Interlude - The Lamentable Tribulations of Nicodemus

"Evening, Nicodemus."
"Ohh, fuck."
The wiry man's already narrow face screwed up into a vicious frown and he spat. "What. What do you want? Why are you here? You got no reason."
A tall man in a grey cloak, hooded and indistinct, detached himself from the wall on the opposite side of the street. He drifted across the cobbles and the mist swirled back almost as if he were directing it. Perhaps he was.
"I have got plenty of reason, Nicodemus. Believe I would not come here merely for the sake of the ambience."
"Fuck you. What do you want?"
"I might wish a little more courtesy if you are going to make demands of me."
"Fuck you again."
"Fine, then. Well, I am going to kill you."
"What? What the fuck? Are you mad? What the fuck?" Nicodemus had no pretence to dignity as he scrabbled backwards into his doorway. His face was wild with panic and bile. "What the fuck are you on about? Are you fucking serious? I did what you said. You can't fucking kill me. Fuck you, you can't."
"I can, and you are hardly dissuading me. Don't think you would be missed, Nicodemus. You don't exist. In fact, you are already dead."
"Yeah, I know, just like you fucking wanted! I did like YOU fucking said!"
"You could do with a wider vocabulary, Nicodemus. It's a wonder you have enough words to make your spells."
"Yeah, well maybe I forgot a few. My mind's not what it used to be." His face darkened into a truly hateful scowl, and something shifted in his tone. Despite his fear, he'd found an edge to it.
"People can be so clumsy," muttered the cloaked figure with the slightest of shrugs. He was standing oddly still, almost seeming to deaden the air about him.
"So why haven't you killed me, then?"
"Oh, you can be sure, I already have," said the agitator. "At least, as far as anyone is concerned."
"You know what? I'm not fucking grateful. I wish I hadn't disappeared. Not for you to do this to me. Well fuck you, kill me if you want to. Fucking kill me."
"Maybe not," said his potential murderer, as if musing about an idle fancy. Nicodemus virtually convulsed. The unhappy wretch has clearly consigned himself to doom and had only been holding himself together by throwing himself full-bloodedly towards it. Now he suddenly realised his tormentor had never meant to do it. He burst with fury.
"Fuck you, Vivendi!" he screamed. The name echoed around the street and died there. Vivendi moved a step forward.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't advertise my presence."
"Fuck you."
"No matter." He came to the point at hand. "I have a job for you, Nicodemus."
"What the fuck? After that you expect me to work for you?"
"I always expect you to work for me. That was why I saved you."
"I wish you fucking hadn't." Nicodemus glared for a second, then his defiance died. "What is it?"
"I need to know if you can remove ink from a book."
"Of course you can. Scourge it."
"Selectively."
"Oh. Well, yeah. I can do it."
"Show me how."
Nicodemus was dusting himself down and straightening up, now the conversation had become a less directly agitative business.
"Well, sure, ok, if I have to. When do you want to do it?"
"Now."
"What? You bastard. I was going out. I don't have the bloody time. Do it tomorrow."
"Now, Nicodemus. You do have the time. You have all the time of your life and you owe it all to me." He paused. Nicodemus might have been about to say something. Then Vivendi spoke again. "And this won't take long at all."
Nicodemus frowned in incomprehension at this last statement.
"Not sure how you know to lecture me on how long it'll take to teach you something you know nothing about, but whatever. Fuck it. Come in. Let's do this fast."
"We shall. Let's do it here." Vivendi was raising an arm.
"What...? Oh fuck me, no." Nicodemus began backing into the doorway once again. His Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes rolled wildly and his legs kicked as he pressed himself into the shade. Vivendi strode towards him, raising a hand, palm outstretched in the manner of someone signalling 'halt'. Nicodemus was panicking now.
"No, no, please no. Fuck, no. Please. Gods. No. Fuck, no, no, no no no. PLEASE." His face was wet with tears now, his legs had sagged and he was dangling with his arms gripping the wall. Vivendi's hand brushed lightly against the front of his face. Nicodemus opened his mouth but only belched a wet sob. Then he began to wretch and bring up wind, his throat convulsing of its own accord. His arms went limp and dropped him into a heap by the foot of his door. His legs kicked aimlessly at the dust. He wretched and gulped up vomit, snot and saliva in a glob that bubbled out onto his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head and tears flowed freely. He began to twitch, the side of his head smacking nastily into the concrete again and again. He went over on his side against the ground. His lips moved and stretched in an endless moan. Yet he made no sound at all until Vivendi withdrew his hand. The robed man's lips moved briefly in what might have been a sigh, and a thin grin was just visible on his shadowed face.
Now that Vivendi had withdrawn his hand, Nicodemus made incoherent whimpers. He tried to mouth indistinguishable words and he coughed up more phlegm onto his chin and chest. His eyes stared up naively, like a newborn child's. One hand pawed aimlessly at the side of his head. Vivendi sighed, and flicked the hand he had brushed the man's face with in what looked like an irritable little gesture. Nicodemus moaned.
"Glough..." he choked. "God. God." He rolled fully over on the dirt until he was sprawled face down across his step. "No..." he gurgled again, and then pushed himself to his knees, shaking several inches on unsteady hands. He clumsily braced himself in the crook of the door and he stared up at Vivendi with semi-focussed eyes.
"You're a fuckin' monster, Vivendi..." he slurred. "You're gonna die..."
"Later rather than sooner, I think," replied the man, then he turned on his heel and left.

It was two full minutes before Nicodemus dragged himself through his bile smeared front door and the clunk of it closing echoed out into the street behind Vivendi. Vivendi had spent nearly an hour watching that very same door earlier that day, making strange gestures at it with the first two fingers of his left hand. Nobody had paid him any attention – he'd made sure of that. Now as he departed through the thickening fog, Vivendi swiped the air with the same fingers. Nothing happened immediately, and the man walked away.

When the watch belatedly investigated the charred ruin of the ratty little flat the next afternoon, they noted that one inhabitant had perished in the flames, apparently trying to fight his way out through a front door which seemed to have sealed itself mysteriously shut.