children. I have to admit; I sneaked behind the curtains and watched on more than a few occasions, because it was a fascinating show. I recall he would cause some to believe day was night, and that they were getting ready for their beds. One woman he caused to believe was freezing in a snowstorm in the midst of July. A particular scene I remember was a man he caused to believe had stepped into a nest of biting ants, and how that man jumped and hollered was nothing short of ludicrous. The other members of the audience laughed uproariously, but that man never heard a giggle of it until Mr. Lancaster awakened him.'
'Awakened him? These people were put to sleep in some way?'
'It was a sleep-like state, yet they were still responsive. Mr. Lancaster used various objects to soothe them into this state, such as a lantern, a candle, or a coin. Anything that served to secure their attention. Then he would further soothe and command them with his voice... and once you heard his voice, it was unforgettable. I myself would have fallen under his magnetism, if I hadn't known beforehand what he was doing.'
'Yes, ' Matthew said, staring past Smythe in the direction of Fount Royal. 'I can well understand that.' He directed his gaze back to the man. 'But what is this about magnetism?'
'I don't quite fathom it, but it has to do with the fact that all bodies and objects hold iron. Therefore a skilled practitioner can use other objects as tools of manipulation, since the human body, blood, and brain also contain iron. The attraction and manipulation is called magnetism. That, at least, is how my father explained it when I asked him.' Symthe shrugged. 'Evidently it was a process first discovered by the ancient Egyptians and used by their court magicians.'
Matthew was thinking 7 have you now, Sir Fox.
'This must be very important to you indeed, ' Smythe said, dappled sunlight falling through the oak branches and leaves onto his face.
'It is. As I said, vital.'
'Well... as you also said, I am no longer in England or under my father's jurisdiction. If it's so vital that you know... the secret my father asked me to keep concerns Mr. Lancaster's career before he joined the circus. In his younger years he was known as a healer of sorts. A faith-healer, I suppose, in that he could use magnetism to deliver people from illnesses. Apparently he travelled to Europe to practise this art, and drew the attention of a German nobleman who wished Mr. Lancaster to teach him and his son how to be magnetizers themselves. Now... be aware that all this I recall my father telling me, and I might have garbled it in the retelling.'
'I shall, ' Matthew said. 'But please continue.'
'Mr. Lancaster did not speak German, though his host spoke a little English. There was a translation problem. Whether that had anything to do with the results, I don't know, but my father told me Mr. Lancaster had fled Germany because the nobleman and his son were adversely affected by their studies. The latter killed himself with a poisoned dagger, and the former went half-mad. Which I suppose testifies to the power of magnetism falling into the wrong hands. In any case, a bounty was offered on Mr. Lancaster's head and so he returned to England. But he obviously was a changed man, too, and he sank to the level of trained rats and a few magnetist's tricks behind closed curtains.'
'Possibly he wished to keep a low profile, ' Matthew said, 'for fear that someone would seek him out and claim the bounty.' He nodded. 'Yes, that explains a lot. As, for instance, why Goode told me no Dutchmen or Germans had seen the Devil. It was because Lancaster feared Germans and likely is limited to only the English tongue.'
'Goode?' Smythe asked, looking perplexed. 'I'm sorry, I'm not following you.'
'My apologies. My thoughts became words.' Matthew, his nervous energy at high flux, began to pace back and forth. 'Tell me this, if you will: what caused Lancaster to leave the circus, and when was this?'
'I don't know. My family and I left before Mr. Lancaster did.'
'Oh. Then you haven't seen Lancaster since?'
'No. Certainly we didn't wish to return to that circus.'
Matthew caught a hint of bitterness. 'Why? Was your father discharged?'
'Not that. It was my father's wish to leave. He didn't care for the way Mr. Cedarholm—the man who owned the circus—had decided to run things. My father is a very decent man, God love him, and he bridled about bringing in the freaks.'
Matthew suddenly stopped his pacing. 'Freaks?'
'Yes. Three of them, to begin with.'
'Three, ' Matthew repeated. 'May I... ask what they were?'
'The first was a black-skinned lizard, as big as a ram. The thing had come from some South Sea island, and it near made my mother faint to look upon it.'
'The second, ' Matthew said, his mouth dry. 'Might it have been an imp of some kind? A dwarf, possibly, with a childlike face and long white hair?'
'Yes. Exactly that. How did...' Now Smythe truly appeared confounded. 'How did you know?'
'The third, ' Matthew prompted. 'Was it... an unspeakable thing?'
'The third one was what made my father pack our bags. It was a hermaphrodite with the breasts of a woman and... the tools of a man. My father said even Satan would shrink to look upon such a blasphemy.'
'Your father might be interested, Mr. Smythe, to know that all three of those creatures have lately found work in Fount Royal, with Satan's blessing. Oh, I have him now! I have him!' Matthew couldn't restrain himself from smacking his palm with his fist, his eyes bright with the fire of the hunt. He immediately reined in his enthusiasm, as he noted that Smythe took a backward step and appeared concerned that he might be dealing with a lunatic. 'I have a request. Again, a very important one. I happen to know where Lancaster lives. It's not very far from here, at the end of this street. Would you go there with me—this moment—and look upon him face-to-face and tell me you positively know he's the man you claim him to be?'
'I've already told you. I saw his eyes, which are as unforgettable as his voice. It is him.'
'Yes, but nevertheless I require you to identify him in my presence.' Matthew also wanted Lancaster to know before another hour had passed that a blade had been thrust into his repugnant, inhuman plans, and twisted for good measure.
'I... do have some work to get done. Perhaps later this afternoon?'
'No, ' Matthew said. 'Now.' He correctly read the reticence in Smythe's eyes. 'As an officer of the court, I must tell you this is official business. Also that I am empowered by Magistrate Woodward to compel you to accompany me.' It was an outright falsehood, but Matthew had no time for dawdling.
Smythe, who obviously had well learned the lessons of decency from his esteemed father, said, 'No compelling is necessary, sir. If this has to do with a matter of law, I should be glad to go.'
Matthew and Smythe proceeded along Industry Street—the former in expectant haste and the latter more understandably moderate in his willingness to advance—toward the house of the formerly known Gwinett Linch. Smythe's pace slowed as they reached the execution field, and he regarded the stake and pyre with dread fascination. An oxcart had been pulled up beside the woodpile, and two men—one of them the giant Mr. Green, Matthew saw—were at work unloading another cargo of witch-burning fuel.
Yes, build it up! Matthew thought. Waste your muscles and your minutes, for when this day is done one less nightbird shall be confined in a cage and one more vulture there in her place!
Further on stood the house. 'My God!' Smythe said, aghast. 'Mr. Lancaster lives there?'
'Lancaster lives within, ' Matthew replied, his pace yet quickening. 'The ratcatcher has groomed the exterior.'
He felt a gnaw of disappointment. No smoke rose from the chimney, though indeed the breakfast hour was long past. But all the shutters were closed, indicating that Lancaster was out. Matthew inwardly muttered a curse, for he'd wished to have this identification promptly done and then escort Smythe directly to see Bidwell. It dawned on him that if Lancaster was indeed in there, closed up from the sunlight like a night-faring roach, he might turn violent, and they had no weapon of defense. Perhaps it would be best to go fetch Mr. Green as a precaution. But then another thought hit Matthew, and this one had terrible implications.
What if Lancaster, upon knowing he'd been recognized, had fled Fount Royal? He would have had ample time last night. But what was the procedure for getting out the gate after sunset? Surely such a thing was unheard of. Would the watchman have allowed him to leave without informing Bidwell? But what if Lancaster had saddled a horse and gone yesterday afternoon while it was still light?
'You're near running!' Smythe said, trying to keep up. Without Lancaster, Rachel's fate was still in doubt.
