Reynevan finished putting the Occultum in order and drew a magical circle around himself. He cleared his throat and spread his arms.

“Ermites!” he began melodiously, staring at the glyphs in the Goetic Circle. “Poncor! Pagor! Anitor!”

Horn snorted quietly. Scharley only sighed.

“Aglon, Vaycheon, Stimulamaton! Ezphares, Olyaram, Irion! Mersilde! You, whose sight penetrates the abyss! Te adoro, et te invoco!”

Nothing happened.

“Esytion, Eryon, Onera! Mozm, Soter, Helomi!”

Reynevan licked his swollen lips. He put down the amulet decorated with the serpent, fish and sun in a triangle in the place where the deceased Circulos had repeated the words “VENI MERSILDE.”

“Ostrata!” he said, beginning the activating spell. “Terpandu! Ermas!” he intoned, bowing and modulating his voice as recommended by Lemegeton, The Lesser Key of Solomon. “Pericatur! Beleuros!”

Scharley swore, catching Reynevan’s attention. Barely believing his own eyes, Reynevan saw the words scribbled in the circle begin to glow with a phosphorescent light.

“By the seal of Basdathei! Mersilde! You, whose sight penetrates the abyss! Come! Zabaoth! Escwerchie! Astrachios, Asach, Asarca!”

The words in the circle burned ever brighter, the ghastly glare illuminating the walls, which began to vibrate perceptibly. Horn swore. Tomasz Alpha howled. One of the morons started yelling and weeping audibly. Scharley sprang to his feet, jumped at him and with a short punch to the temple knocked him down onto his pallet, where he fell silent.

“Bosmoletic, Jeysmy, Eth.” Reynevan leaned over and touched the centre of the pentagram with his forehead. Then, standing up straight, he reached for the polished, sharpened broken head of a nail. With a powerful jerk, he cut the skin on the pad of his thumb and pressed his bloody thumb to his forehead. He took a deep breath, aware that he was approaching the riskiest and most dangerous moment. When the blood was flowing sufficiently profusely, he painted a sign in the middle of the circle.

The secret, fearsome, forbidden sign of Scirlin.

“Veni Mersilde!” he cried, feeling the foundations of the Narrenturm begin to shake and tremble.

Tomasz Alpha howled again and fell silent as Scharley threatened him with a fist. The tower was shuddering visibly now.

“Taul!” evoked Reynevan, throatily and hoarsely, as the grimoires commanded. “Varf! Pan!”

The Goetic Circle swelled with a more powerful brightness. The point on the wall it illuminated slowly stopped being just a spot of light and began to assume a shape. The shape of a human being. But not entirely a human being, for people didn’t have such huge heads or such long arms. Nor such enormous horns, growing from a forehead vaulted like that of an ox.

The tower trembled, the imbeciles moaned at various pitches and Tomasz Alpha accompanied them in a loud voice. Horn sprang up.

“Enough!” he yelled, shouting over the din. “Reynevan! Stop this! Stop this abomination, dammit! We’ll all perish because of you!”

“Varf! Clemialh!”