Burning Lamp

by Amanda Quick

  Lucinda laughed. “It would be gratifying to think that common sense actually played a role in making duels unfashionable. Can I assume your expertise on the subject of guns comes from your experience in the American West?”

  “Yes.” Adelaide did not take her eyes off the men. “Unfortunately, there was still a form of dueling going on there until recently, although it was not nearly so commonplace as the novels and the press reported.”

  “I have heard the tales of the gunfights in the West.” Lucinda studied Adelaide’s trousers and jacket. “Do many women in America dress in men’s clothes?”

  “No. American women are as interested in fashion as women here in England, I assure you. The only reason I am wearing masculine attire now is because Mr. Winters made it plain that I must be able to run at a moment’s notice.”

  “Mr. Winters obviously thinks ahead.”

  “I suspect it is how he has managed to survive this long in his profession.”

  “It must be a very difficult way to live,” Lucinda said quietly.

  “Intolerable, actually. But it is all he knows.” She watched the men. “What do you suppose they are talking about?”

  “I can’t say, but I will tell you one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “Mr. Winters must love you very much.”

  Stunned, Adelaide jerked her attention from the scene outside the window. It took her a couple of seconds to find her tongue.

  “What on earth makes you say that?” she managed, thoroughly flustered. “I assure you, Mr. Winters and I scarcely know each other. It is circumstances that have thrown us together.”

  “Really?” Lucinda surveyed her with a considering expression. “According to my husband, this is the first time he and Mr. Winters have met. Evidently after his parents were murdered, Mr. Winters vanished into the streets of London. By the time he resurfaced many things had changed.”

  “Yes, well, given the course Mr. Winters’s life has taken, one can understand why they have not met prior to this occasion.”

  Lucinda’s smile was all-knowing. “It is you who changed the equation, Mrs. Pyne.”

  “Actually, it’s Miss Pyne. I altered it before I returned to England so that I would have a good excuse to wear widow’s weeds. But please call me Adelaide.”

  “Very well, Adelaide. And you must call me Lucinda. I was about to say that I cannot think of any force other than love that would bring one of the most powerful men in London’s criminal underworld to a meeting with Jones and Jones.”

  “Mr. Winters feels an obligation to protect me,” Adelaide explained quickly.

  “And that is not an indication of his love for you?”

  “By no means. You must understand it is Mr. Winters’s nature to protect those for whom he feels a responsibility. Love has nothing to do with it.”

  “Hmm.”

  Adelaide eyed her with sharp suspicion. “What does that imply?”

  “Nothing,” Lucinda said airily. “I was merely trying to conjure the image of a crime lord who is secretly a knight in shining armor.”

  “It is a bit difficult to explain,” Adelaide admitted.

  35

  “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE, JONES,” GRIFFIN SAID.

  “Thank you.”

  “And on your new career as an investigator.”

  “The work suits me.”

  Griffin studied Caleb through the thin veil of fog that swirled between them. “From what I have heard of your psychical nature, that does not surprise me. They say you enjoy solving puzzles and finding patterns that lead to answers.”

  “By all accounts you are well suited to your own profession.”

  “We are what we are.”

  “The descendants of a pair of mad alchemists,” Caleb said.

  “Is that your rather obvious way of asking me if I’m turning into a Cerberus?”

  “I’ll assume the answer to the question is no.” Caleb sounded unconcerned. “Mrs. Pyne worked the lamp successfully for you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, even if things had not gone well with the lamp, you would certainly not stand here less than ten paces away and admit it.”

  “Very true.”

  Caleb glanced briefly toward the carriage, as if assuring himself that it had not vanished in the fog.

  “You have the Burning Lamp and you have Mrs. Pyne. Matters seem to have gone well. Why did you ask to meet with me? I find it hard to believe that the Director of the Consortium would require the services of Jones and Jones.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do need your agency’s services. I’m told your wife has a talent for detecting poison.”

  “What of it?”

  Griffin reached into the canvas bag he carried. “I would like her opinion on the nature of the vapor that was once contained inside this canister.”

  He handed the metal ball to Caleb.

  “Well, now.” Caleb turned the canister in his gloved hands. His expression had been austere and unreadable but now intense interest lit his eyes. “What is this device?”

  “The gas that was inside induced a profound sleep accompanied by unpleasant dreams in very short order, minutes only. Two nights ago a pair of intruders employed half a dozen canisters like that one to subdue my guards and the dogs. Mrs. Pyne and I were fortunate to escape the effects.”

  Caleb looked up, clearly astonished. “Are you telling that your enemies got inside your house?”

  “It was embarrassing, to say the least.”

  Caleb smiled briefly. “For a man in your position? No doubt. But what the devil were they after? Why would anyone risk going up against you?”

  “They wanted Mrs. Pyne and the lamp.”

  Caleb looked down at the canister. “That is a very disturbing development.”

  “And there is another thing, Jones. Both intruders were mid- level talents but they were armed with some odd red crystals that, for a short time, enhanced their natural abilities to a considerable degree.”

  “Hold on, are you telling me that there were talents involved?”

  “A hunter and an illusion-talent.” Griffin paused. “Not all of those with psychical ability were born into your world, Jones. Some were born into mine. When one comes from the streets one is rarely invited to join the Arcane Society.”

  “I am aware of that,” Caleb said quietly. “I meant no insult. It is obvious that talent, like intelligence, is a trait that is not linked to one’s social status.”

  “I’m glad someone within Arcane has noticed that biological fact.”

  “My cousin, Gabe, the new Master of the Society, is working hard to open up the organization and introduce an element of democracy into it. He does not give a damn about social class. No Jones does. But it will take some time to change things. Arcane is nothing if not hidebound.”

  “Sorry. I may be a bit sensitive on the subject.” Griffin took one of the dead crystals out of the bag. He handed it to Caleb. “Each intruder carried one of these. Evidently the devices burn out quickly when used for even short periods of time. But they are effective. I can testify to that.”

  Caleb took the crystal and studied it closely. His curiosity charged the atmosphere around him. He looked at the device as though willing it to deliver answers.

  “Someone knows that you have the lamp and a dreamlight reader,” he said. “Whoever he is, he wants both badly enough to risk annoying you by sending two well-armed intruders into your household.”

  “I was certainly irritated. I came here today because I’m hoping that your wife can provide some insight. If she can identify the sleeping gas, I may be able to find the chemist who concocted it. It cannot be commonplace.”

  “Finding a chemist in this city is easier said than done. I recently had some experience along those lines.”

  “Those canisters came from my world, not yours,” Griffin said quietly. “I know how to find answers in the underworld. But first I want to be sure that
I am asking the right questions.”

  Caleb smiled a little at that. “We have more in common than you know, Winters. Come, let us see what Lucinda can tell us.”

  He turned and walked toward the carriage. Griffin fell into step beside him.

  “I appreciate this, Jones.”

  “I assure you, this affair is of great interest to both of us. Now that we have finally become acquainted, there is something I wish to ask you.”

  “What is that?”

  “There has always been one thing that has puzzled me about the events surrounding the deaths of your parents,” Caleb said.

  “What is that?”

  “Why did you disappear that night?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No.”

  “I assumed that Arcane was responsible for the murders and for the theft of the lamp. It seemed logical to conclude that the Society might send someone after me, as well. I decided that my only hope was to disappear into the streets.”

  Caleb whistled appreciatively. “I admire the way you think, Winters. I do believe that you are the only man I have ever met who is as inclined toward conspiracy theories as myself. What makes you so sure that your parents were murdered? By all accounts it was a tragic case of murder and suicide.”

  “My father would never have shot my mother and taken his own life, certainly not because of financial problems. He had a talent for making money. He knew better than anyone else that he could easily recover his losses and repay his investors. In addition, the lamp was missing from the safe. There was no question in my mind about what happened that night.”

  “I see.” Caleb sounded intrigued.

  “Mrs. Pyne recently confirmed my theory with her talent. She detected the presence of the killer at the scene of the crime.”

  “Even after all these years?”

  “As she said, murder leaves a stain, at least in dreamlight.”

  “Jones and Jones is now in the business of solving crimes,” Caleb said. “I do not see why we could not take on some old cases as well as new ones.”

  “We are not dealing with two separate cases. The murder of my parents is connected to what is happening now.”

  “I really do admire your thinking processes, Winters. I agree, there are no coincidences. It is a relief to talk to someone who does not believe that I am half mad.”

  Griffin glanced at him. “How do you know that you are sane, Jones?”

  “Simple. Whenever I am in doubt, I ask my wife.”

  The door of the carriage opened. Lucinda and Adelaide looked out.

  “Mr. Winters would like you to examine this canister, my dear.” Caleb handed the metal ball into the vehicle. Lucinda took it from him.

  Griffin sensed the shifting energy in the atmosphere and knew that Mrs. Jones had just heightened her senses.

  There was an outraged gasp from the interior of the carriage.

  “My fern,” Lucinda cried. “Whatever poison was in this canister was made with my Ameliopteris amazonensis.”

  “That explains a few things,” Caleb said. “Basil Hulsey has found himself a new patron.”

  36

  THEY SAT TOGETHER IN THE JONES CARRIAGE. IT WAS A TIGHT fit, Adelaide reflected. Furthermore with four people of talent gathered together in such close quarters it was impossible to ignore the level of power in the atmosphere. Energy shimmered invisibly even though everyone was careful to keep his or her senses lowered.

  “Jones and Jones is a psychical investigation agency,” Caleb explained. “Any member of the Society is welcome to bring a case to us. But the main reason J-and-J exists is to counter the forces of a dangerous new conspiracy.”

  “What is the nature of the conspiracy?” Adelaide asked.

  “The conspirators refer to themselves as members of the Emerald Table,” Caleb said. “We believe that the organization is structured in several circles or cells. We have taken apart two of the circles but we have not yet been able to identify the leaders. These are modern-day alchemists we are dealing with. They are obsessed with secrecy.”

  Adelaide frowned. “This is the modern era, Mr. Jones. Surely by now everyone knows alchemy is merely so much nonsense.”

  They all looked at her.

  “Never forget that the great Newton took the study of alchemy seriously,” Lucinda said politely.

  “He may have been a brilliant man but he lived in the seventeenth century,” Adelaide said.

  “So did Sylvester Jones and Nicholas Winters,” Caleb growled. “And we are all still dealing with the results of their alchemical experiments.”

  Adelaide cleared her throat. “Point taken, Mr. Jones. It is just that it is so difficult to believe that in the modern age there are still those who believe that they can discover how to transmute lead into gold.”

  “It is not the secret of turning base metals into gold that these modern alchemists seek,” Lucinda explained. “They strive to perfect the founder’s formula.”

  Adelaide’s mouth went dry. “But I thought that was supposed to be just another Arcane legend.”

  “Like the Burning Lamp,” Griffin said neutrally.

  Adelaide winced. “Yes, of course.”

  “As far as we have been able to determine, the conspirators are working on various versions of the formula,” Caleb said. “All of the recipes thus far appear to have had serious side effects. But that does not mean that those who use the drug do not cause us a good deal of trouble.”

  “One of their researchers is Dr. Basil Hulsey,” Lucinda explained. “We believe that he is assisted by his son, Bertram. In any event, sometime back Basil Hulsey stole a fern from my greenhouse.”

  “The Ameliopteris amazonensis you mentioned?” Adelaide asked.

  “Yes,” Lucinda said. She studied the metal canister. “It has some unusual psychical properties. It appears that Hulsey has used it to produce a sleeping gas.”

  “The question,” Caleb said, “is who the devil is the bastard working for now?”

  “Someone from my world, it appears,” Griffin said. He contemplated the canister. “I questioned the two intruders who invaded my household. They have been in business as a team for a number of years. They were convinced that they were working for someone in the underworld, not in society.”

  “Hulsey would require a fully equipped laboratory to produce the gas and the crystals,” Caleb said.

  “In my world there are very few who could or would finance such a project,” Griffin said. “And very likely only one man who might also have a personal interest in such paranormal weaponry.”

  Caleb smiled faintly. “You mean, only one man other than yourself?”

  “Yes.” Griffin looked at him. “It appears that Luttrell has broken the Truce. That implies that something has happened to make him believe that he is now in a position to take the risk of attacking me.”

  Lucinda was clearly baffled. “What Truce?”

  Caleb did not take his attention from Griffin. “Mr. Winters refers to the Truce of Craygate Cemetery, I believe.”

  Griffin was amused. “Jones and Jones is more in touch with the politics of my world than I would have guessed.”

  “In your world you are a legend,” Caleb said simply. “So is the Truce. Legends have a way of making themselves known even to outsiders.” He frowned. “You are convinced that Luttrell is a talent?”

  “I have had some dealings with the man,” Griffin said. “There is no doubt about it. Why do you think that Scotland Yard has never been able to get close to him?”

  “For the same reason it has never been able to identify the Director of the Consortium,” Caleb said. He looked at Lucinda. “You see what happens when men of talent become criminals, my dear?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Lucinda said. “They are remarkably good at the business.”

  Griffin waited politely, as though he had no interest in the discussion.

  Caleb turned back to him. “Well, Winters? Will you assist us in locating Basil
Hulsey?”

  “I have no great interest in Hulsey,” Griffin said. “But it is clear that I will have to do something about Luttrell. At the moment, the two problems appear to be connected.”

  “How do you propose to stop Luttrell?” Caleb asked, obviously fascinated. “By all accounts his organization is second only to your own in terms of power.”

  Griffin looked out the window at the fog-shrouded park.

  “Cut off the head and the snake will die,” he said.

  37

  “FOR PITY’S SAKE, GRIFFIN, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU VOLUNTEERED to destroy Luttrell and his entire organization for Jones and Jones,” Adelaide said.

  “I’m not doing this as a favor to Arcane,” Griffin said. “Luttrell broke the Truce when he sent that pair to grab you.”

  It was just after one in the morning. They were in the anonymous carriage he used to move around London. Jed was on the box. The light of a full moon infused the heavy fog with an eerie internal glow that reminded Griffin of the Burning Lamp. He felt the hair stir on the back of his neck.

  It had taken only a day to obtain the first serious response to the offer that he had put out on the street, but he knew the clock was ticking. It would not take long for Luttrell to pick up the rumors.

  “Luttrell will surely be prepared for you,” Adelaide said. “You are one man, not an army.”

  “Sometimes one can do what many cannot. I seem to recall a very industrious social reformer who took down entire brothels from the inside with her Trojan-horse strategy.”

  “That is not the same thing at all,” Adelaide insisted.

  “Yes, it is. Just on a slightly different scale. But you can stop nagging me about it, at least for now. I’m not going to kill Luttrell this evening. My goal tonight is simply to meet with a man who wants to sell me some information.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Well, I’ll admit, it isn’t the way I would normally choose to pass the evening hours either,” he conceded. “I would much prefer to spend them with a bottle of claret and you in front of a fire.”

  As if we enjoyed a real home together, he added silently. He immediately pushed the entire notion into the place where old dreams go to languish. If nature were kind such phantom yearnings would simply be extinguished in that misty limbo. But he had learned long ago that nature was never concerned with kindness, only with life and death, and not always in the right order.