by J M Bannon
“I do, Azul. But I need Preston back to consult. Can you get him back here?” Rose now held Preston’s hands in hers, and looking down on them, they were covered in ink stains from writing and dust from the tomes.
“What is it? Maybe I can be of aid,” said Azul.
“You may. But I was expecting to talk to Preston.” It wouldn’t be quite as easy to bring him back. She decided she would have to work with what she had and continued to talk with Azul.
“Azul Hassan, I presume you are familiarized with the practices of the Necromancer?”
“I am well-versed. I have read the texts of the necronist and the classic and ancient, such as the scrolls of Osiris.”
“Have you seen this?” she pulled out an illustration she had drawn up from memory of the totem she saw at the Chilton town house.
Preston stared at the drawing. “Very curious.” He was lost in thought, looking at the sketch and shuffling towards his book case.
Rose looked to the sill of the door and saw Brentwood’s signal that he was ready and waiting outside: a simple sheet of writing paper under the transom. Rose walked to the exit and released the latch, peeking out. There stood the butler and two servants with trays. She opened the door. Brentwood hurried to get the first tray into her hands. She set it on the floor inside the office, then grabbed the second tray. Without saying a word, she spun around and used her backside to push the door closed. It shut loudly, and that startled Preston. “What are you up to?” challenged Azul with a belligerent tone laced with paranoia.
“Just lunch. I am ravenous,” stated Rose.
“Very well,” reacted the alter ego of Preston.
Rose put the tray down on the desk and lifted the plate covers. Potato soup and roast beef sandwich with pickled beet. She took a bite of the sandwich then placed it on the plate. She was famished. Her situation left her without means, and that meant she did not get regular meals, let alone veggies and fresh baked bread.
Preston shifted the bookcase ladder and then ascended the ladder, bringing down several volumes. He sat at the desk and turned on the desk arc lamp. This was an excellent sign. Her friend didn't seem to acknowledge his arbitrary action of turning on the electricity in the room, more intent on examining the book he had in front of him than consideration for Azul's fear of modernity. Rose sauntered over to the second tray and picked it up. This tray had the laudanum bottle on it. She palmed the vial before picking up the tray and setting it on the other side of the large desk.
Preston flipped through the pages, reading in some language that Rose could not identify. She lifted the lid off the other tray and ate, watching Preston page through the text. Certain he was absorbed in research, she put a dropper full of laudanum in the orange juice, a healthy dose.
“Azul Hassan, when did you eat last?”
Preston looked up, befuddled, then smiled “I don’t recall."
“Here is some fresh juice.” She handed him the glass. He accepted it and set it down on the desk, absorbed with his inquiry.
“Here it is. The—the—the totem is…used in the Pwen Hanan by a hougan in a Voodoo ritual of soul capture.” He pointed in the book at an engraving of five different totems, one appearing very much like Rose’s sketch.
“Ooh, where did you see this? What you drew here?” said Preston, wide-eyed and in his heavy accent, pounding his finger on Rose’s drawing.
“In London. Along with a body stripped of life."
Preston picked up the orange juice and took a big gulp, followed by a thirst-quenching sigh. “Look right here, in Dr. Melbourne’s Journal of West Indies Pagan Practices and Incantations, he interviewed a Voodoo hougan priest that claimed to use such an apparatus to absorb the spirit out of an individual and trap it in a gourd." He looked up. “Imagine your soul sputtering around in a gourd. How crude is that?” Preston said in an English inflection.
Rose picked up her glass of juice and said, “To keeping our souls out of gourds.”
Preston clinked her glass and took another swig.
Rose followed suit. “What were you working on before I came in for your help?”
A befuddled Preston followed Rose’s gaze to the tomes on the floor. “Oh, that I need to get free from an Iz Hauwl labyrinth on the fourteenth astral plane. I am researching how to construct the labyrinth, hoping that it leads to me finding weaknesses in an existing one." Preston smiled at his own ingenuity.
Rose directed him back to her pressing matter, the object that killed Chilton. “I see. Does the book there tell you what the priest does with the soul?”
He looked back to Melbourne's Journal and read, “Soul witchery by a hougan can either enslave the target soul or imbue it unto another. You say you found this here in London?”
“I did. I was asked to consult on a case of a wealthy Englishman who was found dead. The body drained of all spiritual energy to the point the physical body withered and mummified,” said Rose, reading over Preston’s shoulder to see if she could pick anything up. For once it was a book written in English.
“Voodooism is interesting because it is influenced by Western religion, but the manipulation of the arcane is primal. Very primitive, a derivative of Azande witchcraft and like all witchcraft and shamanism, rudimentary in understanding the metaphysics, but powerful in manipulating the raw energy,” said Preston.
Rose sensed Preston’s intellect pushing through. “What could a witch doctor, or what did you call it a hou—”
“Hougan. It’s a Voodoo term for a high-level practitioner. We can assume this person is proficient.”
“Can you figure out what they are doing with the souls?”
“That may be a stretch to determine the purpose. What I can say is your essence, your soul is your being beyond the me and I of the material world. It attaches to a mortal form until death. Some of us learn how to detach and return; that is projection. If you can tap into the soul of another, you can control the mortal form, transfer the spectral form, or convert the soul essence to the raw energy of the aether. There is a good description in the Hygromanteia, or The Magical Treatise of Solomon.” Preston spun in his swiveled chair and grabbed a book from the shelf immediately behind where he sat. “I keep a copy close at hand as it’s such a fine reference guide.” He set the book down and flipped through the pages then stopped as if he had lost his train of thought. Preston looked up from the book with a bewildered look.
“Rose, what are you doing here?”
“Preston?”
“Yes… Oh dear, have I been away again?”
4
Wednesday, the 9th of June
9:00 AM, Chilton House
Mr. Sims had wire-typed Dolly that items were missing from the vault.
Dolly returned to Chilton House with the local London sergeant. It was agreed that Dolly would take the lead on the inquiry.
Dolly found himself in the Board Room at Chilton House again, this time interviewing each of the partners.
At this moment, attending were Mr. Sims, and the partners Owens and Lester Chilton, Sir Francis’s eldest heir. It would be one of many interviews that day to gather statements and substantiate claims.
“In the wire-type Mr. Sims sent on June 8th, it was noted that an inventory was taken of the vault and contents were missing,” began Dolly.
“I had each partner review what contents they had in storage along with items that were in trust to the firm and kept in the partner strong room. While I could not be certain what else may be missing there was—”
Lester interrupted Sims. “Get to the point man. The detective does not require your foppery. He demands answers,” Dolly was thinking what the new baronet said out loud.
Lester took over from Sims. “Twenty thousand pounds’ sterling of gold guineas are gone. My father raised funds for the Duke of Wellington’s expedition into the Pyrenees in 1812. The Crown floated bonds to pay the troops, and we managed the syndication of the bonds. Our fee was five thousand pounds’ sterling, and a conditi
on was that payment be in the same way as payment for the troops: gold coins. The value of the gold has increased to be worth twenty thousand pounds at current gold prices. That is what was plundered.”
Dolly was struggling to imagine how much gold that was. “Is it common practice to hold that much currency?”
Lester smirked while taking the folder from Sims and pushing to the side of the table Dolly sat. “Detective, Chilton House is the preeminent merchant bank in the world. That is what we keep in the partner’s vault. Our other strong room is four times the capacity and holds much more cash and gold.”
Dolly opened the binder and thumbed through the accounts. Some of the items he did not recognize, but some of them he knew and could postulate the value. He was gob-smacked by the fortune in that room. “What was lifted from the smaller lock box?”
“The gun,” replied Lester. “My dad kept the pepper box in there in the event he was forced to open the vault and could turn the pistol on his assailants.”
“Who knew about the pistol?” Dolly asked.
Lester, Owens and Sims looked at each other. Owens spoke up “I would think he told every partner. It was your admission into the inner circle of the partnership when you were granted space in the partner’s strong room. Sir Francis and I did the honors of teaching a new partner the combination. Francis would go to that drawer and show them the gun and proclaim that he would go down shooting before he would let burglars steal from Chilton House.”
“How much would all the gold weigh?” Dolly finally asked.
“Around four hundred pounds. The gold was packed in ten canvas coin bags,” answered Lester.
“So, several trips or several men,” Dolly pondered aloud. “And nothing else was missing?”
“That is what was shared with me, Detective,” replied Sims. Dolly stared at Lester first then made eye contact with Owens and Sims. “If there was anything else that went amiss, either intimate or something that you or a client may have that was incriminating or humiliating, I need to know. Let all the partners know, and if there is something, they can come in confidence.”
Lester queried, “Detective, are you suggesting any of our partners are blackmailers?”
"Mr. Chilton, I have your father’s murder to solve. I will collect the evidence to convict the murderer and send them to the gallows. Nine other detectives and I must deal with the whole of London. You're fortunate to have powerful associates that will keep this case a priority, because I can tell you from experience, there will be ten more murders on my desk before this one is closed.
“Now. I suspect that your father was murdered to cover up who took the gold. It is a substantial fortune and gold can be melted and struck as bullion and moved to the continent or abroad. If it’s that simple, fine, but I never seem to get the simple ones, and I have questions that are hounding me. Things just are not adding up.
“For example, who knows about this gold? It’s been in your custody for what—forty-seven years? Has it always been in those strong boxes and in those bags, or did Sir Francis move it or have an occasion to talk about his bags of gold in the safe?
“The thieves knew which boxes to open and had no intent in any of the other boxes.” Dolly leaned back to read the paper in front of him. “Such as box 116 with two hundred 500-pound banknotes. I bet that could fit in just one of those canvas bags. Why this vault and not the other one that you say has more cash in it? Could the robbers have forced your father to open that vault?”
“No, he only has one combination. The vault managers also have to enter a combination,” replied Sims.
Dolly nodded. “Interesting. So they either knew that, or they were specifically looking to only access the partners’ vault, and that brings me back to how I may have impugned your character. I need to know if there were compromising documents to be certain that the gold isn’t a red herring for me to chase. If there were documents that were held in there of the type I mentioned, then that is the motive, not the gold.
“So I get to spend all day going through your employment rolls and interviewing your staff, meaning I’ll be here for quite some time and if you think of anything, please come back and let me know,” said Dolly.
“Are you done with us, Detective?” asked Owens.
“Thank you for your cooperation. Can I see the vault managers next?”
Sims answered, I will have him come up.”
The three men got up and left.
As Lester and Sims left the board room, Sims followed Lester into his office.
“What is it Sims?”
Sims closed the door and spoke in a hushed tone. “Sir, I suggest you go out to the manor for a few days of rest and contemplation.”
“What are you talking about, man? I have made arrangements for my father’s service here and must pick up his portfolio of business before the Rothchilds or Peabody Morgan stick their noses in the trough.”
“The floor safe in the shooting lodge, sir. That is where your father kept the black files. I was not entrusted with the combination, but he directed me when you took over that you should know about those files.”
Lester sat down, exhaling. “Black files? What are you on about, Sims? He never told me of the strong box. I don’t know the combination or its whereabouts.”
“Maybe something will come to you, something he shared so you could open the safe. Sir, I hope that you are not so naive to think that, given the influence of this firm, we wouldn’t have access to other’s secrets.”
“Sims, I’m not a fool,” returned Lester. He recognized that his enterprise had influence and exposure to state and personal secrets. He certainly couldn’t imagine that his father would use someone's secrets to extort them.
Sims left the office. He wanted to see what was in the black files and how he might employ them. More so he now realized from Lester’s reaction that he was not party to his father’s treachery.
* * *
10:00 AM, Gilchrist Manor
Preston lay in the tub. Rose sponged his back. She remained overnight to nurse Preston back to this world.
Preston didn’t talk much after these episodes; it took all his faculties to stay focused and present, or he would drift off and Azul would be return. He fixed on his breathing, the sensation of the sponge on his neck and the water streaking down his back.
Preston’s thoughts strayed again until he realized Rose caught him gazing at the looking-glass on the wall above the sink.
“What are you staring at?” Rose inquired. He had been gazing at her image in the mirror. She was in a chiffon nightgown, and he could see the silhouette of her athletic body and the black markings of glyphs she had tattooed on her skin as wards.
“The mirror. Sometimes when I go away, when I accept his power and knowledge, I no longer see light reflected in this world but the reflection of the spectral from other planes of reality on the surface of mirrors.” Preston finished and had a thought. Just before it flew into his conscious mind, he had to act. Preston twisted to look at Rose, accidentally splashing her with water and making the night gown see through. It clung to her breasts.
“Rose, sanctuary.”
She had only moments to act as everything Preston experienced, or thought would likely be perceived by Azul and potentially used against them. Rose rushed out of the lavatory.
Preston focused his mind on the process of astral projection and the use of a gemulet as an astral sanctuary. By thinking through the theory and practice, he would push out the thoughts he had to share with Rose and keep them from his dark passenger, Azul.
He worked through the steps to create an aetherial sanctuary. First, you required a gemulet struck in a precious metal enclosing an aether stone or crystal containing eldritch gas. This would create a tiny bubble of the aether to structure the sanctuary, for the users meet in, away from the mortal world but paradoxically still here. Rose had created one under Preston’s instruction a few years ago. Next, you needed a pool of water. The gemulet would be submerged
in the water, and the travelers would then immerse a part of themselves as well. Tinctures would be added to improve conductivity of the spirit through the water to the gemulet. Then you would need to recite the incantation.
The words were available in several tomes, Liber Loagaeth, The Book of Soyga, the fourth book of Occult Philosophy, or the Hygromanteia. The incantation was fairly pedestrian the final piece was to make a secondary connection outside of the fluid. The ritual would allow the practitioners to project their spiritual forms into the aether to slip between the threads of this material world to another dimension. Variations of this were used for hundreds of years, by just about every metaphysical sect as a way to commune across time and space.
What Preston and Rose were about to do was entry level astral projection, where their spiritual essence, the true beings they were beyond the concepts of the I, would go to a secure location. A place where Preston could speak freely to Rose without Azul reading his mind.
Rose scrambled back to the tub. Preston was gesturing her to go quicker with his hands.
Rose dropped her equipment belt to the floor to have two hands to open the box. It was a mitered puzzle box and required multiple movements to twist, turn, and open sides before the locked chamber opened to free the gemulet. The circular metal object was five inches in diameter with glyphs on both sides and a crystal in the center. That crystal was an interdimensional safe room. Rose threw the object in the tub where it sank to the bottom.
Unclasping the latches on her roll, she drew out two tinctures, confirmed the substances of the vials, then dumped both in the tub. It was a lot of water; more tincture was better.
Preston reached into the water to blend the eldritch soup while Rose stepped into the tub with him. Standing in the water that went up about mid-shin on Preston, they embraced to make the secondary connection and murmured the enchantment into each other's ear.
