Jonathan Howard - Johannes Cabal the Necromancer

The otherworldly feel had been with him for so long now that he had begun to acclimatise to it, like getting used to a cold: he knew it was there, but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. He walked to the grimy window and looked out into the bright world beyond. This wasn’t getting him anywhere; he should just return to the train with the name of the station, see where they were, and leave. But… he knew he couldn’t. Not until he knew why this place stank psychically to high heaven and why it had been left to fall into stately disrepair for so many years. Cabal didn’t just call himself a scientist; he had those vital necessities that so many scientists lack — an enquiring mind and almost painful curiosity.

“I’ll just stay for a few minutes,” he said aloud. “Then I really must go.” Silence was the only answer. “I’m a necromancer. I understand your concerns. I may be able to help you.” He thought of the box of contracts and added, “We may be able to help one another.” He continued to look out of the window as he drew a slim cigar from an inside pocket. He didn’t smoke as a rule, but he liked the novelty of having at least one vice that he couldn’t be hanged for. As he unwrapped the cellophane from the cigar, crinkling it pleasantly between his fingers, he felt the ambience shift in the room. The fear and loneliness were leaving him, leaving the air. He had enough experience of such things to know the source of these feelings beginning to coalesce somewhere nearby. No matter, it would present itself when it was ready. Pocketing the cellophane, he put the cigar in his mouth, took his father’s silver matchbox from his waistcoat, and struck a match.

“Spare a light, sir?” said a voice that was near him yet as distant as the grave.

Cabal paused for the briefest moment. Then he lit his cigar. There wasn’t a tremor in the flame. He turned slowly and held the still-burning match out. “There you are,” he said evenly to the soldier.

Cabal watched him with dispassionate calm as the soldier leaned forward and lit a roll-up. He was dressed in a khaki uniform contemporary with the old newspapers; a cheap peaked cap, gaiters, a corporal’s stripes, and buttons polished to a high sheen, despite which they didn’t catch the light. It was as if Cabal were looking at him through a light mist. The soldier drew appreciatively on his cigarette, held the smoke for a long second, and released it through his nose in languorous streams. “God bless, sir. It seems like a month of Sundays since I last had a gasper. My mate Bill borrowed me matches off me and never gave ’em back, which is Bill all over. I’ve been waiting for the tea counter ’ere to open so I can buy some, but I ain’t sure it’s going to. Rationing, I suppose.”

“Not rationing, I’m afraid,” said Cabal, making his way to one of the tables and seating himself there. “The buffet is closed permanently. Please, join me.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. The soldier smiled brightly and came over. The smile wavered slightly when he saw that the chair Cabal had indicated was drawn under the table. The chair beside it was largely out, and he sat on that one instead.

“Closed permanent? But there’s loads of people use it. The works are just over the ridge.”

“Really? I must admit, it doesn’t seem like a humming hub of commerce here. When was the last time you saw somebody in here?”

“Oh, not long. It can only be a couple of hours since I got off the train. It was odd, though. The place was empty. The stationmaster’ll get in trouble over it, I don’t doubt.”

“A couple of hours,” echoed Cabal without comment. “What have you been doing since then?”

“I …” The soldier touched his forehead as if trying to recall. “I … fell asleep, I s’pose.”

“And what did you dream?”

The soldier looked at him oddly. “Who wants to know?”

“You look rather wan,” replied Cabal with masterly understatement. “I think your dreams must have been very disturbing. Sometimes they have meaning.”

“And you know what they mean?”

“I might. If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to tell you.”

The soldier took off his cap and laid it on the table. He ran his fingers through sandy hair as he tried to concentrate. “But what if I don’t want to know?”

“Then that’s your concern. But don’t you think you’ve spent long enough not wanting to know?”

The soldier didn’t answer immediately. He slipped Cabal a hard glance, then clasped his hands and laid them against the table edge. He looked intently at them for almost a minute. Speaking quietly, he said, “I dreamt I was on a train. I sat alone in a carriage. I’d been given leave. From the army.” He looked up and said, like a well-worn mantra, “Do you think the War will be over by Christmas?”

Cabal knocked the ash off his cigar into an ashtray decorated with the arms of a railway company that had gone into receivership before he was born. “No, it wasn’t. Carry on.”

“I’d had to tell the guard to stop here when I’d got on. Can you imagine that? A busy little station like this. I had to tell him to stop here.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and crushed it out. “I waited for ages. For me dad and me little sister to come. And Katy.” He smiled in desperate reminiscence. “She’s my lass. We’ve been courting since school. We’re going to get married in the new year, when the War’s over and I get demobbed.

“Then I s’pose I fell asleep.”

Cabal was watching the smoke curl from his cigar. “And what did you dream?”

“I had a dream about my commanding officer. Captain Trenchard. He was telling me something over and over again, and I just wasn’t getting it. It must have been a dream, because the captain’s an ’ard man and he don’t like repeating himself and he’d have you on jankers like a shot if he thought you were taking the rise, like. He puts the wind up me, and I know I’m not the only one. Anyway, he was saying the same thing over and over, and I wasn’t getting it, but he wasn’t getting angry, and I wasn’t scared of ’im, I was just sort of laughing like I couldn’t get my breath back. He’d say something and I’d miss it, and he’d be all patient and say it again. That’s how I know it was a dream. The captain don’t have a bit of patience in his whole body. It couldn’t have been real.”

“You have no idea what he was trying to tell you?”

“No. ’course not. It was only a dream, see? It wasn’t real.”

“This dream, do you remember what happened when you woke up?”

“I don’t know if I do. I think I sort of half woke up, and then had another dream.”

“You were back here.”

“Yes. I was standing over there.” He pointed toward the window. “And I saw this bunch of lads standing out on the track. I don’t know what their parents are thinking of, letting them run around on a busy line. I was about to go out and tell them to stop playing silly beggars when one came in. He took one look at me, screamed like a little girl, and ran off with the others behind him.” The soldier tapped his stripes. “Authority, see? They just saw a uniform and scarpered.”

Cabal examined his cigar, decided it wasn’t worth continuing with, and stubbed it out. “I’d agree if it weren’t for a small but important detail that you’re having trouble coming to terms with.” He got up and walked over to the window. He stopped just short of it and looked at the floor, scraping away dust with his foot. Quickly crouching, he scratched at the floorboards with his fingernail and examined it minutely, angling his head to get the strongest light. Satisfied, he straightened up and walked over to the end wall. As he examined it, he absent-mindedly scraped the dirt from beneath his nail with a small file before using the file to probe at a damaged spot in the panelling.