As he passed the lady to get in, he got a waft of jasmine and ambergris and looked at her with the interest of the lustful and wealth-conscious. She was around his age that he could tell, with thick shiny auburn curls escaping from underneath her hood. She had the long tiny waist that was all the fashion but which few managed to achieve, with some wicked curves dictating the line of her gown, suggesting the loveliest legs, hips and breasts. Her clothes were very handsome. A cornflower-blue lutestring suit with violet taffeta petticoat, decorated with a broad panel of silver lace down the centre and at the hem, and a fox-trimmed purple cloak - everything about her dripped money and sex. Uriah was beside himself. He watched her make her way to the alley, scrutinizing her walk for every detail of prettiness and wealth. Why was she calling at sir’s house, at this hour and through the back door? She looked far too rich to be anything but one of the King’s whores, and besides, he couldn’t imagine Dr Isaacs going for that kind of thing. He was intrigued to say the least. He’d have to ask his master later who she was - in the most tactful and discreet way, of course. The boy stepped into the carriage and, popping his head out of the window instructed the driver where to go.
...
Sir, I am so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean it, I really didn’t, I - ’ Uriah knelt down beside the alchemist, who lay now on his side with eyes tight shut. Perfectly motionless inside a halo no insect or arachnid dare penetrate. Uriah lost all awareness of them too no matter how much they continued to attack him. He was suffering another sort of pain now, far worse than they could ever inflict.
‘Dr Isaacs?’ Uriah ventured, chest knotting-up with dread.
‘Is he all right?’ Clara peeped in a tiny voice, and getting up off the bed stood weakly, unsure what she was now meant to do.
‘Dr Isaacs?’ Uriah urged, heart rising to throat and beating hard; shaking Cornelius with rough fists. Clara put hands to her face in dismay, and seeing in the corner of her eye her mistress stirring, hesitated whether she should tend to her, or wait upon his lordship first.
‘Dr Isaacs!’ Uriah cried out with a final, sharp shake. His voice was shrill enough to shatter windows, but Cornelius did not respond. With a horrible, black, sinking feeling he put fingers to the old man’s neck, hoping desperately for even the faintest beat. Nothing. ‘Sir, please wake up,’ he pleaded, forcing back devastating guilt, refusing to acknowledge his worst fears. Pressing hard against the alchemist’s neck as though he could force a pulse through sheer willpower.
...
Belial ignored them all, and kneeling down before Azazel, grabbed a mass of his inky hair and smashed his head against the wall just hard enough so he would really feel it later; a small dark river of blood trickling crookedly down. He then picked him up and flung him roughly over his shoulder, pushing the sad broken wings out of his face with annoyance. ‘Where are we going, then?’
‘I wonder where Asmodeus is?’ Semyaza thought aloud, ‘I don’t suppose you know, Bubba?’ Beelzebub shook his head. ‘What about you Raf?’ Raphael shook his head also. ‘Hmm, can’t imagine Asmodai’d be interested in seeing Azza at the moment anyway - if what you saw was as bad as you say.’ Beelzebub nodded gravely. He had seen everything that had happened between his friend and the demon, and in his opinion, it had been bad. ‘Well - shall we follow the river, and stop as soon as these blasted space-time effects are weak enough for Azza to make some sense?’
