“What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s close now,” the killer said quietly. “Four days. The disappearances start soon.”
“You know, don’t you?” Moon sounded as though he hadn’t quite believed it before. “You really know what’s going on?”
Barabbas laughed. “Lean closer,” he said, and Moon scrambled across to where he lay. The fat man spoke quickly. “Naturally, I was approached. They needed someone like me. P’raps I should be flattered. They’ve great plans for us all, Edward. They’re engineers. They want to change the world.”
He was interrupted by the ostentatious rattle of a key in the lock. The door swung open and Owsley appeared at the mouth of the cell. “Time’s up. Visiting hours are over.”
“Visiting hours?” Barabbas protested.
Owsley ignored his master and favored Moon with a glacial stare. “You have to go.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Leave at once or I shall alert the prison authorities.”
Quickly, Barabbas rummaged around in his stash of beauty for a few moments and pulled out a slim book. “You brought me a present,” he said, at which Owsley shot Moon a look of barely controlled fury. “I’d like you to take this in return.”
Moon was surprised. “What is it?”
“The
“Thank you.”
“Edward?” Barabbas tapped the book’s cover. “Ask him. Ask the poet.”
“Poet?” Moon snapped. “What poet?”
Barabbas giggled, then pointed toward one of the names on the front of his book, chuckling to himself as if this were the punch line to a joke of which only he knew the beginning.
“Coleridge?” Moon snapped. “Why should I be interested in Coleridge? The man’s been dead for sixty years.”
This time Barabbas’s smile was positively demonic. “Oh, Edward,” he cooed. “You have so much to look forward to.”
With that, he lurched toward Charlotte and planted a slobbering kiss on her cheek. She writhed away in disgust and the prisoner transferred his attentions to the conjuror, who did not pull away but allowed the captive to kiss him on that secret, intimate space behind the ear just between flesh and hair. The killer whispered something, and for a moment both men seemed unutterably distraught, their sorrow lacerating, acute, grief beyond words. Charlotte even found herself wondering whether they might not be about to fall into one another’s arms.
It was Owsley, of course, who broke the spell. “You have to go,” he insisted. Later, Edward was to remark that the man had sounded almost scared.
Barabbas wailed in anguish at their departure but the Moons filed out in sober silence.
Once the door was safely locked behind them and the monster returned to the blackness of his cell, Owsley, sounding smug and not a little officious, said: “Thank you for your cooperation. I trust you shan’t be troubling us again.”
Edward Moon began to complain but Owsley strode away, the plait of hair dangling limply at the rear of his egg-bald scalp flapping absurdly as he walked.
Charlotte and her brother were relieved to leave Newgate behind them and start back toward the hotel. They walked for some time before either of them spoke.
“He wasn’t how you expected?” the brother asked.
“I knew he’d changed. I know what he did. I thought I’d see something evil. But I felt sorry for him. And you? Have you forgiven him?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Moon replied tonelessly.
“You were friends.”
“It’s not him I blame.”
“He has to bear some responsibility.”
No reply.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “Crass of me.”
Still nothing.
“Have you… have you tried appealing to his better nature? Called him by his old name?”
“You heard what he said.”
“Seems Skimpole’s washed his hands of him.”
“Of course. He can’t be seen to be responsible for aberrations like that.”
“Do you think he knows something?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“What was the significance of the book? Seemed a pretty rum sort of gift.”
“I think he’s given us a clue. Where it will lead, I’m not sure.”
“May I see?”
Moon passed her the book and Charlotte flicked it open. “There’s an inscription,” she said. “
“Good grief,” murmured Moon. “Must be his own copy. Worth a small fortune.”
“What does that mean? Why’s he given it to you?”
“If only Owsley hadn’t interrupted. I’m sure he was about to tell us something significant. He said he was approached. Mentioned disappearances. ‘Ask the poet,’ he said… Why doesn’t any of this make sense?”
“Edward,” Charlotte said ruefully, “if
“I’m glad you’ve come back,” Moon said, then added tentatively: “Will you stay?”
“You know I can’t.”
Before he could reply they reached the hotel where an old friend stood waiting.
“Mr. Moon!”
The conjuror managed a polite smile. He gestured toward the uninvited guest. “Charlotte. This is Speight. A friend from the theatre. A former tenant, you might say.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
The tramp blinked and tried a bleary bow. “Pleasure’s all mine.” He took Charlotte’s hand, kissed it, and the lady, unlike in her encounter with the Fiend of Newgate, had the good graces not to flinch.
She noticed a heavy wooden placard propped up raggedly beside him.
SURELY I AM COMING SOON
REVELATION 22:20
“What brings you here?” Moon asked, as politely as he was able, discreetly reaching for his wallet.
“I came to thank you,” Speight interrupted. “There’s not many men as would have tolerated me the way you did.”
Moon looked surprised. “It was my pleasure.”
“I’m going away now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m needed. The suits have come for me.”
“You mean you’ve found a home? Someone who’ll take care of you?”
Speight thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said, sounding surprised at his own answer. “S’pose I have.”
“Well, it’s been good seeing you again…” Moon began and made for the entrance of the hotel.
“I’ve come to give you this.” Speight reached for the board and thrust it toward him. “Here. It’s yours.”
“What?” Moon asked, but it was too late. Speight had pushed the placard into his hands and walked away.
“Thank you,” he shouted again. “Thank you!”
