"The Inquisition of St James is the most well-known militarised auxiliary wing of the Church, but it is not the only one."

Now at Grantham Manor, Ed and Grantham were talking over tea and biscuits. The man had explained during the ride over that the supernatural world was real, and angels and demons existed. Most simply couldn't see them without a special attribute the Church called Numen.

Now they were going into specifics.

"There are two other, smaller branches that the Church does not publicly acknowledge. I am part of the Holy Knights of Solomon, colloquially known as the demonologists."

Ed drew back.

"You summon demons?"

Grantham calmly dunked another biscuit in his tea.

"Yes. The theurgists, what you know as Inquisitors, draw their power from and summon angels. We do the same, but with demons."

"Why? How does the church allow this?"

"It didn't, not initially. But angels, while terribly powerful, aren't subtle in the slightest. They are very much creatures of fire and fury, which makes finding hidden covens and secret cults difficult. Any Demon summoner worth his chalk can sense angelic activity from miles away. The Church found itself in need of a scalpel to the Inquisition's hammer. Enter John Dee. A remarkable man, he realised the potential in an entire half of the spiritual world the Church had previously shunned."

"The potential in demons?"

"Demons properly leashed and controlled, yes. He discovered the Celestial Speech that the modern Inquisition uses to form Covenants, instead of the circles and incantations used previously. But critically, he realised that those same circles and incantations that once bound angels could be inverted and used to bind demons. This was... revolutionary. No one since King Solomon had been able to compel demons to do anything useful. Before this, any demonic possession was a complete domination of the soul, but with the Pact, now we could use their power and maintain our faculties and our souls."

"So the Church allows you to summon demons, as long as you hunt other demon summoners?"

"Essentially, yes. The only Church sanctioned demonologists are part of the Knights. All others are tools of Lucifer, seeking glory, power or some other earthly reward. We are.. strictly supervised to ensure we do not fall to corruption."

I saw that.

Sir Grantham had barely shown any emotion as he shattered Ed's existing preconceptions, but he grimaced when mentioning how the Knights were tightly monitored.

"Dee said 'All knowledge serves God.' and it is this maxim that the Knights live by. We may not have the sheer manpower the Inquisition has but we are a proud institution nearly three hundred years old. If you join us, you too can perform wonders like this."

At that, he waved his hand over their cups and little men formed of tea grabbed the lip of the cup they were in and pulled themselves out. Ed watched, rapt, as these little tea men armed themselves with sabers, rifles, and various other kinds of weapons all made of tea before charging at each other across the table.

"I'll be able to do this?"

A tea man thrust forward with a pike, and his enemy popped, falling to the wood as a light brown puddle.

"Maybe not this specifically, but definitely something comparable. It all depends on which demon you enter a Pact with. That's quite a ways away though, first we need to condition your body so it can sustain an extended demonic possession and condition your mind so you do not succumb to demonic temptation."

Ed sat back in his chair, reeling. Not only did magick exist, but he would be able to do it! Grantham had completely sold him on the idea the moment he'd mentioned amnesty for Tom and James but this was... beyond anything he'd even dreamed!

He hadn't even officially accepted the offer yet but his mind was racing with possibilities.

"Why me? I mean, why do you think I have this Numen? I've never seen so much as a will 'o wisp, let alone an angel."

Grantham gestured towards the pocket containing the Fragment and Ed withdrew the canister from within, setting it down on the table. In a ring around the canister, all the tea men immediately lost cohesion and collapsed into puddles of liquid.

Grantham reached towards it.

"This is the main reason I was interested in you in the first place."

He picked it up and shook it a bit, listening to the rattle.

"All Numen is not made the same. While we can all see past the spiritual veil, there are three distinct types. Heavenly Numen, mundane Numen and infernal Numen."

Ed nodded.

"These correspond to the three Church auxiliary wings?"

"Yes, and whichever type you have will determine which institution you are fit for. This Fragment is a blessed object, practically bursting with divine power. Because of that, it will energise those with heavenly Numen and weaken those with infernal Numen. Of course, the roles switch when talking about cursed objects."

Tom. Shite, he might not have been lying about that angel!

"And as you might have guessed, those with heavenly Numen can form Covenants with angels, while we can form Pacts with demons."

Ed sat back in his chair, thinking, absently watching the still raging tea man war. No doubt Grantham knew he'd been hooked, else he wouldn't have given him all this information. It pained him to admit it, but he likely would have taken the deal even if it wouldn't have helped Tom and James. But who could blame him? This was a chance to wield real magick!

"Okay."

Grantham raised an eyebrow.

"Okay?"

"I'm sold. I'm in. Whatever the right words are. This whole experience has been... mind blowing. This is an entirely new world. How could I just walk away from this?"

Grantham chuckled slightly, the first real sign he could feel mirth.

"How indeed? I must say, I never realised how delightful it is to be on this side of the table. Take it from me however. I have never regretted making this choice. Not once. I've done some questionable things, and you likely will too, but only ever to stop those who plan to do worse. The life of a demonologist is thankless, but fulfilling."

Ed looked around at the opulent mansion they were currently sipping tea in with an incredulous expression.

Grantham gave a small grin.

"Okay, perhaps it's not that thankless. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Wait here."

And he stood up and walked off.

While he was gone, Ed thought about his friends.

I might never see them again after this. At least the kids will be taken care of, but Tom? James?

Ed knew they were incredibly resourceful and they'd survive much better on the London streets without having to watch a gaggle of children. But still...

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I'll become Grantham's page, and when I've learned enough, I'll look for them. No doubt Grantham will know their exact locations.

The sound of steps heralded Grantham's return. He was carrying a black stamp that seemed to drip a translucent dark mist. Edward initially cringed away but held himself after a moment.

Demon summoner, right. Evil looking things are good.

Grantham walked over to Ed's side of the table and sat on the arm of his chair.

He held up the stamp.

"This, is the Oathmaker. It looks threatening but it will just signify to others, that is, Inquisitors and the like, that you're a demonologist in training and not just a rogue summoner. Wouldn't want you to get mistaken for a target after all."

What? Is that something that can happen?

Grantham took Ed's arm and stamped the back of Ed's right hand. The stamp gave Ed a short-lived pleasant tingling feeling when it made contact, then an equally short-lived burning sensation as Grantham pulled it away.

Ed examined his hand. The stamp had left a simple black circle on him, thick-bordered and hollow. He scratched at the ink. It didn't come off.

"That stamp doesn't do much, but it's meant to be a placeholder for your eventual seal. It won't wash off or fade away for as long as you're my page."

"My seal?"

Grantham turned the back of his own right hand towards Ed and an intricate black sigil faded into view.

"When you subdue your own demon and enter into a Pact with it, its seal will appear on your hand, in that exact spot. At that moment, you will become my Squire and your training will begin in earnest."

"So that's it? I'm already your page, just like that?"

Grantham raised his eyebrow. Ed was beginning to get tired of it already.

"Did you expect a full ceremony? We're a secret organisation, Edward."

Snarky fuck.

"Anyway, as our first order of business, I have to register your existence. We can do that later this week however, so just take today to walk around the property and get used to the staff. I'll have someone come down and show you to your room."

Of course, there's staff.

Ed hadn't seen anyone else, but he supposed it made sense. Using magick for everything probably used up your Numen. Or did it?

Can you even run out of Numen? I need to know more.

As Grantham walked off to return the Oathmaker, Ed stared at the thick black ring it had left on his hand. Grantham had thoroughly upended what he thought he knew about the world. Angels, curses, all these things he'd dismissed were suddenly very real and pertinent to his life. Just trying to contemplate the ramifications of this cemented Ed's choice in his mind. He could never go back to the streets after this conversation. He would never.

----------------------------------------

The next day, Ed woke up more refreshed than he'd ever been in his life. The room Grantham had put him up in was fit for a king, all dark oak and thick embroidery, with a large bed that Ed had felt like he was floating above, rather than sleeping in.

I am never going to leave this bed.

As if called, a knock sounded at his door.

"Master Edward? Sir Robert summons you on the grounds."

Groaning into his many pillows, Ed responded.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there."

The sound of receding footsteps was his only answer. Ed had only known Mansfeld for less than a day but the man had seemingly immediately taken a dislike to him. Ed shrugged it off, he'd fended off glares from much scarier men. One ruffled butler was not worth any stress.

He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and over to the wardrobe, which was inexplicably filled with clothes tailored perfectly for his body. Ed's working theory was that whichever sources had given him information on the St Agnes boys had also described his build so accurately that this was possible, but at the same time, he'd recently learned that magick was a thing so maybe it was just magick.

Throwing on a basic white shirt and knee-length cotton trousers, Ed walked out to the grounds.

Grantham's manor had a heavily manicured garden, with a small hedge maze in one corner, a fountain and pond in another, a rock garden in the third and an open training yard in the last. It was here, on the dewy lawn, in the early morning sun, that Ed found Grantham. He had at his side a table piled with weapons.

"Edward. Today will be busy, so let's commence."

Good morning to you too.

Grantham gestured at the table of deadly tools.

"I'm sure you know what these are. Do you have any prior experience or education with any of these?"

Ed shook his head.

"Pick one. You should keep in mind that while you'll be trained to adequacy in most of these, you will only have one Infernal Armament, which will serve as your main weapon once you make your Pact."

Infernal Armament? Why does everything have such ominous names?

"What's an 'Infernal Armament'?"

Grantham stepped back from the table and held his hand out to the side. A wicked black spear coalesced in his hand, an eight foot tall killing implement carved with screaming, agony-stricken faces in its dark wood. A gleaming blade adorned the top, with black tendrils that almost pulsed with a malevolent energy marring the pure steel, and a jagged hook jutting out from one side. Ed stared a bit too hard at one of the faces on the haft and started hearing faint screams that only faded once he looked away.

"This is an Infernal Armament. When creating your Pact, you'll need to add a focus to help concentrate the infernal energies. This boarding pike, Deluge, is my focus. Demonologists of the past, indeed even witches today, would use items such as wands, staves or brooms, but using a weapon as a focus allows for more efficient combat, especially for Squires as projecting your Numen out of your body is incredibly difficult."

At that, a spout of water shot out from Deluge’s tip.

"But channeling Numen through your Armament is easy, almost natural. This will be your only way to access your abilities for most of your Squiredom and as Squires are nowhere near as durable as Adepts, this will also be your main line of defence. Luckily, while Adepts and Inquisitors get sent to fight, we generally get tasked with infiltration and espionage. So ideally, you will have no need to rely on this as your last resort. Life is never ideal, however, so choose wisely."

Grantham let go of the pike and it blinked out of view before hitting the ground.

Ed shook his head in wonder. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the casual way Grantham used actual magick.

"Okay, I think I understand. This seems like a very permanent decision though, why am I choosing this on my first day of this demon business?"

Grantham looked sheepish.

"Yes, usually you'd have more time but I called the registrar almost a week ago in anticipation and he arrived late yesterday. He's very anxious to get back to Transylvania; the cursed French have gotten rid of their king again and imitation rebellions are popping up all over Europe. It is always the French, the nation of agitators and instigators! I swear, one day-"

At that, Ed tuned out as Grantham launched into a tirade against the French. There were many veterans of the Napoleonic wars on the streets and in the pubs of London, all with similar things to say about French people. It was a small, comforting bit of familiarity in this strange, magickal new world he found himself in.

Ed did, however, make a note never to tell Grantham that his personal hero, Thomas-Alexandre Dumas, was French.

While Grantham was ranting, lost in his memories, Ed cast an eye over the table full of weapons. Tom would have told him to pick a sword, the boy had always been enamoured with the old stories of duels fought with nothing but a rapier and your wits. James would have told him to pick a pistol, he believed they were the future of personal combat. Ed doubted it, considering you only got one shot before the lengthy reload process. That kind of thing only works in duels or war where every man has a gun. But on the other hand, how much better would it become if he made it magickal?

Ed himself had never used weapons. He was the burglar, not the muscle. He kept a knife with him at all times, that was just what you did in South London, but he'd never had cause to use it. Relying on his friends' dubious expertise, Ed zeroed in on both a pistol and a slim blade that looked like a rapier. He walked over and picked them up from the table, startling Grantham out of his venting.

"furthermore, everything north of the Pyrenee- ahem, I see you've made a choice."

He walked over to inspect the weapons.

"Hm, the smallsword. The younger brother of the rapier. Good weapon, excellent for thrusting and portable as well. Unfortunately, it is a French blade, but the benefits outweigh the drawbacks."

He took it from Ed's hands and entered some sort of sword stance. Ed guessed he'd learn which one whenever he actually started training. Grantham shifted his weight between his feet, then suddenly blurred forward with a devastating thrust. Ed actually felt a breeze from the force of his passage.

The man drew back, looking down approvingly at the blade.

"Yes, a stellar choice for a Knight. Simple, efficient, no energy wasted on flashy moves. But I see you have in hand a pistol as well?"

"Uhh, yes, I do like the small sword-"

"Smallsword. It's one word."

"The smallsword, yes, I do like it, but someone I trust once called guns the future of combat. If this is going to be a permanent choice, I'd pick this. It'll become magickal, right?"

A smile threatened to break out of Grantham's stony face.

"Yes it will become 'magickal'. In fact, I think I can offer you a better choice of gun than this."

He jogged back to the house and after a couple of awkward minutes of waiting, Ed saw him walking back with a revolver in hand. He passed it to Ed.

"That right there is a prototype double-action Lefaucheux pinfire, with self-contained cartridges. This is the cutting edge of gunsmithing you're holding right now."

Ed looked at the gun. It looked like any other gun to him.

"So... It will fire if I shoot it?"

Grantham's face fell, slightly, but just enough to be noticeable.

"... Yes, it will fire. Most critically, because of the cartridge system, this gun gives you six shots before it necessitates reloading. No other pistol in the world does this."

Ed nodded absently.

"That's good, I guess."

Grantham's face fell further at Ed's irreverence, no doubt wondering what they taught children these days.

"It is indeed 'good'. We might have to make a few modifications to give it maximum utility but this is a great weapon. And now we have a clear path forward. I will train you mostly in shooting and in using that smallsword, but we will go over different types of weapons. I already know you're literate, so we will begin sigildry immediately. I had my demon look you over while you were asleep-"

"Wait, what?"

"And he thinks that you'll be ready for a Pact by next year, since you're in good enough physical shape and seem to have enough mental fortitude that we won't need to start from scratch."

"By next year?"

Grantham nodded.

"Yes, after all, I won't be teaching you everything that a Squire must know. That's why the registrar is coming. Our time here will simply be a foundation for what comes next. You'll be enrolling in the Scholomance."