But the restless entity did not try to attack us, and I decided the purple smoke filling the area had to be the reason. It must have imbued us with a defensive screen of sorts, and was sufficient to keep the foul being from our flesh.
While I'd been observing, Roberta hadn't been idle. She was approaching the lantern-style device with the energy still clinging to the very end of the tool. As she got closer, I saw the dense red glow reaching for the newly-made cylinder in the lantern, with tendrils seeming to float through the very air. The first of these connected with the cylinder, and then, with an audible snap, the entire mass of glowing red light disappeared.
The crackling, spitting lightning ceased immediately, and the professor slumped in his chair, motionless. Roberta hung the tool from her overalls and crouched to pull back one of her father's eyelids. "That's a good sign," she said, her face strained and pale. "He's alive, at least. Now he must rest."
The purple smoke was rising into the air, slowly dissipating. I coughed as the acrid fumes invaded my lungs, and crossed to the bay windows to let the haze clear. The catch was stiff, but I managed to get one window open, and the smoke drifted into the thick rose bushes outside.
I turned, and was struck by the scene. Roberta was still inspecting her father, both of them half-hidden in the thick, foggy atmosphere. The cap on the professor's head still flickered with occasional sparks, and then I forgot the sight as a rattle from the nearby table caught my attention. The metal cage sat on the side table nearby, and the cylinder inside was shaking purposefully, as though the spirit inside were fighting to get out. The maze of metal wires suspending the cylinder tensed and slackened as they absorbed these violent movements, and to my relief I saw they were holding fast.
"Well, Mr Jones," said Roberta at last. "After what you've just seen, do you still believe my father and I are nothing but charlatans?"
For once in my life I was lost for words, and I could only shake my head.
Chapter 8
Roberta and I unhooked the net together, then folded it and packed it away. She collected the tripods while I went around the room picking up the metal discs. As I collected each one, I discovered to my surprise that the elaborate patterns on both sides had simply… disappeared. Now, they were just smooth, featureless metal.
Roberta saw me inspecting the discs, and explained. "When forged, they contain certain elemental powers. These are leached out during the extraction process you just witnessed."
"What… what kind of elemental powers?"
Roberta indicated the cylinder inside the metal cage. It was still moving of its own accord, although much less violently. "When melting the source materials, we include traces of the captured spirits themselves."
I looked down at the inert discs in my hand, and my expression must have betrayed my concerns.
"Don't worry," said Roberta. "The spirit matter is entirely consumed by the process."
"But how did you learn of these properties? How did you—?"
She smiled at the professor, who was sleeping peacefully in his chair. "Father spent many years experimenting, and we learn more with every passing day."
"But this is immense!" I cried. "If these malevolent spirits infest our very beings, why is there no outcry in the papers?"
"If you spoke to a reporter about the events you witnessed here today, what would the reaction be?"
I took her point, but I still had objections. "Your clients, then. Lady… Fotherington-Eames, was it not? Surely people would believe a respected member of the nobility?"
"Mr Jones, members of the nobility would be far less respected if they went around claiming they'd employed my father and I to capture ghosts and phantasms on their behalf. We are bound to strict secrecy, as you can imagine."
I recalled an invoice I'd seen upstairs, in my office. "You call it a cleansing, don't you?"
"An accurate description, you must admit."
Even so, the secrecy astounded me. "How many of these… ghosts… are there?"
"Nobody can say for certain. As you saw with my father, possession can appear to be an everyday illness, and let me tell you, that was a particularly strong spirit. The lesser entities we encounter cause little trouble, with most of them being entirely harmless. Why, you could be possessed by a mild spirit this very instant, and you would not know it."
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought, and I wondered whether I was truly infected with an ethereal being. Would I even know it, or would it take over my very thoughts and actions piecemeal, until I was a helpless automaton held in its thrall? All of a sudden I recalled the defaced ledger in my office. What if the bookkeeper who'd scrawled in those pages hadn't been driven mad after all? What if there was another explanation? "Tell me, what happened to my predecessor?"
Roberta's expression changed. "Edgar," she said, in a low voice. "His name was Edgar."
I don't know which troubled me more: her obvious distress at the thought of him, or her use of the past tense.
"He was my cousin," continued Roberta. "He… died. It was very sudden."
"I'm sorry, I did not mean to pry." Despite my words, I very much wanted to know more about this Edgar, and especially his fate. "Was his demise the result of…" I began delicately, indicating the equipment.
"A contributing factor, perhaps." Roberta shook herself. "I'd prefer not to speak of it, if you don't mind. My father is still weak, and I must tend to him."
"Of course, of course!" I exclaimed. "Forgive me. I will leave you in peace while I attend to my duties."
"Thank you, Mr Jones. We
