time?" Nathan asked.

"Until the evening? Why not?"

"Because the house has zero servants, and your butler's business is up to his neck," the Commissar wanted to say, but decided to save it for later.

"By the way," Longsdale went on, throwing in a scarf, "your pater could have appealed to other side himself. So that..."

"Doesn't fit. First, why the hell would he did it in church? Secondly, then why the evil spirits to kill him? Thirdly, who cut his knee tendons?"

The hound stared mockingly at the commissioner, as if such self-confidence amused him. The consultant smiled.

"Well, as for the first, the church is no worse than any other place. There is no one in it at night. That to the second – most often it is the end of all these summoners of demons and black magician. It's easy to call one, and then the beast from other side, not without appetite, will gobble up the newly minted lord for breakfast. Well, and thirdly... Thirdly, you do not think that I am the only hunter in the world?"

"So - are there many like you?" without the slightest enthusiasm the commissar asked.

"Certainly more than one."

"I wouldn't be so rejoiced in your place," Nathan muttered. Noble avenger - Black Magicians Hunter! Only that is in short supply for complete happiness...