Page 127 of The Shadow Key

Mr Dee wets his lips.

‘Well, the word “magus” could be used to describe a magician, a sorcerer, a member of a spiritual caste. Even a priest. But in this context, together with the second word “goetia”, I believe it simply means magic. “Goetia” refers to the evocation of demons or evil spirits. So, in literal terms, “magus goetia” loosely translates as the Magic of Demons.’

‘And “Clavis umbrarum”?’

‘Hmm.’ His expression shifts into one of deep contemplation. After a moment he says, ‘Let us break it down. The word “clavis” means key, which as you know refers to an instrument with which to open a lock. “Umbrarum” translates to something like “of the shadows”.’ The vicar looks pensive. ‘A strange mix. Let me see. Yes. Key can also symbolise the key to mastering a talent, and shadows …’ A beat. ‘Did you know that the word “shadow” in Latin actually has multiple meanings? It can mean shadow, yes, but also shade, ghost … or demon. I think, then, the literal translation of “Clavis umbrarum” is this – the key to summoning demons.’

Henry stares down at the parchment, remembers his mother’s words.

‘The Shadow Key,’ he murmurs.

‘Yes, that’s a fair translation.’ The reverend lets the words sit between them a moment. ‘In regards to your other question, the salvation Julian Tresilian refers to …’ He turns the page around so Henry can look at it upright, taps the first of Julian’s notes:

Whosoever breaks a covenant with Almighty Berith will be devoured by a beast of darkness, and that sinner’s soul shall belong completely unto Him.

‘It is quite obvious,’ he says. ‘If Julian does not complete the sacrifice – if he breaks his promise to Berith – then he will die himself and lose his soul.’

The reverend says this with such seriousness that Henry cannot quite manage to hide his contempt.

‘Surely you do not think Berith is real?’

‘Surely, after everything you have seen and heard since coming to Penhelyg, you cannot be so sure he is not?’

Henry hesitates. He thinks of the lights in the cavern, those so-called corpse candles down in the mine before the accident, admits that there at least he has no explanation. Two red, one blue. Red for a man, blue for a child. He pictures the cold bodies of Pedr, Hywel and Afan. No, he has no explanation, but there must be one.

‘How can you believe in God,’ Henry asks, ‘yet also believe in these ridiculous superstitions?’

‘Because, my dear boy, they are all connected! Myth and religion go hand in hand; to believe in one you simply must believe in the other. Besides, many legends, such as our Lady of the Lake, speak to a more rational sense of us. They are life lessons –’ here he slaps his palm with the edge of his fingers – ‘thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill … or, in that unlucky man’s case, do the lady physical harm. If one ignores these lessons there is always a cost, and all of it reinforces our belief in the supernatural, the spiritual and the afterlife. The same person who believes in the tylwyth teg also marks the door of their home to ward off the Devil.’

Henry shakes his head. Mr Dee smiles kindly.

‘I understand your cynicism, I truly do. For a man of science such as yourself it is to be expected. But think, Dr Talbot – Tresilian! – of the most important debates of our age. Could the Devil be dethroned by reason and Man be liberated from superstition by science? Even if one were to find a persuasive argument in favour of such a claim, it still would not be considered! The problem is that the existence of God is ingrained into our very being, and not even the greatest scientific minds such as Isaac Newton could dispute His existence.’ At Henry’s look of mild surprise the vicar says, ‘Oh yes, I read widely during my training! Indeed, Newton saw God as the masterful creator of all, believed that all which has been discovered in the name of science was created by God in the first place. And if God exists so too does the Devil, for one cannot exist without the other.’

Henry pushes his mug away. ‘I respect your faith, I do, but I cannot be persuaded to believe in the existence of either. Lady Gwen … my mother … she told me once that within each of us there lies a devil, and I have never heard a truer word spoken. We are all capable of doing terrible things. The Devil doesn’t have anything to do with it. Julian acts from his own wickedness, no one else’s.’

‘Are you so sure? Indeed, we are all capable of acts of evil. But why? The Devil comes to us in pleasing shapes, so it is no wonder we lesser beings are often led astray. But Lucifer rarely takes it upon himself to do the leading. As I said before – God has angels to do his bidding, the Devil has demons to do his.’

‘Demons like Berith.’

‘Yes, like Berith.’ He takes another sip of tea, swirls the liquid in his mouth, seems to ponder his next words deeply before continuing. ‘I admit, I’m not familiar with the name, but there are many within the Devil’s circle that are not directly mentioned in the Bible. Of course, considering the connection to Solomonic magic, a demon such as Berith would not be referred to explicitly in the scriptures anyway.’

‘No?’

Mr Dee shakes his head. ‘Remember I said “goetia” referred to the evocation of evil spirits? Goetic spirits are the demons associated specifically with black magic, those summoned by King Solomon to build his temple.’ He hesitates. ‘My memory is hazy, of course. My orders were conducted many years ago now, but I seem to remember these demons are named in the first section of a seventeenth-century grimoire called Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis – or, if you wish for the English – the Lesser Keys of Solomon.’

‘Yes,’ Henry says, remembering its ageing spine. ‘Julian owns such a book.’

Sagely, the vicar nods.

‘Originally called the Spirits of the Seals, they’re also known as the seventy-two Princes of the Hierarchy of Hell. The Lemegeton differs from other goetic texts because entities are compelled into obedience with the promise of a sacrifice, rather than asked for simple favours without some means of return. This Berith is likely one of them.’

‘The promise of a sacrifice,’ Henry echoes. ‘And, according to Julian, Linette and I are that sacrifice.’

The vicar taps his mug. There is nothing more to say, it seems. Henry rubs his eyes.

‘Look, what do you suggest I do? Whether this Berith is real or not the fact remains that Julian does believe, and means us harm. If he thinks his own life is at risk then that makes him all the more dangerous.’

‘Indeed, you are quite right.’ Mr Dee considers a moment. ‘I’m afraid that all I can suggest is for you and Linette to rally. Never go anywhere alone, ensure safety in numbers. If it will make you feel better then by all means write to Bow Street. I might be wrong – your Mr Fielding may take your claims seriously and endeavour to take action.’

---