by J M Bannon
Dolly sat and waited.
“Strathmore is a good egg, Detective,” said Sir Lester, slouched in his chair. He had taken off his dinner coat and was in shirt sleeves. “Mark my words, Detective. That man will become one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the United States. You would do well to make him a friend.”
Dolly decided he needed to press, given Lester would only get more drunk. "I’ll keep that in mind. I think I will make my way to bed.” He feigned getting up. That was all it took to stoke Chilton.
“One moment, Detective. Back at Chilton House, you asked if there were other documents missing. From what we could tell everything in the vault was in order other than my damn missing gold!” Lester came back to point after his rage. “Sims mentioned that my father did keep some files, not in the Chilton House but a strong box in a hunter's lodge on this property. I had never heard of the safe, and my father and I were very close.” Lester's eyes were watery.
“I went out to the lodge to find this strong box. My father must have wanted me to find it, given he told Sims of its location. It only took a few tries to find the combination. It was my birthdate. While I cannot ascertain if anything was missing from the safe, given that a week ago I had no idea the box or its contents existed, what was in there was interesting.”
“I will assume that you found something relevant to the case,” replied Dolly.
“I think it may be.” Sir Lester got up and stumbled over to a painting near his desk. The painting hung on hinges and swung to the side, revealing a wall safe. He fumbled at the combination, finally opening the strongbox after several attempts. Sir Lester removed a file and dropped the folder in the detective's lap.
Dolly began looking at the documents. They were the Last Will and Testament of Don Ernesto de Moya. Dolly looked up. “Can you tell me why you think these documents are relevant?”
"Those were the wishes of Don Ernesto when he was alive. That is how he expected his fortune and holdings would be distributed to his heirs. I was the trustee for Señor Emilio Moya. Therefore, I was quite familiar with holdings, inheritances and allowances. Those were not the documents I worked from for the past sixteen years since he passed. Look at the declarations and the disbursements in the appendix. If I were Hernando or Emilio, I would have taken issue with these documents,” said Lester as he got up and grabbed the brandy bottle to refill his and Dolly’s snifter.
"Why would your father have these documents?"
"I don’t know, Detective," answered Lester. Then he continued, "I don't know why my father would have been party to this. Ernesto was his friend, and his wishes would not have cost the firm a pence in fees. It only served to help the brothers and their reputation. Why? Why would he hide this?"
"Would anyone else in the firm have benefited from the changes?" asked Williamson.
"No, no, no. The firm only collects fees for the management of the assets," Lester exclaimed.
"Mr. Strathmore told me at the club when I interviewed him that the Moyas, and specifically Hernando, had made your firm and other investors very wealthy. Would any of those investments be affected detrimentally by the revelations in this document?"
Lester sat back in his chair. His eyes went up to the ceiling, and his head rocked side to side. "Some, maybe all. Who am I to say? Character and reputation are important in the world of finance."
Dolly looked again at the declarations section of the will. “I think you have your answer, Sir Lester. This wasn't about the trust, but about Hernando and Emilio's other enterprises, and your father may have been complicit to protect all the firm’s co-investments with the Moyas,” said Dolly. Your father’s decision to hide these documents may have cost him his life.
There was a knock at the door. “What is it?” Lester snapped.
“Sir, I have a wire-type for the detective,” said the voice outside the door.
“Bring it in, Helmsley,” said Sir Lester.
Helmsley entered the room and stood at Dolly’s side with a silver tray extended. The wire-ype tape was coiled loosely on the platter.
Dolly uncoiled the tape and read the small type.
TRANSMITTAL 24061858 21:42
TO: MEADHURST T01
Williamson, Fredrick
FROM: Royal Teletype, Bethnal Station Ca
Caldwell Rose -Cash Acct
412 PILTON ROAD ALIAS BERTHA HELSTROM LEAVING LONDON BY SHIP SUNDAY
CHECK YOUR POCKET WATCH I WILL BE THERE AT 10 PM SATURDAY
Dolly looked up at Helmsley and motioned his eyes toward the baronet making a face. “Sir Lester, I think it is time you retire,” said the butler.
“No, no. Helmsley. Williamson and I are just going to have another drink.”
Dolly stood up to excuse himself. “As much as I would love to take you up on your invitation, I think I will catch the car with Mr. Strathmore and get to the station early. I have pressing business in London.”
16
Saturday the 26th of June
7:00 PM, The Lodge
The Lodge was a nondescript somewhat run-down building in Surry Hill. The steam carriage idled to a stop, delivering Guild Master Gerrard and two Silver Seers in front of the townhouse. The necronists stepped out and walked up to the steps with energetic strides.
Poised on the stoop, Gerard took in a deep breath. Reaching into his left sleeve, he pulled out his malla beads to help him focus his energy and to center his formidable power. So formidable that all he needed was to think about the incantation, and the works began. He scryed the building and with his mind’s eye saw the defenses the Lodge had erected to protect against forces from the outside and to contain spirits within.
Before he had a chance to knock, the door opened. Not a word was spoken as the three men entered. It was dark inside the flat, not yet fitted for gas light. Only candles were used for illumination, giving a hazy yellow-orange glow where light was cast. In the foyer, they were greeted by Madame Helen Blatavsky, an Eastern European psychic. She had settled in London after traveling the world to augment her powers, now a trusted advisor to society ladies who dabbled in metaphysics, not looking to understand the true nature of the multiverse but to divine who their daughter might marry or if they might live to a certain age. Saint-Yves detested this use of the warp and woof of the universe and considered it a perversion.
“Welcome to the Lodge, Guild Master Saint-Yves,” purred the woman with a Russian accent. She was dressed in a modest black gown as if mourning the loss of a loved one. “Follow me,” she continued.
The gentlemen followed Madame Helen down a rickety wooden stairwell into the cellar. It was poorly lit, making it difficult to see the full size of the cellar. The dampness and mildew overpowered the senses. At the foot of the steps, they discovered an ornate candelabra set on top of a round table and chairs, set inside a sunken pool roughly dug into the cellar floor and lined with a tarp to hold water. It was an unsavory arrangement. The table was submerged in six inches of water, and as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, another object was present, a large circle of silver chain laying on the table. Two men waited in the basement, appearing out of the shadows when the necronists came into the candle light. Gerard grimaced. How pathetic the accommodations were. He would have to work with what he was given.
Blatavsky introduced her compatriots. “Guild Master Saint Yves, this is Lord Oswald the Grand Mason of the Lodge.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Saint-Yves.
“Likewise,” said Oswald.
Lord Oswald was thought of as a crackpot in high society, but Gerard knew he was a man of talent and natural ability. He had been invited to join the guild, but Oswald was not prepared to give up his title and property as part of his fealty and devotion to the art and science of metaphysics.
“And this is Crosby Welch,” stated the woman as she continued to introduce the party.
“It is an honor to meet you, Guild Master,” replied Crosby.
“The honor is mine,
Mr. Welch.” Gerard had no idea who Crosby was. He was likely a high-ranking and talented Lodge member but of no consequence to the spiritual sciences.
“Let me just say how honored we are to have you, and while our terrestrial abode may be lacking style and substance, I am certain you will be impressed with our meeting hall,” promised Lord Oswald.
“Shall we begin?” queried Madame Blatavsky.
Each of the attendees took off their shoes and stockings then stepped into the pool. All the attendees took a seat around the table, keeping their feet immersed in the water. The séance members grasped the silver chain in each hand to complete a circle of enchantment and began reciting the incantation.
Gerard closed his eyes and wriggled his toes in the ankle-high fluid. He could feel the electrolytes and tinctures in the water that would assist the group in conducting their spirits via astral projection to the locus amulet submerged in the pool. A slight smile crossed his face, enjoying the indulging benefits of the soothing foot bath for his tired feet. He then put his full attention to the incantation and let go of the terrestrial plane.
When he opened his mind’s eye, the group had projected to an aetheris sanctuarii, a trans-dimensional sanctuary constructed by the Lodge for clandestine meetings. In contrast to the wretched townhouse in London, the Lodge members had conjured a fantastic spacious crystal dome with a white marble floor. It rivaled Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace in Sydenham Hill, not in size but in complexity and beauty. Gerard was impressed with the faction’s ability to project and sustain the construct in his mind. The crystal panes were fitted into a giant wrought iron frame, allowing those inside to look out into the astral plane where they had anchored the sanctuary, a floating aether observatory.
“Welcome. We can all speak freely here,” encouraged Madame Blatavsky.
Gerard walked across the space to observe its construction as well as to show the Lodge members of his ability to move freely in his astral form. He peered out the crystal dome and saw the infinite expanse of the multiverse and the ever-changing nexus of the energy channels. It was like turning over a tapestry to see the warp and weave of its construction. You could still make out the coarse image of reality on the other side, and you could clearly see how reality was woven together. It was wonderful and humbling to view. “This is an impressive construct,” commented Gerard. “I have asked for your help, Lord Oswald, to locate and capture a practitioner of metaphysics who is engaging in unsanctioned dark arts.”
“A Haitian Witch,” said Seer Moreau.
Gerard looked at him with a dismissive look. Gerard hated overt zealotry, and he couldn’t hold the kind of animosity towards Angelica that Moreau did. His heart held admiration, respect and love for the woman. He thought, don’t be overconfident, brother. “My guild’s strength in London is limited. We seek powerful allies to help protect civilization and extend knowledge beyond the mortal realm. It is obvious from this construct that our choice in the Lodge was a wise one.”
Gerard thought about what he had learned from the detective. Angelica was now strong enough to strip souls. She had done it twice in London. She either had an entourage to help her, or she had surpassed her master and could perform Pwen Hanaan as a solo practitioner. Either way, his group would be punching out of their spiritual weight class. Furthermore, she could maintain a controlling psychic connection for some distance and force the subjects to cross strong moral barriers, suggesting his group would be outclassed. Gerard knew he must devise and implement a strategic plan.
“I will leave Seer Moreau with you to scrye the location of Angelica du Haiti. Seer Thomas and one of your Lodge members will assist me in confronting Angelica. Once the scrying team deduces the location, the Seer will project it to me. Only then will we act,” implored Gerard.
The guild master’s plan was to split the group, with the stationary séance concentrating on divining the whereabouts of the enchantress. The second group would be mobile, and the necronists would connect telepathically across the aether, guiding them to the location.
Being physically closer to Angelica would leave her little time to escape from Gerard, if she detected the psychic search. The mobile group would be less noticeable to Angelica’s psychic detection as they would be passively connected to the group that was actively seeking her location. The group understood the plan without speaking further as they all became mentally linked and the eldritch bonds of the séance strengthened.
The cluster uttered the incantation, “Inde aethere nunc revertetur ad terram santuary” The invocation returned the members to Earth and their places around the table. Gerard, Thomas and Lord Oswald each took two silver necklaces, wrapping one around the binding chain on the table and then placing an identical necklace around their own necks. The next step to binding the séance table to the hunting party would require the hunters to submerge an alabaster vial in the pool at their feet. Once full of water and the lids secured, the small vials were then attached to the silver chain around their necks.
Lord Oswald was the first to step from the pool after returning to the terrestrial plane. Guild Master Saint-Yves followed and then finally Seer Thomas. The Trio dried their feet, donned footwear and ascended upstairs out onto the street. The three ran to the waiting steam carriage as a torrential downpour began.
* * *
9:30 PM, Silkwood & Company
Jimmy stood alone in the recessed doorway of one of the shops. He breathed deeply to take in the scent of fresh rain. There was a short time after a good downpour in London that cleansed the air and freshened the city. He watched the rooftop horizon, looking for one of his triad brethren as he made his way to the furnace exhaust for that building. The furnace was churning so hard he could pick it out from the street by its large plume and the size of the pipe in comparison to the smaller heating chimneys hooked to coal stoves of homes and offices in the housing block.
On Thursday, Jimmy sent a triad affiliate, a regular at Silkwood & Company, to retrieve prices to recut stones from Simon. The real purpose was to confirm that they were working the smelter flat strap. As a bonus, his scout spied several packing crates from Venice lined up along the back of the cramped shop, validating that this was the gold he was looking for.
Jimmy observed the silhouette of his man against the moonlight as he knocked the cap off the exhaust pipe then stuffed a wooden plug into the pipe, giving it a good wallop with a mallet. As his man eased his way down, Jimmy looked at his pocket watch. Now he just needed to wait.
There was only one way in or out of that shop: through a large iron and oak door.
* * *
9:40 PM, the streets of London
In the back of the steam carriage, Gerard Saint-Yves sat in silent meditation, his back to the driver and the passenger partition open to allow the driver to hear the directions recited by the guild master. Oswald and Thomas contemplated in solitude, encouraging Gerard to concentrate. Each held awe of his ability to maintain a spiritual connection to the séance at such a distance and in a moving vehicle. Both had lost the connection miles ago.
Yet, in his mind’s eye, the guild master and those at the séance were detached spirits floating over the city of London looking down for hot spots of arcane power. Seer Moreau and Saint-Yves hovered while Blatavsky and Welsh swooped over the city in astral form, searching for sites of intense arcane energy. Moreau acted as conduit to Gerard, feeding him the collective’s results as it taxed both of their capacity to hold true the link.
Gerard watched as the astral forms flitted across the skyline, invisible to the human eye. When a street or building looked promising, Madame Blatavsky or Crosby Welsh would swoop down to inspect the location further. It was Crosby who spotted the house first and began to move toward it as he closed in. Gerard spoke, “Go across the river. Make haste.”
The entire astral network sensed he had found a powerful locus of arcana. Madame Blatavsky stopped searching and altered her path towards the location. Crosby continued to investigate, ha
ving reformed his spectral essence in the middle of the street just as a horse-drawn handy passed. The horse brayed as it passed through his spirit form.
Gerard pleaded, Get me the address. His thoughts passed through the network to Crosby. He looked for landmarks and signs. Pilton Street, the 400 block, trickled back through the aether, bouncing up and down the spiritual network.
Crosby’s projection looked down the street and saw a woman with short black hair in a long grey and red coat, observing the same address. As he began to move toward the dwelling, his ethereal form confidently marched closer to see who was the resident.
Gerard snapped out of his trance eyes, wide open with a gasp as if he had nearly suffocated. “Driver, get to 412 Pilton Road as fast as you can.”
* * *
9:50 PM, Silkwood and Company
The steam lorry was stoked and ready to engage. It was parked facing away from the shop and perpendicular to the street Silkwood was located on. Jimmy approached the truck, pushing aside the canvas curtain covering the back end and jumped in together with the three other men. He quickly looked back between the canvas storage cover to confirm his man from the roof snuffed the gas lamps on the street to darken both roads.
They all waited for the Silkwood door to open. Still nothing. "What are these guys, fish? Don’t they need air?" said Rooftop in Mandarin.
"Aww, fuck me dead,” said Jimmy.
Rooftop and the others tried to push. “Get back, you cow cuds. It’s a fucking copper,” he whispered.
A single officer was strolling his beat. He walked leisurely down the cobble stone avenue, peering in shop windows. All the jewelers cleared inventory from the windows into strong boxes overnight so there was nothing to see. He looked closely to observe movement, like people in the shops that shouldn’t be.
