The Daemon Device

by Jeri Westerson

  “Charmed. Have you ever worked with a magician before?”

  “Ow!” cried Agnes, as she elbowed her sister. “Didn’t I say that I thought it was for a magician? ‘Assistants’ the advert said. That’s what I told Aimee. I said it was likely a magician. That’s fine, innit?”

  Aimee, decidedly the quiet one, merely offered a charming smile. He said nothing as he walked around them, examining them closely. “You’re identical?” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Only to each other. Haaa!” she brayed. “That’s a good one, ain’t it, guv?”

  “Yes, because I’ve never heard that one before,” he muttered. They did, indeed, seem identical. “You do understand the situation? In order to appear that I am performing my prestidigitation, that is, making one of you vanish in one place and appear quite unharmed in another, the use of twins—”

  “Ow, we know all about that, guv. Can’t perform at a music hall without meeting some magicians. Always thought that was a lark, eh? Shall we prove we can do it?” She was already removing the pin from her hat and setting it aside. The other did the same and they removed their outer coats and gloves as well.

  He nodded. They seemed amenable enough. Eager. And they were pretty which would help entice and divert the audience.

  One of his few illusions left intact was his Proteus cabinet. Moving to the back of the mew he grabbed it and wheeled it forward. As he placed it carefully and locked the wheels, he noticed Agnes examining the silent Raj.

  “Cor! That’s a thing to behold, ain’t it? Look here, Aimee. A mechanical man. Can we see him work, Mr. K?”

  “It’s Mister Kazsmer, if you please.”

  She gave a little curtsey with her giggle. “So sorry. I ain’t…I’m not as formal as I should be. Aimee is always getting after me—”

  “He doesn’t work at the moment. I am attempting to repair him.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “He…reads the cards. Fortune telling.”

  “Blimey! I should like to see that.”

  Leopold warmed at her interest. Rose and Ruby hadn’t liked him. “So…you like Raj, then?”

  “Raj? Is that his name?” She ran her hand over the table he sat at, fingers tentatively touching the brass ribcage. “I think he’s lovely,” she whispered, eyes shining.

  “He is the ‘Amazing Raj, the Automated Man’. And I’m sure he’d be pleased that you are so taken with him.”

  She giggled louder at that and blushed. At least she had a better reaction. That was a point in her favor.

  “Have you ever seen the Proteus cabinet performed?”

  “’Course! Are you going to show us how it’s done?”

  “Not only that, but you will be performing in it. It takes skill, finesse, and a certain amount of, er, physical flexibility to be a magician’s assistant.”

  “’Physical flexibility’?” She eyed her sister and elbowed her. “I reckon we’ve got that one down.”

  “I daresay,” he muttered, forcing himself not to blush. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of his last encounter with Special Inspector Zhao. “But as my assistants, I call for a strict curfew and exceptional virtue. I can’t have you catting about and giving away my secrets. Is that understood?”

  “Oh, aye, virtuous.” She winked. “Of course!”

  He sighed. It was difficult expecting it from those in the theatre but he insisted on it from his employees. “Now, er, ladies, if you will…” He took Agnes by the hand and showed her the inside of the cabinet, explaining the little shelf she would be required to squeeze behind. He told them that twins and sometimes triplets were used in magician acts for purposes of deception, and that the general public was never allowed to know that there were two identical assistants as that would spoil the illusion, and so their names would never be revealed. They would both be called by one name and one name only. No one was allowed to see them together and if he hired them they must behave in this manner for the duration of their partnership.

  “Now, let me explain how it works.” He opened the cabinet door and entreated them to look inside. “Such a trick works best in all its permutations in a square-sided box, for the mirror inside conceals and reflects the corners to the audience, making it appear perfectly empty.”

  “Ow!” cried Agnes. “Ain’t that clever.”

  “Yes, it is. There are pivots, hinges, and a very small space for one of you to hide behind. Do you see?”

  Agnes grinned. “Will you look at that, Aimee. We’re magic!”

  “You will have to practice to be smooth and quick with all our illusions. If you can’t manage it, if you slip up and the audience sees what you are about, then my credibility flies out the window.”

  “Look here, guv’nor. I’ve seen magicians before. They show you the inside of the box and tell the audience that there ain’t no trap doors and such…”

  “We are lying.”

  “Blimey!”

  “It is a theatrical presentation, Miss Templeton, not a court of law.”

  She elbowed Leopold. “You said it. Don’t worry, guv. We’re up for it.”

  After a bit of practice, both Agnes and Aimee, the latter quiet but amenable, seemed to accomplish the task easily and with little direction. Leopold felt satisfied that he had found his new troupe.

  Agnes shrugged back into her jacket and fixed her hat to her head as Leopold told them what he would pay and expected them back here to rehearse.

  “And when’s the first performance, guv?” she asked, threading her arm through Aimee’s. This was perhaps the first time in their lives they would have to be parted, including living in different flats.

  But it was then that Leopold was brought up short. He had been so involved in the murders, the Daemon Device, Thacker, and thoughts of Mingli, that he had completely forgotten that he no longer had a theatre in which to perform.

  “Er…I will let you know. Currently, I am…erm, between theatres.”

  She clutched the money pouch he gave them for a new flat and costume materials. “Right-o! Just let us know when, guv. Ta, Raj!” and she wiggled her fingers toward the silent automaton.

  They bustled out and he barred the door again, pressing his finger to his lips in thought. He needed a theatre. Assuming his Lock would work and England and the world would be saved from a golem invasion, he would still need a way to make a living.

  “Blast.” He poured himself a scotch, drank it, and kept on pouring.

  Chapter Ninteen

  THE GASLIGHT BURNED on as Leopold worked. And though his fingers had grown red and raw with filing and machining the tiny parts included in the Lock, he was finally finished and it was a beautiful thing to behold. The brass parts gleamed against the polished steel. Each rivet had been placed with care. Each gear machined to perfection. All that was needed was the glass chamber that von Spiegel would supply, and then Leopold would further use his powers to fill it with incantations in a language he didn’t understand. But von Spiegel’s notes made it clear that it was his power that would achieve it, not any mispronunciation on his part. He hoped that was so.

  “That’s some fine work there, Leo,” said Thacker, who had been trying to etch words with his finger all afternoon on Leopold’s mirror.

  “If I do say so myself. How did you get on at Scotland Yard? Did you discover anything about our mysterious Miss Zhao?”

  He tipped his bowler hat up his head. “That’s just it. I couldn’t find out a damn thing about her.”

  “Blast.”

  “I don’t just mean her address or where she came from. But not anything. No record of her being appointed. No documents stating who she is. No correspondence. No file at all.”

  He turned to the inspector. “That’s unusual.”

  “You bet your boots it is. Who called her in, eh? How’d she know to come to the Yard? Who does she report to?”

  “The Prince Regent?”

  “No record of even that.”

  “Curious.”

/>   “It’s more than curious. It’s…diabolical.”

  Leopold put his oily fingers to his lips. He hoped Eurynomos would come up with more information, but so far, he hadn’t.

  He sat back and took a moment to think about that photograph the professor had shown him. He had no photographs of his parents. To see his father again…and so young! Before he had been beaten down by life and circumstances. Before…Gehenna…

  He longed to see the photo again. Perhaps he could persuade von Spiegel to gift it to him. After this was over, of course.

  He turned his attention back to the paper. So all-consuming was it that it took some time before the sound of knocking finally permeated his consciousness.

  He grabbed a rag to wipe his oil-stained hands and lifted the bar on the door. Mingli Zhao, pert and pretty in a dark maroon satin dress, with its layers of drapery and ruffles she was fond of, stood on the street, tapping her foot impatiently. Her ever-present umbrella served as a walking stick, but he knew what secrets it held.

  “Yes, Miss Zhao?”

  “Good God! What happened to you?”

  “What about me?” he grumbled.

  “It’s been days since anyone’s seen or heard from you. And just look at the state of you. Your clothes are disheveled and covered in grease, and your attitude is lacking civility.”

  “I think I owe you little by way of civility.”

  “Oh? How so? Do you still think I am trying to kill you?”

  “Of course I do! You aimed a sword and a gun at me on two separate occasions. How many excuses can you come up with, I wonder, before the deed is accomplished?”

  “Leo!” said an appalled Thacker.

  “It’s true,” he said petulantly.

  “Mr. Kazsmer, I give you my word as a lady and as a special inspector, that I am not trying to kill you. And if I were—and I say this in all modesty—you’d already be dead by now.”

  “I am not reassured by that.” He moved to close the door on her face, but she pushed back with remarkable strength.

  “Please, Mr. Kazsmer. Hear me out.”

  “I’m done listening to you. Take your insufferable Oriental self off my property.”

  “My ‘insufferable’… Oh! Of all the bigoted… Really!” She shoved hard and Leopold stumbled back. But he was having none of it. His magic came forth without his conjuring it, and the force of it pushed her away and through the entry, slammed the door, and barred it for good measure.

  Surprised himself with its vehemence, he stood at the door a moment, wondering, hoping it hadn’t hurt her. Almost he shouted through the door to ask, but then dismissed it with a shake of his head.

  He put the kettle on to warm the water and began peeling off his shirt down to his chemise.

  “Pardon me for saying so,” said Thacker, “but weren’t you a bit harsh with her?”

  “You’re siding with her? She’s the one who brought you back from death as a spirit. I don’t know that she’s done you any favors.”

  “Well…that might be true enough. I don’t know. I just know that I’m glad to be with you again, my friend, and to try to help you where I can. I certainly was doing no good dead and all.” They both fell silent, until, “Say, Leo. How was my funeral?”

  “Oh. Spense. Well, it was…good as funerals go. Many a constable spoke on your behalf. Most of the station attended.”

  “That’s nice. I wish I’d been there.”

  They looked at each other and suddenly burst into nervous giggles.

  “You know what I mean,” said an abashed Thacker.

  * * *

  LATER, WHEN LEOPOLD was clean and shaven, he tucked his shirt back into his trousers and began to button it when a knock sounded on the door again.

  Pulling his braces up to his shoulders, he opened it cautiously to Mingli once more. In her hands was a flask and two tin cups. “I see you took my advice,” she said. “I brought spirits to help your blood.”

  He sighed. “One moment.” He closed the door and took a canvas cloth to cover his work. When he returned to the door, he opened it wide to allow her to pass through. With a nod of thanks that bobbed the feather on her hat, she walked in. “Greetings, Inspector Thacker.”

  He touched the brim of his bowler and bowed slightly.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t bring a cup for you. I don’t think you can drink.”

  Thacker licked his lips and sighed sorrowfully.

  Unscrewing the cap of the flask Mingli poured and handed Leopold a cup.

  He looked at the contents suspiciously. “Won’t you have some, too?”

  “Still don’t trust me, eh?” She smiled and poured some of the liquor into her own cup. She saluted and drank it down.

  He sniffed it—single malt scotch—and drank it in one. Its initial burn mellowed as he felt it warm his insides. He set the cup aside and cleared his throat. “I thank you for this. And I’m…I’m sorry about earlier…”

  “If you think it is somehow easy for a Chinese woman to be on a police force and receive any cooperation, you are sadly mistaken. I have had my share of mistrust, disbelief, misogyny, and unabashed bigotry. But I have never been accused of conspiring to kill anyone before. And I say again, I am not trying to kill you, Mr. Kazsmer. Now or at any time.”

  He wanted to believe it. He glanced at the discarded and battered tin cup and thought about another dose of scotch, but then thought better of it. Best to keep a clear head when she was around.

  Thacker hovered and by his expression he was urging Leopold to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  “At any rate, this is not a social call.” She capped the flask again and set it down on the worktable. “I came to bear unhappy tidings. There has been another murder. At the Gypsy camp, this time.”

  His heart lurched. Uncle Yanko! No!

  “Who?”

  “An old woman. A fortune teller.”

  Chapter Twenty

  THEY REACHED THE Romani camp in less than half an hour, what with the extra shilling Leopold promised the cabby for his speed.

  Thacker, of course, wasn’t able to travel that far. He had signaled silently to Leopold that he was returning to Scotland Yard.

  The blue uniforms of policemen sprouted all about, and the wary Romani stayed at the outskirts of their own camp. He only saw the men. He suspected that the women were told to stay within the caravans.

  A tent was erected around the body near the edge of the woods. Mingli led the way solemnly. In fact, she had said nothing further to Leopold after she had given him the news and hailed the cab. She strode across the wet grass, oblivious to the eyes of the Romani men upon her. She cast open the tent and Leopold got a glimpse of the shrouded body before he, too, entered.

  The be-whiskered physician that Leopold had met before, Dr. Woodbine, was just washing his hands in a basin. Red clouded the water as he reached for a flannel.

  Woodbine glanced at Mingli standing stoically over the corpse, and then cocked his head at her. “Can’t say I’m pleased that this Chinky has taken charge.”

  Leopold bristled. Perhaps he had had the same sentiments when this all began, but though he still mistrusted her he did not harbor any prejudices for her race or her womanhood, despite his earlier rudeness. “May I point out, doctor, that she has shown a professionalism that one might be hard-pressed to find amongst her colleagues.”

  The physician shrugged into his dark coat, looking from Mingli to Leopold. “I see.” His tone raised Leopold’s hackles.

  “I do not think you do, but that matters little. The murder. Was it the same as the others?”

  “No. This time every bit of her skin was flayed from her body. None of it remains.”

  Leopold gasped. He glanced at Mingli. “What do they need it for?” Leopold muttered. Was it somehow part of this Daemon Device? He didn’t know if Ogiel was working for Waldhar or not, if indeed, he had anything to do with this. All he could see in his mind where those goggled physicians in their long white coats. H
ow could it have been them and none of the Romani known about it?

  He did not go to look at Ilonka. A measure of guilt kept him from the body. Had they gone after her simply because Leopold was the last one to speak to her? Or was it because he had spoken to her at all?

  Yes, she could have been targeted because of him. That gave him pause. Would the special inspector also be a target?

  “Miss Zhao,” he called.

  She turned, her face unreadable.

  “Please?” he said, gesturing for her to follow him out of the tent.

  Leopold looked across the camp and spotted Yanko standing by his caravan. He was watching Leopold and smoking a pipe, its white smoke drifting lazily about his head. Leopold did not acknowledge him, and neither did his uncle do the same.

  He took Mingli’s arm, despite her grunt of protest, and steered her away from the others. A policeman eyed them for a moment before he went back to observing the meadow beyond.

  “I fear she was killed because of me,” he confessed.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it was a few mornings ago that I spoke extensively to her. She made some…predications for me.”

  “Did any of them involve her own destruction?”

  “No. Only that which involves the Daemon Device. She was fairly precise.”

  “I see. You believe she was targeted.”

  “Yes. And I’m afraid that also includes you now, Miss Zhao.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Kazsmer. I can take care of myself.”

  “No, you can’t,” he hissed. “Not against this!”

  “Yes, against this. Why do you think I am a ‘special’ inspector, Leopold? Because I am Chinese? Because I am a woman? No, it is because this is my specialty. As it is yours. It was why your friend Thacker called upon you, no? Not because you have expertise on the stage. Surely he recognized your other talents even if you both would not openly acknowledge them.”

  “But he died because he got in the way. And you will, too, Miss Zhao.”

  “So. You now acknowledge that I am on your side?”