Solomon’s Angel.
1.
Introducing; Solomon Brown, man about town, gambler, magician and friend to the stars. Solomon Brown is tall and trim; dark of visage and bright of eye, he has a blue-black pointy beard and a jaunty scar on his noble cheek. Solomon Brown is a rapier of a man, fast as steel and a little bit flash.
Currently, life is not going smoothly for Solomon Brown, Master of The Mystic Lodge, hypnotist, poet and bare knuckle boxer. For the past few days the back of his head has been pounding as if someone has tried to drill a hole in it. His latest wife has just deserted him for a minor soap star, a fact which reached the front page of Britain’s best selling daily scandal rag with uncanny speed, and he is now exiting one of his favorite casinos leaving behind him £150,000 on the roulette table.
On the upside things could be a whole lot worse. Unfortunately, on the downside, things are about to get a whole lot worse. The fact that currently life is not going smoothly for Solomon Brown is not such a problem when set against the fact that it is about to end.
Introducing; John Alan Robertson, a fractured soul, petty criminal, deranged psychopath and appointed agent of Solomon Brown’s imminent demise. John Alan Robertson has bleached blond hair, a muscular frame and a serpent tattooed on his short thick neck. He views the world through wild red eyes that never stay still or look at the same thing at once. You would not want to get in the way of a man like John Alan Robertson.
Currently, John Alan Robertson, wife beater, drunk and stranger to baths, is driving a silver Mitsubishi L200 pick up truck through the midnight back streets as if he is being pursued by Unknowable Daemons. As indeed he is.
Here is Solomon Brown, picking his way through the rainswept night with the grace of a shadow. His mind automatically observes the scene around him even while he ponders the great truths and dark secrets that only the Master of The Mystic Lodge should know. His cane strikes the broken paving stones with rhythmic determination, and his cape swirls around him like a dark cloud. Solomon Brown has a style all of his own. Now here comes John Alan Robertson, screeching round the corner at the end of the street in a blaze of headlights and bullbars.
Quick as a thought Solomon Brown turns to face his destiny, and with a flash of that other sense that all great, and most mediocre, magicians posses, he knows that his appointed time has come.
Solomon Brown sees John Alan Robertson, face contorted with terrified laughter, and John Alan Robertson sees Solomon Brown, posture bold, face unafraid. Solomon Brown is directly in his way but the magician does not shrink, he does not try to evade. Instead, in the moment of life left to him, he utters a word and describes, in the air, a mystic rune with the point of his cane.
The silver Mitsubishi L200 runs through Solomon Brown with hardly a shudder. Its driver is unable even to tell if the impact is real. The magician dies instantly and, somewhere in the night, Unknowable Daemons gibber in triumphant delight.
As the silver truck speeds carelessly away, the discarded remains of the great man lie alone, broken like the paving stones, caressed only by the rain. His body is dead, but the word has been spoken, and the rune made complete and the shade of Solomon Brown lives on. In digital form.