“Don’t hear ‘er complainin’.”
“Her mind is temporarily damaged. She is in shock.”
“Merlin says we keep on. Got a ways to go, yet. Few blocks, then we come up in a tavern what ain’t fit for a dog to piss in. No stoppin’ now, Mr. Poe. Got our lives to think about.”
They continued walking in silence until Figg, his back to Poe and Rachel, said, “Mr. Poe?”
“Yes, Mr. Figg.”
“Sorry ‘bout me manners back there in the matter of Mr. Standish. This is a pressin’ business with me and I wants to end it quickly.”
“I understand, Mr. Figg. I am again in your debt, as is Mrs. Coltman.”
They continued walking in a darkness lit only by Merlin’s lamp.
“Wants to ask you somethin’, Mr. Poe. You think Jonathan will get the thing ’e’s after, you know what I’m speakin’ of?”
“Mr. Figg I tell you this: I feel the worst will happen. My mind rejects the belief in these matters, but Jonathan is a creature out of the realm of possibility. He is improbable and therefore capable of anything. I fear for us all.”
“Why?”
“Jonathan is not through with us. I feel it to be so and that feeling grows stronger with each step. We are now in more danger than before.”
Figg limped, ignoring the ache in his bad leg. Chasing Jonathan was the same as toddling along in this blasted, stinking tunnel. A man could not go back; all you could do was go forward into something that might kill you-if you were lucky. And do a whole lot worse to you if you weren’t.
Figg kept going forward. He was more frightened than he’d been at any time in his life.
THIRTY-THREE
Hugh Larney felt light-headed with fear and exhilaration as he stood in his cold, dark stable listening to Jonathan speak with a strange new authority. The magician exuded power; the Throne of Solomon was within his reach.
Sarah Clannon was also within reach, but forgotten for the moment. She lay on the ground between them, eyes closed, her small, pretty face unnaturally white. Her breathing was shallow. Under her right side, the straw on the stable floor was red with her blood.
Jonathan said,
Hugh Larney, nervous and perspiring, nodded yes.
The magician’s voice was a frozen hiss. “I, not Solomon, shall ride the wind. Solomon’s ring will be mine and like him I will call all demons unto me and impress my seal upon their necks to mark them as my slaves. I have the body of Justin Coltman; I shall bring him back from the dead to tell me how the Throne of Solomon is to become mine.”
Jonathan stood in shadows, visible to Larney only from the waist down. The magician’s dark purple cloak was mud splattered to the knees. In a stall behind him, a horse whinnied and shied as though disturbed by something evil and unseen.
Hugh Larney pointed down to Sarah Clannon. His finger shook. “How long is she to stay here?”
“Until she recovers. I charge you with her care, Hugh Larney. Do not abandon her.” The words were a command and a threat. Larney understood this.
He quickly changed the subject. “Poe. And the boxer. What about them?”
“Nothing to me. I have what I want. Poe is now more your problem than mine.”
“I–I do not understand.”
“Mr. Poe and the persistent Mr. Figg were seen at the office of Miles Standish earlier today, just before Mr. Standish died. Having arrived there directly from the train, where they survived an attempt on their lives, it is logical to say they connected Standish to this failed assassination. From Standish to you and Volney Gunning is not far. You would be wise to assume they are on to you both.”
“What, what shall I do?”
“Survive.”
“Yes, but how?”
“More efficiently than you have up until now. Poe is weak in body but his mind is agile. Figg is primitive, a danger physically and an underestimated danger in terms of thought. The forces of darkness lie within him, too. He does not acknowledge them, he does not need them, for he survives extremely well in this world with those abilities he chooses to recognize. But beware Figg. I tell you to beware this man.”
Larney chewed his bottom lip with tiny teeth.” Shall I kill them?”
“If you must. If you can. I leave you now. Is the farm abandoned as I requested?”
“Yes, yes. It is yours for as long as you need it.”
“Nine days. And I am to be undisturbed. No duels in coaches, while your friends sip champagne and eat pates.”
“All in my employ are under strict orders to avoid the farm until further notice.”
Jonathan’s voice was ice. “Anyone approaching the ceremony will die. Those forces I seek to raise cannot always be controlled.”
“I understand, Yes, I, I understand.” As frightened as he was, Larney would have given all he owned to witness the ceremony, to actually see the Throne of Solomon appear. To see it!
But to disobey Jonathan-
No.
Larney found it easy to bow and scrape to those he feared. Since he feared Jonathan the most, he bowed to him deeper than to others.
“Soon the world will know and acknowledge your genius. You will-”
“You fool!”
Hugh Larney flinched.
Jonathan stepped forward into the light of a lantern hanging from a post. A gloved hand held his hood closed, hiding his face.
“I want neither the praise nor adoration of the world. I wish dominion over it; I shall rule as Solomon never did. It is written that in Solomon’s palace, the poor sat at tables of wood, the demons and spirits sat at tables of iron, while military chieftains sat at tables of silver. Learned men were at golden tables, where Solomon himself served them.
Hugh Larney tried to swallow and failed. Jonathan was a knife at the world’s throat. Soon that knife would-
“I shall care for Miss Clannon. And if Poe should seek me out, I shall deal with him.”
“Or he with you.” Jonathan’s voice was fading. He’d stepped deeper into the stable’s darkness. He was leaving to begin the dark ritual of necromancy, to bring back Justin Coltman from the dead.
Hugh Larney shouted, “If I find it necessary to kill Poe-”
He heard Jonathan’s carriage pull away and head towards the country.
In nine days, Jonathan would be the most awesome force upon this earth, controlling demons and challenging God. Hugh Larney would reap the advantage of that. Hugh Larney would have power through Jonathan and then the people of New York who laughed behind Hugh Larney’s back would laugh no more.
* * * *
Poe sighed, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. “Valentine Greatrakes was an Irish mesmerist of the seventeenth century, who it is said possessed the gift of healing by the laying on of hands. Jonathan had his
