Poe must die

“Reason. Mrs. Coltman, I shall tell you of reason. The oldest civilization on earth is to be found in Sumer, where 6,500 years ago animals were sacrificed and buried with dead men and women to continue serving them in a world beyond this one. The dead kings of Egypt were buried in elaborate pyramids with servants, chariots and jewels to please them in the afterlife. The Shang Dynasty of China buried its rulers with the bodies of wives, servants, concubines killed for similar reasons as did the Viking warriors. Christian, Jew, Mohammedan, all preach of a heaven awaiting the faithful.”

Jonathan again lifted a hand from the table, stopping the music. “Reason. Mrs. Coltman this is reason and I tell you only what is known by all of humanity. There is life after death, there is an existence invisible to our eyes and your husband is there. I can call him back to this plane, but I shall need his body. Will you pay the ransom?”

“If-if you say I must.”

“You must.”

She is beautiful, thought Jonathan. Long auburn hair flowing down her back and the pale complexion of one who by suffering always draws men to her. How correct the French are in saying that when God creates a beautiful woman, he also provides a fool to keep her. Rachel Coltman will always have her share of fools.

“Dr. Paracelsus, I–I-”

“Speak.”

“Eddy, Mr. Poe, says you are someone else. He says-”

“That I am Jonathan, a sorcerer and killer.”

“Yes.”

Jonathan thrust both hands up the sleeves of his flowing white robe. “Did he also tell you that a painting came to life and tried to kill him?”

She nodded.

He smiled with a corner of his mouth. “One seems as likely as the other, wouldn’t you say?”

Her smile was quick, disappearing the instant it flashed across her lips.

Suddenly, the flute hit an extraordinarily high note directly overhead and Rachel Coltman quickly looked up at the ceiling. When she looked back at Jonathan, he was pointing to-”

She saw it and inhaled sharply.

“Justin’s snuff box.” She picked up the tiny silver box in both hands, handling it as though it were fragile porcelain.

“Open it, Mrs. Coltman.”

She did and her jaw dropped.

“Where-”

“A most lovely ring, Mrs. Coltman. Your husband had it made for you on your first trip to England together. It is modelled after the ring Queen Elizabeth gave to Lord Essex, is it not?”

Rachel could only nod her head. Her eyes shimmered behind tears. “I thought I had lost them both forever.”

Stolen and kept until needed, thought Jonathan. They are needed now. His hands were still in his sleeves. The hands of a master magician. From his sleeve and across the table in a infinitesimal fraction of a second. And she believed it was a miracle.

“A miracle,” she whispered. “A miracle. How did you-”

“Mrs. Coltman, do you believe in me?”

“Yes, oh yes.”

“I want you to tell me more about Jonathan.” This is a most enjoyable game, he thought.

Tears slid down her pale cheeks. Jonathan found her one of the few women who could weep and still remain beautiful. He watched her squeeze the snuff box in a hand covered by a blue velvet glove. She still wanted to believe.

“A miracle,” she whispered, looking around the room and seeing no one but the magician.

“There are indeed other worlds, Mrs. Coltman, other planes.” And servants who steal.

“My deepest gratitude, Dr. Paracelsus.”

“Do you believe me to be who I say I am?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Tell me more about this Jonathan.”

“Eddy and his friend, Mr. Figg, are searching for him. Mr. Figg intends to kill Jonathan, but first the two of them are going to a boarding house on Ann Street to seek a group of travelling actors.”

Jonathan’s hands slowly clenched and unclenched. Figg. A primitive force capable of destroying him. An ordinary man made extraordinary by the intensity of the revenge he craved. If there was one thing Jonathan understood it was the power of revenge. Figg was definitely dangerous and not one to toy with as was Poe; the boxer stalked Jonathan with the intention of spilling his blood, nothing less. Figg would have to be dealt with immediately.

But first-

“The Renaissance Players,” said Rachel Coltman. “Mr. Figg claims two of their members are somehow involved in the death of his wife.”

She looked across the table. “Joseph Barian and Bernard Leddy. They-”

Jonathan interrupted. “You are about to say they have acted as go-betweens for you and myself. This is true. But they are no longer associated with me. On the day you spoke to Mr. Barian and Mr. Leddy in front of Barnum’s American Museum, you may tell Mr. Poe and Mr. Figg, I released them from my employ. Barian and Leddy misused my kindness by keeping hidden from me the account of their criminal pastimes which I was just informed is on file at New York Police Headquarters. They sought my aid in contacting departed loved ones and even though both men lacked funds, I gave of myself and my services for my heart does ache at the sight of another’s pain. Instead of money, each man begged me to allow him to serve me as best he could and I agreed. But as you have learned tonight, you can now contact me through Miss Sarah Clannon.”

Rachel nodded, hanging on his every word. Jonathan controlled her once more and gloried in that knowledge.

He said, “I could not continue to have around me such men of deceit as Mr. Barian and Mr. Leddy. Their very lives poison the atmosphere, though I would rather suffer from excessive kindness than to deny one human being any peace of soul my efforts can make possible.”

She believed him. Jonathan sensed it and forced himself not to smile.

He said, “When do Mr. Poe and Mr. Figg plan to visit this boarding house on Ann Street?”

“As soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible,” Jonathan said to Sarah Clannon within minutes after Rachel Coltman had left him. “Send Laertes and Charles to me. They shall do the task.”

Sarah Clannon drew on a thin cigar. “Adieu to Mr. Barian and Mr. Leddy.”

“Exactly. I want their throats cut to eliminate even the slightest possibility of conversation with passing strangers. Then I want the boarding house to be set afire, with particular attention to the room of Barian and Leddy. With even the smallest of good fortune, their bodies will be consumed by flames and the entire event will be viewed merely as an accidental fire. Laertes and Charles are to execute this matter with utmost speed, for I do not wish Poe and Figg to exchange words with either man.”

Sarah Clannon licked the tip of her forefinger, touched a small packet of rouge and then the nipple of her bare breast. “Lovely color, this. I take it our Mr. Figg is only aware of Barian and Leddy and not of your connection with others of the Renaissance Players?”

Jonathan kissed the back of her neck. “Possibly.”

“When the boarding house catches fire, innocent people may die.”

“God will know his own. Now dress yourself and find Laertes and Charles. And bring me fresh fruit. I am famished.”