The Enemy

Sebastian Gloom
Part Eight

“But, but...” For the first time in his life Benson was lost for words. “But how can you fight God? I mean, he’s God! He's all powerful, all knowing...”
“He is neither of those things,” said Paul. “If you read the Bible there are many occasions where He doesn't know something or can’t do something, starting right back at Genesis. After eating the apple, Adam and Eve hid themselves from God. God had to go looking for them. Then when Cain kills Abel, God asked Cain where Abel is. Why would He need to ask if He knows everything?”
“Maybe God knew and was just playing with Cain. Making him squirm.”
“Maybe, but there are plenty of other examples. The story of Job. It starts with God asking Lucifer what he's been up to lately. Lucifer said something like ‘Here and there, doing this and that’. He didn't say ‘You know fully well what I've been doing because You know everything’. Then there's Numbers 22,9. Balaam and some Moabite officials spent a night waiting for God, who duly popped down for a visit. God had to ask Balaam who the people with him are. Genesis 32, 22 to 30. Jacob wrestled with God in human form and wins. God had to ask him who he was. That’s God being neither all knowing nor all powerful...”
“Wait a minute,” said Benson. “Jacob wrestled with an angel!”
“That's what it says in modern versions of the bible,” agreed Paul, “but if you look in earlier versions it says that he fought God Himself.”
“He’s right,” said Gloom. “I have several old Bibles. I'll show you when we get back.”
“There's plenty of other examples of God not knowing things,” said Paul. “I can give you a complete list if you like. We've made quite a study of it. And there are plenty of examples of His power being limited as well. God made Adam from dust, for example, but He needed one of Adam's ribs to make Eve. Why not make her from dust too? Then the flood. He had to get Noah to save some animals to repopulate the world. Why not just create more animals the way He did the first time? While we're on the subject of the flood, the fact that He felt it was necessary to wipe out most of mankind tells us that mankind hadn't turned out the way He intended. That tells us that He can't foresee the future. He doesn't know what's going to happen.”
“But there are plenty of places in the Bible where it does day that God is all knowing, all powerful.”
“Yes, and the fact that the Bible contradicts itself is also very telling. A perfect God could produce a perfect Bible, don’t you think? The important thing is to focus on the facts, not the propaganda.”
“But even if He isn't literally all powerful, He's still very, very powerful,” Benson maintained. “I mean, He created the whole world! The world’s twelve thousand miles across! If you include Heaven, Hell, the spheres within which the sun and planets revolve and all the rest, the entire universe is thought to be twenty thousand miles across! How can we fight someone capable of creating all that?”
“He created the world once, but we don't think He could do it again. If He could, He would have done so when mankind went astray. He would have wiped the slate clean and started all over again from scratch. Instead, He told Noah to build an ark and save the animals. He went to great lengths to avoid having to create another world, to save the one He had. We don't think He's anywhere near all powerful. In fact, compared with the power He had at the beginning of time, it may be that He’s nearly spent.”
“Lucifer and his legions couldn't defeat God, and they presumably had the advantage of surprise. God's expecting him to try again. He's on his guard now.”
“Lucifer was the very first thing God created,” said Paul. “They were alone in the universe for untold aeons before God created anything else. It stands to reason that Lucifer knows God better than anyone else in creation, and he thought he had a decent chance of success. He wouldn't have tried if he hadn't. If we're right, God is much less powerful now than He was then, and now Lucifer has us to help him...”
“Wait a minute!” interrupted Benson. “He has us to help him? You have allied yourselves with the devil?”
“You never asked who originally founded our organisation,” pointed out Paul. “You never asked who our leader is. Now you know”
“The devil? You would replace God with the devil?”
“Maybe all we have to do is drive God to the negotiating table. We would have no objection to His remaining in control of the universe if we could persuade Him to judge people fairly. I would happily join the priests in praising Him if He judged people according to their character rather than their beliefs.”
“Has it occurred to you that Satan may simply be using you to help him overthrow God, and that once he is sitting on the Throne of Heaven he will prove to be a worse tyrant than God ever was?”
“God burns good people for ever. Please tell me what Lucifer could possibly do that’s worse than that.”
“God allows some people to enjoy eternal bliss in Heaven. The devil might burn everyone.”
“He might, but the one thing we know for certain is that Lucifer is less powerful than God. If we can overthrow God, we should be able to overthrow Lucifer if he turns out to be worse than God.”
Benson fell silent, but Gloom could see that his manservant was deeply disturbed by this revelation. “I think we need time to think about all the things you've told us,” he told Paul. “My desire to join your organisation remains as strong as ever, but if Benson is having second thoughts...”
“No, I'm not having second thoughts,” said the manservant, though. “Everything you've said about God is right, He needs to be made answerable for His actions. No man of conscience can possibly believe otherwise. And you're right, it may not be necessary to depose Him. But the thought of collaborating with the Father of Lies...”
“That title was given to him by his enemies,” Paul reminded them. “We need to ask ourselves what we really know about him. Disregard everything that is said about him by those with a vested interest in blackening his name. What is he known to have done?”
“He tempts people,” said Gloom. “He tries to lead people away from God.”
“I would say that he tries to encourage critical thinking. He encourages us not to follow God blindly.” He turned to Benson. “During your army days, what would you have done if your superior officer had ordered you to murder a prisoner?”
“I would have told him to go to hell.”
“Yes, and the Empire encourages that kind of attitude. Questioning your orders is seen as the highest form of patriotism and has led the British Empire to be almost completely free of corruption, the first Empire in human history to be able to make that boast. Compare that to God, though. He demands complete, unquestioning obedience, to the point of expecting us to murder our own children if He tells us to. You know the story of Abraham and Isaac.”
“God stopped Abraham from killing Isaac,” pointed out Benson.
“Yes, but Abraham was willing to kill his own son, because God told him to. That's the kind of people God wants us to be. Imagine if an army officer demanded that kind of unquestioning obedience from his men. What would you think of a man like that?” The look of disgust on the manservant’s face was all the answer he needed.
“The original sin of Adam and Eve was to eat the Apple, which led to them knowing the difference between good and evil,” he continued. “Making sure that our children know the difference between good and evil is one of the most important duties of a parent, but that is the one thing that God didn't want us to know. A man who doesn’t know the difference between good and evil can commit any atrocity without a twinge of conscience. I wonder sometimes what His original plan for mankind was, and it makes me think that Lucifer making Adam and Eve eat the Apple was the single best thing that’s ever happened to us. Maybe even better than our creation.”
“I have trouble believing that he didn’t have some interior motive,” said Benson, though. “I doubt he did it just out of concern for our wellbeing. I mean this is the devil we're talking about, right? Sebastian and I have dealt with several cases of demonic possession over the years and I can tell you from personal experience that they're not nice creatures. They're sadistic and merciless. They take joy in causing misery and suffering. Their reputation is well earned.”
“Nobody's denying that there are demons like that,” agreed Paul, “but angels, fallen and otherwise, are all different, just like people. When Lucifer was gathering recruits for his rebellion he couldn't afford to be choosy, he just made offers to anyone he thought might be persuaded to fight against God.”
“I assume he offered them something in return for their support,” said Gloom.
“He promised them power and authority in the new regime.” When Gloom and Benson both began to protest he held up his hands placatingly. “Yes, I know, but what else was he supposed to do? What else did he have to offer them?”
“And does that offer still stand, if we succeed in overthrowing God?”
“Yes, I believe it does, but it would be as the rulers of Hell. There will still be genuinely bad people whose souls need to be confined, and these demons would become their wardens and prison guards.”
“Pretty much the same job they do now, then,” said Benson. “I can imagine that conversation. ‘Come join me and you can keep the awful job you have now.’”
“The conversation took place before Hell and Earth were created,” said Paul. “When they were still members of the Heavenly Host.”
“And what if they're not content with being prison guards?” asked Gloom. “This is an aspect of the situation that I hadn’t considered. What if Lucifer is not able to keep them all under control without the power of God to back him up? We could be looking at anarchy, with the whole world laid waste as demons battle for supremacy.”
“You are not the first to have these concerns,” replied Paul. “This has been discussed many times over the centuries, and we have decided again and again that anything would be an improvement over the present situation. The world is going to be laid waste anyway, according to the Book of Revelations. One third of the seas boiling away, one third of the forests destroyed by fire and so on. We have to give thought to what happens afterwards.”
“Yes, Revelations makes frightening reading,” agreed Gloom, “And I have reason for thinking that the events it describes are very close now. No more than a few decades away, if that. It may be that the mortal world is destined for destruction no matter what we do. Even so, though, I find myself leaning towards a desire to, how did you put it? Drive Him to the negotiating table, rather than deposing him. I think we'll need His power to prevent all of creation from falling into anarchy.”
“The only way to make Him deal with us is if we have the power to depose Him,” pointed out Paul. “We need to have that power before deciding whether or not to use it. If God is willing to see reason, though, Lucifer has made it known to us that he is willing to allow Him to keep the Throne.”
“You have spoken to Lucifer in person?” said Gloom, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Not me, but he has spoken to members of our organisation. High ranking members, in centuries past. We have records of the conversations that we can lend you, although you must take great care not to let anyone know of their existence.”
“I look forward to reading them,” said Gloom.
“I also,” added Benson.
“I'll see that you receive them, then. In the meantime, I expect you have a great deal to think about, and discuss between yourselves.” He hesitated before speaking again. “You would not be the first people to reconsider your application once you knew the full extent of what you were getting into. At the moment you know nothing that can endanger us. If you reconsider, we can simply part company and you can go on with your lives as if you had never heard of us. You do not yet know any of our identities, and we’ve gotten pretty good at being untraceable. You can confess everything to your priest, ask and receive forgiveness and still find a place in paradise.”
“I don't know how anyone can enjoy paradise, knowing that, elsewhere, there are good people being tortured forever for the ‘crime’ of not being Christian,” said Gloom, though. “The occupants of Heaven must, one and all, be cold blooded, self centred, narcissistic sociopaths. For me, to have to spend all eternity in the company of such people would be worse then Hell.”
“You speak for me also,” added Benson. “Please forgive my earlier doubts. We will indeed discuss this further between ourselves, but I don't think either of us is going to change our minds.”
“Very well then,” said Paul. “I think I've seen and heard enough.” He turned to the masked gentlemen standing behind him. “Are you satisfied?” One by one they nodded, then turned and walked away into the gloom of the basement. Gloom knew there were other entrances and exits and presumed they we’re making their individual ways back to street level, where they had discrete transport waiting for them.
“Those gentlemen and myself will be meeting again sometime soon to discuss your membership,” Paul then said. “I mean no disrespect, but the church has attempted to place agents among us in the past. Your actions in recovering Philip Cranston’s Solomon Bottle means that we can be almost certain of your innocence, but our survival as an organisation is the result of our taking certain precautions for which there are no exceptions.”
“Of course,” said Gloom, nodding.
“If your membership is accepted, and I am almost certain that it will be, then you, Sebastian Gloom, will be invited to meet us again, and the identities of these men will be revealed to you. In the meantime, thank you for coming.”
They shook hands, and Gloom and Benson returned to the lift to begin their ascent back up to ground level. They rode the cabinet in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until it came to a stop and the manservant opened the railing. ”So...” began the manservant as he pushed the wheelchair out, but Gloom waved him to silence. “There is one other thing that Paul might have said,” he said in a low voice. “Something that he may have thought so obvious that it didn't need saying. We have to take the utmost care not to speak any careless words when we are in a place where we may be overheard.” He nodded his head off to the left, where one of the cleaners was sweeping up litter that had been dropped by the day's visitors. She waved cheerfully at them and Gloom waved back.
“You're right,” said Benson, feeling rather chastened. “The impact of what we just heard has dulled my thinking. I'll remember, I promise.”
“In the meantime, we have a new task before us,” the investigator continued. “We must find out how it was learned that Philip Cranston was a member of this organisation. You have spoken to this family and it’s household. Do you have a theory?”
“My first thought concerns Doris Kettle, the cook’s assistant,” replied the manservant. “The young lady who led me to Gideon. She told him where it was, it may have been she who told someone in the priesthood that it existed in the first place. Maybe she overheard other members of the family talking about it. She may not have known what it was. She could simply have told a priest, in passing, about this funny looking bottle she saw while the safe was open. The priest recognised the description and knew immediately what it was.”
“And the man the church hired to steal it just happened to be related to this young lady? No, I think she was planted in the household to learn its hiding place, that they learned of its existence some other way. You told me that she had only recently gained employment in that house.”
“We don't know she was related to Gideon. We just assumed that.”
“Didn't you tell me she was related to him?”
Benson tried to remember the conversation. “If I did, I misspoke. I just assumed she was related to him because of the familiar way they had with each other. I apologise if I gave the impression that I knew for certain.”
“It's just as likely that I misheard you. Let’s give it some thought on the way home, sleep on it, and see what we think in the morning. Some of my best ideas come to me while I’m on the edge of sleep.”

☆☆☆

Father Anthony and Father May watched as Gloom's steam wheelchair puffed and chuffed its way back towards the library in which he lived. “There's no easier man in the world to follow,” said Father Anthony, smiling.
“If we'd known of his connection just an hour or two earlier, we could have followed him as he left his home, not just as he returns to it,” said May. “He may have been meeting with his collaborators.”
“It should be easy enough to backtrack his trail,” said Anthony. “Find out where he’s been for the past couple of hours, who was there with him. I'll get some of our people on it. From now on we keep eyes on him every hour of every day. He goes nowhere, meets with no-one without our knowing of it. We may have lost the soul of Philip Cranston, but Gloom may be just as valuable a replacement.”
“How much does he know about us, do you think?”
Anthony thought for a moment. “He must suspect that it was the church who commissioned the theft of the bottle, but that’s not the same as knowing for sure. Neither Gloom nor his manservant ever spoke to Gideon. We send Gideon to the Judgement of God tonight, to make sure that meeting never takes place. The Almighty will make sure that his soul goes to the Oubliette. We don't want Gloom hiring a clairvoyant to speak to him. His two accomplices are already dead, we don't need to worry about them.”
“What about Gideon's sister? He may have said something to her.”
Anthony frowned. “We may have to silence her as well. A pity. She may have been an associate of criminals but I sense she's not a bad person. Ah well, that is the reason we are granted Clerical Licence, to allow us to do such things. God will understand the necessity. A man died during the theft of the bottle, Damn that fool Gideon. We cannot allow the church to fall into disrepute by being linked to that murder.” He stood in thought for a few moments longer, turning possibilities over in his head. “I'll talk to her, see if she knows anything. If she doesn't, there's no reason to harm her. She can live the rest of her life in peace.”
“Killing is really not such a serious crime if you think about it,” said the other priest. “If you kill a bad person they go to their rightful punishment, while good people are sent to paradise. Do not feel bad about killing the girl if it turns out to be necessary, therefore. Hopefully she is a good Catholic and confesses regularly.”
“I shall pray that it be so. I must go now. Gloom knows me, he may grow suspicious if he sees me loitering around outside his museum. You must remain here, though, to make sure neither Gloom nor his manservant make any more forays tonight. Stay until your relief arrives.” He turned to go.
“You're going to see Doris Kettle now? Yourself?”
“Yes. Opening a safe is a specialist skill for which we had to hire an expert, but you need no special skill to send a soul to God. I will make it quick and painless. She deserves that much.”

☆☆☆

Doris Kettle was scrubbing pots in the kitchen when she heard the knock on the back door, the door to which the food and the charcoal for the ovens was delivered. She frowned to herself. It was past sunset and the last of the day's tradesmen had long since been and gone. Who could it be at this time of night?
Probably that policeman, she thought as she put the cooking pot aside, still half covered with soot underneath and boiled on cabbage on the inside. This was the part of the job that she hated the most. The preparing and cooking of the day’s meals wasn't too bad, even when cook was in one of her moods and shouting at her, but cook got to go to bed at the same time as the rest of the staff, leaving her alone, often until midnight, cleaning up and getting everything ready for the next day. If cook came down in the morning and found pots, cutlery, floor and work surfaces anything less than gleaming like new there would be hell to pay and she'd threaten to sack her again.
Doris wanted this job. It was a much better job, a much higher paid job, than a girl of her background would normally be able to get. Her brother had pulled strings with the head butler to get her placed here. It had been so that she could case the house, of course. Find out where the bottle was that he wanted to steal. That had gone sideways now. Bart (She never called him Gideon, he only used that name because he liked the sound of it) had gone missing and she was realistic enough to know that he was probably dead, killed by one of his underworld contacts. The man who'd hired him for the job had probably been angry that the bottle had been a fake and had killed him for it. Sad, but she’d never been close to her brother, he’d seen her as little more than a useful asset to be used in his work. By getting her this job, though, he’d finally done something good for her and if she was hard working and dutiful she'd be able to keep her place here and maybe graduate to head cook one day, with an assistant of her own, when the current cook finally retired. Not something that was likely to happen soon, but it was important to have something to look forward to.
She hated being the only one in the house still awake and working, though, and strove to get the work done as quickly as possible. She hated interruptions. If it was the local Bobby, pretending to be making enquiries into some made up crime in order to scrounge food from the kitchens, then he’d be out of luck. There was nothing but crumbs left over from the evening meal, and nothing but raw vegetables and uncooked meat for the next day. Maybe it was that inspector again, she then thought, but an important man like that wouldn’t be using the tradesman's entrance. He'd be at the front door, and it would be Todman, the butler, who'd be roused from his sleep to answer it.
She wiped her hands on a towel before going to the door. She turned the handle and pulled, but it was locked. Of course it was locked! Cook always locked the door before she retired for the night. So, where did she keep the key? Yes, of course. Hanging on a hook beside the meat cleavers. She went over, and found the key right where it was supposed to be, but someone had hung a carving knife on the same hook. Probably her, she thought. She'd been using that knife earlier in the day and one of the maids had come by looking for a snack. It must have distracted her to the point that she hadn't been paying attention when she hung up the knife. She took the knife down, took the key off the hook and went to replace the knife where it was supposed to go.
“Police!” said an urgent voice from behind the door. “Open up at once! This is the Police!”
Doris jumped in alarm at the angry tone in the voice and ran over to open the door. She was inserting the key in the lock when she realised she still had the carving knife in her hand. She looked around for a table to put it on, but the nearest flat surface was out of reach. In a hurry to get the door open before the policeman shouted at her again, therefore, she held it out of sight behind her as she turned the key and the visitor forced his way in.
It was indeed a police inspector, although not one she recognised. It wasn't either of the inspectors who’d come when the break in and murder had first been reported, and neither was it the one who had come a few days later to tell them that the bottle that had been stolen had been a fake. She wondered how many police inspectors there were in Manchester. This one looked a little like that nice priest that preached in the church on Market Street. It wasn't the priest she confessed to, that was Father Kennedy who preached in the church on Liverpool Street, but her cousin Tina had gotten married in the church on Market Street and she remembered thinking how good looking the priest had been. Maybe this was his brother or something.
The inspector looked around the kitchen. “Are you Doris Kettle?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Doris, her guts clenching in fear. They knew she'd helped Gideon rob the house! She'd be sacked, thrown in prison! She got herself back under control with an effort, remembering something her brother had told her once. Sometimes, if the police had a suspicion that you'd done something but didn't have proof, they'd try to scare you, to make you make a mistake. The secret was to stay calm, act innocent. Sometimes you can bluff your way out of a bad situation. She dropped her eyes to his feet, therefore, as you were supposed to when in the presence of your betters, and tried to force her pounding heart to slow down. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened on the handle of the carving knife.
“Is there anyone else around?” he asked, smiling.
Doris backed away half a step. “No,” she said. “Everyone else is asleep. I'm scrubbing the pots. Shall I tell the butler you’re here?”
“No, that won't be necessary,” said the inspector. “It's you I want to talk to.”
“Me?” Her heart pounded faster again. “I've already told the police everything I know!”
He advanced upon her, and she backed away from him. “No, Doris. I don't think you have. I know you were an accomplice to the housebreaking.” The girl's face went white. “I know you told Gideon where the bottle was kept. There’s no point trying to deny it. We have proof of your involvement.”
Doris began to tremble. “I didn't want to do It! He made me! You don't know what he’s like...”
“A man was murdered, Doris. That means you’re an accomplice to murder. You'll hang, Doris, unless you cooperate now and tell me everything you know.”
Doris began weeping. “I'll tell you everything, I promise! I'm sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“I need to know who Gideon was working for. Who hired him. If you tell me, I promise I'll do everything I can to save you from the hangman’s noose.”
“I don't know!” cried the girl, backing away until she felt the wall at her back. Father Anthony advanced again, looming over her menacingly. “He never said! I'm sorry! I'd tell you if I knew, I promise!”
Father Anthony relaxed with relief. Perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to kill her after all. “Are you sure?” he demanded. “He never said anything? Anything at all?”
“Never, I swear it! He called him ‘His Holiness’ once. I don't know what that means...”
Father Anthony felt the weight of duty and responsibility settle on him again and he sighed heavily. “Oh Doris,” he said. “That is such a pity.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm sorry Doris. I'm so sorry...” He looked around the kitchen and his eyes settled on a heavy rolling pin. A perfect blunt instrument. A vagabond came by, begging for food, he thought. The cook’s assistant disturbed him and he panicked, beating her to death with the first heavy object his hand fell on. Tragic, but such things happened all the time in any big city. No-one would associate it with the recent housebreaking and murder.
Doris read his intentions in his eyes and reacted in blind panic. She screamed and acted in a pure reflex, the hand holding the knife swinging up and thrusting it towards him. She didn't have either the strength or the killer instinct to do him any real harm, but the knife tore through his coat and opened a gash in the side of his body that startled him enough that she was able to slip past him and run, screaming, through the connecting doorway that led into the lower hall.
The priest cursed, one hand going to his side and coming away bloody. Then he snatched up the rolling pin and ran after her. He had seconds before the house awoke and a dozen servants in nightshirts emerged from their rooms to see what the fuss was. Some of them, the butler, possibly the footman, would have access to firearms. He began to feel a panic of his own as he chased after the terrified girl, trying to ignore the pain of his injury.
He followed her past the row of call bells attached to the wall, past the servants dining room and through the laundry room. There were two open doors ahead of him and he paused for just a moment before choosing the one on the left, which led him to the mangle room. It was empty, occupied only by the huge, cast iron mangle with its thick metal rollers and three foot long handle, and he took a quick glance around to make sure the girl wasn't hiding there before dashing back out again.
The right hand door led to a spiral staircase leading up to the servants bedrooms, and he looked up to see her almost at the top, her wide, terrified eyes staring back down at him. He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and she shrieked as she fled away from him. “Help! Help! Please help Me!” She reached the door at the end of the corridor and grasped at the door handle, but the priest caught her before she could open it. She raised the knife again but he caught her by the wrist and twisted it until she dropped the knife with a cry of pain. He threw her away from him to crumple to the ground and snatched up the knife. Bludgeoning her to death was no longer an option. He had to be quick...
He was already too late, though. One of the other doors opened a crack and an older woman looked out. “Doris?” Father Anthony cursed again, damning the luck that had turned a simple killing into such a complete disaster. He was easily capable of murdering everyone in the house, but he’d wanted something that would be forgotten days after the initial shock and excitement. That was no longer an option. Very well, he decided. A major crime it is, then. Send the girl to Judgement, then carve my way through anyone who tries to stop me getting away.
He fell onto the girl, his knees trapping her on the floor, raised the knife, but before he could plunge it through her heart his wrist was caught by a strong, burly hand that pulled it up and back. “’Ere, what’s your game, chum?” He looked up into the face of a middle aged male servant dressed in stripy pyjamas and a nightcap. The priest used his free hand to punch him hard on the pelvis, where a nerve ran close to the bone, just below the skin.
The man cried out in pain and released his wrist, and the priest thrust the knife under Doris Kettle's rib cage and up into her heart, a move that had the advantage of spilling very little blood onto his clothes but which a forensic investigator would recognise instantly as the mark of a trained killer. Couldn’t be helped. Doris died instantly with a soft exhalation of breath and he pulled the knife out again, ready to use it to defend himself if necessary. Now all he had to do was get away. The male servant was staring at him, paralysed with shock at what he’d just seen, and Father Anthony leapt back to his feet. More and more doors were opening now, curious faces looking out. Another male servant appeared in the corridor, a young man not yet in his twenties but strong and fit, holding a large iron poker and standing between the priest and his escape.
Father Anthony just charged at him, striking him with his shoulder and throwing him back into the room from which he’d just emerged. Then the priest just ran back the way he’d come. Down the stairs, back through the kitchens and out into the street where he slowed to a walk, just another pedestrian pausing in his step as any innocent person would, to look back curiously at the commotion rising from the house behind him.


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