‘So …’ said the Vehmist, advancing a step.
The Admiral held the key higher. ‘A dying Pope told me,’ he said. ‘Poor old Julius, he never had much luck. It was I who found him expiring alone in some dive, and he was worried that the key each Pope inherits might fall into improper hands. And so it did, of course: that is to say, mine. Being me, I bagged the thing before handing the dead Julius on – just a reflex action really, and a quite shameful betrayal of trust. Right at the end, you see, Julius had my word – I promised to act in good faith. But now I’m glad I lied; it turns out to have been worth all the interrogations and falsehoods. At the time I didn’t even know what I proposed to do with the thing – sell or bequeath it to the Vehme, one presumes …’
‘Just so, Admiral, just so,’ said the Welshman, hungrily extending his cupped hands.
‘But now I realize that can’t be. The Book must be fulfilled, mustn’t it? After all, everything else it said of me came true.’
‘NO,’ said the Vehmist, taking another step. ‘We—’
‘Sorry, no, you must not prevail,’ Slovo corrected, swiftly impaling the Vehmist with a lightning stiletto-thrust to the eye.
Lax in passing on the message of death, the Vehmist’s brain caused his body to stagger two paces on, the blade still protruding from his face, before he fell like a supplicant at Slovo’s feet.
Meanwhile, The Book roared into flame, scorching the Admiral’s back and arm as it did so. Within seconds it was consumed into nothing. The red and purple demon-trails plummeted to join the conflagration and then were gone.
Slovo toed the dead Vehmist off to roll away down towards Naples, boorishly scattering a host of feeding birds as he went. Unexpectedly, the Admiral found it within himself to construct a laugh and his distant house-servants turned to stare at the unprecedented sound. As far as the Dybbuk’s parting gift allowed, Admiral Slovo’s final moments on earth were happy ones.
He took the key from its chain and pushed it, end on, deep into the soft lawn. Centuries later, the Archaeologist would find it and, in due course and for want of any better use, present it to the Victoria and Albert Museum.
His life’s work thus complete, Slovo was free to stroll home through the beautiful garden and back to the chore the Vehmist had interrupted.
‘Oh man,’ he recited as he went, more than ever glad of the Meditations now he was on his final journey, ‘citizenship of this great World-City has been yours. Whether for five or five-score years, what is that to you? You are not ejected from the City by any unjust judge or tyrant, but by the self-same Nature which brought you into it. Pass on your way then with a smiling face, under the smile of him who bids you go.’
Admiral Slovo duly looked to the sky and smiled. There was the hope of peace, of escape from being Admiral Slovo – and paradise in knowing nothing. The bath would be cold by now, but that needn’t deter him. If his worst fears were confirmed, it would be plenty hot enough where he was going.