Free devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band by richard anderton Page A

had really seen what she’d claimed to have seen, but he was guilty of casting spells to raise demons in the coppice beyond Aldersgate that night. In fact Thomas had cast great many spells, on a great many occasions, but he’d never burned a holy cross, still less ravished a naked virgin in front of a voyeuristic, goat-headed demon.
    His purpose in performing the ritual that had sealed his doom was to try and summon the demon Astaroth , the bat-winged, dragon-riding, serpent-bearer who must answer any question asked by a necromancer. Thomas had hoped to force this fiend to explain why the astrological charts he’d prepared with such care had failed to reveal the truth about Queen Catherine’s false pregnancy. Nevertheless, though he’d performed the spell and spoken the incantation exactly as described in his grimoire , the only thing that had appeared in the coppice had been a rather nervous badger.
    Though angry at the spell’s failure, he’d not been surprised when yet another demon had refused to answer his summons. During his years studying the Dark Arts, both he and Agrippa had performed hundreds of similar rituals without the slightest hint of success but this final fiasco had been the last straw. As he’d stood alone in the coppice, chilled by the cold light of dawn, he’d finally realised that his tutor’s rejection of the occult had been the right choice after all. There and then, he too had resolved to abandonhis studies and devote himself to more earthly, and more profitable, pursuits.
    After the debacle of that last spell, Thomas had returned to his apartments in the king’s palace at Greenwich but he’d known he would have to leave London as soon as possible if he keep a whole skin. His only hope of survival was to join the last Yorkist pretender to the English throne who’d established a court of Yorkist exiles in the free Bishopric of Metz but at least Thomas knew this city well. He and Agrippa had spent two years there during their travels, and so he’d decided to travel to Burgundy and offer his services to the ‘White Rose’.
    With the king still distracted by the queen’s false pregnancy Thomas reckoned he’d have a few days grace before Henry could be persuaded to sign his former favourite’s death warrant. Thomas vowed to use what time he had to settle his affairs and slip quietly out of London but that very night an anonymous note, warning him that Wolsey’s men were about to arrest the king’s warlock had been slipped under his door. Without a second thought, Thomas had snatched up the sword his father had bequeathed him, stuffed his most precious grimoire into the lining of his cloak and fled into the labyrinth of tenements to the east of St Paul’s Cathedral.
    Besides the warning, the note had urged Thomas to meet with friends at The Boar’s Head in East Cheap but fearing a trap he’d preferred to make his own way out of the city. He’d sold his rings and other jewellery to raise the money for his passage but the first captain he’d approached had cheated him of his gold. The few shillings Thomas had managed to keep had soon been spent andhe’d been forced to approach the moneylender Pynch. If only he’d chosen to trust the author of the note he might be on a ship bound for the continent instead of sitting in a barge heading for The Tower.
    “Cheer up,” said one of the yeoman, noticing the strange look on Thomas’ face. “Tomorrow’s Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, so they won’t chop off your head for at least another forty days.”
    “Even when we do cut off his head why should he worry?” said another guard mischievously. “He’s a powerful wizard so all he has to do is pick up his head and sew it back on!”
    “That’s as maybe,” said a third guard joining in the fun, “but he’s also sentenced to be quartered so if we’ve cut off his arms, how can he pick up his head!”
    The boatmen burst into laughter but Thomas ignored them, he was too busy