“Merriman?…Merriman!?” the voice of Master Tumurius calls out from below.

The attic is every shade of brown - a colourless study with haphazard piles of scrolls and books strewn about, and an equal amount of spiderwebs and dust. A single skylight contributes to the dismal ambiance of the room, the shaft of light falling through it doing little to chase away the shadows. Amidst this accumulation of time, a young boy stands between gloom and darkness, with his back to the attic door, staring silently at the cage, and the forlorn creature hunkered down within it.

“There you are!” The master’s head appears above the top step of the landing, as he slowly ascends, slightly out of breath, the three previous flights having taken their toll. “I thought I told you this room was off limits.” His voice hints at annoyance and the possibility of chastisement but it is clear that he is more relieved than angry that his apprentice, if that is what the boy is, is okay and unharmed. He steps onto the landing and walks slowly to lean against the door frame, observing the boy’s reactions to what he is looking at, interested to see if they reveal aspects of his character that he has, as yet, not perceived.

The cage sits atop a large old study desk amidst a plethora of magical accoutrements which look randomly scattered as if someone has literally just emptied them from a box. Usually the boy would be fascinated by such trinkets but the novelty of the creature absorbs his complete attention.

“Hoodinius?” A note of concern creeps into the master’s voice - the boy has made no movement, given no response.

Slowly, the boy acknowledges the man: “The door was open and I heard something crying,” he says, by way of explanation, still not turning, transfixed by the thing before him. He observes it carefully, a small creature with leathery wings, like that of a bat, squat and hairy haunches, and two small forearms which end in three twisted and taloned digits. It seems scared and obviously in pain. Its drooping eyelids hang heavy and half closed, partially covering orange eyes which glow somewhat with a dull and lacklustre luminance. A strange metal chain inscribed with letters and symbols bound to a bar of the cage and ending in a ringed hoop attached to one of the creature’s hind legs secures it, and appears to be the main source of its discomfort. The hairs on its bound leg are burnt away, and the skin beneath the ringed hoop blistered and red raw. It whimpers a high pitched whine and shakes its leg, nudging the chain with its bat like nose whilst a thin serpent-yellow tongue flickers forwards and attempts to lick its wound. With the flickering of the tongue, mucilaginous lips withdraw to reveal a curved facade of metallic, needle like teeth. The boy is fascinated by the sight, and the feeling of being in the presence of the creature - a feeling, that if he had the words to describe, he would express as beautifully macabre.

“Well Merriman, it appears that you have happened upon my little secret.” The master steps forward and places his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “A secret that must - for the moment at least - be kept a secret.”

“What is it?”

The master brings his head lower to the level of the boy’s. “It is a Diabolical. An impling, recently hatched, or should I say ‘summoned’. You might not believe this, but that creature represents a lifetime of careful study and experimentation.”

“Why is it in pain? Why have you done this to it? It doesn’t seem right.” Clearly the boy is uncomfortable, watching the suffering of this creature, and the situation does not sit well with him. Standing there, just witnessing the creature’s obvious pain and discomfort, but doing nothing, makes him feel culpable.

“Do not be deceived young Hoodinius, that thing would sooner rip away your face than thank you, should you attempt to free it. They are known as Diabolicals for good reason. Deceitful, manipulative, they will try every tactic they can to free themselves and cause havoc.”

“Where did it come from?” The boy is attempting to put two and two together, to understand, deduce, reason, extrapolate, learn.

“Now that, that is the question.” The master sinks down on his knees so that he is at the same level as the boy, his attention now also fully on the creature before them. He nudges his body conspiratorially into the side of the boy. “What if I told you that I birthed it and gave it form.”

The boy considers the master’s words carefully: “I don’t understand,” he says after a moment, shaking his head slightly.

The master thinks for a moment about the best way to explain, all the while his gaze fixed forwards like that of the boy’s. He clears his throat. “You, in the short time that I have known you, have exhibited a desire for knowledge, more so than any one of your age I’ve ever observed. Would you say that that is true?”

“I suppose so, I always want to know more.” The boy turns for a moment to the master, the enthusiasm of a recalled experience lighting up his face. "I like how thinking about magic makes magic…more” the boy struggles to express himself.

“Yes, and that want, that desire to know, where is it located?”

The boy considers the master’s words again, turning his eyes and their focus back to the plight of the caged diabolical. “Inside me?”

“Yes, and perhaps if you grew up and were not tempered by wisdom could you perhaps imagine that that want, that desire might become too great, might even consume you to the detriment of yourself and others…A Diabolical is much the same…some may even say it is this very thing. Clothed and made manifest by our own innate desires.”

“But why have you chained it,” the boy’s face wrinkles in confusion verging on anger, accusation. “Why not set it free? I don’t understand.” He tries to think carefully upon the master’s words, to consider their meaning and implication. He struggles, confused somewhat, but asking what he thinks is the question that needs to be asked. “Is it not right to want to know - if I was born with this feeling…how can that be a bad thing?”

“There are feelings Hoodinius and there are right actions. Make sure that you never set the former as a priority over the latter, for in that moment you will become lost. Come, let us leave it here, this should not have been for your eyes.”

Turning, the master guides the boy out of the room, but the boy is full of doubts, thoughts and questions that swirl in his mind. Doubts, thoughts and questions that cause him to pause and turn to look back. Feelings also, feelings that if acted upon would surely give rise to right actions. The boy cannot shake them, nor the strange argument that is frantically turning over in his mind: that the words of his master are a contradiction. That whatever has caused this…this thing to be summoned, was a desire held and hatched by the master himself and that, given the consequences, was not the right action. It is not right to leave the creature in pain. Such an avalanche of contradictions, that only instinct can be acted upon and instinct causes the boy, without thinking, to murmer the only spell that he has so far been taught - a spell that perhaps he has used already today - to twist his fingers into the alignment that he has practiced, and to pull them apart, shattering the hoop about the hind leg of the creature and bending the bars somewhat of the cage that contains it.

“No Hoodinius!” but it is too late, the creature’s eyelids widen with realisation, and its eyes flare from lacklustre to a glow of smouldering intensity. The master’s eyes too have widened, in shock and panic, and in almost slow motion the boy watches as he bolts in fear, making the top step but tripping and falling, his hand out in front of himself, falling, with a sickening thud. The boy himself rushes to the top of the steps and freezes, the master twisted and crumpled at the bottom. Forgetting about the creature behind him he pads down the steep steps quickly, placing his hand upon the body of the master and shaking him, a futile gesture that via repetition he realises to be such. Sliding his back down the wall, the boy sits, slumped next to the one person whom he felt could have guided him forwards in life - the first person he had met whom he could relate to. Tears roll down his cheeks, his mouth twists, his throat hurts and he begins to cry softly, stroking the master’s hair gently from his forehead. How long he sits like this he doesn’t know, maybe for seconds, maybe for minutes, maybe even for hours, but sitting thus he suddenly hears a soft cat like purring, feels something nudge against him, push into his side, and then pad forward to curl up comfortingly in his lap. He places a gentle hand on soft warm leathery skin, wipes his cheek and nose with the back of the other, and looks down into the comforting glowing eyes that stare silently back at him.