My Clockwork Muse

by D. R. Erickson

  "He knows I'm here?"

  "He's looking for you. But don't worry, he doesn't suspect a thing. He's off on a whole different case now, one that he thinks only on an outside chance might bear some connection to you. I put him off that notion, though. He won't be back anytime soon, believe me."

  "What case?" I asked.

  "Oh, some crazy affair out in Fordham. Out by your cottage, in fact. Wait! That must be why he suspects you. I hadn't put that together until just now. Ha! Now we know why I'm a doctor and not a detective. Oh, my! I have embarrassed myself before the great Dupin. From now on, I’ll leave the sleuthing to you, Edgar." Coppelius laughed.

  "What sort of affair would interest the police in Fordham?"

  "A tomb desecration," Coppelius said. "Seems some lunatic disinterred a corpse and extracted all of its teeth. The family, of course, are beside themselves—12"

  My hair stood on end. I did not wait for Coppelius to finish.

  I started running.

  Chapter 16

  I bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time, guided only by the dim sliver of light that shone through the cracks in the door above. I could hear Coppelius shouting after me, but I did not hesitate for a second. In fact, all thought had escaped me. I was running, yes, but to where?

  My impulse was to leave the house and never come back; to flee the city, in fact. But by the time I burst through the door into a ground floor corridor, my reason had returned and I knew what I had to do. I ran for the foyer.

  Dansby popped his head out of a doorway as I rushed past. "Wait for me here!" I cried as I rounded the corner and bounded up yet another set of stairs—again taking the steps 2 and 3 at a time—this one leading to my second floor room.

  I rushed inside and flung open the drawer of my bureau. I began flinging clothes aside, digging through piles of clean and folded stockings.

  "Watcha doin', Eddy?"

  "Ah, here it is!" I grasped the little wooden box and rattled it to make sure the teeth were still inside. Then, flinging open the doors of my wardrobe, I began groping blindly on the top shelf until my fingers lit upon the familiar shape of my pepperbox revolver, right where I had hidden it last night.

  "Eddy! Whatcha doin'?"

  "What I should have done a long time ago," I said.

  "Get a decent haircut?"

  "Shut up!" I found the box of bullets and put everything in the pockets of my frock coat.

  "What, then?"

  I turned and saw Tap staring at me curiously from the window sill. "I'm putting an end to this business with Burton, that's what. No one has seen that story but he. No one! He means to drive me mad, and pin these crimes on me? Well, I will turn the tables on him. I must retrieve that story—"

  "'The Tell-Tale Teeth'?"

  "Yes," I said. "I mean, no. 'Berenice'. I gave it to Burton."

  "Yeah, that's what I said. The teeth story! I'm with ya, buddy."

  The fact of my situation seemed to hit me all at once. "My God, Tap. I must recover that story. If anyone sees it, I'll hang!"

  "We better hurry then."

  "'We'?"

  "Yeah, meaning both of us. Dos Hombres. Me and you, Eddy. I'm comin' with ya!"

  "Sorry, but you're staying here." I pulled out my revolver and eyed the chambers, making sure that it was still loaded. Satisfied, I put it back in my pocket and strode to the door. I looked back at Tap. "Make sure nobody snoops around in here."

  "Yeah, sure thing, Eddy. That's all I'm good for. Thanks."

  "And stay away from Coppelius."

  "You don't have to tell me twice. I wouldn't go anywhere near that crocodile."

  I left the room and closed the door behind me. I could hear Tap shouting at me as I ran down the corridor. "I'll just fly around the yard then. Maybe I'll go on over to Longfellow's and inspire him to some poetry—for all the good it does me here..."

  When I turned the corner, I saw Dansby standing at the bottom of the stairs. "To the train station!" I cried, and he strode off rapidly. As I started down after him, I saw that Olimpia had appeared in his place.

  "You!" I said, moving around her.

  Her eyes expressed hurt and dismay at my reaction to her. "Eddy, what is it?" she asked.

  "Don't play innocent with me," I said. "That routine has just about played itself out." Despite the harshness of my tone, I felt more sadness than anger. I had come to trust Olimpia more than anyone else I knew—even to love her. To think that she could have betrayed me was a blow from which I was not sure I could recover.

  "What routine?" she asked, wide-eyed. "Eddy, please. You're frightening me."

  "I frighten you? Why didn't you tell me your father had been practicing my handwriting."

  "Your handwriting? What are you talking about?"

  I reached into my pocket and thrust the vial of red liquid under her nose. "Here! This is what I'm talking about. Look familiar?"

  She drew back and examined it closely. "Eddy, you don't think—?"

  "Oh, I know what I think," I said, shoving the vial back into my pocket. I regretted showing it to her. I certainly did not want Coppelius to know I had it. I needed to get out of the house before the doctor came upstairs after me. I opened the front door and looked each way along the carriage drive. But there was no sign of Dansby. I popped my head back inside the door. "And to think you looked right at it—and didn't say a word."

  "Looked right at what, Eddy? What are you saying?"

  "Do I have to spell it out for you? The handwriting is all too clear to me. I'm leaving now, Miss Coppelius."

  "Wherever you're going, I'm going with you."

  "Why? So you can spy on me for your father? Come to think of it, how did you come to be in my sitting room yesterday morning?" I thought I heard the clatter of carriage wheels, and I looked out again. Dansby was driving around the side of the house. My mind was swimming. I withdrew my face from the door, ready to give Olimpia some more. But the palm of her hand was waiting for me. She slapped me hard across the cheek.

  "You have no right to talk to me that way. I don't know anything about your handwriting or what Father has done. I know he's not perfect, but he is the only father I have ever had. If he has done anything to hurt you..." I saw a tear burst from one of her eyes and race down her cheek.

  I hugged her and then held her at arm's length, gazing at her deeply. When she looked up I saw that her lashes were moist with tears. "I believe you," I said. My heart wanted to leap with joy, for it was true. It had crushed me to think that her affection for me was counterfeit. I had not wanted to believe it. I could see in her eyes that I had been a fool to doubt her. My cheek still stung. I deserved to have the other walloped as well.

  Dansby called from outside. "Ready for you, sir."

  "But I must go now," I said. I turned and started for the door, but felt a tug at my sleeve. I looked back and saw Olimpia smiling at me expectantly.

  "You're not going anywhere without me, Edgar Allan Poe."

  "But, Olimpia, where I am going there is much danger. You might get hurt."

  "It would hurt me more to leave you, Eddy. We’re a team, remember?"

  Sighing, I closed my eyes and smiled. "I remember," I said. I took her hand and we ran down the steps together and jumped into Dansby's waiting carriage.

  ~ * * * ~

  "That story will be my undoing," I told Olimpia in the hackney cab on our way to Burton's office. Dansby had dropped us off at the train station and we had taken a train into the city. I felt I had to retrieve that story from Burton before he showed it to anyone, certainly before he printed it in the next issue of his magazine. I only hoped I could track him down in time to stop him.

  "But certainly the story implicates Mr. Burton more than you, doesn't it, Eddy?"

  "Indeed it would, Olimpia—in a more just world than this one. I am already suspected of the Rue Morgue and Amontillado murders. I fear the Berenice affair will be the nail in my coffin."

  The air through the open front o
f the carriage caressed our cheeks and tousled our hair as the horse clip-clopped through the crowded streets of the city. I had promised the cabbie extra to hurry and I could hear him snapping at sluggish teamsters and oblivious pedestrians alike as we sped on our way.

  "We must make Inspector Gessler understand," Olimpia said. "Surely, when he discovers that Mr. Burton is not—"

  "They are all in it together, Olimpia. There is not a one of them I can trust. Certainly not with my life." Concealed behind the chest-high front doors of the cab, I withdrew my revolver and once again inspected the chambers. I had already checked and re-checked the loading, I knew. But I was nervous beyond reason that I should arrive at the crucial moment only to find myself unarmed. "The scoundrels give me no choice, Olimpia. They have brought this on themselves. There is only one course of action left open to me." I straightened, replacing the pepperbox in my pocket from where I could retrieve it easily. I gazed sternly into Olimpia's eyes. "And I plan to take it. Try to keep your head down."

  Olimpia started to protest, but the cab had stopped and the driver announced our destination. He had pulled the hackney up alongside the curb in front of Burton's office. "Pay the man!" I cried to Olimpia and jumped out of the carriage.

  I dashed across the sidewalk, pushing past pedestrians to looks of astonishment that quickly gave way to anger. A large man walked into my path and I stopped to let him pass. In confusion, he paused and then got the idea to restart at the same moment that I lurched forward. So I reversed course, as did he. We did a few steps of an awkward little dance in this manner, until I finally just pushed him aside and rushed the remaining distance to Burton's door.

  Inside, I found Burton's appointment secretary at his desk, just as I had on my previous visit. "Where is he?" I cried as I burst through the door.

  The secretary rose from his desk with a start. His expression of surprise quickly changed to one of annoyance. "You again! I must insist that you leave at once, sir. Mr. Burton—"

  "Out of my way." I stormed past him, elbowing him aside. I made my way to the end of the frosted glass partition and peered around the corner into the office. I scanned it quickly, looking for any sign of Burton. Workers sat at their desks and looked up at me curiously, their writing pens frozen in their hands. Not finding him, I made to turn when I felt the secretary grasp my shoulder from behind. I swung my elbow and caught him on the chin. The blow propelled him forcefully into the half-wall partition, rattling the glass in its frame. The workers gasped at the sudden violence. I jerked my head around, seeking the villain.

  I looked down a short corridor and saw him through the pane of clear glass in his office door.

  "Aha!" I cried. "The fiend himself!"

  "Eddy! Stop!" I heard Olimpia call to me from the front door. At the same time, Burton saw me and rose from his desk.

  "Stay out of this, Olimpia," I called without looking back. "This is between Burton and me. Mano a mano!" I cried, in my passion adopting a common Tap-ism of whose meaning I was not entirely certain, as I quickened my pace to get at the oaf as he opened his office door.

  "Hold it right there, Poe," Burton commanded. He pointed his walking stick straight at my chest, but I did not pause for an instant. I swatted it out of my way and, grabbing Burton by his lapels, thrust him up against the wall.

  No sooner had I done so than I knew it was a mistake. He was a much larger, stronger man than I. But I had taken him by surprise, so for a moment at least I held the upper hand.

  "Don't think for a second that you've fooled me—Billy," I spat in his face. "I know what you are."

  Burton's cheeks bulged and reddened, and his eyes grew fierce. He swiped my hands away and, grasping me under one arm, levered me over his hip. I went airborne before landing flat on my back. I felt as helpless as a child. Even though I had witnessed the feats of strength he was capable of, I was amazed to find that he was even stronger than I had imagined. But my fury was not appeased and I scrambled to my feet at once. I could hear Olimpia shouting at me, but I could not make out her words.

  "Damn you, Poe!" Burton fumed. "What is the meaning of this?"

  "I don't answer the demands of murderers!" I shouted. When he appeared stunned by my accusation, I repeated it just so he wouldn't think his hearing had gone bad. "Yes, that's right. You heard me, Billy Burton. Murderer, I say. Don't think I don't know."

  "You're mad, Poe."

  "Oh, you would like the world to believe that, wouldn't you? Isn't that your plan, Billy?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. But if you take one step closer..." He had dropped his stick and now raised his fists. He held his right forward of his left, ready to strike.

  I was of no mind to test the strength of his fists, but my rage had not abated. "How could you not know? I've come for my story—for 'Berenice'—and I will not leave until I have it."

  He relaxed slightly. "That story you gave me about the ... What was it? Some girl buried alive or something? Bloody 'ell, Poe—"

  I could feel my face redden with fury. "You know full well what it is about, you fiend! And now you seek to damn me with it, committing murder in my name!"

  Burton uttered a sardonic laugh. "No more murder than that poor butchered prose of yours. Oh, if it means so much to you, you can have your damned story back. It is bloody dreadful, anyway, if you ask me. Bloody hack-work is what it is..."

  My rage had reached a boiling point. Words failed me. I reached into my pocket.

  "No, Eddy!" Olimpia grasped my wrist.

  "Hold it right there!"

  I turned and saw Gessler burst through the doors, flanked by two of his policemen. A small throng of office workers had gathered to watch our struggle and Gessler nudged his way through them. They parted for him compliantly.

  "Ah! Just the man I wanted to see," Burton exclaimed. He strode to his desk, opened a drawer and held the pages of 'Berenice' aloft. "I've got your man for you, Constable. And I have the proof!" He rattled the pages triumphantly.

  "And you're just the man I wanted to see, Mr. Burton," Gessler said, unimpressed. He was wearing his derby. His drooping moustache puffed out when he spoke. "You are William E. Burton, are you not?"

  Burton frowned. "Of course."

  "Well, I must say, then, you're a hard one to track down, sir. And here you stand, finally, looking remarkably fit—for a dead man. Much better than the last time I saw you, to be sure."

  Burton narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you, Constable?"

  Gessler stood rubbing his chin. "I can honestly say I don't know. But I think you had better explain yourself."

  "Do you still think I murdered him, Inspector?" I asked. Oh, the feeling was delicious. I only wished now that I had expressed my suspicions to Gessler when I had had the chance. My triumph would have been complete.

  Before Gessler could respond, Burton rolled his eyes. "There he goes again! He keeps babbling on about having murdered me. The man is quite off his rocker, Inspector. He even tried to enlist me in destroying evidence at the scene of his now infamous 'Rue Morgue' murder. Oh, he knew every last detail of the crime. You should have seen him laying it all out for me. He was actually enjoying it. If murder is an art form then that room was his canvas. Never will you find an artist prouder of his work!"

  "Scoundrel!" I cried. Again, Olimpia grasped my right arm. I could not easily move it. Gessler merely looked from one to the other of us.

  "He even went so far as to pretend someone was trying to kill him—a common delusion among the insane. Of course, I played along until I could gather evidence against him. And here it is!" He waved the papers again.

  "Scoundrel!" This time I pushed Olimpia aside. I could take no more. I reached into my pocket. Gessler saw me and leaped into action. His policemen also rushed toward me. But I would not be stopped. I pulled the revolver from my pocket and leveled it at Burton's chest. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I saw the policemen's hands grabbing for me and Burton's eyes widen as though they would pop from his head.
My finger tightened on the trigger. The barrel cluster of the pepperbox begin to rotate. And ...

  BANG!

  The force of the blast blew Burton backwards against the far wall of his office. I heard Olimpia scream and in the next instant the cops had hold of my wrist. They squeezed and twisted until they had prised the pistol from my grasp. It fell to the floor with a thunk.

  "Now you are a murderer, Mr. Poe!" Gessler shouted amid the chaos that had erupted throughout the office.

  "I have murdered no one!" I cried, but my words were swept unheard into the maelstrom of the raucous din.

  One of the policemen grabbed my arm, thrusting it halfway up my back. He slammed me against the wall. My arm seemed about to break. I tried to cry out but my cheek was pressed hard to the cold paneling, distorting my lips and making speech impossible. I heard people screaming and others rushing to offer Burton aid. Burton himself was lying motionless on the floor. In horror, I realized that it was possible I had made a mistake—one final, and perhaps fatal, error heaped upon all the others. It seemed a fitting end for me. Now I was a murderer. Escape was my only option, but the strength of the cop overwhelmed me.

  No sooner had I decided to surrender myself—if only to save my arm—than I felt the cop's iron grip slacken. My arm was suddenly free and I turned to see Olimpia deliver a second closed-fisted blow to the man's kidney. The first had merely shocked him; the second sent him reeling as his knees buckled in pain. I was astonished to see the strength possessed by such a petite girl.

  "Olimpia—" I began, too stunned to move. But she pulled me from the wall before I could continue, waking me from my stupor.

  "Run, Eddy!" she cried.

  I grabbed her, thinking to make a mad dash through the still-shocked crowd when I saw the other cop coming straight for me. It was Gessler's Irishman, a large lumbering fellow. I deftly side-stepped his charge. I was operating on instinct alone. I had not engaged in fisticuffs of any sort since my days at West Point, but I retained a few tricks I had learned through harsh lessons. I put them to use now, knowing that this time there would be no demerits.