The Daemon Device

by Jeri Westerson

  Just as he remembered it.

  “You look like the day your father…” But Yanko said no more. In truth, Leopold felt like that. Lost.

  “Sit,” said Yanko. “Eggs and tomatoes? I have some lovely tinned tomatoes. You sit, I cook.”

  Leopold did as told, alternating blowing on his coffee and sipping it, holding it between his hands to warm them.

  It wasn’t long before Yanko set a plate before him with three eggs, their bright yokes welcoming, with a pile of bacon and slippery tomatoes leaking into the whites.

  He sifted pepper on all of it and dug in, relishing the homey flavors, the sharpness of the tomatoes, the richness of the eggs, the savory bacon. Yanko poured him more coffee, and when he finally pushed the plate back and drank his coffee down to the dregs, he wiped his mouth with a serviette and sat back on the rickety chair.

  “Now maybe with full stomach you tell me why you’ve come, Leopold?”

  “Oh, Uncle. I wish I could tell you all. But there are some things I know you don’t want to know.”

  The man crossed himself, and then studied the coffee in his own tea cup. “You know, Leopold. We are wanderers, our people. We go from town to town, country to country. What are we seeking? What do we need? New sights, new sounds, new smells. But then we come back, back to the places we think of as home, even though we carry our homes with us. We like the look of the stars overhead, those constellations that we have grown accustomed to. We like the feel of these particular trees, the sound of that particular train when its whistle blows down in the lonely valley. These are the things that draw us. And though I am not an Englishman, I feel that this place is my cousin. And as a cousin, it must welcome me back.”

  “Maybe I felt like that last night, Uncle. I was…lost. I needed the familiar. I didn’t even know I was coming here.”

  “But your heart knew. Leopold, it is your heritage as much as you think to escape it.”

  “I know, Uncle.” He felt ashamed. Ashamed of the way he had divorced himself from everything and everyone he had ever known. Jaelle’s death made him feel it keenly. “Uncle Yanko, there is great evil in the world.”

  “Yes, this I know. I don’t mean rozzers. I know there is more to the world than the eye can see. The Holy Mother, she protects us.”

  “I don’t think she can protect from this. It falls to me.”

  Yanko frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Those hairy arms were once brawny and strong, but now they were dusted with gray hairs and lacked the elasticity of an earlier day.

  “What are you mixed-up in, Leopold? It was that Jewish father of yours getting you confused.”

  “No. Not now, Uncle. Don’t start on that now. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

  Yanko lifted his hands in surrender, but his scowl had not left his face. And his eyes darted toward the tattoo just visible at Leopold’s stiff cuffs. Deliberately, Leopold pushed the sleeve back, revealing it. The mark seemed to have no place in the warm glow of the room with its heavy drapery and fringe. It sat like a coal smudge on his white arm. “Is this what you’re looking at, Uncle?”

  “No. I don’t like that.”

  “My father would not have approved either. Does that surprise you? That the two of you would have agreed on something? After all, ‘ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor imprint any marks upon you.’ So says Leviticus.” He smiled weakly for only a moment. “Uncle,” he said with gravity, “have you ever seen this mark before?”

  “Many times. On you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Yanko shot from his chair faster than Leopold could give the old man credit for. “I will not speak of such things. Neither should you.”

  “Uncle.” He got to his feet and pursued the old man across the carpeted floor. There was nowhere to go and Yanko ended up looking out the window, arms still folded. “I must know what you know.” He thrust his arm forward, hand closed into a fist, and showed him the underside where the All-Seeing-Eye glared up. “What do you know of this? Have you seen it before?”

  Stubbornly, Yanko jutted his chin and looked away. “You must pray to the Virgin for deliverance, Leopold. That is what your mother would have done.”

  “Your statues and candles won’t work this time. Can’t you see that!”

  His scowl deepened. “Do not blaspheme,” he said in a low dangerous voice.

  Leopold took a breath and stepped back, letting the sleeve fall over the Eye again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. But you must find a way to protect yourself in the next few days, Uncle. Protect the camp. And don’t let anyone else go to the dirigible fair.”

  “Why not?”

  “Please. Just trust me on this. It isn’t safe. It’s where Jaelle died. There’s more there…that I can’t talk with you about. Please trust me, Uncle.”

  Yanko shrugged. “Of course. If you say so, Leopold.”

  He looked about him and for the first time that morning felt embarrassed that he had come running home with his tail between his legs.

  “I, er, thank you, Uncle, for your hospitality. And for breakfast. It was delicious.”

  “You should visit more often, Leopold. Not just when you are frightened.”

  “I’m not frightened!” He puffed out his chest, but Yanko’s busy gray brows seemed to spring toward him. “Well, maybe I was. A little. Believe me, there is a lot to fear.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Leopold shook out his coat and pushed his hands into the sleeves. It didn’t look so bad after getting a chance to hang properly, and likewise his top coat. He dressed again, straightened his cravat, and felt presentable once more.

  “Do you have to go?”

  He looked up from brushing down his coat. His uncle was an old man. He couldn’t hurt Leopold anymore, not really. “I do. But…I’ll be back.” He put a hand to the man’s shoulder and squeezed once before letting him go. “Do you need any money?”

  “Money, money, money. Is that all you think about?”

  Leopold reached into his waistcoat and drew out some coins. He covertly left them on a shelf beside his uncle’s tobacco jar, a place he’d be sure to find it. His uncle walked him to the door and stood in the doorway as Leopold descended the short steps. With his hat secured he turned to his uncle. “Take care, Uncle Yanko.”

  “And you, too, Leopold. May the Holy Virgin help you on your way.”

  He ducked his head, shedding the last bit of embarrassment, and walked out into the camp. The dogs had awakened and were trotting here and there, looking for scraps. Chickens, too, were making their way over the dirt and trodden grass, pecking furtively.

  When next he looked up he stumbled to a halt. Ilonka, the old fortune teller, stood in his path. Though most of the Romani in the camp adhered strictly to their Catholic faith, there were some who also retained some of the old ways.

  She stood in front of him deliberately, studying him with a questioning look in her eye. He touched the brim of his hat. “Ilonka, how are you? It’s me, Leopold Kazsmer.”

  She raised her wrinkled hands and laid them on his lapels. “I know you, Leopold. Did you truly think I didn’t?”

  “Well, it’s been a long time…”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. You come in.” She gestured toward her caravan. The side was painted luridly with a crystal ball with rays of light emanating from it and a giant eye reminiscent of the tattoo on his wrist. He hated the sight of the thing.

  “I’m sorry, Nénike, but I must go.”

  Her fingers curled around his lapels and pulled. “You come now.”

  He opened his mouth to object again but let out a sigh instead. “Very well. But only for a moment.”

  She released him and led the way up her steps. Her caravan was much like Yanko’s but hers was designed for a visit from the punters. The whole front half was swathed in silks and exotic fabrics like a tent that shimmered in the scant light, and they blocked the rest of the caravan fro
m prying eyes. In the room was a small table, draped with a heavy cloth, and on its center, a crystal ball. The place smelled heavily of burning incense.

  “Have you ever had your fortune told, Leopold?” Her accent was as heavy as his uncle’s.

  He thought of Raj from only a week ago when he still had a magic act, assistants, and a theatre. “Yes.”

  “Then come. Sit.”

  “Nénike, I really don’t think…”

  “Don’t think. Sit!”

  He did. She bustled behind the table, and with the coins sewn to her dress clinking like little bells, she settled into her seat, flattened her hands on the table, and stared into the crystal. “You are a busy man, Leopold. A successful man.”

  “I do already know that, Nénike Ilonka.”

  “Shush!”

  He closed his mouth and watched her as she concentrated on the crystal.

  She swayed, looking deep within the crystal, eyes narrowing. “You have seen much pain. Much loss. Your father…”

  His hands curled into the tablecloth.

  Ilonka squinted. “Your father does not dwell in the Land of the Living. He is far away, searching for a path.”

  “Please, Ilonka.” His thoughts went to poor Despenser Thacker, now wandering far from the Land of the Dead. “I know my father is dead.”

  “Dead? Hmm. He is not in the Land of the Living, true. But the ghosts of the dead…have not seen him.”

  Leopold sat up. “What did you say?”

  “The gateway is closed, but there are forces threatening it.”

  His breath came quicker.

  She leaned in, eyes focused on the blurry crystal. “The gateway…the gateway…” Suddenly she screamed. “Oh God! Oh precious blood of most holy Jesus! Look! The people! The people! They melt! A Föld kigyulladt! A végtelen láng éget mindent! Az Öregek jönnek!”

  Horrified, Leopold longed to jump up, run away, but he was frozen to his seat.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell back against her chair. As if a spell was broken, Leopold leapt to his feet and grabbed her shoulders. “Nénike! Nénike Ilonka!”

  Her eyes fluttered and she slowly came back to herself. She turned and looked at Leopold and tried to smile.

  “You frightened me there for a moment, Nénike. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Leopold.” She patted his hand. “You are a good boy.”

  “But… Nénike, what was that you were saying? About the ‘endless flames burning the world’ and the ‘Old Ones are coming’?”

  “I…I do not know, Leopold. When I am in the crystal, I only see it when I am there, not once I leave it.”

  “But you…” He hesitated. “You…also said something about my father. That he was not in the Land of the Living but that the ghosts of the dead hadn’t seen him. What does that mean?”

  “Leopold, I cannot say. I don’t recall. It is gone so quickly.”

  He ran his hand over his mouth, on the beard stubble freckling his chin. “I see.” But he didn’t. He wanted to know what she saw, what it meant. Did she mean that his father was not dead? Because if that were the case, then he was trapped, and only Leopold could find him…and bring him back.

  But the gateway. She had seen what would happen if the gateway was allowed to open. The burning. The people all burning, melting. The Old Ones coming through. He couldn’t allow that to happen. First, he had to make that Lock, and then he would worry about his father. Only then. He tucked it away in a safe and deep place.

  He stood and took some coins from his waistcoat, dropping them to the table. “Thank you, Nénike Ilonka. For your trouble. I will see you soon.”

  “May God bless and keep you, Leopold,” she said, raising her hand in benediction.

  He pushed his way through the drapery and left the caravan in a cloud of incense. And before anyone else could accost him, he hurried down the grassy hill toward the train station where the first train was just chugging up the line.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leopold awoke and sat up stiffly. He had fallen asleep at the worktable again, working all night at the lockup. His landlady will think he had disappeared he made so infrequent stops there, hadn’t spent a night there in days.

  As usual, his only companion was Thacker, endlessly pacing in his hovering sort of way. He talked of his life when he was alive and Leopold let him, for Thacker had no life left and Leopold thought that it was a kindness to let him reminisce, to remember while he could, to tell someone else who listened. It seemed the inspector led a lonely existence. He told of the girl he had courted and was pledged to marry, but his drinking got in the way of it, and she soon left him.

  “I am sorry to hear that, old friend.”

  “Ah well,” said Thacker. “What’s an old rozzer like me doing with a lady? It never would have worked. She would have grown tired of the late nights, the early morning crawls. It’s no life for a woman.”

  “And yet this Special Inspector Mingli Zhao seems set on it.”

  “I never heard of no special inspector. What’s that all about, I wonder.”

  “I tell you what you should do, Spense. You should go back to the Yard and investigate. You can go through walls, through locked files. You can see who she is.”

  “Say.” He smiled and rubbed his chin, now scratchy with stubble for all eternity. “That’s an idea. But…” His shoulders drooped. “I can’t touch nothing. I tried like the dickens, Leo, but I can’t touch or grasp anything. How can I open files?”

  “Well…I wonder if you could simply…thrust your head through the files themselves, through each page, and read them.”

  He took a few steps in thought. “I wonder.” He rushed toward Leopold’s stack of books and after a pause shoved his face into them. His head disappeared, but his neck and body remained. “Go ahead, Leo. Ask me what’s on page thirty-two of this book of chemistry.”

  “Very well,” he said as excitedly as Thacker’s muffled voice sounded. “What is on page thirty-two?”

  “Damned if I can understand it.” He pulled his head out. “But I could read it just the same. I’m off to the Yard. Then bob’s your uncle, I’ll be back.” He zoomed through the wall and was gone.

  Leopold hadn’t realized how much he had appreciated his presence and companionable voice. The place was deadly still again, emphasizing Raj’s silence all the more.

  But at least the damned Lock was nearly complete. During his work, he kept catching glances at Raj, stoic and silent in the shadows. He dismissed what the fortune teller had said. He was bolstered by the presence of Eurynomos’ magic around him, and conveniently set aside their argument. The Lock was all. The Lock had to be finished.

  He scribed the incantations into the metal as the notes said, imbuing it with his magic through he couldn’t understand the words.

  He stretched and looked about. He felt scruffy. Needed a shave. He plucked at his chemise as he had taken to simply divesting himself of his shirt in order to keep it clean. Needed a bath, too. All he had here was a washbasin but it would have to do.

  He stopped off first at the stove and stoked it with kindling, got it lit, and laid coal atop the burgeoning flames. Putting the kettle on, he stretched again and looked back at the pieces of the Lock. He knew how it fit into the Daemon Device, but of how exactly it counteracted its function, he was unclear. After all, he was never given the plans for the actual Daemon Device, something von Spiegel, with all his connections, was unable to obtain.

  And what about this von Spiegel? He just happened to know Leopold’s father, just happened to find Leopold? What were his magical gifts…if any?

  He put a hand to his forehead. It was late. He was tired. Was he to be suspicious of everyone now? Von Spiegel had said that he needed Leopold’s magic specifically. So of course he’d come looking for him. But it was curious that Waldhar’s men had not known what the little professor had been about. Surely, they could have stopped him in their brutal way.

  He glanced at
the kettle again. Never mind the professor. He worried about Raj. How was he to fix him? There was nothing for it but to do some research on the matter. Surely there was some book somewhere that would offer details on a living automated man…

  The water steamed and he took a rag to grab the kettle, walking with it to the basin. He poured a portion in and then added the chilled water from the jug. Sluicing his face, he dipped the shaving brush in the basin, swirled it in the shaving mug, and applied the lather to his chin.

  He positioned the razor in his fingers and began to stroke the sharpened blade up his neck. Moving the blade carefully so as not to nick his chin, he flicked the foam and hair into the basin.

  A knock on the lockup door nearly caused him to slice his cheek. What day was this? He glanced at his clock. “Blast!” Not only had he lost track of the time but the days as well. Hadn’t he received a reply to his advertisement only yesterday and was to meet with two potential assistants this very hour?

  “Damn! Be with you in a moment!” he called out. Quickly he finished his shave, ran a brush over his hair, and donned a shirt, buttoning it as he rushed to the door. He stood a moment composing himself, before he opened it to the two women.

  “Hallo, guv’nor!” said the cheery woman, whose auburn hair nearly rivaled that of Ruby and Rose’s. She was fresh-faced, round-cheeked, and rosy-lipped. She cocked her head toward her twin, who smiled and winked at him. “We’re the Templeton Twins. Used to do a little music hall, but it’s been a while. We’ve been out of London for a time.”

  “Please do come in,” he said, accent getter posher to counteract their own East End drawl.

  “Don’t mind if we do.”

  “And your first names, ladies?”

  “Well now,” said the first, looking around. It was then Leopold realized he had left the Lock exposed and casually made his way over to the worktable and covered it. “It’s Agnes and Aimee. I’m Agnes, that’s Aimee. Aggy and Aimee, that’s us.”