《Ernst, Morton, and Glass: Manesologists. Victorian Ghost Adventures》


 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 1, Night. 1/4

    1871, Mid-May


    Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ears and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.


    She didn¡¯t dare turn her head, but she knew he was there.


    She wasn¡¯t sure exactly where she was. She just ran and ran, and she must have been somewhere near Chopin Street, because she remembered that was where she was when she first encountered the man, but she just ran, not knowing in what direction she ran, knowing only that she had to get away from the man and his knife, knowing only that her side was wet and sticky and flaring with pain.


    She passed beneath a street lamp and saw to her horror that the wound was even worse than she had imagined. Her whole side was crimson. Down her leg ran her blood. It trailed on the street, pooled between the cobblestones, and left a trail like red ivy to shine in the yellow light of gas lamps and vanish beneath the dark fog.


    This was all the world to Agnes: herself, the endless night, her trailing blood, and the predator that followed her blood.


    On and on Agnes ran. The street didn¡¯t seem to end. Where was she? She felt as if she ran the entirety of Mainstreet twice over. What street in Blackwall had this many gas lamps?


    Then there was a light, not at all like the yellow shimmering of the gas lamps. This light was brighter, as bright as harbor lights, and it had the silvery color of the moon. Agnes flung herself into the light, praying that she had at last found safety.


    She saw a man in the light, a man with black hair and black eyes. He was holding something in his hand that was creating the light, something with an amber colored body and a gray base, something shaped like a candle--but wax candles were never so thick. The amber body was thick like a block of marble.


    ¡°Help me!¡± Agnes cried. ¡°Help! Oh help! He¡¯s cut me! I¡¯m dying!¡±


    Suddenly, the man was standing right beside her, though Agnes couldn¡¯t remember him or herself taking another step.


    He held the candle-shaped object next to her flank. Her blood was bright, fresh red. She couldn¡¯t tell her torn dress from her torn body. Everything was engulfed by that leaking wound.


    The pain in her side sharply increased. Her wound had gurgled pain with every step, but now it screamed, and she screamed with it.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± the man said. ¡°It needs to hurt before we can close it, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing to me?¡± Agnes cried.


    ¡°I¡¯m helping you to the best of my abilities, I promise. My name is Dr. Matthew Ernst. What¡¯s your name? Please, tell me your name.¡±


    Suddenly, the pain was gone, completely gone, without so much as a tickling left in her side.


    And so was the red gore. No sticky redness. No jagged hole. Her dress was smooth without a single imperfection.


    ¡°Oh god¡­¡± Agnes swayed. ¡°Oh god, I think I might faint. I must sit down.¡±


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    ¡°What is your name?¡± Matthew asked again.


    Agnes gave up on standing, yet somehow, she didn¡¯t fall. Her legs seemed rooted to the ground. ¡°There¡¯s a man!¡± she sobbed. ¡°He cut me. I thought he was drunk, he stumbled up to me, I tried to help him, he cut me! He¡¯s mad!¡±


    ¡°Please, it¡¯s extremely important you tell me your name.¡±


    ¡°Cora.¡± she gave him her other name on force of habit. ¡°I mean, Agnes. My name is Agnes Little.¡± She looked around, but could¡¯t find the man. ¡°I swear there was a man. He cut me. I don¡¯t know where he is.¡± she looked at her feet and expected to see the trail of blood winding through the cobblestones.


    But there wasn¡¯t a trail, and the stones were smooth. The dirt between them was clean.


    ¡®There was a trail!¡± Agnes shouted. ¡°A trail of my blood! Did you make it go away with my wound with that¡­that light of yours? How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Agnes. Whatever happens, try and remember who you are. Remember your life. Remember what you did as a child. Remember where you grew up. Remember--¡±


    Dr. Matthew Ernst continued to speak, but words didn¡¯t come out of his mouth.


    ¡°Dr. Ernst? Dr. Ernst, I can¡¯t hear you!¡± Agnes reached her hand out towards Matthew. He didn¡¯t seem to notice her. He seemed to look right through her. His mouth continued to open and close at a steady, calm rate.


    ¡°Dr. Ernst, what¡¯s wrong? What¡¯s happening to you?¡±


    Agnes touched Matthew¡¯s shoulder and screamed as her hand fell through his body.


    Then suddenly, the rest of Dr. Ernstt started to go the way of his voice. He faded. The colors of his form dulled until they became as dark as night and then became the night itself. The mist swirled around him and then through him.


    He was gone.


    Agnes felt a pain in her side. She touched the spot with her hand and recoiled at the familiar touch of sticky, destroyed flesh. She felt herself moving forward, one foot in front of the other, lurching through the darkness as her life bled down her leg, onto the stones, down into the gutters between the stones, and she felt the eyes of the man upon her, and she saw the gas lamps swing by overhead as she ran, and¡­


    Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ear and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.


    Her mind was filled with panic, but beneath that panic was a rapidly-dawning sense of confusion.


    The man had cut her, and she ran, but Dr. Ernst was also there and he had helped her¡­before the man had cut her? No, that didn¡¯t make sense. He cut her and Dr. Ernst helped her. But now the wound was open and she was running and where was Dr. Ernst? Where was she? This couldn¡¯t be Chopin Street, not with how long she had been running.  If only there was a street sign somewhere, if only the gas lamps revealed anything other than fog and stones and the trail of her own blood.


    Suddenly, up ahead, there was a silvery-white glow.


    Dr. Ernst!


    Agnes redoubled her efforts and threw herself at the light, but the man she found within that sphere of radiance wasn¡¯t Dr. Ernst. Instead, it was a towering man, wrinkled and disheveled. Everything about the man seemed tall, from his physical height to his stovepipe hat to his long, gray beard.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright, Agnes,¡± the man said. ¡°My name is Dr. Joseph Morton. I¡¯m a friend of Dr. Ernst.¡±


    A lit cigar burned away in the hand that didn¡¯t hold the strange object radiating light. Wisps of gray smoke danced in the silvery glow. The tip of the cigar burned green, somehow, but this seemed a minor incongruity within the chaotic nightmare Agnes found herself in.


    ¡°Oh God! Help me!!¡± Agnes threw herself at Joseph--then screamed as she passed through him.


    It was as if he wasn¡¯t even there.


    Agnes fell to the ground. ¡°Why? Why can¡¯t I touch you?¡± she held up her hands to Joseph pleadingly. ¡°Why can¡¯t I touch you? I don¡¯t understand!¡±


    ¡°Oh, Agnes, dear, I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Joseph knelt by her. ¡°It¡¯s all a nightmare, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯re trying to help you but you¡¯re spread out, girl. It¡¯s making it hard.¡±


    There was a sharp pain in her side. Agnes screamed again.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. It has to hurt before it can be fixed. But look now! Look!¡±


    Agnes did.


    No blood, no cut, no tear. But it wasn''t nearly as comforting to see as it was the first time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand! I don¡¯t understand any of this! Oh God help me!¡± she shouted.


    ¡°I''ll keep it simple, then. Remember! Remember who you are. This nightmare is but a moment in a life that is much greater and much more vibrant than this. Remember your girlhood, remember your first love, remember your favorite birthday--but remember!¡±


    Agnes screamed.


    Behind Joseph, the man rose up.


    Joseph turned, and the green flame on the tip of his cigar shot up like a flare and engulfed the man. The green flame blazed and filled the night with light. The light blinded Agnes. She closed her eyes. She heard the sound of immolating clothes.


    ¡°Ha ha! Take that!¡± Joseph shouted. ¡°Burn him all over, Nick!¡±


    Agnes opened her eyes.


    Agnes half ran, half stumbled, through the misty streets. She could hear her blood thundering in her ear and her feet beating the cobblestones. The cold mist condensed on her body and mingled with her sweat. She never ran so much in her life, yet tired as she was, she kept running, for the man was right behind her, ever right behind her. She could not hear the man, but she knew he was there, right behind her, cloaked in the darkness and the gray mist.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 1, Night. 2/4

    But wait¡­there was Dr. Ernst, and then there was Dr. Morton. But she had just escaped the man, and he was right behind her. Her wound was fresh and throbbing, again.


    She had only just been stabbed, it had happened no more than seconds ago, she was sure of that. So when did she meet Dr. Ernst and Dr. Morton?


    Agnes didn¡¯t have long to ponder the strangeness of her circumstances. The fog suddenly cleared. It had swarmed about her like a wall of vapor blocking off the buildings, but now the buildings were present and visible.


    Buildings meant people.


    Agnes screamed. Someone had to be inside those red bricks, those dim windows. Someone had to be, even just one person, she only needed one person to save her.


    She screamed, even as the exertion tore at her side. ¡°Help! Help! He¡¯s killing me! He¡¯s killing me!¡±


    Silvery light poured out of one of the buildings. It blazed out of the windows and outlined the door in bright bars of light. It suffused the building. The very brick itself seemed to drink in the light. As a cloth absorbed water and darkened, the brick absorbed light and brightened.


    The door flung open, and there in the threshold was a man with a familiar object in his hand. Though he was markedly younger than Dr. Ernst and Dr. Morton, his possession of the object marked him as one of their own. He had short blond hair, a bushy mustache, and blue eyes dulled behind tinted glasses.


    ¡°This way!¡± he cried. ¡°Come in, quickly, quickly!¡±


    Agnes ran to the light. But suddenly, from out of nowhere, the man appeared between her and her savior.


    Shadows covered him like solid, black cloth. She could not see his face. There was a shroud of shadows between his hat and neck that obscured his features. He wore a black cloak and black gloves that made it hard to tell where the shadows ended and where his body began.


    He was tall, almost as tall as Dr. Morton was, and towered over Agnes. She felt like a helpless child. In one of his hands was a dagger the color of a rotten tooth. Brown stains on the dagger were either rust or blood.


    Its edge was bright red, wet and hungry.


    The man brought his arm up in a motion that made Agnes think of one of the men her mother loved, one of the men her mother brought home who would raise his hand before bringing it down in a violent arc that smashed objects and broke bones.


    Agnes thought of her mother. She hated her, but she thought of her nonetheless.


    Then, the man stopped.


    Silvery light burned through his chest and left a hole.


    The man stumbled, fell, and broke apart like brittle glass. The pieces of the man oozed into the darkness and vanished.


    ¡°Come on!¡± her savior shouted. ¡°Get inside, quickly!¡±


    Agnes threw herself into his arms and sobbed upon feeling that he was real, and solid. He held her with one arm and led her into the building. Agnes heard the door slam shut. Somehow, the man was able to close the door even with Agnes in his arms, even with the door several feet away. But that was like the green fire in Dr. Morton¡¯s cigar, a silly thing to worry about now.


    ¡°Shh! Shh! It¡¯s alright now, Agnes. My name is Dr. Martin Glass. I¡¯m a friend of Dr. Matthew Ernst and Dr. Joseph Morton.¡± Martin led Agnes to a chair.


    Agnes swept her tears away and looked around. The silvery light of the object in Martin¡¯s hand allowed her to see every dusty detail of the building, which she thought had to be some sort of old restaurant or coffeehouse. Dust coated the tables. A chalk sign bore the illegible marks of what may have once been a menu. Simply moving in the building kicked up dust, and the motes floated as black specs in the silvery light.


    ¡°Oh God.¡± Agnes breathed fast and hard. ¡°Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.¡±


    ¡°Look at me, Agnes.¡± Martin put his hands on her shoulders. ¡°Look at me.¡±


    Agnes did so.


    ¡°Breathe in through your nose, slowly, and then breathe out through your mouth slowly.¡±


    Agnes did so.


    ¡°Keep doing that. Come on. Follow me.¡± And as Martin breathed in and out, Agnes copied his cadence. Very quickly, she calmed down.


    ¡°There you go.¡± Martin smiled. ¡°It¡¯s okay now. You know, that little trick even works to calm down manes?¡±


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    ¡°Manes?¡± Agnes asked. ¡°Oh! Oh those are ghosts, what learned people call ghosts, of course. But how does that work with them? They don¡¯t breathe.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a common misconception that manes don¡¯t breathe. Some do.¡± Martin said. ¡°There¡¯s a spiritual component to manes that copies the body just as other components copy the mind. When the component is strong, a manes might breathe. Rarely does their breathing actually move air, but they do it nonetheless.¡±


    Martin extended his hand. ¡°Dr. Martin Glass of Ernst, Morton, and Glass.¡±


    Agnes shook his hand. ¡°Agnes Little. Um, I think¡­I think I know Dr. Ernst and Dr. Morton but¡­but I¡¯m not sure I do, really.¡±


    ¡°What do you remember?¡±


    ¡°I was walking. I usually walk at this¡­¡± Agnes almost said ¡°at this hour,¡± and she did usually walk the streets at this hour, but that was not something to discuss with a gentleman. ¡°...I usually go for walks. But anyway, I came upon this man, and he was stumbling around. I thought he was drunk. I went up to him. I tried to help him stand and then there was blood on me and I thought he hurt himself but he stuck me, he actually stuck me, he actually put a knife in my side and--¡±


    Agnes looked at her side.


    Once again, no blood, no cut, no tear.


    ¡°Oh God.¡± Agnes gasped.


    ¡°Agnes Little, this is not an easy thing to tell you, but you are at the center of a manesological event.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is. ¡° Agnes said flatly. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s real anymore!¡±


    ¡°Yes, you do. Listen to me. Manes are very powerful beings. Have you ever read Illustrated Phantom Stories?¡±


    Agnes had, as much as she could read anything.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Some of those stories are exaggerated, but there¡¯s a good deal that aren¡¯t. Manes really can lift up houses and toss them through the air. They really can invade human bodies and move them like puppets. They really can make what¡¯s real look false and what¡¯s false look real. You were carried around Chopin Street without being carried, as strange as that may sound. One moment you were here, the next moment there. Does that sound like what happened to you?¡±


    Agnes nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s called teleportation. It is a thing manes can do to people.¡±


    ¡°He moved me¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes he did. All he did was turn you around and around. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°I think he liked that. The trail. Following the trail of my blood¡­¡± Agnes rested her head on the back of her chair. It was a cheap wooden thing, scratchy and splintered, but it gave her some comfort. ¡°He played with me like a cat with a dying mouse¡­¡±


    Agnes rolled her head and looked out the window with half-opened eyes.


    There, in the window, was the man.


    Agnes screamed. She tumbled from her chair, overturning it as she fell to the floor, and pointed at the man. ¡°It¡¯s him! It¡¯s him!¡± she cried. ¡°He can¡¯t die! He just keeps coming back and he keeps chasing me and he keeps cutting me and I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s going on! Who is he? Why is he doing this to me?¡±


    Martin knelt next to Agnes, who buried her face in his shoulder. ¡°He cannot hurt you and he cannot come in here. He can only look at you. He¡¯s just a tiger at the zoo. He can no more come in here and hurt you than a painting can get out of its frame.¡±


    Agnes peeked at the man.


    Did his eyes meet hers? She couldn¡¯t tell with the shadows in the way.


    She cringed, imagining that his eyes did in fact meet her own.


    ¡°Try not to look at him.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± Agnes buried her face in Martin¡¯s shoulder and quivered like a small animal.


    ¡°I know it''s hard. But all he can do is look, and if you look at him, you¡¯re acknowledging the one thing he can do to you.¡±


    Martin gently guided Agnes back to the table.


    ¡°Have you heard of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, Agnes?¡± he asked.


    ¡®No. I don¡¯t know the slightest idea who you are, but thank you, thank you so much! He was going to kill me¡­but are you sure we¡¯re really safe in here? I¡¯m afraid he could break down the door!¡±


    ¡°I am sure that you¡¯re safe. We¡¯re manesologists.¡±


    ¡°Manesologists!¡± Agnes gasped.


    That word alone brought hope to Agnes Little.


    She was a woman of very little education, she could only read and write a little, but she knew what manesologists were. They were the ghost men. Everyone knew the ghost men. They were as necessary as policemen and fire brigades these days. I


    In Agnes¡¯ mother¡¯s time, ghosts were rare beings. They had a negligible effect on the world of man and were thus easy to ignore and disbelieve. Not so in Agnes¡¯ time.


    The ghost men protected ghosts from men and men from ghosts, always remaining impartial in disputes, and wielded powers granted to them by a group of occultists called the Ror Raas. The Ror Raas predicted that ghosts would gradually come to fill up the Earth due to the natural weakening of something called Archon walls and empowered the ghost men to guide and protect mankind through the coming age of ghosts. These Archon walls couldn¡¯t be pointed to. They couldn¡¯t be touched and they couldn¡¯t be marked on a map, and yet the Ror Rass said they existed as a boundary between the physical Earth and the metaphysical Astral. Agnes thought it was strange that people were expected to believe in a giant wall they couldn¡¯t see with their own eyes, but then again, there was supposed to be some kind of great wall in China, and she had never seen that with her own eyes. If people in authority said something was a certain way, who was she to doubt it?


    ¡°You¡¯re a manesologist¡­¡± Agnes was awed.


    Then she looked at the strange, glowing device in Martin¡¯s hand. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m such an idiot! That¡¯s a gaeite candle. I¡­I should have known that¡¯s what those things were. I¡¯ve seen pictures of gaeite candles.¡±


    ¡°You are not an idiot.¡± Martin said. ¡°You¡¯ve been through a horrible experience and it¡¯s playing havoc with your ratiocination.¡±


    ¡°My what?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve suffered a nasty fright and it¡¯s made it hard for you to recall things.¡±


    ¡°True, true. But I still should have recognized a gaeite candle nonetheless. What else makes silver colored light? What else is made out of a big rectangle of gaeite?¡±


    Gaeite was a strange material. The Ror Raas mined it out of ruins older than Rome, older than Babylon, older than any of the civilizations of mankind. They learned where these ruins were from the same being that told them about the Archon walls--Abramelin.


    Abramelin was a colossal thing that lived beneath Egypt. The Ror Raas never said what Abramelin was, only what Abramelin was not. He was not a man, or a beast, or a god, or a demon, or a fairy, or a ghost, though Agnes¡¯ mother once told her that someone once told her that Abramelin was like a great whale.


    Whatever Abramelin was, Agnes hoped that he would always continue to be a benevolent mystery. He had helped mankind considerably since Samuel Mathers made psychic contact with him in 1860. But Agnes knew from experience that powerful beings could give you money one day and a fist the next. That was the way of the world, and maybe the way of the world didn¡¯t apply to a being like Abramelin, Agnes would like to think it didn¡¯t, but maybe it did.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe I couldn¡¯t recognize a gaeite candle.¡± Agnes wanted to slap herself. ¡°I swear I¡¯m not that stupid Dr¡­I¡¯m sorry, what did you say your name was again?¡±


    ¡°Dr. Martin Glass, of Ernst, Morton, and Glass.¡±


    Agnes winced. ¡°Oh! Of course! Of course I know who you three are!¡±

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 1 Night. 3/4

    ¡°Everyone knows who you three are!¡± Agnes said. ¡°Ernst, Morton, and Glass, of course! I¡¯ve often read about you in Illustrated Phantom Stories.¡±


    More accurately, Agnes read as much as she could in Illustrated Phantom Stories. She could only read a little and thus needed the illustrations to guide her reading. Her grandmother, who cared for her after her mother couldn¡¯t, never bothered to give her an education. She didn¡¯t see the value in it compared to putting her to work in a factory putting replacement parts together with her tiny hands for the gigantic steam beasts that loomed over Blackwall and the London ruins. Even colossal machines like the steam beasts had small parts, and small fingers were useful in putting those parts together, if they were quick enough to avoid being chopped off by the blades of the sizing machine.


    ¡°You three were ones that dealt with the Brute of Ipping, and the Lord of Ballard Hall, and the Elf King. You three are¡­well, you three are famous!¡±


    ¡°At the risk of sounding conceited, I suppose we are.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s nothing conceited about it! It¡¯s just a fact!¡±


    Agnes suddenly flinched. Her eyes had wandered over to the man, still at the window. He hadn¡¯t moved an inch.


    ¡°So that man outside is a ghost?¡± Agnes asked. ¡°I¡¯ve been attacked by a ghost?¡±


    A pained expression crossed Martin¡¯s face.


    Agnes looked at her side. ¡°I¡¯m all healed up now. I understand very little about this teleportation power the ghost put me under, but I understand that I¡¯m not torn to shreds anymore. How did you heal me? Was it magic? There¡¯s not even any blood, now. My dress isn¡¯t even ripped.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t magic. It was just an application of scientific, manesological principles.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand--and don¡¯t bother trying to explain it to me, I¡¯ve always been a rather dull girl. But tell me, will it last this time? Am I going to come open again and will you have to put me back together? It was terribly confusing outside, but I remember Dr. Ernst and Dr. Morton healed me but then the wound opened up again, twice I think¡­did I meet Dr. Ernst before Dr. Morton?¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that it will last this time. You¡¯re healed. It took us some time to understand what it was we needed to do to heal you and I¡¯m sorry for that. I¡¯m sorry you had to go through so much pain.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m alright now. Compared to how I was before you three rescued me, I¡¯m very alright. Ohhhh¡­¡± Agnes gave a whimpering sigh. ¡°I thought I was going to die. I lost so much blood, I didn¡¯t know I had all that blood inside me! But maybe he didn¡¯t cut me? I mean, not physically, right? I don¡¯t know much about ghosts, but I¡¯m guessing he gave me a ghost-wound, so you could use your ghost-powers to make it all go away, is that how it worked?¡±


    ¡°The important thing is that you¡¯re safe now. He can¡¯t come in here. All he can do is gape at us.¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± Agnes asked. ¡°Or, I guess, who was he?¡±


    ¡°That little, violent creature outside is best known as the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not so little when he¡¯s up close to you. It felt like I ran face-first into a wall when he stumbled into me. All I could see was his black clothes and cloak. It was as if he was the whole night, and it was all against me¡­but I¡¯ve never heard of the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s known to the police by that name.¡±


    ¡°Was he some sort of madman?¡±


    ¡°He was an evil, horrible man.¡±


    ¡°I thought I knew all about the lunatics and madmen of Blackwall. You wouldn¡¯t know this, Dr. Glass, being a gentleman of learning and distinction and all, but I live on Chopin Street, and Chopin Street is, well, it¡¯s like a gutter, all the bad things in Blackwall flow into it.¡± Agnes gave the Werewolf of Blackwall another brief glance. ¡°Shame his ghost didn¡¯t turn out different. I read that they sometimes do.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.¡°They sometimes do. Other times, they¡¯re very similar to who they were in life.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Dr. Glass, I feel so strange.¡± Agnes rubbed her temple. ¡°I think he may have done something to my head. It¡¯s like he fractured my memories and put them back together the wrong way. I keep thinking back to what happened outside and it¡¯s all a messy blur, I just can¡¯t make any of it make sense¡­¡±


    ¡°Confusion is common after a haunting experience. Try not to think about what happened much. Know that you¡¯re in my olprt radiance right now, and it tells me things about you. It tells me that you¡¯re fine, physically and mentally. You are fine.¡±


    ¡°Olprt is the er, technical name for this moon-colored light, isn¡¯t it?¡± Agnes asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Oh.I thought so. I read that somewhere, I think.¡±


    Agnes looked around the building. ¡°Are we the only ones here?¡± she asked.


    ¡°As far as I can tell. The sign outside says Marvin¡¯s, but judging by the conditions here, I don¡¯t think Marvin has been around much lately.¡± Martin smiled.


    Agnes chuckled. She would have chuckled at any sort of humor.


    ¡°Just between you and me, Agnes, the door wasn¡¯t unlocked.¡±


    ¡°Ha ha! Oh dear!¡±


    ¡°They say the Ror Raas created us manesologists to negotiate between the laws of men and their laws of spirits. But what that really means is that we sometimes have to break both laws to get things done.¡±


    ¡°Entirely understandable! Oh, Dr. Glass, you don¡¯t need to talk to me about breaking the law. You probably know what I am. It¡¯s not illegal, but that doesn¡¯t mean it''s proper, and so much around it is illegal. A girl out on the streets at this hour, surely you know what I am.¡±


    ¡°You are a woman in trouble and in need of help.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a very polite way of putting it, and I thank you for putting it that way. Dr. Glass. But you don¡¯t need to worry about breaking the law, not in my company. I break the law even when I don¡¯t intend to. You know, I think I¡¯m breaking the law right now. I¡¯m not supposed to be in a coffeehouse, or I¡¯m not supposed to be at a coffeehouse with my friends. I¡¯m not sure exactly how that one law works. Sometimes I don¡¯t think it really exists and they just make things up to get us into trouble. Do you think the owner would mind if we used their facilities? I would really like to have some tea, or some coffee. Even just some water would be really nice.¡±


    Martin looked behind the counter. ¡°I don¡¯t believe they have anything. At least, not anything that isn¡¯t spoiled.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve been closed that long? I guess it can¡¯t be helped, then.¡± Agnes strummed her fingers against her arm nervously. ¡°Oh, but I wish I had some coffee. My nerves are frayed like bristles.¡±


    ¡°Would you really like some? Would it help you calm down?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°I think it would, but if there¡¯s no coffee, there¡¯s no coffee. One can¡¯t fix up something from nothing.¡±


    ¡°Not when dealing with me.¡±


    Martin pointed at the empty table and suddenly there was a steaming cup of coffee.


    ¡°Oh bless you, Dr. Glass! Where on Earth did that come from?¡±


    ¡°I made it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but out of what?¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°From out of scientific, manesological principles.¡±


    Martin knew that if Joseph was here he would tease him about using his skills for ¡°stage tricks,¡± but he wasn¡¯t here, he was yards away, and he wanted to do something to make Agnes happy.


    He knew she had quite a shock coming up, and soon.


    ¡°You mean you pulled it out of thin air?¡± Agnes asked. ¡°Manesologists can do that?¡±


    ¡°Well, I have a few more skills than my colleagues. A few years ago, I made an attempt to enter the Ror Raas and become a thaumaturgist. It didn¡¯t work out, but I learned a few tricks. They¡¯re helpful as a manesologist.¡±


    ¡°And as a coffeehouse owner, if you ever consider that profession!¡± Agnes sipped her coffee. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s good! That¡¯s the best coffee I ever had!¡±


    ¡°Thank you. But it¡¯s really just hot water compared to what¡¯s out there. My old teachers got me hooked on fine coffee when I went to Baghdad to study Alhazred from primary source documents. There¡¯s nothing quite like Arabic coffee.¡±


    ¡°Nothing like a brush with death to make you appreciate a little hot water, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my only trick. Do you remember how I told you to breathe? In through your nose slowly, then out through your mouth? That¡¯s something the Ror Raas taught me.¡±


    ¡°That little thing counts as a magic spell? Or a magic principle, or manesological spell, or however it¡¯s supposed to be properly put?¡±


    ¡°It is indeed a thaumaturgical trick. In fact, it¡¯s the first trick they taught me. The ability to calm oneself is the gate before all other Operations. If you can¡¯t control your emotions, it¡¯s impossible for you to work a single Operation. But if you can control your emotions, then all further mental disciplines are possible. So you see? Now you can do a little magic!¡±


    Agnes smiled bashfully. ¡°You waste such things on me, Dr. Glass.¡±


    ¡°Education is never a waste. One day they¡¯ll teach thaumaturgy in schools, just as they teach math and reading.¡±


    ¡°Schooling is not an option for me. It never was, not even when I was a girl.¡±


    ¡°A lot has changed in the world since you were a girl. Manes are a scientific reality. History has uncovered pre-human civilizations. It¡¯s not so unusual anymore for a woman to be educated. The Ror Raas has several woman thaumaturgists.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Why, they just accepted a young girl named Edith Nesbitt into their ranks, and she shows a considerable deal of promise.¡±


    ¡°The world is changing so fast! Dr. Glass, this may seem like a very foolish question, but¡­you¡¯ve made me think of all the strangeness out in the world these days, so I feel that I must ask¡­the Werewolf of Blackwall¡­he¡¯s not a true werewolf, is he?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s something from mythology that ended up not being true, at least.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but there are werewolves.¡±


    Agnes stared at Martin.


    ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°They prefer to be called metamorphe, shapeshifters. They¡¯re very secretive, but they¡¯ll be as well-documented as manes in a few years.¡±


    ¡°Lord! It seems like the world¡¯s always more dangerous than you think.¡±


    ¡°Not in the case of the metamorphe. They¡¯re no more dangerous than humans.¡±


    ¡°That is not saying much, unfortunately.¡±  Once again, Agnes glanced at the man outside.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t look at him anymore.¡± Martin said.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 1, Night. 4/4

    ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t, but it''s so hard not to. Something inside me keeps warning me that any minute now he¡¯ll start to bang at the door¡­but he¡¯s just a shadow, now. He can¡¯t hurt me. I¡¯m safe. I have to keep reminding myself of that¡­but I believe it, Dr. Glass, I truly do.¡±


    ¡°You are safe. He can¡¯t hurt anyone now.¡± Martin assured her.


    ¡°I know that. I know that he¡¯s just¡­like a drawing. But he¡¯s such a terrible drawing! Good God, he doesn¡¯t even look human--well, of course he isn¡¯t human! He¡¯s a ghost! But he doesn¡¯t have more than a passing resemblance to a human. I saw him burnt and shattered tonight and he just got back up, and now he¡¯s standing there without a sound, without so much as a gasp. I¡¯d sooner believe a scarecrow came out of a person¡¯s dead body than him.¡±


    Agnes returned to her coffee. Its warmth helped drive away the chill of fear. ¡°What did you say this place was called, Dr. Glass?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The sign outside said Marvin¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s interesting. I remember there was a Marvin¡¯s coffeehouse on Chopin Street. Two friends of mine were arrested there not more than a month ago. But that was a new building, and this one¡¯s anything but. And that was on Chopin Street, and I can¡¯t possibly be on Chopin Street after all that running I did. Where are we? What street is this?¡±


    Martin looked away.


    ¡°You should finish your coffee first.¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Hm? What¡¯s wrong, Dr. Glass?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the best manesologist when it comes to explaining things to people. I spent so much time with the magic men, the thaumaturgists, that things which seem odd and peculiar to laypersons seem mundane and obvious to me.¡±


    ¡°Well, just tell me what street this is. What¡¯s hard to explain about that?¡±


    ¡°I apologize. I wish I knew a better way to explain this to you. But I do not. This is Chopin Street.¡±


    The reality of her situation was beginning to dawn on Agnes Little.


    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s¡­that¡¯s odd.¡± Agnes looked again at the man outside. ¡°That¡¯s very odd.¡±


    ¡°Please stop looking at him.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Dr. Glass, I think that ghost did something to my mind. I don¡¯t feel well at all.¡±


    Martin breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.


    He decided to go ahead and say it.


    ¡°The year is 1871.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Agnes shouted. ¡°No! The year is 1866! It¡¯s April, I was doing my business no more than a few minutes ago and then the ghost appeared and attacked me. It¡¯s 1866, right Dr. Glass? That¡¯s what you meant to say--1866?¡±


    Agnes¡¯ pleading expression tore at Martin¡¯s heart.


    But what else could he tell her but the truth?


    ¡°1866 was five years ago. That was when the Werewolf of Blackwall claimed his first victim. Do you understand what I¡¯m telling you?¡±


    ¡°No! No, you¡¯re wrong!¡± Agnes shouted. ¡°You have to be wrong! Look at me!¡± Agnes beat her fists against her skin. ¡°See? Solid!¡±


    ¡°Manes can be very solid, as solid as human beings, if not moreso.¡±


    ¡°But I feel things! I can taste the coffee! It even burns me. It burns me, see?¡± she spilt the coffee over her arm.


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    ¡°Agnes, no!¡± Martin cried out.


    The black liquid seeped through her skin. Agnes winced at the pain. ¡°That hurt! It hurts, that¡¯s how I know I¡¯m alive!¡±


    Martin slowly shook his head back and forth. He produced a towel from out of nowhere and began to clean up what he could.


    ¡°And now you¡¯re drying me off. That¡¯s proof I¡¯m real.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you¡¯re expressing common misconceptions.¡± Martin said. ¡°Some manes can feel things, even pain, and manes are very much real, just as real as any human. You are real. Please understand that.¡±


    ¡®Wait!¡± Agnes pushed Martin away. ¡°I can see myself! That¡¯s proof I¡¯m alive! I remember this very clearly from Illustrated Phantom Stories--ghosts appear as black silhouettes inside olprt radiance, and I am not a black silhouette!¡±


    ¡°Another misconception. The olprt radiance renders manes as black silhouettes--to human eyes. Here, this will help you understand.¡±


    Suddenly, Martin passed his fingers through Agnes¡¯ face as if it was nothing more than a puddle of water. Agnes felt his fingers move through her. She saw her vision distort as her face stretched unnaturally and then returned to form.


    ¡°You are solid, but only to an extent.¡± Martin said.


    Tears dripped down Agnes¡¯ face. Her shoulders hung in defeat. So that was it, then. She could think of nothing else that could force down what she had suspected since the wound in her side vanished and reappeared.


    ¡°...And you¡¯ve looked at me, as a black silhouette, this entire time?¡± Agnes asked.


    Martin nodded.


    ¡°Oh, damn you!¡± Agnes aimed a clumsy slap at Martin through her tears. It landed a little below his neck. ¡°Damn you! Then say so! Say what I am!¡±


    ¡°I tried to ease you into this revelation. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Say it!¡±


    ¡°You are a manes.¡±


    Agnes gave a small despairing whimper and buried her face in her hands.


    Martin rubbed his neck and felt stupid and useless. Robert Lumen, the thaumaturgist who brought together Ernst, Morton, and Glass and protected them from the shadows, once told him that he was the Ariel of his group. He was, like the Ariel of Shakespeare¡¯s The Tempest, a miracle worker, even when compared to two other miracle workers. He could go places they could not, do things they could not, but right now, he felt like the most useless member of the trio.


    ¡°This would happen to me.¡± Agnes mumbled. ¡°A dirty old whore, cut up and left to die. This would happen. This should happen. It is justice.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t say such things about yourself.¡±


    ¡°I trusted myself to the good moods of bad men. I have no one to blame but myself for this. Oh, Dr. Glass!¡± Agnes raised her face, and it was a horrible thing for Martin to see, for in the form of a blank silhouette, he could only guess its grief-twisted features. ¡°Why did he kill me? We were all together, all us Londoners, along the Thames in 1865!¡±


    ¡°That he killed you has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the deficiencies of his mind.¡±


    ¡°How could I have survived the London fireball, and yet die to the blade of one who also survived that horror? It¡¯s inhuman. It¡¯s inhuman to do that to someone after we were all together, huddled in tents by the water! I tempted an inhuman monster to my side!¡±


    ¡°Stop blaming yourself for his sin.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. Of course you wouldn¡¯t understand, a young man, an educated man, a good man. The things I allowed them to do to me, all because they gave me money. It was only a matter of time before one went too far. So, Dr. Glass, what becomes of me now? Five years into the future, even if the Manes Charter didn¡¯t cut a ghost out of the inheritance of her body, I would have nothing--so I have nothing now. Do I go to one of those ¡°earthbound afterlives?¡± Do I go to the Ring Tower, Asphodel Street, where?¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, Agnes, but there is something more you must do before you can rest.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me Agnes! That¡¯s not my name anymore! That¡¯s the name of a dead woman!¡±


    ¡°There is no reason why you can¡¯t still use the name Agnes Little.¡±


    ¡°The name Agnes Little has no meaning now, not to law, and not to the people that knew her. Five whole years¡­time devoured everything that was Agnes Little. I am not Agnes Little.¡±


    ¡°The issue of how a manes¡¯ identity relates to the identity of the deceased body that bore them is a contentious one, but I assure you, many philosophers would argue vehemently that you are indeed Agnes Little, if that is who you wish to be.¡±


    ¡°But it isn¡¯t who I wish to be! Listen! I remember being Agnes Little and thinking over the idea of my eventual ghost in my head. Agnes Little wasn¡¯t smart, but she did think about things from time-to-time. She came to the conclusion that she didn¡¯t have to worry about her ghost, because in the end, her ghost wasn¡¯t her. And now I¡¯m that. So let me tell you, Agnes and I are in agreement here. We¡¯re two different beings, so you go hang your philosophers, Dr. Glass!¡±


    ¡°If I cannot call you Agnes Little, what would you like for me to call you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t care. Just stop calling me Agnes Little!¡±


    ¡°May I then call you the manes of Agnes Little?¡±


    ¡°Fine. It doesn¡¯t matter. Now where did you say I¡¯m going?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. There is still work for us to do.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Agnes whimpered. ¡°What on Earth are you talking about?¡±


    Martin gestured to the man outside, still lurking, still glaring. ¡°I¡¯m talking about the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°What? What do I have to do with him? I¡¯m not a manesologist!¡±


    ¡°Would you like to help me send him away forever?¡±


    ¡°You mean you can¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Allow me to explain, manes of Agnes Little. The Werewolf of Blackwall exists through his reputation. His reputation is his body. But you have a reputation as well, and I believe that yours can be the greater.¡±


    ¡°What the Hell are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°We can put your reputation against his. You will crush him, and destroy the Werewolf of Blackwall forevermore!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little began to sob again, for she could not understand what Dr. Glass was telling her.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 2, Dusk. 1/5

    When her sobs finally subsided, Martin spoke up. ¡°You have had an awful night, but now comes the morning.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little tore her face away from her hands and glared at Martin. ¡°What the Hell does that even mean? Was that supposed to be comforting? Inspiring? Hang the morning! I¡¯ve only woken from one nightmare into another!¡±


    Martin sighed. He really did hope that what he said would have been comforting, even if just a little. ¡°You need to calm down. We can¡¯t destroy the Werewolf unless you calm down. Remember what I said about calm opening the gate to further--¡±


    ¡°Go hang your gates and your magic and your magic science!¡± Agnes snapped


    ¡°Please, you must remember what Dr. Morton told you. You must go to the places in your mind where he is not. He has taken from you your life, your place in society and your place in history. But there are things within you he can never touch. In those precious things you can find peace.¡±


    ¡°In those ¡°precious¡± things? In those dirty, useless things? When I was alive, when I was Agnes Little, those ¡°precious¡± things led me to ruin! They led me to his knife! And now you¡¯re saying they can save me, those useless, ugly things?¡±


    ¡°They are not useless, ugly things. Please trust my words as a manesologist. You yourself said I was famous. I know what I am talking about. You are thirty years old, Agnes. He had you for but an instant. Draw strength from those thirty years. Your life is greater than his one moment. Your reputation can be so much greater than his if you would only share it!¡±


    ¡°Ha! Thirty years! Thirty years of stupidity and sin and filth!¡± the manes of Agnes Little sobbed anew.


    ¡°Please stop saying such awful things about yourself. It¡¯s not doing us any good.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say whatever I want!¡± the manes of Agnes Little snapped. ¡°I died, or she died, or however it should be said, the point is someone died so at least let me say what I want about myself! I¡¯m a rotten old whore, I always have been, that¡¯s why he killed me, killed her, whatever!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little sighed. ¡°The preachers alway said I¡¯d be sent to Hell by a man¡¯s disease or a man¡¯s rage--and they were right.¡±


    ¡°You are not in Hell.¡± Martin said.


    The manes of Agnes Little dried her tears. Ghost tears could be dried by a ghost hand, she observed. There was that, if nothing else ¡°No. I¡¯m not in Hell. I¡¯m being too emotional. They don¡¯t have kind manesologists in Hell. God has shown me a little mercy.¡±


    ¡°God did not punish you.¡±


    ¡°Not as much as he could have, no. But he has punished me. I have sullied myself by the selling of my flesh and that is why God let the man kill me.¡±


    Martin decided that he wasn¡¯t going to debate the point with her any longer. If the concept of divine punishment helped stabilize her, then it had a use, for now.


    ¡°It is  time for you to talk about  yourself, manes of Agnes Little. Tell me about yourself at age ten, twenty, thirty, tell me as little as you wish, as much as you wish, but you must talk to me. Telling others your story is crucial for strengthening your reputation and weakening his, do you understand that?¡±


    ¡°No, not a bit. I get that you think talking about myself is supposed to destroy that monster outside, somehow, but I don¡¯t understand it. There is nothing in all my life worth talking about. Please, Dr. Glass, can¡¯t you use your gaeite candle to, I don¡¯t know, wish him away with a magic spell? Can¡¯t you make him just¡­vanish? If you manesologists have the power to make my wounds close and to hold him outside then can¡¯t you do something to destroy him? Can¡¯t you just try?¡±


    ¡°I could work an Operation that would make him vanish, yes.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Then do it! Why won¡¯t you do it?¡±


    ¡°Because it would not make him go away completely and forever, manes of Agnes Little. Would you like for him to go away completely and forever?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I don¡¯t understand! How can I make him go away by talking about myself? How can my reputation, any reputation, destroy him? I don¡¯t understand any of that!¡± the manes of Agnes Little grabbed at her scalp in exasperation.


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    ¡°You know what? Fine! Fine, I''ll tell you everything! I was born in Whitechapel, my mother was a whore, she didn¡¯t know my father, my grandmother had to help her care for me and grandmother hated my mother for forcing me upon her. Believe me, Dr. Glass, I learned from an early age that children born in families are investments, but children born out of wedlock are burdens. My grandmother sent me off to work almost as soon as I could walk. I¡¯m glad I wasn¡¯t a boy, she would have shoved me down into the dark and dirt. I knew boys like that, not all of them made it to manhood. I promised myself that I would spite my grandmother and mother both. I would become rich and desirable and worth something to spite my grandmother. I would become a respectable woman to spite my mother. But I trusted myself fully to a man that swore that he would always be true to me. He left me, just like how my father left my mother. He left me behind and I was ruined for other men so I could do nothing but follow the nature of my blood and become a whore. And now all the useless moments of my life have led me to¡­this.¡±


    ¡°Believe it or not, you¡¯ve now taken the first few steps towards destroying the Werewolf of Blackwall forevermore.¡±


    ¡°I go with not!¡± The manes of Agnes Little pointed out the window. ¡°How have I helped? He¡¯s still there, leering like a damned gargoyle!¡±


    Martin pointed at the table and a cup of coffee appeared. ¡°Perhaps you would feel better if you had another--¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little grabbed the coffee and hurled it at the window. Being made of ectoplasm, the cup  passed through the window, and the man, being made of a thinner kind of ectoplasm, allowed the cup to pass through him before it became lost in the darkness.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said. ¡°I suppose that was one more poor decision on my behalf.¡±


    ¡°I can see I¡¯ve made a mistake here, again.¡± Martin said. ¡°I haven¡¯t elaborated on the right things. I¡¯ve left you confused.¡±


    ¡°Yes. But I haven¡¯t been helping things, have I?¡±


    ¡°Dr. Morton is better at talking to people than I am. I went too fast with you. You don¡¯t even understand what¡¯s happened to you, not fully.¡±


    ¡°I think I understand enough. I think. One night, Agnes Little did her rounds. A madman stabbed her. I came out of her body. I was chased and assaulted by the madman¡¯s ghost and now thanks to you and the two other manesologists, I¡¯m safe. I¡¯m still confused, but at least I¡¯m not being cut up.¡±


    ¡°I would like to go over the entire event, as it was told to me, as it was told to the public of Blackwall and England. I want to impress upon you the public¡¯s perspective of you, the Werewolf, and what happened that night.¡±


    ¡°I think the public¡¯s perspective of a dead whore needs no elaboration.¡±


    ¡°It is extremely important that you understand how you are remembered and how he is remembered.¡±


    ¡°But why is it important how I¡¯m remembered and how the Werewolf is remembered? Why is it important  that I ramble about my past to you as if I were a character in a Dickens novel?¡±


    ¡°It will be easier to explain that to you once you understand how your reputation stands in light of the Werewolf of Blackwall¡¯s own.  I do not wish to under-inform you, as I have previously. Please allow me to, as it were, put all the cards on the table.¡±


    ¡°Then go right ahead, Dr. Glass.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Here is what was told to the public, to me, to everyone: On August 15th of 1875, Agnes Little¡¯s body was found in the early morning by steam beast workers walking to work. It was quickly determined by the nature of the wound that she had been attacked with a knife.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little grabbed at where her wound was. ¡°How many times did he stab her?¡±


    ¡°Only once.¡±


    ¡°Only once? What did he do when he caught up to her?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. The physical evidence determined that he stabbed her once and only once. She ran from him and he chased her. Her blood left a long trail that ran down almost the entirety of Chopin Street. He allowed her to bleed out until she expired. They said it was like how a wolf would wound its prey and then stalk it until it fell. That¡¯s why they called him the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little shivered.


    ¡°Are you alright, manes of Agnes LIttle?¡± Martin asked.


    She nodded. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m just remembering the¡­end. I couldn¡¯t remember the end while I was being chased by him outside, but now I do. It wasn¡¯t a bad end, I think. There was no pain at that point. When I ran I was hot, sticky, and everything flowed out of me, it seemed. Everything flowed out of her, I mean. But she was cold, in the end. And then it was just like going to sleep on the stones. That wasn¡¯t so bad. There are worse ways to die. There are, aren¡¯t there? You would know, as a manesologist.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s rather morbid to compare physical ends. I prefer to focus on what a manes can do in the present beyond the demise of his or her body.¡±


    ¡°But there are worse ways to die?¡±


    Countless cases ran through Martin¡¯s mind, countless images of corpses--corpses broken and mangled, corpses bloated and blue, corpses eerily intact as if they were alive and sleeping¡­


    ¡°Yes.¡± Martin answered, simply and truthfully.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why it makes me feel better to hear that. But it does. I guess I¡¯m at such a state that any comfort feels wonderful--even if it isn¡¯t my comfort we¡¯re discussing, truthfully. So, did anyone see the Werewolf? She was screaming so loud, someone must have heard.¡±


    ¡°There were witnesses to the crime, but no one tried to save her.¡±


    ¡°Really? No one?¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little was heartbroken and angry. ¡°Not unexpected of Chopin Street.¡± she said icily.¡°I bet they watched the damned rats sniff at and then nibble at my body. Did they at least put something over it?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Not even a blanket? They left¡­¡± the manes of Agnes Little paused. She wanted to be very careful with her words and felt ¡°my¡± forming on her lips. It was so hard, not being herself anymore, but she felt that she could get used to it over time--and she certainly had a lot of that now that she couldn¡¯t die.


    ¡°...They left her body to stink on the stones until sunlight?¡±


    ¡°The body was found uncovered. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Cowards! Bloody cowards! A gentleman like yourself wouldn¡¯t know this, but there were other girls on Chopin Street, many girls. They knew what was happening, they could have done something, they could have gotten someone! Bloody cowards! They all ran and left me behind!¡±


    ¡°The body was then claimed by Mary Little.¡±


    ¡°Mother would¡¯ve had to claim the body, wouldn¡¯t she? I mean legally she was probably obligated to. I hope she had more than a little trouble making all the arrangements.¡±

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 2, Dusk. 2/5

    ¡°Once the body was made ready, Agnes Little was buried at Sharpe¡¯s Row.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Is there a tombstone?¡± the manes of Agnes Little asked with great concern. She surprised herself with how much she cared about a tombstone.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± The manes of Agnes Little smiled for the good fortune of Agnes Little. But then she remembered who she was, what she was, and the little joy she found seemed to be nothing more than a lot of foolishness.


    ¡°That surprises me. I thought it would be an unmarked grave. I¡¯ve had friends of mine that had to be buried in unmarked graves. I wonder who paid for it? Certainly not mother, or grandmother. Daniel? Oh, I suppose it doesn¡¯t really matter¡­wait, I suppose they aren¡¯t actually friends of mine¡­but then again, why can¡¯t they be my friends and Agnes¡¯ friends? Oh, it¡¯s so tricky being¡­this. So much thinking about things! It makes me feel so tired.¡±


    ¡°Just follow your instincts.¡± Martin said. ¡°If you feel like Agnes, you are Agnes. If you don¡¯t feel like Agnes, you aren¡¯t Agnes. And if you change how you feel, don¡¯t fight it. It¡¯s like my friend Dr. Joseph Morton says--thinking too much about who and what you are will spread you thin like butter over toast. You¡¯ll end up someone, but it¡¯ll be a very thin someone.¡±


    ¡°Tell me please, Dr. Glass, this isn¡¯t very important, but is there an angel on the tombstone?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I can make arrangements for there to be an angel statue on it, if there¡¯s not one already there.¡±


    Agnes opened her mouth, but hesitated to say something. Her ambivalence to her state of being was exhausting.


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t bother.¡± she muttered at last. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°If you ever find that it does matter, we¡¯ll make sure an angel is there.¡±


    ¡°It really doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m never going to see it. I¡¯m never going to Sharpe¡¯s Row. It doesn¡¯t matter if there¡¯s an angel on her stone or not, a grave or not. It really doesn¡¯t matter. Does it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s for you to determine.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little sighed. ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it? But I can¡¯t seem to come to a solid determination in my mind.¡±


    ¡°The personalities of living humans do not form in a single night. There is no race to your determination.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, Dr. Glass. Please, continue.¡±


    ¡°Very well. At first, the police thought the Werewolf was simply one of your¡­¡± he blushed as he fumbled for the word. ¡°...acquaintances who  got violently upset with you.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t one of mine and he didn¡¯t want to ¡°meet my acquaintance.¡± He came up to me. He stabbed me. He chased me. He knew what he wanted to do to me and it wasn¡¯t the usual thing.¡±


    ¡°The police realized with the second body that Blackwall was plagued by a madman who liked stabbing women.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Second body? How many did he kill?¡± the manes of Agnes Little asked.


    ¡°Before he was caught, five, including yourself.¡±


    ¡°Please tell me the names of the other four.¡±


    ¡°His second victim, also on Chopin Street, was Emily Clark.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I didn¡¯t know her. I¡¯m not sure whether to be happy or sad about that.¡±


    ¡°Emily Clark died in much the same way as Agnes LIttle. That was when my friends and I were contacted, because it was believed that only a mad ghost could be so violently insane. But he wasn¡¯t a mad ghost, only a madman. We conducted various Operations to draw the presumed manes to our presence. He never came, because he didn¡¯t exist. Still, we could ask his victims, and we did so. As strange as it is to say, tonight is not the first time we have met.¡±


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    ¡°I am very confused.¡±


    ¡°It is rare for a manes to immediately manifest following decoupling.¡±


    ¡°Decoupling?¡±


    ¡°Death.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Oh, but that does make sense. I¡¯ve never heard of a ghost that immediately gets out of a body.¡±


    ¡°Immediate manifestation is extremely rare. Typically after decoupling, n manes spawns entirely within the Astral in a state similar to sleep. We manesologists call this state brgdo, after the Dyeus word for sleep. As a general rule, we don¡¯t wake a manes from brgdo unless there is a pressing reason to do so. We normally wait for a manes to naturally awaken. Necromancy, summoning up the dead from out of brgdo, angers the psychopomps--the angels and faeries that escort awakened manes to various afterlives.¡±


    ¡°Why does it make them upset?¡±


    ¡°Because if manes can be woken up for any reason, then it creates a scramble to wake up all manes from brgdo. The psychopomps fear suddenly competing with a massive scramble for all the souls of mankind--past, present, and future, all at once, for the Astral exists beyond time. Due to the rule that manes can only be interacted with when they naturally awaken, psychopomps only deal with a trickle of the workload they otherwise would. And just like people, they hate to work more than they have to.¡±


    ¡®It¡¯s strange to me how little the powers-that-be in the universe seem care for living beings and how much they care for their ghosts.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because manes are of a similar substance. The psychopomps see them, in a way, as kin.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m kin to the gods and faeries? Ha. What a world this all is¡­but anyway, I suppose my murder counted as an exception to the rule?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The psychopomps allow a small degree of necromancy in cases such as your own.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember you waking me up.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t. Rarely do manes remember what they dream about in the brgdo state. Our brief conversation was, to you, just another dream.¡±


    ¡°Was this bird-o state like it was outside, in the streets? Was I running and running and running from him over and over?¡±


    ¡°No. What happened outside is what we call a phantasmagoria. A phantasmagoria is when a manes repeats a specific portion of their lives over and over again, like the same chapter in a book being read several times over. Unfortunately, your phantasmagoria caused you to repeat your death. But it¡¯s not like that in the brgdo state. The psychopomps wouldn¡¯t allow the souls of humanity to slumber if it was like that. In brgdo, one¡¯s entire life repeats again and again, not necessarily in order, but certainly in total. The bad parts repeat, but also the good.¡±


    ¡°If I dreamed of my entire life, it must have been a very bad dream.¡±


    ¡°The nightmare outside was just a small part of your brgdo, I assure you. A few minutes is nothing compared to a lifetime.¡±


    ¡°It was a lifetime of trash. Trust me, I know. But you are right. I¡¯d much rather the bird-o thing than being gutted like a fish forever and ever. Dr. Glass, when we talked in my bird-o state, was what I told you helpful in capturing the Werewolf?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, no.¡±


    ¡°Hm. I¡¯m not surprised. Nothing good could possibly come out of my life.¡±


    ¡°You were only able to recall a form wrapped in darkness.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little looked out the window. ¡°Not too inaccurate.¡±


    ¡°Certainly not from your perspective. But the Werewolf was captured regardless, in the end. His third victim was on Meredith Street. After Emily Clark, the women of Chopin Street fled, and many went to Meredith Street.¡±


    ¡°To think the day would come that there were no whores on Chopin Street! Most miraculous thing I¡¯ve heard all day, and I learned I died! Who was the third victim?¡±


    ¡°A young woman named Amelia Doyle.¡±


    ¡°Amy!?¡± the manes of Agnes Little gasped. ¡°Oh, no,not Amy! I knew her, Dr. Glass. She was a young thing, much too young for this work.¡±


    ¡°It was reported that she was twelve years old.¡±


    ¡°God! She was a child! We knew she was young, but¡­oh the poor, poor thing¡­quickly, Dr. Glass, who was the fourth? I want to get this list over with.¡±


    ¡°The fourth was also on Meredith Street. Her name was Bethany Cates.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little sighed. ¡°Well, I hate to say I don''t care as much about her death as little Amy¡¯s, but, well, I didn¡¯t know Bethany that well. She was pleasant enough, I suppose, but we never talked much, and at any rate, she was just an old whore, like me. So that leaves one more. Who was the last of the Werewolf¡¯s victims, Dr. Glass?¡±


    ¡°The last victim was Alice Williams.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Alice! Oh, poor woman! She was nice to me, Dr. Glass, she was nice to us all! She was too old for this line of work so she took to caring for us like a mother. She knew which men were good and which would beat you. She had a¡­well, she was sick sir, I believe you understand my meaning.¡±


    ¡°I do. She had a social disease.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir, she did, and those of us who had a little savings and were nice, we put some of our earnings aside to pay for her medicine. The poor woman could barely get out of bed. Everyone knew she was sick, too sick and old for a lock hospital. That didn¡¯t stop the police from examining her again and again and again, of course.¡±


    ¡°If she was already known to have a social disease, why would the police examine her?¡±


    ¡°Because they could.¡±


    ¡°But the Contagious Diseases Act states that such examinations are for the discovery and regulation of social diseases. Wouldn¡¯t one examination have sufficed?¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little smiled at Dr. Glass.


    He was young and thoroughly educated by men who moved like shadows through the background of the world. He knew the world of the streets, her world, only through books. His innocence was remarkable and precious.


    ¡°Pay you no mind, Dr. Glass, it¡¯s not important. It¡¯s just something whores have to deal with. But tell me, how did she die? How could he have killed her? She hadn¡¯t walked the streets for years.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say that the Werewolf broke into her home. He was emboldened by his previous killings.¡±


    ¡°He actually broke into her home?¡±


    ¡°He beat down the door in the middle of the night.¡±


    ¡°The monster¡­the rotten monster!!¡± Agnes slammed the table with her fists and gasped as they sank through.


    She tried to move her arms and rattled the table.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 2, Dusk. 3/5

    ¡°Stay calm.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I¡¯m stuck!¡± Agnes shouted. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m stuck! Oh, Lord, I¡¯m nothing but a jelly!¡±


    ¡°Try moving your arms now.¡± Martin said. ¡°I just performed a manesological Operation to lessen the density of your ectoplasm.¡±


    ¡°You did? When? Don¡¯t you need to say magic words and move your hands?¡±


    ¡°I know Illustrated Phantom Stories likes to depict us that way, but we don¡¯t need to do anything but think so long as olprt radiance surrounds us and the target of our Operations. Now try moving your arms.¡±


    Agnes did so. Her arms slid clean of the table.


    ¡°Now put them on the table, but gently.¡±


    Agnes did so. ¡°I see. I¡¯m a soap bubble. Too much pressure and I break.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to describe being a manes.¡±


    ¡°I thought ghosts were either like a mist or like people. ¡° the manes of Agnes Little said. ¡°They could either touch things or they couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like that for some, but for others, for yourself, it¡¯s kind of an intermediate sort of existence.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s so frustrating being a third thing in-between two things.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said. ¡° How does anyone live like this?¡± Agnes asked. ¡°Well, I suppose they don¡¯t have much choice in the matter, do they?¡±


    ¡°You just need time to adjust. I know it seems very limiting now, but there are things you can do as a manes that flesh-and-blood people can only dream of doing. You can fly, for instance.¡±


    ¡°Hm. I¡¯d take not having to worry about getting stuck in things over flight.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said.


    She looked at her hand. It seemed so solid, yet every few seconds it would suddenly blink away and reappear like a flashing lightning bolt.


    ¡°God, how did I ever think I wasn¡¯t a ghost? I am such a little fool.¡± the manes of Agnes Little muttered. ¡°Say what you will about Agnes Little¡¯s death, Dr. Glass, but my existence as it currently stands truly feels like a punishment from God.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that for a moment.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°There''s a certain poetry to my current state. It has the feeling of something from out of the Bible, like Lot¡¯s wife turning into a pillar of salt. I made a living selling my flesh, and now I don¡¯t have flesh. I let men touch me, and now no man can ever touch me again.¡±


    ¡°God is neither petty nor cruel.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°But God is just, and I am a sinner.¡±


    Martin stood up. He could take no more of her constant self-flagellation.


    ¡°Please listen to me. In my attempt to become a thaumaturgist, I pursued God. That is what it means to be a thaumaturgist, to pursue God. In the pursuit of God, I sent my mind out into the far reaches of the Astral. I studied the memories and dreams of prehuman civilizations. I conversed with beings that have no shape and no form. Believe me when I say that God is indeed just, but no force of justice would use that thing out there as an instrument! Manes of Agnes Little, I have heard you condemn the woman that you once were, and I cannot understand why you would do so! That creature out there treated Agnes as garbage, to be used for his sick pleasure and then discarded! Why do you not condemn him instead of Agnes? Is it not enough that he attacked the woman that you were, the very source of your memories, and women like her? Do you have to help him in his assault against Agnes, against Emily, against Amelia, and Bethany, and Alice?¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The manes of Alice Little looked at the man outside the window. She looked at him longer and harder than she ever had before.


    The fear she had for him started to pale against a new emotion welling up from deep inside her


    She stood up.


    ¡°You are right, Dr. Glass. I have abused myself as surely as he did. There is nothing of God in that. I suppose self-abuse is my problem¡­no.¡± she shook her head. ¡°No. That was Agnes¡¯ problem. They hated her, and so she hated herself. But I, as her manes, do not have to have her problem. And I know who truly deserves to be the recipient of my anger.¡±


    She stormed over to the window so fast that her feet hovered off the ground, so fast that she did not even notice that she was flying for the first time.


    ¡°You damned monster! You killer! You animal! You beast! Look at what you¡¯ve done to me! Well, at least I¡¯m not you! All you can do is stand there and gape like a scarecrow!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little screamed with a furious strength Agnes Little herself had never known.


    ¡°Did you lose anything by dying, you sick, diseased, monstrosity? No! No, because you had nothing but your sick appetites, and you got to go on repeating them! You got to go on stabbing me and stabbing and stabbing me like you wanted! I lost five years! Five years! And you couldn¡¯t just stop with me, you had to kill them all! You had to kill Alice! She hadn¡¯t walked the streets for ages! She wasn¡¯t a whore anymore, you bastard!¡±


    Agnes glared at the man, panting in rage.


    Martin smiled. Her condemnation was finally finding the right target.


    The man did not move. He did not respond. It was as if she yelled at the night itself. But there was one more thing she had to say, if not for him to hear, than for herself to hear.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fear you anymore. But I¡¯ll hate you forever.¡± Agnes turned and walked back to the table and gently, very gently, sat back down.


    ¡°Does he even hear us?¡± she asked. ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t.¡± Martin answered. ¡°But he also wasn¡¯t the one that needed to hear that. He also doesn¡¯t see us.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t see us?¡± Agnes shuffled in her seat to the left and then to the right, trying to see through the shadows that guarded the Werewolf¡¯s face. She couldn¡¯t tell if his shadowed eyes were following her or not.


    ¡°But how could he have chased me if he couldn''t see me?¡±


    ¡°All will become clear, I promise. But let me continue with the chain of events. You deserve to know how the Werewolf of Blackwall was caught.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little smiled. ¡°Oh, I do want to hear about this!¡±


    ¡° After Ms. Grace¡¯s murder, Blackwall was seized with panic. Everyone locked and bolted their doors. Ladies of your profession took to walking the streets with male protection.¡±


    ¡°Pimps are good for something, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°At the time, my friends and I were confident that we weren¡¯t dealing with a manes. But manes or not, there was a killer in our city, and these powers granted to us by the Ror Raas are useful for more than dealing with manes. We have befriended many manes over the years, with many different powers. We called in one that could pass as a living woman and asked her to walk the streets as a tempting target. Eventually, the Werewolf found her and plunged his knife into her, but found that his blade stuck.¡±


    Agnes smiled. ¡°Oh, I like that. Foiled by a ghost! Did the ghost kill him?¡±


    ¡°She captured him alive so that he could give a full accounting of himself before the law.¡±


    ¡°Ah. You¡¯re right, Dr. Glass. Capturing him would be better than killing him.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, while he was being escorted away by the constabulary, he slit his throat with a second knife hidden on his person.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, that perhaps wasn¡¯t the best outcome, but you won¡¯t catch me complaining about it. Those who live by the sword, die by the sword, so they say. So he died bleeding out on the cold streets, did he?¡±


    ¡°He did. And he died with considerably less composure than yourself. He gurgled through his neck wound, like a pig killed for harvest.¡±


    ¡°Good. There in that is the hand of God, truly.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said.


    ¡°Yes, truly. His rampage, though violent, was brief. It was still 1866 when he perished. It¡¯s been half a decade since then, yet, because the Werewolf¡¯s crimes were so lurid, because he died without giving a name or explanation for his actions, he became an immortal topic of speculation. People wondered if he, perhaps, had a partner.  Every time someone was found stabbed to death in Blackwall they wondered if it wasn¡¯t his secret partner at work--or perhaps his own manes. Illustrated Police News would publish any report of Werewolf sightings no matter how far-fetched, and if they didn¡¯t have any reports to publish they would invent their own, for the public loved reading about the Werewolf. I don¡¯t know why, but modern Britons seem to have a barbaric hunger for stories of violence and darkness. It is now 1871, and his legacy still haunts Blackwall though the man himself is long dead.¡±

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 2, Dusk. 4/5

    ¡°His infamous reputation is propping up his ghost?¡± the manes of Agnes Little asked.


    ¡°It is partly his reputation--but partly your own.¡± Martin answered.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand. Oh! Oh dear, did someone summon him? Like in that case reported in Illustrated Phantom Stories where a Parisian theater owner hired evil manesologists to summon the worst killers in history to frighten his audiences?¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a real case. Not every case reported in Illustrated Phantom Stories is true. Now, brace yourself, manes of Agnes Little, for what I¡¯m about to tell you is a very, very strange revelation.¡±


    ¡°Compared to learning that I¡¯m dead?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It is a very strange revelation. But first, tell me something--¡±


    ¡°Tell you something? Don¡¯t ask me to brace for a strange revelation and then ask me something! Just tell me what it is!¡±


    ¡°In a moment, But do you understand that, to the average citizen of Blackwall, the Werewolf is a highly infamous murderer? Even today, Chopin Street is deserted because of his actions. The Werewolf is as infamous as Nero and Bluebeard combined. But you, on the other hand, are known only as his first victim. When people say your name it is in the context of you being his victim. That repetitive chase outside, that phantasmagoria--that is his reputation, and yours. Do you understand that?¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Now here is the revelation: that creature out there is not the manes of the Blackwall Werewolf.¡±


    Agnes spun around and gestured to the man outside. ¡°Impossible, Dr. Glass! That has to be the Werewolf! He stabbed me, he chased me, that is the Werewolf out there!¡±


    ¡°It is the Werewolf, but it is not the manes of the Werewolf.¡±


    ¡°I am confused.¡±


    ¡°I figured you would be. He is of your rn.¡±


    ¡°He is of my what?¡±


    ¡°Your rn papnor. Your¡­¡±


    Martin touched his head. He was being foolish in assuming she knew these things.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of the ogdoan quad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I think I may have heard the term before, but I don¡¯t recall what it means.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the organizational structure of a manes. It means the four-that-are-eight.There are four salman and each salman contains two papnors and each papnor¡­I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m giving you too much information for the matter at hand.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever lectured before, Dr. Glass? You strike me as one having the manner of a professor.¡±


    ¡°No, but I¡¯ve learned from many teachers. Too many, I¡¯m afraid. Do you know how the human body works? How it has several kinds of organs each performing a function? Like how the lungs breathe and the heart pumps?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Manes likewise are composed of things called spiritual components, or to use manesological terminology, papnors. For instance, there¡¯s a spiritual component, the sah papnor, that controls the expression for what a manes considers its ¡°self.¡± This most often takes the form of a body based on the living body. Thus manes with strong sahs appear very much as living humans appear. Some with very strong sahs, such as yourself, can even feel pain and eat food.¡±


    ¡°But we still go through tables if we hit them hard enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Though there are a rare few with sahs so strong their hair sheds and their fingernails grow. The ogdoad quad copies much from living individuals, but there are always imperfections and changes. Sometimes there are many imperfections. Manes with weak sahs may appear as empty outlines of people, or sometimes not even that. They may appear as nothing more than balls of light. Every manes is composed of eight papnor, and a complication within your rn papnor has created the thing outside leering at us.¡±


    ¡°So this papnor of mine¡­it created another ghost, and the ghost happened to look and act like the Werewolf of Blackwall?¡±


    ¡°No. That thing out there is your rn papnor. It is a manifestation of your papnor. Manes are not bound to one manifestation. My friends and I once helped a manes that manifested as an entire stage full of Shakespeare characters, yet though there were many bodies, there was only one manes. Another time, we encountered an entire Napoleonic army, and yet again, there was only one manes with many bodies--the manes of a drummer, actuall.¡±


    ¡°So that thing is¡­like an extra arm for me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry how complicated this all is, but yes, that is exactly what he is. He is a part of you¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°If he¡¯s a part of me, then why can¡¯t I control him? Was this actor ghost and drummer ghost able to control all their other bodies?¡±


    ¡°Yes they were, but you¡¯re different. Their multiple bodies were the result of other papnors. You can¡¯t control him, at least at this point, because the rn papnor is very strange compared to other papnors. It is based in the shared thoughts of humanity linked across the Astral. The rn papnor is papnor that only partially belongs to its manes. Part of it belongs to the generalized thoughts of humanity.¡±


    Martin fished in his pockets and produced a wooden cross.


    He held it out to the manes of Agnes Little.


    Her eyelids drooped.


    ¡°Dr. Glass¡­I feel¡­I feel very tired all of a sudden¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you feel calm?¡±


    ¡°Yes I do¡­¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little yawned.


    Martin put the cross back in his pocket.


    Esmee snapped back to her alertness. ¡°What was that? Did you perform another Operation on me?¡±


    ¡°No. I just showed you a crucifix. We carry a lot of them on our persons, my friends and I. We use them to affix unpleasant manes. Do you know why we use crucifixes?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­because they¡¯re easy to carry around?¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°Actually, yes, that is one of the reasons. But another is that because our English culture is dominated by Christianity. Because people believe in Christ, the power of the cross radiates throughout the Astral and touches every rn papnor. If a manes has a strong rn papnor, such as yourself, a cross will produce feelings of intense calm, if they believe God loves them, or intense pain, if they believe God does not.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little chuckled. ¡°There must be some mistake here, Dr. Glass. I¡¯ve never been on good terms with God. It should repulse me like a vampire, yet all I want to do is cuddle up with it like a pillow.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe I have to explain the implications of your response to the cross.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little looked away, deep in thought.


    ¡°...Agnes Little knew that God wanted nothing to do with her.¡± she muttered. ¡°...But I am not Agnes Little¡­¡±


    ¡°Because you have one of the strongest rn papnor I have ever seen, and because Blackwall remembers you as nothing more than the Werewolf¡¯s victim, your rn papnor, your reputational component, created and recreated the moment you were both best known for. It made you bleed. It made the streets go on forever. It made him.¡±


    ¡°You mean because some guy that stabbed me got infamous that I had to go on being stabbed by him?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­but that¡¯s so unfair!¡±


    ¡°It is, which is why we¡¯re doing something about it.¡±


    ¡°I think I understand your plan now¡­well, part of your plan, at least.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very good!¡±


    ¡°My reputation, as it currently stands, is that I was the first victim of the Werewolf and nothing more. But if I talk to people, if Blackwall gets to know about me, then my reputation will become my reputation, not his, and he¡¯ll¡­I don¡¯t know, dry up and blow away?¡±


    ¡°Or simply blink out of existence, but yes, you get the idea.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I do, Dr. Glass, not fully. Do you really think that I can overcome the legend of the Werewolf of Blackwall with¡­with what? My story? If I was such an interesting person, my reputation wouldn¡¯t have been consumed by a madman with a knife in the first place.¡±


    ¡°But you are an interesting person--far more interesting than the Werewolf. The Werewolf isn¡¯t even a person. He¡¯s a shape, a figure. He doesn¡¯t have the dynamism of a actual person. You have a history. He just has a series of homicides. He¡¯s only interesting in the moment. Beyond that, he¡¯s boring.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m flattered you think I¡¯m interesting, but what am I supposed to do exactly? Give speeches? Am I supposed to defeat the legend of the Werewolf of Blackwall through¡­what, public discourse? Men didn¡¯t associate with me because they were interested in what I had to say.¡±


    ¡°It will be a slow process. This isn¡¯t a war that can be won in a single night. But if you talk to one person, even just one person, that person can share your story to others. Most of the fighting against the Werewolf will be done through other people sharing your story.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little stared at him ¡°You really think this will work, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course I think this will work. I¡¯m a manesologist. I should know these things, shouldn¡¯t i?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t claim to be an expert on anything save one thing--Agnes Little. I am definitely the world¡¯s leading expert on her. She isn¡¯t anything anyone would care about. I think if people had to choose between the Werewolf¡¯s story and her own, they¡¯d choose the whore being carved up again and again.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me if this sounds presumptuous, but you¡¯ve been wrong about Agnes Little many times tonight.¡±


    ¡°Point taken¡­but it still seems odd to me. Is there nothing you can do with your candles to help me? Nothing at all? They seem like they can do anything.¡±


    ¡°In truth, we¡¯ve already worked several Operations on you tonight. We had to, in order to free you from your phantasmagoria. Your phantasmagoria first came to our attention about four days ago. That was when you awoke from your brgdo and manifested on Earth.¡±


    ¡°So I didn¡¯t spend all five years being stabbed. That¡¯s good to know. Though I don¡¯t suppose it matters much. If you can¡¯t remember something, it''s like it never happened.¡±


    ¡°We acted to free you as soon as we could. At first, all we had to work with were scattered reports from people that happened to be walking down Chopin Street in the middle of the night. They would see flashes of a woman, and a man, and they would feel a pain in their side as your psychic power component lashed out at them.¡±


    ¡°I remember none of this.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have. Chopin Street, as you¡¯ve said, is a very storied location. It took us a little time to figure out what was happening and then when we knew we still had trouble pinning you down.¡±


    Martin sighed as he remembered the sleepless game of tag he and his friends had to play.


    You kept teleporting, keep moving across the entire street. Your shut component, your object impression component, was very strong, and it made it so that you were just¡­everywhere, all at once, and you kept moving. I¡¯m so sorry it took us so long.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of your object impression, that was one of your components we weakened, along with your psychic power component. People will no longer feel a stabbing sensation in their sides when you¡¯re around them, and you¡¯re no longer tied to Chopin Street.¡±


    ¡°Thank God for that. You know, the preachers always said I was married to Chopin Street¡­¡±


    ¡°You may still feel a slight...pull towards Chopin Street. It¡¯s nothing overpowering, you can go anywhere in the world you want to go, but every once-in-a-while you may feel the urge to visit Chopin Street.¡±


    ¡°If you were able to reduce my object impression component so much that I went from teleporting around the street to being able to leave it at my will, then why can¡¯t you do the same to the Werewolf? Weaken my reputational component to the point he¡¯s a dwarf. Wouldn¡¯t that make it easier for me to snuff him out through word-of-mouth?¡±


    ¡°It would be like putting a bandage on a festering wound. It would only hide the problem. The problem is his reputation and your reputation out there in the minds of the populace. We could use an Operation to reduce him to the size of a goblin, we could make him invisible, but he would still exist, and he would still have power over you. But if you share your story, you can take all the power away from him.


    The manes of Agnes Little stared at the man with angry, wrathful eyes.


    It would be nice to destroy him under her own power. It would be so very, very nice¡­


    ¡°Share your story. Share the story of Agnes, and Amy, and Alice, and all the rest. Share the stories that were obscured by the darkness of the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little thought long and hard about what she wanted to do, and then she spoke.


    ¡°Okay, Dr. Glass. Set me up a soapbox on the street corner or however it''s going to work. I¡¯m willing to try this.¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°We¡¯re ready, now. At last.¡±


    Martin looked out the window, but he didn¡¯t seem to look at the Werewolf. Rather, he seemed to look past the werewolf. He motioned with his hand.


    There was a commotion outside. There was a flash of green fire. The man suddenly burned away like paper cast into a fireplace.


    The door opened, and Dr. Matthew Ernst and Dr. Joseph Morton walked in.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapter 2, Dusk. 5/5

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you two again.¡± the manes of Agnes Little greeted the two manesologists.


    Outside, the man reformed, seemingly pulling his bulk from out of the dark air itself. But the man¡¯s immortality no longer bothered the manes of Agnes Little.


    She shook her head. ¡°Ah, if only he would stay dead¡­but it doesn¡¯t matter. Dr. Glass and myself are working on that.¡±


    ¡°We know.¡± Joseph puffed on his cigar, tipped as before with green fire. ¡°We kept in touch with Dr. Glass telepathically through an Operation--that is to say, we talked to each other with our minds. But good for you deciding to fight him, manes of Agnes Little.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little looked at Joseph¡¯s cigar. ¡°Sir, I noticed this before, and it seemed rather minor in my panic, but there¡¯s green fire on your cigar, and you¡¯ve burnt the Werewolf twice with that fire. Why is it green and why does it move?¡±


    The fire leapt off the tip of Joseph¡¯s cigar and grew into a ball about the size of a man¡¯s head.


    ¡°Because it is actually a he. Manes of Agnes Little, meet one of our employees, Nick.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± the manes of Agnes Little gasped. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a ghost! You¡¯re all fire, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Nick can¡¯t talk.¡± Joseph explained. ¡°At least not in a way you¡¯d be able to understand. He¡¯s got a very weak bodily impression.¡±


    ¡°Please forgive my surprise, Nck.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said. ¡°I should know by now that ghosts come in many different forms. I owe you a debt of thanks, Nick. It was very nice seeing you set that horrible gargoyle outside on fire. It doesn¡¯t keep him dead, but it''s nice to see him die.¡±


    Nick bobbed up and down in the air, which the manes of Anges Little figured was his way of nodding in agreement.


    ¡°Technically speaking, every time he burns away the Werewolf, he¡¯s setting a part of you on fire.¡± Martin said.


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°Dear girl, I¡¯m so sorry you¡¯ve had to talk to him for this long by yourself.¡±


    Another ghost joined the group, walking in through the door--literally through the door.


    This new ghost was a woman, and a very pretty one at that. The manes of Agnes Little felt the pains of remembrance when she saw her china-smooth face. She had seen many faces like that, many faces that entered into a brothel vibrant and youthful and left withered and pox-ridden, or worse, scarred.


    Unlike the manes of Agnes Little, this ghost was tinted blue from her skin to her clothes. The light shined through her, though she also seemed to have a little radiance of her own. She seemed like a piece of blue glass skillfully carved into the shape of a woman.


    ¡°Hello, manes of Agnes Little,¡± the ghost said. ¡°My name is Esmee Walker. I¡¯m an employee of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, like Nick.¡±


    She turned to the manesologists. ¡°I finished making the arrangements.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Manes of Agnes Little, your previous property was bought and sold shortly after Agnes Little¡¯s death. As the Manes Charter stands, you are penniless.¡±


    ¡°As if I had a penny to my name to begin with, but I know how the law works.¡±


    ¡°We purchased a little apartment for you on Curant Street, in the James District, so you¡¯d have a place to rest.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s in walking distance of Chopin Street, should you feel your object impression call you to walk it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the manes of Agnes Little said. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you. I honestly gave very little thought to where I¡¯d go from here. I hope it wasn¡¯t too much trouble.¡±


    ¡°Such a purchase was not beyond our finances.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Money has only rarely been an obstacle for us. The Ror Raas has always provided for our needs.¡±


    ¡°Friends in high places, eh?¡± the manes of Agnes Little asked.


    ¡°Friends in dark places, more like.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But you¡¯d be surprised how resourceful the darkness can be. They know where all the buried treasures are.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little looked at Esmee. ¡°So you¡¯re Esmee Walker--not the manes of Esmee Walker?¡±


    Esmee shook her head. ¡°No. I feel that I¡¯m still that girl.¡±


    ¡°Good for you. Oh, but we ghosts come in so many varieties, don¡¯t we?¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.¡°They say we¡¯re the children of life, and humans can live very many different kinds of lives.¡±


    ¡°Lord, you are pretty, Esmee. You look like someone created you, like an artist or a sculptor.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not pretty. I¡¯m just simplified. I have no wrinkles or imperfections because my form lacks those details.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re modest.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s the truth. I¡¯m like someone¡¯s drawing of a girl instead of an actual girl.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little reached out towards Esmee¡¯s face. ¡°May I touch you?¡±


    Esmee nodded.


    ¡°Lord!¡± The manes of Agnes Little recoiled. ¡°You¡¯re cold! Oh, you poor thing!¡±


    Esmee smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t feel it. I don¡¯t feel much of anything.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re as cold as ice.¡± the manes of Agnes Little turned to Nick. ¡°And you, you¡¯re so warm I can feel you all the way over here. You two make quite the pair.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re great employees.¡± Matthew said. ¡°They¡¯ve helped us out countless times. Esmee will escort you to your home, and if you like, she is prepared to watch over you as you adust to your circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Watch over? Oh, you mean keep me company while the Werewolf stars at me.¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little looked at the man.


    ¡°I know he can¡¯t hurt me¡­but I think I would appreciate someone keeping me company so long as I have to deal with him stalking me--I mean, if it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not trouble at all!¡± Esmee said cheerfully. ¡°Didn¡¯t Dr. Glass tell you? I was the ghost they used to capture the living Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°That was you?¡± The manes of Agnes Little couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°But you¡¯re so¡­you look so delicate, dear!¡±


    ¡°Thank you. But they say the living have no defense against the dead for a reason. No man can stand against me unaided by gaeite--or you, for that matter. And as for that reputational manifestation out there, I have the utmost confidence in my ability to handle him. In fact, I think I¡¯ll give you a demonstration!¡± Esmee suddenly blew through the wall like a gust of blue tinted air.


    ¡°Be careful!¡± the manes of Agnes Little shouted after her. ¡°Oh please, be careful!¡±


    But her worry was unfounded.


    There was a flash of blue next to the Werewolf. The next instant, Esmee stood beside him, and the Werewolf stood cringing before her blue radiance. He shook as if he was afraid, as if he was losing control of his body.


    His hand opened. The knife in it fell--and froze in mid-fall.


    He was then as still and as lifeless as a statue.


    The means of Agnes Little gazed in awe at Esmee Walker. ¡°What did you do to him?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What I did before, and with greater ease..¡± Esmee waved for the manes of Agnes Little to come over. ¡°Come on! Step outside!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little walked to the door, but paused. She was about to leave the safety of the olprt radiance. It was one thing to scream at the Werewolf while inside the protective bubble of moon colored light, it was quite another thing to do so outside.


    The manes of Agnes Little knew, without a doubt, that she was safe from the Werewolf. But there was still fear inside her, clinging to her heart like a thorn.


    Her mind struggled against her emotions.


    ¡°Come on! It¡¯s perfectly safe!¡± Esmee urged. ¡°Just look at him! He¡¯s nothing more than a big statue!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little regained her courage, opened the door, and walked out.


    It was cold outside the olprt radiance and she shivered. She was too thin for tables, she realized, but unfortunately not thin enough for cold, early morning air.


    She looked the man up and down and something deep down inside her expected him to move--but he didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Esmee poked the Werewolf with a blue finger. ¡°Touch him!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little took in a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly out her mouth, just as Dr. Glass had taught her.


    She poked the Werewolf.


    And saw that her finger went right through him.


    In that moment, her courage blazed, and she roared with laughter.


    ¡°Ahahahaha! You¡¯re nothing! Absolutely nothing!¡±


    She waved her hand through his face as Dr. Glass had done to her face.


    ¡°You¡¯re just black water and fog!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not even that.¡± Esmee said. ¡°He¡¯s just a shadow.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re right, Esmee.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said.


    She turned her back to the Werewolf and sighed. She no longer feared a blade stabbing her from behind.


    ¡°Esmee? I have a question.¡± the manes of Agnes Little said.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Would it be possible for me to sleep? Is sleep something I can do? It has been a long night for me--five whole years as a matter of fact. I think I would like to take a nap.¡±


    ¡°We can do something similar to sleep.¡± Esmee answered. ¡°Scientifically speaking, it has more in common with meditation than sleep, but I assure you that it¡¯s just as healing as sleep.¡±


    ¡°Good. I want to dissolve like a drop of water falling into the ocean.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s get going.¡± Esmee snapped her fingers at the  blue light that held the Werewolf of Blackwall suspended like a bug in amber. The light moved, and as it moved, it carried the Werewolf with it.


    ¡°We¡¯ve purchased a very nice bed for you, but I won¡¯t be using one myself.¡± Esmee said.


    ¡°You won¡¯t?¡± the manes of Agnes Little asked.


    ¡°Oh no. I¡¯ve always been a very thin ghost. When I sleep, I fall through things and get carried by the wind.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I¡¯ve found that I enjoy sleeping in rain clouds anyway.¡±


    ¡°We can do that?¡±


    Esmee laughed. ¡°Yes, we can! We can do a lot of things! Some parts of being a ghost are very burdensome, but other parts are very liberating.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see how anyone would want to sleep in a rain cloud. Wouldn¡¯t the thunder keep you awake?¡±


    ¡°Not once you¡¯ve learned how to pick out the ones that thunder from the ones that don¡¯t.¡± Esmee smiled. ¡°I have a feeling you¡¯ll be a fast learner!¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yes of course! I don¡¯t mean right this very night, but you strike me as someone that would be a natural flyer. I think you¡¯re going to love the world above!¡±


    The manes of Agnes Little gazed up at the sky.


    Could she really go up there? Up to the stars?


    Maybe¡­


    The manes of Agnes Little looked at the three manesologists. ¡°Thank you all for everything you¡¯ve done for me. I¡¯m going to do my best to wash the Werewolf from out of my reputation. There¡¯s just one thing further I want to say before I wish you all a good night: I don¡¯t want to be called the mane of Agnes Little anymore. It¡¯s so bloody awkward to say and even more awkward to hear. I have another name I want to use.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°Cora. Please call me Cora.¡±

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapters 3 and 4, Morning and Day. 1/2

    The first few days were difficult, so difficult that Cora would not have been able to endure them if Esmee wasn¡¯t by her side. But she was. She never left Cora. When Cora woke up in the little house Ernst, Morton, and Glass had purchased for her, Esmee greeted her with breakfast.


    Cora never ate alone, but she was the only one that ate anything. Esmee wasn¡¯t the kind of ghost that could consume food and water. She was weaker than Cora in that aspect, but far stronger than her in so many other aspects. When Cora followed the dictates of her object impression and walked through the winding corridors of Chopin Street, Esmee was with her. When she retired to her house and went to sleep, Esmee stayed awake as her ever-watchful guardian. Neither Cora nor Esmee needed sleep. They both could have stayed awake forever if they so wished. But sleep felt natural to Cora, and it helped her alleviate the great stress of those first few days, and so she regularly slept long, peaceful hours where she and the world dissolved together, leaving behind only a deep and abiding calm.


    But in order for her to sleep, Esmee had to stay awake. Cora could not stand the thought of being asleep, alone, with the man watching her, though she knew her fear was irrational.


    The Werewolf was always there, watching her from a distance like a wolf waiting for a sheep to wander close, but Esmee was always there too, and Cora could have endured the silent glares of a thousand Werewolves with her by her side. But the man was not as bad as the people.


    The people gathered to watch her walk Chopin Street as if they came to watch a monkey pace around her cage at the zoo. The crowds were thick enough to be a wall of clothing stretching from one end of the street to the other. Cora had only ever seen so many people gathered together back during the Thames settlement. They muttered about a whore ghost, a wicked ghost, a ghost who entered into the sad quasi-existence of a manes because she foolishly wagered her safety against the kindness of her lowlife customers one too many times.


    Cora couldn¡¯t understand why they never spoke up. She could hear them perfectly. And it¡¯s not like they cared whether or not she heard them, so why were they so quiet? Why did they only curse her when her back was turned to them?


    ¡°Look at how God has punished her.¡± they said to one another. ¡°God has taken her skin and left her with air, for she dishonored her flesh.¡± Cora could take only a little comfort in the fact that most of their eyes were not on her, but on the man. The people truly acted like visitors to a zoo, and the man was the star lion of that zoo while she was a mere dirty monkey.


    But after the first handful of days, things started to change.


    People began to ignore the man. He didn¡¯t talk. All he did was stare, and while his leering, shadowed face was bone-chilling, it lost its effect over time. A horror that could only be a horror grew boring over time until it ceased to be frightening. People began to talk to Cora, though what they said was brief and repetitive.


    ¡°You¡¯re the ghost of Agnes Little?¡± they would ask, as if she could be anything else.


    ¡°Yes, I am.¡± she would reply. ¡°But please call me Cora.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Very well. May God help you, Cora.¡±


    That was the extent of her early interactions with the crowd, but Esmee reminded her that it was normal for people to be reticent around newly discovered ghosts. Ghosts, after all, came in many varieties. Some could kill with a touch. Some could kill without even that slight degree of contact. Cora had a lot of time on her hands now that she didn¡¯t have to worry about feeding herself or keeping the lights on and so she spent that time improving her reading with the help of Esmee, who was very well-read for a woman, and she practiced her reading by catching up on issues of Illustrated Phantom Stories.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    One story told how two extremely powerful ghosts, who called themselves Gog and Magog, established themselves as the rulers of the London ruins and all the ghosts that gathered there. When the ghosts started to follow surviving humans to Blackwall, Gog and Magog blamed the flight of their subjects on the steam beast companies that built Blackwall and retaliated by picking up stones and throwing them--all the way down the Thames to Blackwall. Their throws were the stuff of mythology. Each stone was the size of a house, each toss covered miles, and each impact left a crater and a demolished steam beast, never again to spit steam into the air and perform construction.


    Gog and Magog were proof that one could never be too careful when it came to recently discovered ghosts. But eventually, the crowd figured out that they had nothing to fear from Cora. The only thing that made her stand out from the average ghost was that her bodily impression was relatively strong. She looked like a human, even up close, and could taste food and drink. Only on occasion did her ectoplasmic body flicker like a bolt of lightning and reveal that she was something not human. She was very approachable, for a ghost, and very soon people were asking her about her life.


    It was difficult for her to share, at first, but only at first. She shared everything, about how her mother and her father made found the same mistake in each other, but her mother bore the brunt of the consequences, about how she grew up promising herself not to repeat her mother¡¯s mistake only to be realize too late that she inherited her mother¡¯s weakness for gentlemen promises, about how she was left a ruined woman with no education, no prospects, and no hope save begging or prostitution.


    Either way, she would have to work the streets, but her experience taught her that the lust of men was more reliable than their kindness, so she chose prostitution.


    She explained that she regretted the immorality of her decision, but that could not find fault in her logic.


    Most of the people she shared with were sympathetic. Even those that saw prostitutes as the purest root of societal corruption felt that she had suffered greatly. But some of them did laugh when she bared her heart to them, just as she feared they would. Some of them turned up their nose at her and cooly, cruelly stated ¡°Such are the wages of your sin. Did you complain about your money as well as your consequences?¡± These cruel individuals discouraged Cora and made her reconsider the manesologists¡¯ plan--until she noticed that the man¡¯s appearance was gradually changing.


    The manesologists were right about her reputation. As she talked to more and more people, she transformed herself in their minds. She transformed from one of many victims of the Werewolf of Blackwall to Cora, a woman with a past, present, and, she hoped, a future.


    And as her reputation grew, the man shrank. He was still a shrouded figure, his face masked in perpetual darkness, but he no longer loomed like he used to. Cora could look at him without having to look up at him.


    As Cora sharpened her literacy under Esmee, she began to read publications with the aim of answering questions she always had about the government and their regulation of the brothel business. She always wondered why it was that policemen could stop a woman suspected of being a prostitute--which meant any woman, really, that did not have a man of known character to speak for her own character--and examine her for social diseases. Cora had long suspected that policemen made up the law to act out their fantasies of inserting objects into women without paying for it, but she learned that it was indeed the law.


    Back in 1864, a year before the destruction of London, the military learned that nearly a quarter of their soldiers were afflicted with social diseases, and so parliament passed the Contagious Diseases Act to ensure, through gross violations of civil liberties, the health of the troops of the British Empire. Prostitutes would now be licensed. Their cleanliness would be ensured. They would be examined by policemen at-will and if found to have a social disease would be placed in a lock hospital until their health could be certified.


    Unsurprisingly to those with a little sense, the Contagious Diseases Act had no effect on the prevalence of social diseases in the armed forces. Persecuting the supply did not limit the voracious demand.


    ¡°We commit our sins and we are punished for them. But why are we the only ones?¡± Cora asked the crowd during her walks through Chopin Street. ¡°The law was passed because soldiers kept coming down with social diseases. But why are they not punished? Why are they not subjected to the same humiliating, degrading, examinations?¡±


    Cora was amazed to find that many people didn¡¯t know how abusive the Contagious Diseases Act was. She had always assumed that they knew, but just didn¡¯t care, but she found that that was not the case at all. Even Dr. Glass, who she held to be the wisest person on Earth, was ignorant of the abuses. ¡°I believed the law was for the benefit of the women and the betterment of public health,¡± he admitted. ¡°I believed it was to get them off the street and into hospitals. I had no idea they were so brutalized.¡±


    Cora found that the world was more ignorant but less malicious than she thought. The world was, on the whole, more innocent than she thought, and that lightened her heart.

 A Woman of Reputation. Chapters 3 and 4, Morning and Day. 2/2

    Cora began to attract the attention of reformers, men and women who not only agreed with Cora that the Contagious Diseases Act needed to be repealed but believed that they could get it done through public discourse. Some of the so-called ¡°reformers¡± were merely men and women that made a little song-and-dance about caring for fallen women just so they could feel good about themselves. They treated Cora as a prop, as something to shake hands with and then move on from, but others truly were reformers, others truly fought tooth and nail to make the world a better place. One reformer in particular became a close friend of Cora--Josephine Butler, a founder of the International Abolitionist Federation, a group dedicated to ending the state regulation of prostitution.


    Josephine had accepted fallen women into her Oxford home. She had uncovered the horrible secrets of licensed, ¡°legitimate¡± brothel owners, pimps, and policemen who profited on a system that coerced girls as young as 13 into sex work. In return for her investigative work, she had been threatened, assaulted, and chased through the streets. Pimps and brothel madams saw Josephine as their greatest enemy, for while their girls hated the Contagious Diseases Act, they loved it, as it gave them a certificate they could point to and say ¡°Our girls are all clean.¡±


    An angry pimp had even tossed a bucket of cow dung on her and threatened to burn her alive during one of her speeches. But nothing stopped her. She had the work of God to perform.


    At first, Cora felt very uncomfortable in Josephine¡¯s presence, for Josephine was a pious woman, the wife of an Anglican divine and schoolmaster named George. She was a wife, and a mother, and by all measures she was a successful woman, and in comparison Cora was nothing more than trash. But Josephine reassured her that God hated the sin, not the sinner, and though Cora was responsible for the direction her life took, there were elements of the world that were unduly cruel to her, elements that could be changed so that the world would be kinder to later generations of women,


    Cora thought Josephine was a very remarkable woman, easily as remarkable as the manesologists. She was a prolific writer, Cora wasn¡¯t even aware that there were any women writers, and she was interested in recording Cora¡¯s experience as a fallen woman in a booklet.


    Cora told her everything she could, and in exchange Josephine told Cora about herself. Josephine understood misery. At the age of 17, she found a suicide hanging from a tree while riding. This challenged her faith, but her faith emerged from the challenge galvanized and strengthened. As a young mother, her youngest child, little Evangeline, fell off a bannister and died. Again, her faith was challenged, but again, it emerged ever stronger.


    Cora believed that she herself knew the extent of the world¡¯s cruelty. But she couldn¡¯t imagine what it would be like to lose a child, couldn¡¯t imagine what she would have done in Josephine¡¯s place.


    Josephine¡¯s faith had given her a resilience that Cora saw as nearly superhuman, yet the most remarkable thing about it was that Josephine claimed this resilience was available to everyone--even Cora herself. Josephine was fond of saying that God and one woman made a majority. Cora loved that saying.


    Josephine had many ideas for improving the world, ideas that Cora believed were wonderful, though strange. Josephine and her International Abolitionist Federation believed, like many did, that marriage was the best thing for a woman or man, but they also saw that marriage was not an equal option for men and women. An unmarried man could still earn a living, but an unmarried woman either had to marry--a difficult feat if a man had ruined her--beg, or go into prostitution. To reduce the tempting incentives of prostitution, they proposed the education of women, particularly the learning of a trade. Cora wouldn¡¯t have believed anyone would have cared for an educated woman, but Josephine was proof that someone clearly did. Josephine was one of the most educated people Cora knew. She particularly had an interest in Italian culture and spoke the language fluently.


    Josephine and the International Abolitionist Federation also believed in female suffrage, which Cora thought was a joke the first time she heard it. When, in the history of the world, did women vote on anything? At least with the concept of an educated woman, Josephine could produce herself as evidence, but if history had gone this long without women voting in elections, Cora believed that the idea was far-fetched.


    Less far-fetched to Cora, however, was their belief that they could put an end to licensed prostitution and the physical examinations it allowed, examinations Josephine called ¡°steel rape.¡¯ which Cora knew from bitter experience to be an accurate term. Cora knew that prostitution wasn¡¯t always regulated. It only began in 1864. Cora could see no reason why the world couldn¡¯t return to 1863.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    As Cora spent her days with Josephine, the man grew even smaller and paler. He was short for a man, but now he was the size of a child. His obscured stare no longer held the strength it once had. Now it seemed almost comical, as if he were an obstinate little boy glaring at his mother. Esmee no longer had to watch Cora sleep, which freed her up to return to her work at Ernst, Morton, and Glass. There were other ghosts that needed Esmee¡¯s help, and Cora was glad that Esmee could go to them now that she didn¡¯t have to worry about her.


    One day, Josephine presented Cora with a copy of a booklet recording everything Cora had told her with Josephine¡¯s comments. It was the most flattering gift Cora had ever received. Josephine assured her that the booklet had been warmly received by an interested multitude. Even as they spoke, it was being printed and presented around the English speaking world and would soon be translated in several different languages. There was a copy in the office library of Ernst, Morton, and Glass and all three manesologists plus Esmee owned a copy.


    Josephine had titled the booklet The Morning Cometh. When Cora asked her why she gave it that title, she answered that it was in reference to the great victory she had won over the little goblin that squatted in her shadow. He had clung to her like a long and awful night. He had reduced her to a corpse, then to a running victim for several years. But nights could not last forever, and when the morning came, Cora proved to be the radiant dawn, and she reduced the dark shadow down to next-to-nothing.


    Josephine went further in her praise of Cora. She had a way with words and when she got going, she was able to put a great deal of emotion behind them. Josephine said it was the Italian in her. She actually likened Cora¡¯s story to the resurrection of Christ, and if Cora had the blood to blush with, she would have.


    Hearing Josephine explain the title caused Cora to remember something Dr. Martin Glass told her many, many nights ago when she had just learned the truth about herself and was frightened.


    ¡°You have had an awful night, but now comes the morning.¡±


    Day


    1872, Early August


    One day, while walking Chopin Street, Cora saw the man.


    But this time, the man was not a manifestation of her reputation. Her reputational manifestation was, as always these days, a weak little troll crouched in her shadow. She knew with one look that before her was the true ghost of the Werewolf of Blackwall--because he looked nothing like her manifestation, or the crazy-eyed madman that adorned the covers of so many issues of Illustrated Police News, or the superhuman menace printed on reformist pamphlets.


    He looked just like a man in a coat.


    Cora smirked.


    One cover of Illustrated Police News came to her mind. It depicted the Werewolf as a beast-man with a mouth full of fangs. The cover asked WHO IS THE WEREWOLF? Inside the issue, several answers were offered--the insane son of a prominent family kept locked away in their ancestral home until one stormy night he escaped, the ghost of Bluebeard, Springheel Jack, or maybe even an actual werewolf.


    None of the options were a little man with a crooked nose and bad teeth.


    He was so different from her manifestation. The way she remembered him, with the darkness and the violence, garbed him in a terror that was not his own. But now that there were no shadows to hide his face, she could see that he was always just a man, just a sad man with a disgusting compulsion.


    How could she not pity him?


    The Werewolf¡¯s blade and arm went through her like one breeze parting another.


    Cora laughed, and her laugh was louder than any made by Agnes Little.


    ¡°Your father was a right bastard.¡± she whispered to the man. ¡°But you don¡¯t have to follow him, see? You¡¯re his ghost. You aren¡¯t him.¡±


    The man continued to stab her, desperate to see a flash of blood and frustrated to find his blade clean.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you get it?¡± Cora sighed. ¡°I suppose you don¡¯t. I stopped being a victim, but you continued to be a killer.¡±


    The man fell to his knees and looked at his hands.


    He could do nothing to her, and thus he was nothing.


    He wept as if he was a child who had been beaten.


    ¡°No blood for you. But that¡¯s a good thing, if only you realized it. It keeps your hands clean.¡±


    Cora helped the man off the ground, took him by his shoulders, and led him through the street. ¡°Come on, little creature, let¡¯s find you some help.¡±


    By 1882, the certification of prostitution was repealed, ending the surgical rape that was legal under the Contagious Diseases Act and several reforms were passed within the Criminal Law Amendment Act which impaired the brothel trade including the raising of the age of consent from 12 to 16 and the criminalization of procuring prostitutes through intimidation or fraud. The swift passage of these reforms is historically credited to reformers such as Josephine Butler, the International Abolitionist Federation, and a ghost best known under the name Cora.

 A Duckling in Kensington Gardens

    1868, Early August


    The three manesologists, exhausted by a night full of ghosts and their problems, sat down on the blackened rocks of what had once been a white bench. They were only vaguely aware that dawn was breaking. Most of the golden light was blocked by the skeletal ruins that howled as the wind rushed through their broken windows and empty halls, the needle-legged, giraffe-necked steam beasts, which had labored night and day for over a year to turn a fraction of the ruins into habitable salvage, and Gog and Magog, the ghost kings of London, who loomed above their realm like two dark mountains with eyes of fire.


    What light from the dawn that did reach the manesologists was obscured by a sphere of silvery-white light that protected them from the many leering, screeching, ghosts outside.


    A man burst into flames and ran screaming through the sphere of light, but passed harmlessly through the manesologists as a black shadow. The manesologists didn¡¯t so much as blink. The man was a common ghost. Most of London¡¯s ghosts were ¡°runners¡± like himself.


    A woman in a white sundress gently pushed a pram with blue ribbons past them and wished them good morning. She was evidently an older ghost, one before the Fireball of 1865.


    The manesologists were in a gated clearing of mud and dirt that was once known as Kensington Gardens. Dead earth and dry puddles were all that was left of a place that was once London¡¯s green heart.


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    ¡°I hate this place.¡± Martin Glass, the youngest of the three, said. ¡°I hate these ruins, and the screaming, and the million lost, mad souls we can never help.¡±


    Bitter tears fell from his eyes and splattered on the mud below.


    ¡°It¡¯s too much.¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s too damned much.¡±


    Joseph Morton, the oldest of the three, patted his young friend on the back. ¡°You don¡¯t mean that, boy. You¡¯re only tired. We¡¯re all tired.¡±


    Martin whimpered softly and cried on.


    ¡°Look!¡± Matthew Ernst exclaimed, suddenly standing up. ¡°Look at the lake over here!¡±


    Matthew walked over to the lake, protected by his own personal orb of silvery-white light.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s nice.¡± Martin said. ¡°The rain brought back what the fireball evaporated. Bodies of water are the least changed parts of London.¡±


    ¡°No, look at what¡¯s in the water!¡± Matthew pointed and Martin followed his finger with his eyes. He saw a black duck leading her yellow ducklings through the water. The animals of London were unbothered by the ghosts. They never understood the ways of humans to begin with.


    Martin¡¯s eyes went from one duckling to the next and the next¡­


    ¡°Old man!¡± Martin nudged Joseph. ¡°Look! The third duck in the row!¡±


    Joseph squinted his old eyes. ¡°What about it, boy?¡±


    ¡°Look harder!¡±


    Joseph did so.


    ¡°A ghost!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°A ghost duckling!¡±


    The duckling was the same sunny color of its living siblings, but a slight translucency marked it as a ghost. It was like a little spark of golden light and the shaded water shimmered beneath it.


    Martin smiled. ¡°Mother duck doesn¡¯t mind the little fellow at all, does she?¡±


    ¡°Animals don¡¯t know what makes a ghost a ghost.¡± Matthew said. ¡°They¡¯re fortunate in that regard.¡±


    ¡°They are.¡± Martin said. ¡°When your entire world is just a pond, it doesn¡¯t matter if its haunted or not. If only all the world was a little haunted pond in Kensington Gardens.¡±


    And in the once-green heart of the metropolis that was once London, three exhausted manesologists took solace in a little duckling, bright and immortal.

 Til Death Do We Part 1/2

    1867, Early July


    Martin took the wooden crucifix out of his bag and placed it on the meeting room table in front of Joseph and Matthew. ¡°When they started throwing things, Mr. Williams affixed them and used the Perkunos Operation on them to weaken their powers.¡± Martin said. ¡°He did a good job. They¡¯re very peaceful now. They rumbled a little in my pocket at first, so he had to use the Perkunos Operation again, but they¡¯re very peaceful now, thank God.¡±


    ¡°How can they be peaceful?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°They¡¯ve been hit so hard with the Perkunos Operation that they aren¡¯t anything now. They aren¡¯t even visible.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, Joseph.¡± Martin said. ¡°They¡¯re quiet, intangible, and silent. They are, in a word--a very beautiful word after all I¡¯ve gone through--peaceful.¡±


    Martin took his seat and sighed. ¡°Good lord, that was almost as tiring as the Bloody Mary case¡­and we aren¡¯t even done. We haven¡¯t even started, really.¡±


    ¡®Is everything else on Asphodel Street peaceful?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°As peaceful as Asphodel Street can hope to be.¡± Martin said. ¡°The Attic Stomper is still a nuisance, but they mitigate his misbehavior by constantly moving him from house to house, and the Shadow Wailer still lives up to her namesake when the sun goes down, and when she goes into her act the damned cats start crying as well, but those two are manageable, as are all the rest of the minor problems.¡±


    Martin pointed a finger at the crucifix. ¡°These two, however, are not manageable.¡±


    Asphodel Street was created in response to the Manes Charter of 1865. The Charter established that ghosts had no inherent right to the property of their living bodies. Ghosts were, like humans, born penniless unless their living bodies explicitly named them as heirs. Though the Charter finally put to rest most of the tricky legalities surrounding ghosts and property, it created many ghosts that didn¡¯t have a house to haunt, or even a small shack. Haunted street corners were more common than proper haunted houses and haunted mansions were almost exclusively a thing of writers¡¯ imaginations.


    In order to provide a home for cast-off ghosts, the Blackwall city council set aside several blocks for their use. Ghosts were able to freely inhabit the houses of this area until they found their way in this world or a psychopomp guided them to the afterlives beyond the Archon walls. These blocks were officially known as the Brigham district, but were sometimes called the Necropolis, most often by people that wanted to impress their friends by demonstrating that they knew what a Necropolis was, and were most often called Asphodel Street as a synecdoche of the street that went through the heart of the area.


    Asphodel Street was managed by ten manesologists headed by Dr. James Williams, but even with Ernst, Morton, and Glass helping out whenever they had spare time (which was rare), the manesologists were overwhelmed by the number of ghosts on Asphodel Street. Every day brought new ghosts to the Necropolis and the haunted houses that lined Asphodel Street brimmed with ectoplasm. The street actually glowed in the middle of the night, and those who considered the beings that lived on Asphodel Street to be poor unfortunate souls said it glowed like he golden streets of Heaven while those who considered them mad manes and pesky poltergeists said it glowed like the fires of Hell. But those who actually dealt with moving souls to Heaven and Hell said it glowed most like earthly things--fireflies, sunsets, and schistostega.


    Crowded conditions created an atmosphere that tolerated lights in the dark and bumps in the night, but even Asphodel Street had limits on disruptive behavior, limits that Mr. and Mrs. Taylor crossed with their domestic squabbling--several times.


    This was not the first time that Martin had to deal with the Taylors.


    Martin sat at the table and looked at the wooden crucifix and remembered all those times.


    They actually tossed a whole bed at him, once, frame and all. It may not have actually been aimed at him, but it ended up coming towards him nonetheless.


    And this time the Taylors went so far that they had to be affixed and removed. One couldn¡¯t lift an entire building off the ground on Asphodel Street without there being consequences. It was like shaking an anthill. All the ghosts that inhabited their building were now swarming. Dr. Williams and his manesologists were still working on getting all the ghosts under control when Martin departed.


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    ¡°So, are you going to reverse the Perkunos Operation?¡± Joseph asked Martin. ¡°Sometime today, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Do I have to?¡± Martin asked. ¡°That¡¯s like pulling the trigger at my own execution.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Matthew said. He stood up, unclipped the gaeite candle from his belt, and held it in his hand. His gaeite candle was the tool of his trade and the badge of his office. With it, he could work miracles, or undo them, by combining ancient stories and images taught to him by the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas with the strange light produced by the candle, a silvery-white light called olprt radiance.


    Matthew concentrated and brought an image from a pre-human civilization to his mind.


    The Dyeus king reached into the lake and pulled the long-drowned ghost to shore. As he pulled, the ghost¡¯s hand became more and more solid, and once he was ashore, he felt the sun on his skin and air in his lungs for the first time in years.


    The Perkunos Operation


    Mr. Alvin Taylor and Mrs. Victoria Taylor arose from the crucifix as formless mist that congealed into translucent people. Mr. Taylor appeared as a wrinkled, wiry man in work clothes, cloth cap in hand. Mrs. Taylor appeared as a woman in a cheap dress and cheaper makeup that made her face look like a clown¡¯s. She carried a prominent bustle behind herself which reminded Matthew of ant thoraxes he studied in college. It was hard to read her expression through the makeup, but she seemed to be as contrite as her husband.


    ¡°I would like to apologize for my husband¡¯s actions.¡± Mrs. Taylor said.


    ¡°She means she wants to apologize for her actions.¡± Mr. Taylor said.


    ¡°I do not!¡± Mrs. Taylor exclaimed. She whirled on her husband. ¡°I mean exactly what I said--I¡¯m saying sorry to these poor gentlemen because your rude behavior has caused us both to be affixed and thrown out of Asphodel Street!¡±


    Matthew opened his mouth to say something.


    ¡°We were thrown out because of you!¡± Mr. Taylor shouted. ¡°You were the one who started things by scratching me!¡±


    ¡°I scratched you because you slapped me!¡± Mrs. Taylor said.


    ¡°Because you shoved me!¡± Mr. Taylor said.


    ¡°Because you touched me!¡± Mrs. Taylor said.


    ¡°Because you yelled at me!¡±


    ¡°Because you snarled at me!¡±


    Mathew closed his mouth.


    Joseph stood up. ¡°Excuse me lads, I just remember there¡¯s a pressing matter that I must attend to across town. In fact, I think I¡¯m late, so I really should be going¡­¡±


    Matthew grabbed Joseph¡¯s shoulder and shook his head.


    Joseph sat back down. ¡°I suppose the matter can wait.¡±he mumbled grumpily.


    ¡°We¡¯re suffering together, old man.¡± Martin mumbled. ¡°No way out of it.¡±


    ¡°Oh joy. All for one and one for all.¡± Joseph whispered back.


    ¡°Oh, see what you¡¯re doing now!¡± Mr. Taylor shouted at his wife. You¡¯re making such a damned nuisance of yourself that the manesologist is trying to leave!¡± Mr. Taylor said.


    ¡°Of course he¡¯s trying to leave! He¡¯s trying to get away from you!¡± Mrs. Taylor said.


    ¡°No, he''s trying to get away from you! This is just like when we were with the other manesologist, the small one, and he started running from you when you picked up the pots and pans!¡±


    ¡°Small?¡± Martin muttered.


    ¡°That is not what happened! He was merely moving out the way so that I could throw them at you! He was tacitly approving of my actions by taking cover!¡±


    Matthew turned to Martin. ¡°Dr. Glass, could you tell us what exactly occurred at their residence?¡±


    ¡°My wild man of a husband attacked me, that¡¯s what happened!¡± Mrs. Taylor answered, not caring that the question wasn¡¯t for her.


    ¡°Oh, I attacked you. That¡¯s what you think happened, eh?¡± Mr. Taylor asked.


    ¡°I think that because that is what happened! You little worm! You never had the guts to hit me in life but now that I can¡¯t feel pain you just let me have it, don''t you?¡± Mrs. Taylor asked.


    ¡°At least I waited! You never waited to hit me!¡±


    ¡°Oh, you think what I did counts as hitting, do you, Alvin Taylor? Those love taps were hitting to you?¡± Mrs. Taylor loomed over her husband like a grotesque gargoyle dressed for the circus. ¡°How about I show you what it actually looks like to be hit!¡±


    ¡°Just try it, you intangible hellcat!¡±


    Mrs. Taylor gasped. ¡°Alvin Taylor! You did not just call me intangible!¡±


    ¡°I did too! You¡¯re intangible!¡±


    ¡°I am not!¡±


    ¡°Yes you are, I can see right through you!¡±


    ¡°Well if that¡¯s what it means to be intangible, then you¡¯re intangible too! The wind goes right through you!¡±


    ¡°Yes! I¡¯m intangible! You stupid, old battle ax! We¡¯re both intangible! We¡¯re ghosts, you idiot!¡±


    Joseph stood up. ¡°Stop! Stop! Stop!¡± he shouted.


    The Taylors turned to him.


    ¡°You two are being ridiculous! Do you want us to hang you up on the wall of a church? Or maybe on top of a Christmas tree?¡±


    They shook their heads.


    ¡°Good. We don¡¯t want to have to hang you up on a wall. We want to have you back in your house on Asphodel Street as soon as possible.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°And that should be very soon, provided you two work with us.¡± Martin said. ¡°When I left with you two in my pocket, Dr. Williams and his men had almost gotten your house back on solid ground.¡±

 Til Death Do We Part 2/2

    ¡°Now, tell us what happened. Tell us how this trouble first started.¡± Joseph said. ¡°And I mean only one of you tells us what happened. In fact, Mrs. Taylor, you tell us what happened. Mr. Taylor, you will wait your turn.¡±


    ¡°Why does she get to talk first?¡± Mr. Taylor snapped.


    ¡°Mr. Taylor, please wait your turn.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t see how it¡¯s fair, Doc.¡± Mr. Taylor said. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s always talking. She¡¯s always talking more than me¡­and over me¡­and about me¡­¡±


    Joseph moved his hand a few inches to the crucifix.


    ¡°...But she talks so much that it doesn¡¯t really make a difference if she talks first now, does it? It¡¯s just like a drop of water in the ocean.¡±


    Mrs. Taylor gave a victorious HMPH and then began. ¡°Well, I suppose it all started when this husband of mine got the bright idea to go talk to Dr. Williams¡¯ manesologists about connecting him with a psychopomp so that he could go up into the afterlives--and he didn¡¯t tell me he was going to do it! I had to find out from Hillary who found out from Jackie who overheard it from Clementine who--¡±


    ¡°Uh, excuse me Mrs. Taylor, but when was this exactly?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Oh, that was several months back.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for you to go that far back.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°She¡¯s wrong regardless!¡± Mr. Taylor said. ¡°That¡¯s not when the trouble first started!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Taylor, please wait your turn to--¡±


    ¡°The trouble started when I caught her with a man! A living man!¡± Mr. Taylor said.


    ¡°And what was the harm of that?¡± Mrs. Taylor said. ¡°I was dead at the time and you weren¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°You knew I was going to follow soon after you! I had a heart condition!¡± Mr. Taylor exclaimed.


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t follow soon after! And besides, didn¡¯t the vows say ¡°Til death do us part?¡±¡±


    ¡°But I did too die soon after you! The neighbors even said I died of a broken heart, though we both know that couldn''t have been the cause! I died of a congested heart!¡±


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t die soon after me! You took a whole year to die!¡±


    ¡°So? What¡¯s a year?¡± Mr. Taylor asked.


    ¡°12 months! 12 long months!¡± Mrs. Taylor answered. ¡°And I know it wasn¡¯t your damned heart that killed you in the first place, I bet it was the laudanum! I told you that stuff would kill you, but did you listen to me? No! You never listened to me! You still don¡¯t listen to me, and one would think your present condition would be a constant reminder to you that you should listen to me!¡±


    Mr. Taylor turned to Joseph, and the manesologist sighed, for he thought that he was about to finally be presented with a way to enter into this thorny bramble of a domestic argument, but then Mr. Taylor opened his mouth and dashed Joseph¡¯s hopes to dust.


    ¡°Dr. Morton, I know you heard me when I said that I caught my wife with a living man!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the fact that he was living have to do with anything?¡± Mrs.Taylor asked her husband.


    ¡°It means you committed sins of the flesh!¡±


    ¡°What flesh?¡± Mrs. Taylor pulled at her ectoplasmic skin until it stretched like wax.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°His flesh!¡± Mr. Taylor answered.


    ¡°So what if he had flesh? What¡¯s the cost to anyone? I¡¯m barren as the grave! I can no more catch a social disease than a fog bank! Why the fuss?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your honor that was the cost!¡± Mr. Taylor said. ¡°And by extension, my honor!¡±


    ¡°And I suppose you would have been fine if I had slept with another ghost, eh?¡±


    Mr. Taylor gasped. ¡°Victoria!¡±


    Martin blushed.


    Joseph chuckled under his breath.


    Matthew flinched.


    ¡°Slept with!¡± Such a vulgar term! The three manesologists had heard many things in their meeting room, many candid things, many shameful things. But ¡°slept with?¡± Oh, it made their skins tingle with the inappropriateness of it all! Mr. Carter saying that Mrs. Carter was ¡°with¡± another man was lewd enough, but ¡°slept with¡± gave an entire image to go with the suggestion!


    ¡°Well? Would you have liked it if I slept with a man as intangible and irascible as yourself, Alvin?¡± Mrs. Taylor asked.


    ¡°It wouldn''t have been a sin of the flesh, obviously, but it still would still have been a dishonor!¡± Mr. Taylor answered.


    ¡°Then what does it matter if he had a pulse or not if it was a dishonor either way? You¡¯re just looking for things to argue about! You always are!¡±¡±


    ¡°Because it is a greater dishonor!¡± Mr. Taylor shouted. ¡°When you shame me, you have to go all the way for some reason! You can¡¯t just settle for a lesser dishonor, can you? No! You have to gut me like a fish, and then you scream when I put hands on you to get you to stop!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I scream? How about you, you little shrimp of a man? You don¡¯t scream when I scratch you? Then I¡¯ll have to scratch harder!¡±


    Joseph cradled his head. He could feel the blood pounding in his temple. ¡°Good God!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Neither of you can hurt the other! The two of you fighting is more pathetic than two clouds slapping each other!¡±


    Esmee Walker, the ghostly helper of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, walked through the walls into the meeting room.


    ¡°I have good news, everyone!¡± Esmee materialized blue and vibrant and smiling. ¡°I went down to Gaskell¡¯s Occult Books and they have the new edition of the abridged King in Yellow!¡±


    The Taylors looked at Esmee.


    ¡°Who¡¯s this walking lamp post?¡± Mrs. Taylor asked snootily.


    ¡°Um¡­excuse me, I see that I¡¯ve come at a bad time. A very bad time¡­¡± Esmee turned to leave. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the book room!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Joseph said. ¡°Take me with you!¡±


    But all Joseph could see was the hem of Esmee¡¯s sirt as she exited through the wall.


    ¡°I saw how you were looking at that lissome glow worm, Alvin Taylor!¡± Mrs. Taylor said. ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking! You want to get with a ghost now to spite me, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t assume I have your lack of self control!¡± Mr. Taylor said.


    ¡°Who¡¯s assuming? You lack the willpower to say no to a thin bottle of laudanum, there¡¯s no way you¡¯d say no to a thin woman!¡±


    ¡°Well, if we¡¯re going to be assuming things about each other then how about this? I¡¯ve always assumed that you had your eye on other men--while we were both alive!¡±


    ¡°Oh really? You think I¡¯m some common strumpet, is that it? Well, I¡¯ve always assumed that you had me murdered!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yes, murdered!¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but do you know any couples besides us where the woman died before the man?¡±


    Mr. and Mrs Taylor continued to fight, and scream, and accuse, and carry on inside their own little bubble of loud, obnoxious activity. Then they started hitting each other and getting their ectoplasm tangled up.


    Joseph stood up once again, and Matthew touched his shoulder, but Joseph tapped the gaeite candle at his side to indicate he wasn¡¯t about to walk out of the room.


    Matthew nodded and withdrew his hand.


    The Dyeus knight held out his hand and blasted his opponent with silvery-white light. He couldn¡¯t help but feel sorry for his enemy as his sword harmlessly cut through his body without so much as drawing blood. Enemy though he was, he truly believed he was alive until that moment.


    The Perkunos Operation


    Mr. and Mrs. Taylor didn¡¯t notice that their manifestations were fading away. They continued to slap and scratch at each until they evaporated like a mirage.


    ¡°Oh, sweetest silence!¡± Martin exclaimed. ¡°Thank you, Joseph.¡±


    Joseph grabbed the crucifix. ¡°Now you two listen here and you listen good! The world is more than your squabbing little drama! You talk about hating her and hating him and hurting her and hurting him and leaving her and leaving him, well, where exactly do you think you¡¯ll go? You think the world wants to hear your bickering? It doesn¡¯t! Say you fly off into the afterlife, any afterlife, do you think the poor psychopomp assigned by the powers-that-be to guide you will listen to you when you raise your voice? Hermes will drop you off in Hades, specifically the part of Hades known for wailing lemures, because wailing is apparently what you like, and John-a-Doors will place you among the ever-wailing banshees for the same reason. Maybe you¡¯ll learn something from the banshees--they don¡¯t cry for themselves, they cry for the misfortunes of other people! But you know what? I doubt that they would even want you. The lemures and the banshees would kick you out, just like Asphodel Street did. There¡¯s only one place that¡¯ll tolerate your wailing, one place in all the world--and that¡¯s at the side of the person you married.¡±


    Joseph placed the crucifix down on the table.


    ¡°You two sit there and think about what you¡¯ve done. You sit there and think about how uncomfortable you¡¯ve made the other ghosts on Asphodel Street. Maybe my words will reach you, maybe they won¡¯t, but in the end, you two will find your way back to the only person that can stand you. That¡¯s inevitable, like water flowing downhill and rivers flowing into the ocean.¡±


    Joseph massaged his temple. ¡°Good God, I could use a bit of laudanum and brandy. Matthew, Martin, do you want anything?¡±


    ¡°Just water.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡®I¡¯ll have a few drops with whiskey.¡± Martin said. He looked down at the crucifix. ¡°I knew it was a vain hope, but I still hoped that we could have resolved their haunting.¡±


    ¡°Some hauntings don¡¯t get resolved, Martin.¡± Joseph said. ¡°They just get quiet, for a time.¡±

 A Voracious Mirror. Chapter 1, Old Superstitions.

    1867, Late July


    Audrey decided to go ahead and do the foolish ritual and all its silly steps to prove a point to Harriet, to prove to her that the ghosts that inhabited their modern world in growing numbers were not the ghosts of their old mothers¡¯ era. The ghosts of their mothers¡¯ era were fakes. They were misidentifications, lies, or folklore. They were like Hercules and Cinderella, fictional. But the ghosts of Audrey and Harriet¡¯s era, of the modern era of thaumaturgists and manesologists, were real.


    Ghosts in the modern era were scientific fact, like gravity and bacteria and photosynthesis and other things Audrey read about in her brother¡¯s school books. Ghosts had been a fact since 1861, when Dr. Edward James published the first scientific paper on ghosts, Multiple Intelligences Within the Human Body. Multiple Intelligences was like the Bible. Few read it, more read snippets from it, but all knew of it and what it proclaimed.


    Modern ghosts, real ghosts, were not even called ghosts, scientifically speaking. They were called manes in all serious publications, though common publications such as Illustrated Phantom Stories (a guilty pleasure of Audrey¡¯s, for though its content was sensationalized and lurid, it did provide a daily supply of ghost stories) called them ghosts. The average person called them ghosts, though Audrey took great pleasure in correcting anyone that used the term ghosts. ¡°They aren¡¯t ghosts, they¡¯re manes.¡± was one of Audrey¡¯s favorite sayings, and her mother was sick of hearing it.


    Ghosts couldn¡¯t be summoned through silly rituals that called for one to play with a candle and spin around and stare into a mirror at such-and-such an hour. To summon real ghosts, you needed scientific instruments called gaeite candles, not wax candles. These gaeite candles combined an electric battery, the latest in chemical and electrical technology, with a block of gaeite mined from the ruins of the pre-human Dyeus culture, and as everyone knew from the pamphlets the government printed and distributed back in 1865, when a block of gaeite was exposed to an electric current, it produced a silvery-white glow called olprt radiance which was part physical light, part metaphysical ectoplasm. Olprt radiance responded to disciplined thoughts, and when wielded by a a manesologists trained in the mental exercises of the Dyeus culture, miracles could be worked, including the summoning of ghosts.


    That was how ghosts were summoned, not through superstition, but through science.


    Really, everyone knew about ghosts these days. Even far-off Indians at the corners of the British empire knew about them. For Audrey, there was no excuse for people like her mother and Harriet to go on believing silly superstitions, not in the modern year of 1867, and it bothered her greatly when they did so, as if they had no common sense in their heads. Audrey couldn¡¯t stand it when her mother talked about ghosts not being able to cross running water, as if they couldn¡¯t fly wherever they pleased, or about how they couldn¡¯t enter churches, as if Christians couldn¡¯t¡¯ leave ghosts when they died. But Audrey really couldn¡¯t stand it when Harriet talked about Bloody Mary, as if Bloody Mary was even a real ghost! When it came to believing in nonsense, Audrey¡¯s mother had the excuse of her age, but what was Harriet¡¯s excuse? She had none! She was simply a bird-brain.


    So, to make a point to Harriet, to prove to her once and for all that there was no place for Bloody Mary and her silly rituals in the modern world, Audrey decided to do all the silly, foolish things that Harriet said would make Bloody Mary appear in her mirror, all just to prove a point.


    It was just to prove a point¨Cand it made what happened to Audrey all the more unjust and tragic.


    When the sun went down and her parents went asleep, Audrey double-checked the list of instructions she had made.


    ¨CWhen it is dark, walk backwards up the stairs while holding a candle in one hand and a hand mirror in the other.


    ¨CWalk to the largest mirror in the house (which was the mirror in the bathroom).


    ¨CPlace one candle near one edge of the mirror and another candle at the other edge (this, Audrey realized, meant that she had to leave a candle in the bathroom before the ritual started, otherwise she would have to somehow carry two candles and a hand mirror. She wondered if Harriet had ever thought about that peculiarity of the ritual and decided that she probably didn¡¯t. Harriet probably never did the silly ritual herself, though she swore up and down she did, the big liar).


    ¨CSay ¡°Bloody Mary¡± three times in the mirror (what was to be done about the little hand mirror, Harriet didn¡¯t say. Audrey suspected that the ritual Harriet described was really the combination of two different versions. There were always different versions of superstitions like this. Audrey supposed that Bloody Mary wouldn¡¯t be too terribly offended if she left the hand mirror on the counter outside the bathroom).


    ¨CSpin around three times.


    ¨CGaze into the mirror once again.


    And if these steps were followed exactly, Harriet promised that supernatural activity would occur in the bathroom mirror¨Cthough she was vague about the precise form this activity was to take. She said that when she herself summoned Bloody Mary, she saw the face of her husband-to-be: John Lloyd. But of course she would see John Lloyd. Her parents had introduced her to him a month ago and she fell head-over-heels for him. But Harriet warned that more than one¡¯s future husband could appear in the mirror. She warned that a skull could appear, or a woman in a bloody shroud, or a warty-faced witch. Presumably, one of these images had to be the legendary Bloody Mary. Or perhaps all of them were Bloody Mary. Or maybe Bloody Mary had sisters. It didn¡¯t matter.


    Who exactly Bloody Mary was supposed to be, Harriet couldn¡¯t say. She explained to Audrey that she heard from other people (she was always hearing things from other people) that Bloody Mary was the ghost of Queen Mary Tudor, notorious for her persecution of Protestants. Harriet told Audrey that Mary Tudor burned nearly 300 men at the stake, and while that was interesting, it didn¡¯t explain why she wanted to visit people through mirrors in the present. Harriet also heard that Bloody Mary was the ghost of Mary Worth, an American plantation owner who took great delight in executing escaped slaves. Again, it was interesting, but Audrey couldn¡¯t see the connection between old homicide and modern mirrors. Harriet also heard that Bloody Mary was a Hungarian Countess named Elizabeth Bathory who killed her servant girls and bathed in their blood in an effort to maintain her own youth (apparently, superstitions got stranger the older they were), but Countess Bathory being Bloody mary seemed like a stretch to Audrey, even in light of the other two proposed identities. Elizabeth Bathory wasn¡¯t even named Mary, how did people come to believe it was her in the first place?


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    With little faith in the proposed identities of Bloody Mary and even less in her supposed ability to be summoned by girls with too much time on their hands, Audrey lit a candle, picked up a hand mirror, and prepared to begin the ritual.


    Audrey had no doubt that when morning came and she reported to Harriet that her mirror was uninhabited Harriet would call her a big liar. She would call her a liar whether or not she did the ritual, Audrey knew that, but Audrey didn¡¯t want Harriet to be right in calling her a liar. She didn¡¯t want Harriet to stare her in the eye and glean that she was too cowardly to perform the ritual from her facial features. Harriet had a way of reading people, and Audrey feared her friend smiling at her and saying ¡°You¡¯re lying, Audrey! I know you¡¯re lying! I can see it in your face!¡±


    That would be the worst possible outcome of the night, and so Audrey was resolved to carry the ritual to completion, foolish as it was.


    It was not a difficult thing to walk up the stairs backwards. They were the stairs of the house Audrey had lived in since she was born/ She could have walked up them blindfolded. But when Audrey reached the top of the stairs, she found that she was faced with something she hadn¡¯t considered¨Cwas she supposed to walk backwards down the stairs as well as up it?


    Audrey felt very foolish. She thought she had considered all the oddities and inconsistencies of Bloody Mary and her rituals. How did she not foresee this?


    Harriet never said anything about how one was supposed to go back down the stairs. Maybe it was assumed that whoever performed the ritual kept the largest mirror they owned upstairs? Who would keep such a large and fragile thing upstairs instead of downstairs?


    Audrey looked down the stairs. For the first time that night, she felt apprehensive. In the dark, with only a little candle to provide illumination, she could see only a few steps of the stairs before they vanished into the darkness beyond her candlelight.


    Audrey thought about what Harriet would say. Audrey decided that Harriet would definitely tell her she ¡°did it wrong¡± if she didn¡¯t walk backwards down the stairs. Walking forwards down the stairs would count as a botch and spoil the whole ritual, and Harriet would laugh at her, and so, Audrey turned around, and with her back to gravity, descended the stairs.


    She had to admit to herself that going down the stairs was more¡­well, she wouldn¡¯t say scary¡­more precarious than going up. She descended carefully, very carefully, feeling every step with her feet. With every step she took, she had the curious feeling that she was about to tip over and fall the rest of the way down the stairs. She felt as if a hand was gently pulling at her back and that at any moment it could start tugging.


    When Audrey finally reached the ground, she smiled to herself, and imagined what would have happened if she had fallen. She wouldn¡¯t have broken a bone, that much she was sure of. Her mother once broke a bone falling down the stairs, but she was so old, and so frail. Audrey figured that she probably would have yelled and woken up her parents, and then they would have yelled at her for waking them up in the middle of the night. Knowing her luck, the hand mirror would probably have cracked as well, and they would have yelled at her for that too. The whole house would be up and yelling and pretty soon someone would be knocking at the door asking what murder was just committed.


    In her imagination, Audrey could hear her mother. ¡±Audrey! You¡¯re always getting on to me about ¡°superstition¡± this and ¡°unscientific¡± that, and now you¡¯re up in the middle of the night trying to talk to Bloody Mary!¡±


    It was all so silly, wasn¡¯t it?


    Audrey felt disappointed once she was inside her bathroom. One would think that as one got closer to Bloody Mary¡¯s appearance that things would start to get scarier, but this was nothing compared to the stairs, and the stairs were a trifle.


    Audrey put her candle at one end of the mirror, retrieved a tinder box from her pockets, and lit the one she had placed before she went to the stairs.


    She could barely see herself in the mirror and doubted that she would be able to see Bloody Mary, if Bloody Mary even showed up. How was anyone supposed to see anything in a mirror, in a dark room, with only candle light to see by?


    It was all so silly!


    Audrey gazed at her reflection, dull and murky as it was. There was her eye, there was her chin, and there was her lip. Everything was there, but all the parts were suspended in the darkness so that she could only see the parts her eyes focused on. It was like her face was sinking beneath a black puddle, or falling into a dark cloud.


    ¡°Bloody Mary,¡± Audrey said.


    She nearly laughed. She couldn¡¯t believe that she was really doing this. She hoped her parents wouldn¡¯t hear her.


    ¡°Bloody Mary.¡± Audrey said again, and then one more time, ¡°Bloody Mary.¡±


    And that was that.


    So disappointing! Whoever invented this silly superstition clearly never tried it themselves. If they had wanted it to be really scary they could have made it so that the person said ¡°Bloody Mary¡± three times in a pitch black room. That at least would have been something, but this? This was nothing!


    Audrey reached for her candle to light the way back to her bedroom, but then she remembered something¨Cthe last step.


    Turn around three times.


    She decided she might as well. She had done all the other silly things, so what was one more?


    She turned around once.


    Twice.


    Three times.


    And looked in the mirror.


    Audrey blinked. Was she dizzy? She didn¡¯t feel dizzy, but the mirror looked strange. In the mirror, she could see the glare of the candlelight, she could see the bathroom, but she couldn¡¯t see her face.


    Where was her face?


    Audrey closed her eyes. It must be a trick of the light, she thought.


    She opened them.


    And still, she couldn¡¯t see her face.


    She laughed. She must have pulled some sort of magic trick on herself. What stage magicians did on purpose to fool their audiences she did on accident to herself. Didn¡¯t people say they always used mirrors for their tricks? That was what this was, some sort of Pepper¡¯s ghost trick.


    She moved to try to see if she could change what was in the mirror. She stepped back, she stepped forward, but still, she would not appear in the mirror, but everything else did.


    She had no reflection, no reflection at all.


    But that was only how it seemed, she told herself, it was impossible for something, for anything, to not have a reflection. Somehow, the light was being curved or refracted or meddled with in some way so as to make it seem that she didn¡¯t have a reflection.


    And then she realized that she could see in the mirror the bathtub and cabinet¨Cand those things were behind her.


    How was that possible? How could some optical trick make the mirror show what was behind her..as if she wasn¡¯t there?


    She grabbed one of the candles. No more silly games in the dark. This had gone on long enough. The game was over.


    She held her candle close to the mirror.


    And she saw that the candle floated in mid-air without a hand to hold it.


    Audrey gasped. She dropped the candle. It clattered to the marble floor and snuffed itself out with sloshing, liquid wax.


    Half the bathroom plunged into darkness. Audrey felt strange, and told herself to calm down. She was safe, she told herself, whatever was happening, she was safe But her heart continued to beat faster and faster. She started to sweat.


    This was fear¨Cbut also something more.


    Her mouth dried in an instant. She felt her stomach start to churn.


    She felt very, very cold, very, very suddenly. Her teeth chattered together. She touched her forehead and felt that she was ablaze.


    She had a fever, a horrible, flu-like fever, in seconds, and she could not explain it. But worse than the fever was the fear. Something had been done to her, something she couldn¡¯t understand, by a thing she didn¡¯t believe in.


    Until now.


    Audrey began to cry. Tears clouded her vision, but when she brushed them away she found that her vision still blurred without them.


    Her head felt light and her limbs heavy. Her legs buckled and she fell to the bathroom floor, barely catching herself on her hands, but then they too gave way under the weight of her body and she slumped to the floor, cheek pressed against the cold marble.


    Through half-closed, unfocused eyes, Audrey could just barely make out the candlelight reflecting in the mirror.


    The candlelight formed a suggestion of a face. Whose face it was, Audrey did not know, but it certainly wasn¡¯t her own.


    Audrey screamed, and the softness of her scream terrified her. It wasn¡¯t loud enough to reach her parents, sound asleep. It was barely loud enough to escape her throat. And then, in the span of a terrified heartbeat, her screams no longer had the strength to leave her mouth.

 A Voracious Mirror. Chapter 2, Modern Guardians

    In Blackwall, the city that was called the ghost of London, the three manesologists who composed Ernst, Morton, and Glass took their morning tea and coffee together in their office as they routinely did. It was part of the wheel of their lives¨Ctea, ghosts, sleep, followed by tea, ghosts, sleep.


    ¡°Thank you, Nick.¡± Dr. Joseph Morton said as their employee, a young man who had died in the fireball that swallowed London, warmed his tea by placing a thin skin of green ectoplasm around the cup. The ectoplasm suffused the china cup and made it glow like an ember fresh from a fireplace.


    Joseph was a man large in size and long in age. He had the largest cup at the table, and yet he could lift it with just a finger and did just that, pouring the cup¡¯s warm contents past his bushy white beard and down his jowly throat.


    ¡°Ah, now I feel awake!¡± Joseph exclaimed.


    Nick had died in incredible heat, and so his ghost was reborn as heat. He could not assume a human form, or anything even resembling a human form, but he could become fire and warmth, and did so, most often in the form of a green fireball or glow. He chose to be the color green because he thought it a spiritual color that would cause people to consider him a spirit first and living fireball second.


    Because Ernst, Morton, and Glass did Nick a great kindness several years ago, Nick worked as their employee keeping their offices lit and heated with his power. Because of Nick¡¯s work, Ernst, Morton, and Glass never had to worry about paying bills for heating or their early morning drinks getting cold.


    Dr. Matthew Ernst took delicate sips of his tea as he made his way through his daily morning reading. Today he read a manesological paper fresh from Ireland by a manesologist named Harry Escott. The paper dealt with the phenomena of a lady in green clothes seen walking about the ruins of various medieval fortifications and castles. The contents of the paper were indecipherable for the ordinary man, loaded as they were with technical terms and the language of the prehuman Dyeus culture, but were gripping to Dr. Ernst.


    Dr. Ernst was a quiet, reserved gentleman of unremarkable looks, but any manesologist would recognize his face. Years ago, he wrote an influential paper on the internal operations of a ghost¡¯s composition. Such technical concepts were irrelevant to the lives of normal people, and so he was regarded as just another face in the crowd by most, but among manesologist, he was regarded as a pioneering scientist. They said he was to metaphysical anatomy what Vesalius was to physical anatomy.


    Dr. Martin Glass did not take tea, he took coffee. He developed a taste for the drink years ago when he studied the works of Abdul Alhazred in the Bagdad as part of his thaumaturgical education. There was a time in his life when he aimed not to be a manesologist, but a thaumaturgist.


    The thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas, who Major General George Colley of the British army, of the largest and strongest military on Earth, called ¡°the uncrowned kings of the world,¡± were a group of men and women who achieved great knowledge and power through what they called the Abramelin Operation. This was a series of psychic meditations which, when carried to completion, allowed one to communicate with his or her own soul. These meditations were gleaned from the dreams of Abramelin, a gigantic being that slept beneath Luxor, Egypt, whom occultist Samuel Mathers made telepathic contact with in 1865.


    The Ror Raas anticipated the worldwide increase in earthbound ghosts throughout the later half of the 19th century and believed that manesological activity would continue to increase into the 20th. To maintain peace between the earthbound dead and living humanity, the Ror Raas bestowed gaeite, the miracle of the Dyeus culture, upon a group of anthropologists, alienists, and occultists to form the first manesologists.


    The Ror Raas, of course, had the power and knowledge necessary to mediate between ghost and man, what George Colley had said was in complete earnestness, but they feared that taking on such a responsibility would give them undue influence over the world. They were fearful of becoming a race of god¨Ckings ever since they began intervening in armed conflicts around the world starting with the American Civil War in 1863 when they brought an end to hostilities by placing fires in the sky over the Battle of Shiloh. Thus they say it necessary to recruit men that had one foot in their world and one foot in the mundane world, men like Martin Glass.


    Martin Glass wanted to be a thaumaturgist, not a manesologist. He wanted to talk to his own soul, not the souls of others. But something happened during his education that caused him to abruptly change paths. What this something was, he never told Joseph and Matthew, and he intended never to tell them as long as he could help it.


    Though his tutelage under the Ror Raas ended before Martin could accomplish the Abramelin Operation, he picked up a few minor miracles from his lessons that came in handy in his new life as a manesologist. He could, for example, see and touch ghosts, no matter how immaterial they might be. Matthew and Joseph could only do the same with the aid of a gaeite candle.


    Martin wore large, dark glasses which dulled the color of his piercingly blue eyes. Martin was young, relative to Matthew and certainly to Joseph, and his mustache, while as thick as Joseph¡¯s, was a vibrant blond instead of a snowy white.


    Martin sipped his coffee and gazed at the wall, or perhaps through it. He was given to go off into trances in which his mind would jerk at the chain of his body and take half-steps through the Astral universes his teachers mapped.


    Matthew read, Joseph woke up, and Martin dreamed.


    All three men were momentarily taken out of their morning habits by a blue face materializing through the door.


    ¡°I got today¡¯s Blackwall Undertaking!¡± Esmee Walker announced. ¡°And judging by the cover, its a really interesting issue!¡±


    Esmee, like Nick, was a victim of the London fireball, but unlike Nick, she was able to assume a human form. She appeared in the beautiful, albeit simplified, form of a woman, like a statue of blue glass come to life. She was another employee of Ernst, Morton, and Glass and worked their electrograph, sending and receiving messages from all around the increasingly haunted Earth.


    Esmee placed her copy of the Blackwall Undertaking on the table and left through the wall to check on the electrograph. She checked it night and day, for she never slept, and the electrograph had opened an entire world of nighttime activity and correspondence. Esmee considered some parts of her ghostly existence a curse, others a blessing, and she found her unending endurance to be among the blessings. She thought she was like the Earth. The Earth, like herself, never slept, not fully. While England slept, China was awake, and Chinese manesologists had wonderful stories to share with her over the electrograph about the legendary Zhong Kui, who they considered to be history¡¯s first manesologist.


    Joseph grabbed up the broadsheet and brought it close to his tired eyes. Then he groaned.


    ¡°Hmph. Hrumph!¡±


    Esmee stuck her head back through the wall. ¡®I heard that! I thought you¡¯d have a strong reaction to that image, Dr. Morton!¡± She then pulled her head back through the wall and vanished, with her smile being the last part of her to go.


    ¡°¡±Hmph? Hrumph?¡± What¡¯s that all supposed to mean?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Hrumph rumph rumph.¡± Joseph bellowed.


    ¡°I¡¯m having a hard time deciphering your ape language, old man.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°What? Didn¡¯t the magic men teach you how to talk to animals like how Elijah talked to the ravens?¡± Joseph always called the thaumaturgists ¡°magic men,¡± because it always bothered Martin to hear the four syllable title reduced to two monosyllabic words.


    ¡°Elijah didn¡¯t talk to the ravens, you big ape.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°He did too, and I¡¯m surprised you don¡¯t know that.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The story of Elijah and the ravens is something taught in every Sunday school.¡±


    Martin turned to Matthew. ¡°Matthew? Please help me elucidate our simple friend here. Did Elijah talk to his ravens?¡±


    ¡°1st Kings doesn¡¯t mention the ravens talking to Elijah.¡± Matthew answered, not bothering to look up from a captivating passage on the color green as used in medieval heraldry.


    ¡°Though it doesn¡¯t mention them not talking, the implication seems to be that they were non-communicative ravens, completely normal and mundane save that they brought the prophet food under the command of God.¡±


    Martin smirked. ¡°Told you so, old man.¡±


    ¡°Now, now, boy. Remember what I said exactly.¡± Joseph said. I said that Elijah talked to the ravens. I said nothing about the ravens talking to him.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    ¡°Yes.


    ¡°And why would the great prophet bother to speak to animals incapable of talking back?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s polite, obviously. Those ravens brought him food in the morning and in the evening. They were very dutiful avians, so there¡¯s no doubt that Elijah whispered ¡°thank you¡± at least once or twice.¡±


    ¡°But the ravens had nothing to do with the food, not really. They acted as agents of God. Their work was God¡¯s work, and so Elijah should have thanked God, not the birds.¡±


    ¡°Boy, when we¡¯re eating at Bishop¡¯s Restaurant on Curant Street, and the waiter brings you your sauti of rabbit, do you say ¡°Thank you, garcon,¡± or do you say ¡°Thank you, chef?¡±¡±


    ¡°That is an entirely different circumstance. The waiter is not an extension of the chef¡¯s will. The ravens were an extension of God¡¯s will. They were like God¡¯s puppets. They were like my dogs.¡±


    Martin sloshed his coffee high into the air.


    Matthew saw the black liquid arc through the air out of the corner of his eye. ¡°If you spill something, clean it up.¡± he muttered while reading a passage speculating on a possible connection between the green ladies of various castles and a mythological figure known as the Glaistig.


    The coffee stopped in mid air as if suddenly frozen into a solid jet.


    ¡°Not a chance of that.¡± Martin said. ¡°Remember when my dogs caught the bullets of those assassins? Some coffee is nothing to them.¡±


    Martin¡¯s two dogs were carryovers from his thaumaturgical education. They were thought-forms, mental energies shaped by his willpower, and were useful for many things, horseplay included


    The dogs compressed the coffee back into a cup shape and slotted it down into Martin¡¯s cup.


    ¡°Joseph, when my dogs save your life by blocking a bullet, or a knife, or a stone, do you say ¡°Thank you, doggies?¡± No, of course you don¡¯t! You say ¡°Thank you, Martin,¡± though that¡¯s assuming you even remember to say ¡°thank you,¡± you rude gorilla! The point is, my dogs are extensions of my will, just as Elijah¡¯s ravens were extensions of God¡¯s will. Thanking the ravens would have been like thanking the hand of a person that pulled you out of danger instead of the person. You might do something like that, strange as you are, but the average person wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°We never fail to find the most creative things to argue about over breakfast, don¡¯t we?¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Boy, you are assuming out-of-hand that the ravens were actually ravens.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Oh, this is an interesting pivot.¡± Martin said.


    Would the almighty really mind-puppet a flock of corvus corax when he already has an entire celestial host of winged messengers?¡± Joseph asked. ¡° That would be like you going to the pound and picking out a flesh-and-blood dog to train to pick up rocks and block bullets. I think the implication in the scripture is clear: God sent his angels to Elijah in the form of ravens.¡±


    ¡°What sort of supreme being sends his angels to deliver food?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°Well, what else would they be doing? Singing hymns and pondering the divine?¡±


    ¡°Traditionally, it was thought they did exactly that when not called into service.¡± Martin said. ¡°But psychic exploration of the Astral has revealed that angels busy themselves with much more than worship and study of the Monad. When not called to action, angels attend to matters of cosmic importance, typically involving the manifestation and regulation of universes.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Sounds to me like God sent his best angels to be Elijah¡¯s ravens, then.¡±


    ¡°How do you figure that? One would think that food delivery would be a considerable step down in prestige from spinning galaxies.¡±


    ¡°One would think that, because one is human, and to humans spinning galaxies around your finger is a dream and taking food to old Elijah east of the Jordan is a chore. But I think God¡¯s angels would have enjoyed taking a break from cosmic business. I think they would have enjoyed stretching their wings in air rather than aether. I think they would have relished using wings that actually had to be moved like wings in order to work. Imagine how exhilarating it would be to use muscles after being nothing but light?¡±


    Joseph spread his massive arms out and puffed up his chest. ¡°To pull with their wings and chest against the current of the air?¡±


    Martin chuckled. ¡°Stop that, you old ape! You look ridiculous!¡±


    Joseph held out his wrinkled hand. ¡°Imagine what it would be like to learn frailty and comfort, to rest in the warm, wrinkled hand of Elijah and feel him pet your hollow bones?¡±


    Martin touched his glasses. What was behind them wasn¡¯t an angel, but it was like one.


    Martin was more like the beings of the Astral than he let on to his friends.


    ¡°You might be right, old man.¡± Martin said. ¡°You might actually be right.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡°might actually?¡±¡± Joseph thumped his chest. ¡°I¡¯m always right!¡±


    Martin smirked. ¡°Mad apes believe the strangest things.¡±


    Martin sipped his coffee. It was chalky and hot, just the way he liked it.


    He never spun a galaxy around his finger, but the things he did while training to be a thaumaturgist were comparable. It was a completely different life compared to the one he now led. The things he saw during his training, the beings he spoke to, the places he went¡­and none of it, absolutely none of it, was like Earth. There was no Blackwall, or Bishop¡¯s Restaurant, or Ernst, Morton, and Glass in Heaven.


    Martin would know.


    ¡°You alright, boy?¡± Joseph remarked on his expression, which had suddenly turned pensive. ¡°Something wrong with your coffee?¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong. Anyway, let¡¯s see what¡¯s got you so aggravated this morning.¡± Martin reached over the table for the broadsheet. ¡°Come on! Show us!¡±


    Joseph pulled the paper out of Martin¡¯s reach. ¡°No! I don¡¯t think I will!


    ¡°Children, please.¡± Matthew said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to buy another table.¡±


    ¡°Got it!¡± Martin exclaimed as the paper pulled itself loose out of Joseph¡¯s hands.


    ¡®No fair!¡± Joseph said. ¡°You cheated! You used your dogs!¡±


    ¡°See what I mean? I cheated, not the dogs cheated.¡±


    Martin looked at the broadsheet and smirked. ¡°This is what¡¯s got you grumpy? Hey, Matthew, take a look at this!¡±


    Martin placed the paper atop Matthew¡¯s academic journal.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Matthew raised an eyebrow at the broadsheet then placed it on the table.


    The cover of the Blackwall Undertaking showed an enormous, scaly beast rising out of the ground and shrugging off a rural town like an ox a blanket. DR. ROBERT LUMEN DISCUSSES SUBTERRANEAN DRAGONS AT WILDE UNIVERSITY, the headline proclaimed.


    ¡°It¡¯s an imaginative scene, if nothing else.¡± Matthew said.


    Joseph tapped the cover with his finger. ¡°Just look at this shameless sensationalism! Shoddy! I would have expected something like this from out of Illustrated Phantom Stories, but this is the Blackwall Undertaking! It¡¯s an informative publication, or it¡¯s supposed to be!¡±


    Joseph turned to Martin. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what the Dyeus culture¡¯s old sparring partners look like with your own eyes. Do they look anything like this?¡±


    ¡°This drawing resembles a real vovin in the same way a child¡¯s stick figure drawing resembles a man. That is to say it portrays the general shape without capturing any of the detail.¡±


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°You could have just said no.¡±


    He tapped the cover again as if he could strike the dragon itself. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be so bad if it was just an inaccurate depiction of a dragon, but they had to go and mix in some fear mongering. Look at our vovin gentleman here, tossing a whole town like he was an angry Atlas! You two remember what Bob¡¯s presentation was like and how many people kept asking him ¡°Will the dragons one day wake up and overturn our cities?¡± Poor Bob, I actually felt bad for him. They actually kept changing up how it was asked, but they kept asking the same thing. ¡°What would happen if the dragons woke up? How much destruction could an awakened dragon cause? How much dirt would a dragon have to displace to create an earthquake?¡± You¡¯d think they wanted the dragons to scrape away our civilization with the way they talked!¡±


    ¡°Fear naturally follows from feelings of powerlessness.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Robert should have expected all those questions after he likened the powers of the vovin to the Greek gods. I don¡¯t know why he grimaced when the inevitable happened.¡±


    ¡°No, I have to take Bob¡¯s side here. The distance between our little crust of civilization and the dragons slumbering far below our feet is several thousand times that of the distance between¡­well, here and Japan, to give an example.¡±


    ¡®Does Japan have giant dragons?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Does it matter? Look, the world of Fairy has dragons, doesn¡¯t it? And ogres, and nixies, and trolls, and all sorts of large, dangerous beasties, right? But no one cares about them, because Fairy is beyond the farthest star, as they say¡±


    ¡°Metaphysically speaking, Fairy is beyond the farthest star.¡± Martin said. ¡°But also closer than your own shadow.¡±


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°Oh, and here comes the magic man to give his take, eh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m simply giving you the whole quote. ¡°Fairy is beyond the farthest star, but closer than your own shadow,¡± that was Dr. Hado, remember? He lectured on the war between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts at Wilde University? Come on, surely you remember, we were in the audience!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me for daydreaming.¡± Joseph said. ¡°That was an awfully dry presentation. My eyes were glazing over by the time Dr. Hado got to the reign of Lugh.¡±


    Joseph picked up the broadsheet, crumpled it up in his hand, and tossed it in a bin.


    ¡°Poor old lizard tyrants,¡± he said. ¡°I wonder what they would think about this?¡±


    Martin chuckled.


    Joseph and Matthew looked at him.


    ¡°Oh. Sorry. I just found it funny. I¡¯ve actually been inside their thoughts, you see. I¡¯ve been inside the dreams of a vovin.¡±


    ¡°You never told us that.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t?¡± Martin sometimes forgot what he had and hadn¡¯t told his friends about his previous life.


    ¡°No.¡± Joseph answered.


    ¡°Sorry. I was once inside the dreams of a vovin named Fiadh.¡±


    Martin sipped his coffee.


    ¡°So what are we going to do first today?¡± he asked. ¡°Do we head to Furnivall Manor up in Cumberland and investigate reports of a manes girl in the moors or do we go to Harrogate to see into their doppleganger business?¡±


    ¡°Oh come now, boy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You can¡¯t just bring up being inside the dreams of a dragon at breakfast and leave it at that! What was it like?¡±


    ¡°Indescribable.¡±


    ¡°You can describe it.¡±


    ¡°I just did. Indescribable is a description.¡±


    ¡°It is not!¡± Joseph turned to Matthew. ¡°Is indescribable a description?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°But not a sufficient one. Martin, surely someone with your creativity can describe it more thoroughly than that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I cannot. My physical senses were not utilized inside the dreams of Fiadh. I cannot relate what I saw, what I felt, what I touched.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with something simple then.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Is it bright inside a dragon¡¯s mind or is it dark?¡±


    ¡°Neither.¡±


    ¡°So like a gray color?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to think you¡¯re having a little fun here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Boy, we¡¯re not asking for you to draw us a painting, we just want to know what it¡¯s like.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s no good. I can¡¯t relate even the slightest detail without it being as grossly inaccurate as that drawing you wadded up and tossed.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead and be inaccurate, then.¡±


    ¡°No. I saw what you did to the last inaccurate image.¡±


    ¡°I promise I won¡¯t wad you up and toss you in the bin.¡±


    ¡°No. I simply do not have the words to describe the dreams of a dragon, if there even are words.¡±


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re no fun.¡±


    A look of realization flashed over Martin¡¯s face. He snapped his fingers. ¡°You know what this is? This is the sacrifice of Odin.¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a thaumaturgical saying. The Norse god Odin was a god of wisdom, among other things, but he wasn¡¯t born that way. To achieve his knowledge, Odin plucked out his own eye and gave it to the god Mimir. He became partially blind to the physical world so he could see the world beyond. It¡¯s a cautionary tale for thaumaturgists. The more we learn about the worlds beyond, the less attached we are to the world that birthed us. I gained eyes that could see the dreams of a dragon, but not the tongue to relate them. This is just one of those things I can¡¯t share with you two, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Esmee suddenly appeared not through the wall, but through the open door. She frantically waved around the reason she came through the door: a freshly printed electrogram. The three men could smell the ink as Esee fanned the paper.


    ¡°We have an emergency!¡± Esmee exclaimed. ¡°A young woman¡¯s life is at stake! The three of you need to get to Margate as soon as possible!¡±


    The three men placed down their drinks. There was no need for further explanation. It was not the first time that they were called to an early-morning emergency. It would not be the last.


    They took their coats from the coat rack and headed for the door.


    ¡°Come with us, Esmee.¡± Joseph said. You can explain more on the way.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me Esmee, may I see?¡± Matthew asked as he reached for the electrogram.


    ¡°Oh, of course, Dr. Ernst.¡± Esmee handed Matthew the electrogram and Matthew instantly lost himself in its contents.


    The physician that wrote the electrogram reported a frenzied list of symptoms¨Cdyspnea, anemia, catatonia¡­


    Matthew looked down at the feet of his friends and trusted them to lead him wherever he needed to go.


    ¡°Mind the office until we get back, Nick.¡± Martin said.


    A blast of warm, comforting air conveyed Nick¡¯s thoughts¨C¡°I will, and take care, my friends.¡±


    The manesologists left the office and immediately encountered the small mob that loitered around their building every day. These were called the watchers, for they watched to see who came in and out of Ernst, Morton, and Glass so that they could report them to various insurance companies. Having a haunting, or simply associating with a ghost, was enough to cause one¡¯s insurance premiums to spike, and thus Ernst, Morton, and Glass thought very little of the watchers, and Joseph in particular took pleasure in teasing them, but there was no time for that this morning.


    ¡°Excuse us, gents.¡± Joseph said as he produced his gaeite candle and activated it.


    An electric current ran through the thick block of gaeite that made up the body of the gaeite candle. Silver-white light the color of the moon radiated from the amber colored block.


    The watchers fled from the sudden light, because they knew from experience that many things could come out of olprt radiance, things that were most often large, fearsome, and ill-tempered when held in the grip of Joseph Morton.


    Joseph cleared his mind and thought of the appropriate images.


    The Dyeus prince spoke the name of his sire, and he appeared. It was not a pleasant reunion. The people demanded their king¡¯s return. The prince begged for his father¡¯s return. In the face of all this, the old man didn¡¯t dare voice his need for rest.


    The Zacare Operation


    Whistle, named so for the sound he made as he galloped through the air, appeared. He was an old and valuable ally of Ernst, Morton, and Glass. He was a ghost horse, the first to be recorded in the modern era. The wind blew through the translucent beast just as easily as the light did. Whistle shook his chestnut colored neck and flared his nostrils without a sound. He only made his namesake sound when he was tearing through the air.


    Attached to him was a carriage, hollow as a Jack-o-lantern pumpkin. Ernst, Morton, and Glass boarded it along with Esmee. Martin activated his gaeite candle and filled the inside with silvery-white light. He would have to perform the Perkunos Operation as long as Whistle was in flight. It was a safety precaution to ensure the horse and his carriage remained solid during the trip.


    Joseph produced a metal square covered in dials and switches from his pocket. This was a tool Ernst, Morton, and Glass called the noise box, and though it was made to communicate with a ghost that only manifested as and responded to sound, it proved to be a tool with other uses such as directing Whistle through the sound of whip cracks.


    Joseph turned a dial and the sharp sound of a whip caused Whistle to take to the air. Two more whip cracks caused Whistle to turn in the direction of Margate.


    ¡°Tell us what¡¯s happening, Esmee.¡±Joseph said.


    In normal light, Esmee appeared a light blue, a blue like that of a forget-me-not or a morning glory, but in olprt radiance, she appeared as black as the cover of a Bible, as did all ghosts and spiritual manifestations. Gaeite candles revealed the supernatural, no matter how invisible their manifestations might be.


    So completely was she rendered as a black silhouette that her mouth could not be seen. Her face was like a blot of ink.


    ¡°There¡¯s a girl named Audrey Lewis in Margate. Her parents found her early this morning, collapsed in the bathroom with a horrible fever. She was unresponsive. Her breathing was shallow. Her color was pale. She was¡­is¡­dying. Her parents called a physician, but, well¡­Dr. Ernst can see just from the electrogram¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Matthew said without glancing up from what he was reading. ¡°Yes I can see. The poor physician seems beside himself. He makes it very clear in his writing that he has no idea what is wrong with Audrey Lewis, no idea what he can do to stop the symptoms, and no idea whether she¡¯ll live to sundown.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fading that fast?¡± Joseph asked.


    Matthew nodded.


    ¡°Audrey doesn¡¯t have a history of illness. She¡¯s never had anything more serious than a cold.¡± Esmee said. ¡°So it has to be a ghost doing this to her, a ghost or something like a ghost.¡±


    Matthew handed the electrogram back to Esmee.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say at the moment, but my current hypothesis is that this is a malady possessor.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Esmee¡¯s hands shot to her face. ¡°Another one of those?¡±


    ¡°Yes, unfortunately.¡± Matthew answered.


    ¡°Damn it.¡± Joseph muttered. ¡°If it¡¯s a malady possessor, then she may have already passed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that, Dr. Morton!¡± Esmee exclaimed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear, but it¡¯s the truth of the matter. They¡¯re one of the most murderous types of ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Even if we don¡¯t get there in time, we can still prevent the malady possessor from spreading.¡± Martin said. ¡®One life dies, but several more are spared. Let¡¯s look to that, if we can¡¯t look to anything else.¡±


    Malady possessors were a virulent kind of ghost. They were the ghosts of those that died to slow, lingering disease. The spiritual component that stores the memories and behaviors of a ghost¡¯s physical life was very strong within them while the spiritual component that creates a ghost¡¯s novel behaviors was very weak. This caused them to experience, vividly, what it was like on their deathbed while being unable to move beyond that suffering. This imbalance of spiritual components made them miserable beings, but it was another weakness in the spiritual component that controls the imprinting and expression of a ghost¡¯s physical body that made their misery contagious.


    Malady possessors did not have ectoplasmic bodies, like Esmee. Instead, they were bodiless and manifested, as Nick did, as flashes of light or wisps of color. Malady possessors remembered the suffering of their bodies but lacked a body to contain that suffering. Thus, seeking to complete themselves, they sought out the bodies of others to pour their misery into.


    Not being biological beings, malady possessors could not spread the disease that killed them, but they could force the bodies of those they possessed to respond as if they had the disease. This resulted in what was essentially an extremely strong allergic response. The body¡¯s own immune system killed it from within.


    Malady possessors were a physician¡¯s nightmare. They were quick to infect, quick to kill, and quick to move on to other hosts. They had wiped out entire communities while leaving bodies that showed absolutely no signs of infection or disease. Their blood, now still and cold, showed no bacterial or viral infection under the latest microscopes.


    ¡°Would you like for us to summon someone to escort you back to Blackwall, Esmee?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°The Sky Witch, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Esmee replied. ¡°I could use a good flight. It¡¯s been awhile since I¡¯ve had one.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°We¡¯re a long way from Blackwall now, you know how fast Whistle travels.¡±


    ¡°The longer the flight, the better. Besides, there¡¯s the Thames right there.¡± Esmee pointed out the carriage window at a blue ribbon winding its way across the ground. ¡°I just have to follow it to find Blackwall. But could Martin poke a little hole? The last time I tried passing through Whistle¡¯s ectoplasm while he was in motion the speed caused me to fan out like a rag in a gust of wind.¡±


    ¡°I certainly can do that.¡± Martin said.


    He touched a finger to the side of the carriage. A small hole appeared where his fingertip touched. Air whistled through the opening.


    ¡°Ha.¡± Joseph smirked. ¡°A whistle inside Whistle!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making jokes now?¡± Martin asked. ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Yes I make jokes now.¡± Joseph answered. ¡°While jokes can be made.¡±


    ¡°Good luck.¡± Esmee said. ¡°I hope it isn¡¯t a malady possessor, but if it is, good luck anyway!¡±


    She scrunched herself down until she was a thin, blue rod, then she shot out of the small opening like a blue lightning bolt.


    When she was gone, Martin touched the hole with his finger and sealed it.


    A few moments later, Whistle arrived in Margate. The manesologists followed the directions in the electrogram and steered Whisper toward the Lewis household. They found Mr. Lewis waiting outside his mansion. He had been waiting for Ernst, Morton, and Glass ever since the family physician declared himself powerless to help his daughter.


    Mr. Lewis flinched back as Whistle drew up by the porch. ¡°Good God! It¡¯s like Satan¡¯s own horse!¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°No sir. Old Whistle isn¡¯t Satan¡¯s horse, he¡¯s ours.¡± Joseph said as he stepped down from the carriage. ¡°We¡¯re Ernst, Morton, and Glass. Show us where Audrey is.¡±


    Mr. Lewis led the three manesologists inside. ¡°She¡¯s in her bedroom.¡± he said. ¡°I carried her there after my wife found her passed out on the bathroom floor.¡±


    ¡°We know.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Dr. Johns¡¯ notes were very comprehensive.¡±


    ¡°What is it? Do you know? Mr. Lewis asked. ¡°What¡¯s happened to my daughter? Has she been possessed?¡±


    ¡°We have to see and examine her before we make that determination.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It may take some time.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I understand that. But do you have any idea what could be wrong with her? Any idea at all?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t like to discuss possibilities, only certainties.¡± Matthew said.


    He thought it would be best not to mention their malady possessor theory. Matthew could see that Mr. Lewis was trying his best to appear calm and collected as he led the manesoloigsts through his home, but the sweat on his brow and his quick breaths revealed that was struggling through the most terrifying night of his life.


    ¡°Yes. That makes sense.¡± Mr. Lewis said. ¡°You want to be certain. That makes perfect sense. There¡¯s a lot of things that could be wrong. It¡¯s just like a normal fever. A lot of things can cause a normal fever, but you have to do an examination to find the specific thing. It¡¯s just like a normal fever¡­¡±


    Mr. Lewis muttered something that Joseph couldn¡¯t hear with his old ears, but Matthew and Martin heard it clearly: ¡°Please don¡¯t take long. She doesn¡¯t have long, I think¡­¡±


    Martin looked around. Family portraits and paintings of flowers hung on the walls. A Margate newspaper was pinned under a cooling cup of morning tea. This was not a cemetery, or an old castle, or an ancient ring of ruined stones. This was a home for the living. Somehow, the dead had been brought to this place.


    Mr. Lewis led the manesologists to the door of Audrey¡¯s bedroom. Through the opened door, the manesologists could see Mrs. Lewis sniffling at her daughter¡¯s bedside while the family physician stood in the corner like a cringing scarecrow, stiff in the knowledge of how useless he was.


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, please wait outside.¡± Matthew said.


    Mrs. Lewis slowly, quietly, stood up, gave her daughter¡¯s hand a tight squeeze, then shuffled pitifully to her husband¡¯s embrace beyond the threshold. As she cried into his chest, Joseph shut the door, leaving the manesologists with a helpless physician and a dying girl.

 A Voracious Mirror. Chapter 3, A Swiftly Fading Light

    Audrey was in her bed, head centered on her pillow. She barely breathed. Her skin was pale and bloodless. She was like a corpse with a fever. Her vitality was burning itself away, and when it was done, she would be a cold husk ready for the viewing.


    At her side, the misty eyed physician wrung his fingers together. Exhaustion marked his face.


    ¡°I gave her a sedative¨Can opium cordial.¡± the physician said. ¡°In case she¡¯s in any pain. It¡¯s all I could think of doing.¡±


    Joseph put a comforting hand on the physician¡¯s shoulder. The physician hung his head in shame, like a schoolboy before his teacher.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m Dr. Felix Johns.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, please.¡± Matthew muttered as he moved past Joseph and Dr. Johns to Audrey¡¯s bedside. He took her cold hand and felt for a pulse.


    ¡°I¡¯m Dr. Joseph Morton.¡± Joseph said. ¡°That is Dr. Matthew Ernst, and my friend with the blue eyes back there is Dr. Martin Glass.¡±


    Martin stayed by the door. He saw something when he entered the room that he couldn¡¯t understand, and with the physician present he wasn¡¯t sure if he should say what it was aloud.


    ¡°We are manesologists from Blackwall.¡± Joseph said. ¡°And we are here to help.¡±


    ¡°I know who you three are.¡± Dr. Felix said. ¡°Everyone knows who Ernst, Morton, and Glass are. You¡¯re always in Illustrated Phantom Stories. I know your reputations. I would not have called you here if you three weren¡¯t the only ones that could possibly save Audrey. She is in a terrible state, and it¡¯s growing worse, and I can¡¯t do anything to help her. I don¡¯t even know what¡¯s wrong with her.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Dr. Johns.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You¡¯ve done all you can, all that could possibly be expected of you. The burden is now ours and ours alone. This was never a physical problem that a doctor could treat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen people die before.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡®But never one this young. Never in such good health. It isn¡¯t right for this to happen. It isn¡¯t natural.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right..¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s not right and it¡¯s not natural. But we deal with things that aren¡¯t right and aren¡¯t natural every day. We¡¯ll help her, Dr. Johns.¡±


    ¡°Dr. Johns, please go outside.¡± Martin suddenly said.


    ¡°He needs to go outside?¡± Joseph asked.


    Martin nodded.


    Joseph gently pushed the physician towards the threshold of the door. ¡°Dr. Johns, tell Audrey¡¯s parents that we¡¯re examining her right now and we are not to be disturbed until we are done.¡±


    Dr. Johns gave a sheepish nod and walked through the threshold. Joseph closed the door behind him.


    ¡°So what¡¯s going on, boy?¡± Joseph asked.


    Matthew suddenly spoke up. ¡°I may have to revise my original hypothesis,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is a malady possessor. A full-body debilitation like this would be highly irregular for one. I see very little inflammation for a fever this bad. It¡¯s not like she¡¯s sick. It¡¯s like the very life has been sucked out of her. It¡¯s like all that¡¯s left of her is the fever.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Matthew, this isn¡¯t a malady possessor.¡± Martin said. ¡°Switch on your gaeite candle and you¡¯ll both see what I saw when we walked in.¡±


    Matthew unclipped his gaeite candle from his belt and flipped a switch. Silvery-white light the color of the moon filled the room.


    A black silhouette covered Audrey Lewis from head to toe like a funeral shroud.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Joseph whispered.


    ¡°Is that her soul? No, no it can¡¯t be.¡± Matthew said. ¡°If that was her soul, and it was manifesting this strongly, then it should be decoupling. It should be forming a ghost before our very eyes, but it isn¡¯t. This has to be the most thorough possession I¡¯ve ever seen¡­but no, it can¡¯t be that either. Possession doesn¡¯t look a thing like this. Joseph? Martin? You two remember the Fox sisters?¡±


    ¡®Yes.¡± Joseph said.


    Martin nodded grimly. That had been one of their bad cases.


    ¡°The manes had such a strong grip on Leah Fox that she was speaking fluent Enochian, but it didn¡¯t look a thing like this.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Yes, we remember.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Under olprt radiance, odic particles let by the ghosts colored the nerves of their bodies. They both looked like cracked china dolls.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But this is¡­well, it¡¯s like if Esmee slept on top of her.¡±


    ¡°This is something the two of you have never seen before, but I have.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen this before?¡± Joseph asked.


    Martin nodded.


    ¡°The Ror Raas calls this the death shadow. It is the state a man and his soul enter at the very moment of death, the instant he dies and his ghost lives. So quick and brief is the death shadow that it has only ever been observed by thaumaturgists in two respects: during the completion of the Abramelin Operation, or during natural death of a man carefully observed by psychic eyes.¡±


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t seem very quick and brief.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Yes. That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Martin said. ¡°When we walked in, I thought we had arrived at the very instant of her death. Yet she lingers.¡±


    Matthew suddenly leapt back.


    ¡°We need to stand away from her! Well away from her!¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain outside. Come on!¡±


    Without another word, Joseph and Martin followed Matthew outside.


    Audrey¡¯s parents immediately sprang upon the manesologists.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± Mrs. Lewis asked. ¡°Oh please, tell me you know!¡±


    ¡°Get back, please.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We¡¯re still in the middle of the investigation.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Mr. Lewis asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. But we need to investigate from out here, away from the girl.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What¡¯s going on? Is there a ghost inside her?¡± Mr. Lewis grasped at Joseph¡¯s sleeve.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Joseph gently broke his grip with one finger.


    ¡°Please stay calm, Mr. Lewis.¡± Joseph turned to Dr. Johns. ¡°Please take these two to another room in the house.¡±


    ¡°Any room?¡± Dr. Johns asked.


    ¡°Yes, just take them away. We need space to work. Please.¡±


    Dr. Johns led Audrey¡¯s parents down the hall. They slowly followed the physician and could not help but stare at the manesologists as they rounded the corner, as if their eyes could pull explanations out of them.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Matthew?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I fear what we¡¯re dealing with is like a spiritual aneurysm.¡± Matthew replied.


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I think I know what you¡¯re getting at.¡± Martin said. ¡°But explain what you mean so I¡¯ll know for sure.¡±


    ¡°Manesology has long known that there is a medium, poorly understood though it may be, through which the nervous impulses of the body and brain imprint upon the spiritual components of a ghost. There¡¯s a botanist named Willhelm Pfeffer, he works out of the University of Tubingen, and he recently put forth a theory that a plant¡¯s microscopic cells have fluidic membranes made of lipids and proteins. He called it a plasma membrane, and it works in such a way that it¡¯s permeable to some substances, impermeable to others. Pfeffer wrote a commentary on a manesological paper of mine in which he proposed that the medium between body and soul might also be a kind of membrane. This odic-biological membrane would allow the body to interact with the soul one way, and not another, and in doing so preserves the body just as a cellular membrane preserves a cell¡¯s inner cytoplasm from being absorbed by surrounding fluid.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Martin said. ¡°I had the same idea. The binding force that ties a soul to a body has been scraped off. Aneurysm was a good comparison, Matthew. The binding force isn¡¯t gone, not completely, but it¡¯s weakened. Her soul is bleeding away and ravaging her body as it goes.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing we moved out here.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The three of us are thick with spiritual residue. If there is such a thing as an Odic-biological membrane and if hers is scraped off, then our presence would be like rubbing dirt on a wound.¡±


    Joseph turned to Martin. ¡°Is this like anything your or the Ror Raas have seen?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No. This is a unique sort of horror. In a way, this is like the Abramelin Operation, where a thaumaturgist tries to separate his soul from his body without dying.¡±


    Martin looked through the opened door at Audrey.


    He took a long, deep breath.


    He was looking at a dead girl. But did his two friends realize it? He wondered.


    Matthew, maybe. But Joseph¡­


    ¡°This is awful, but from the standpoint of manesological inquiry, it¡¯s fascinating.¡± Martin said. ¡°The death shadow is so rarely observed, so poorly understood, that what it actually is has been a matter of debate. Some say that it¡¯s just like the Odic-biological barrier Matthew describes. Others say it¡¯s something created at the time of death, something that might be involved in nurturing the manes as it decouples, something like a spiritual placenta. But here, it¡¯s lingering. It can be observed. I do not have the eyes of a true thaumaturgist, but I will still do my best to observe and take notes as she dies.¡±


    Joseph glared at Martin. ¡°Who the hell said she¡¯s going to die?¡±


    ¡°Old man, I¡¯m sorry, but look, if this was a possessor like we originally thought, we¡¯d be rolling the dice. But this is something we¡¯ve never encountered before. This is something no manesologist, or for that matter thaumaturgist, has ever encountered. We can¡¯t save her. We can¡¯t save her anymore than Dr. Johns can.¡±


    Joseph narrowed his eyes. ¡°I ought to slap you for that. You go on and on about ¡°the sacrifice of Odin¡± this, ¡°indescribable¡± that, but when it comes time to make miracles instead of talk about them, what do you do? You give up.¡±


    ¡°From her death we might learn something that¡¯ll advance manesology. Don¡¯t get upset about what¡¯s staring at us in the face.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to learn nothing, because she¡¯s not going to die.¡± Joseph unclipped his gaeite candle from his belt. ¡°Since we can¡¯t go in with her, I¡¯ll cast the Darsar Operation so we can work over a distance.¡±


    ¡°Work what exactly?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°The usual for when we don¡¯t have a manifested ghost in front of us.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We use the Aldi operation to pick up an Odic trace, then we use the Zacare Operation to call him in front of us.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think we¡¯ll have time to pick up a trace before she goes?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Joseph, it could take days.¡±


    ¡°It could take a day and a night if we¡¯re lucky, and if she holds on long enough we can save her.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not going to last that long and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Then go sit in the carriage and cry, boy. Matthew and I will do the work.¡±


    ¡°Damn it, old man, I¡¯m just being realistic about what we¡¯re dealing with and what we can do, and can¡¯t do. Say we bring the manes that did this here. Then what?¡±


    ¡°Then we force him to undo what he¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s assuming so much. That¡¯s assuming we can communicate with the manes. That¡¯s assuming the manes knows what he¡¯s done. That¡¯s assuming the manes can undo what hes done.¡±


    Joseph looked at Martin silently for a moment. ¡°You don¡¯t want to try, do you?¡±


    ¡°I want us to use the Plosi Operation to make an impression of her death shadow on the Odic layer of the Astral.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Joseph nodded. ¡°I see. That way the magic men will be able to study later what¡¯s going on here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best. She¡¯ll die, but she¡¯ll die having contributed to¨C¡±


    Joseph suddenly slapped Martin across his face.


    The young man recoiled and rubbed his stinging cheek. ¡°What the hell did you do that for, you ape? You could have knocked my glasses off!¡±


    ¡°I was aiming to knock them off. I guess age has made me weaker than I thought. What are you thinking? The Plosi Operation would kill her as she is!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead anyway.¡±


    ¡°Everyone is ¡°dead, anyway.¡± Everyone dies.¡±


    ¡°She has hours at the most. Damn it, Joseph! If there was something else we could do, anything else, I wouldn¡¯t suggest the Plosi Operation at all!¡±


    ¡°There is something else. We work and we pray.¡±


    ¡°Her death will be meaningless if we waste what little time she has left on a fool¡¯s chance!¡±


    Joseph looked at Matthew. He hadn¡¯t said a single word since they stepped outside the room. He just stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Not even the slap broke his gaze.


    ¡°What are you thinking about, Matthew?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking about ways to repair her membrane. If we only had a model, a mental impression of what the Odic-biological membrane looks like, I think we could use the Ozien Operation to shape ectoplasm around the scrape like a bandage.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t have a model.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°No, we don¡¯t. We wouldn¡¯t have the slightest idea what we would be doing. We¡¯d likely kill her instantly if we tried.¡±


    ¡°Then what do we do?¡± Joseph asked. It always came down to Matthew to decide for the group whenever Joseph and Martin had a disagreement.


    ¡°What you suggested. We work and pray.¡±


    Matthew looked at Martin.


    Martin nodded his agreement. Martin the manesologist believed trying to capture the ghost was a waste of time, but that Martin came second to Martin the member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass.


    ¡°You can help us if you want, boy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Or you can go cry in the carriage, it¡¯s up to you.¡± Joseph knew that Martin would work with them, but he wanted to get another hit in. He was very disappointed in the boy.


    Joseph closed his eyes and activated his gaeite candle.


    The Dyeus warrior watched his enemies from across the sea. He feared the day they would finally meet, for in watching them, he grew to respect them.


    The Darsar Operation.


    Images of Audrey and her bedroom appeared in the olprt radiance that shined from Joseph¡¯s gaeite candle.


    Martin and Matthew activated their candles and added their light to Joseph¡¯s own.


    Together, Ernst, Morton, and Glass threw their thoughts onto the olprt radiance.


    The Dyeus prince trudged through the wilderness. He could feel the target of his search pull away from him, but that was what he wanted. He didn¡¯t want to catch him, he wanted to herd him towards the city where his grieving parents lived.


    The Aldi Operation.


    Martin gasped.


    ¡°There¡¯s no trace!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°There should be some Odic trace, even just a little one, but¡­there¡¯s nothing!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not detecting anything either.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Nor I.¡± Matthew said. ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only one explanation I can think of for how someone spiritually assaults a person and then leaves without a trace.¡± Martin said. ¡°They had to leave like you and me. They had to leave as flesh and blood, meaning they arrived as flesh and blood.¡±


    ¡°A human did this?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°A living human?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And they¡¯d have to have a considerable knowledge of the Astral world. They would have to be a manesologists or a thaumaturgist.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°Why this family, why this girl, I don¡¯t know, but ultimately I think it¡¯s fairly obvious what they wanted. They wanted the death shadow.¡±


    ¡°So an insane manesologist, or perhaps a thaumaturgist, comes to Margate and attacks a random girl in her home just to see the death shadow? That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t make sense, but if there¡¯s a better explanation, I¡¯d like to hear it, gentlemen.¡± Martin said.


    He turned off his gaeite candle.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see? This is useless. Someone came in here last night as knowledgeable about the Astral world as the three of us, perhaps even more knowledgeable, and gave this poor girl a mortal wound upon her spirit. He¡¯s killed her as surely as if he had shot her or stabbed her.¡±


    ¡°Turn your gaeite candle back on.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Before I hit you again.¡±


    Martin looked at Matthew. ¡°Whoever did this would have known that we would come. He would have known how to make what he did untraceable and irreversible. Surely you see that, Matthew?¡±


    ¡°Please turn your gaeite candle back on.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We will continue to look for a trace.¡±


    Martin nodded. That was that, then.


    He turned his candle back on and joined his friends in a long vigil.


    Half an hour passed as they strained their thoughts over the image of Audrey. They searched for the faintest, smallest trace of Odic energy, the smallest particle of ectoplasm. They could find nothing.


    But still they searched, even when Joseph had to sit down on one of Martin¡¯s dogs, even when the hall became stiflingly hot with the heat of their occupation.


    They didn¡¯t notice Dr. Johns until he announced himself.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± he said bashfully.


    He cringed as the three manesologists turned to face him. It was evident from their perspiration and tired expressions that he had interrupted them while they were hard at work.


    ¡°The Lewis family asked me to check on Audrey. I know there¡¯s nothing I can do, I told them that several times but¡­they still want me to look her over. May I?¡±


    He glanced at the projected image of Audrey. He wasn¡¯t going to ask about it. He figured the manesologists wouldn¡¯t be able to give him an answer that would aleve his confusion.


    ¡°Take a look inside.¡± Matthew said.


    Dr. Johns nodded and siddled his way inside the room. As he entered the room, he entered the projected image in the hallway.


    The manesologists returned to the Aldi Operation. They paid little attention to the little man in their little projected image. They paid little attention until he started screaming.


    Joseph caught Dr. Johns as he dashed out of the room. He had a great deal of experience with hysterics even before he became a manesologist.


    ¡°Calm down.¡± he consoled the physician. ¡°Calm down, Dr. Johns. Remember the family.¡±


    Mr. and Mrs. Lewis stood at the end of the hall. They ran to check on the scream.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Dr. Johns said to them. ¡°They¡¯re working very hard. This is a hard case. I saw something I didn¡¯t understand and I screamed. But I¡¯m fine now.¡±


    Mr. Lewis nodded and then with slow reluctance took his wife by the arm and led her away. Mrs. Lewis didn¡¯t want to move. She knew, as only a mother could, that her daughter was near her end, and all the work of the manesologists did was fill the minutes until the final moment.


    But her husband¡¯s gentle hand was hope, hope that the manesologists could save her daughter, hope that if she and her husband turned away and waited just a little longer that the manesologists would work a miracle. Just look away, and Santa will come with gifts. Just look away, and the faeries will work their magic.


    Her husband¡¯s hand was hope, and she grabbed it tight with both hands as it led her down the hall.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Dr. Johns muttered to the manesologists. ¡°I¡¯m useless, but I don¡¯t mean to be a hindrance as well.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Tell us what happened. We can see into the room but we didn¡¯t see what you did. Tell us what happened, its very important.¡±


    ¡°I was checking her vital signs and I noticed that her breathing was faint, very faint, so I took out my pocket mirror, see? Here.¡± Dr. Johns produced a small circular mirror from his pocket. ¡°I wanted to see her breath in the mirror. It¡¯s a way to check breathing when it¡¯s very faint. But as I checked the condensation, I noticed that Audrey¡­had no reflection.¡±


    Matthew took the mirror. He held it close to his gaeite candle. He worked the knobs on the gaeite candle¡¯s metal base, turning one as far as it would go one way and another as far as it would go another way.


    The hand mirror darkened as if gray mist clung to it.


    Dr. Johns gasped.


    ¡°Where was she found?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°Where was she found exactly?¡±


    ¡°She was found in the bathroom.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    ¡°And is there a mirror in the bathroom?¡±

 A Voracious Mirror. Chapter 4, The Demon in the Mirror

    Joseph and Matthew stared at the bathroom mirror. The light of their gaeite candles revealed a gray fog on the mirror. It was a trace, and they found it on every mirror in the house, but it was strongest in the bathroom mirror. The gray in it was almost dark enough to be black.


    Joseph pinched his wrinkled brow and felt his age. ¡°It¡¯s damned frustrating, Matthew.¡± he said. ¡°I got so excited when we found the trace on Dr. Johns¡¯ hand mirror, and then I got even more excited when we found the ectoplasmic trace here. I thought we were making progress, but we¡¯re still stuck where we were, looking at smoke in a mirror! We can¡¯t pull him out. We can¡¯t even make him appear!¡±


    ¡°It has to be our olprt, like Martin suggested.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s half physical light particles and half ectoplasm. Because the manes exists entirely within reflective surfaces, our Operations fail. The physical light of olprt is reflected back, and with it, its power.¡±


    ¡°I still find it hard to believe that this is the best we can do. We¡¯ve gone up against ghosts that can toss mountains clear over the moon, like the Brute, or Gog and Magog, but it¡¯s glass that beats us. Damned glass!¡±


    Martin entered the room and placed Dr. Johns¡¯ hand mirror on the counter.


    ¡°I was outside Margate before it started to brighten,¡± he said.


    ¡°Hm. That¡¯s a large unmanifested body.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Well, the manes¡¯ size does provide us with a slight advantage. We don¡¯t need to use the Aldi Operation to find it anymore. We know where it is. It¡¯s here and we¡¯re inside it.¡±


    ¡°Great God, is the ghost¡¯s unmanifested body really that big?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the first manes we¡¯ve encountered with an unmanifested body the size of a small town.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Then we have a lot of mirrors to collect.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I get the idea, Joseph.¡± Martin said. ¡°I can move fast when the dogs are carrying me. I can use the Aldi Operation on this mirror and turn it into an Aldi compass. Even with the reflective interference, it should be possible to do that. Then I use it to lead me to every mirror in Margate, I bring them here, and with so many points of manifestation, we should be able to use the Zacare Operation to pull the manes to us, reflections be damned!¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°This is possible now. This is actually possible. We¡¯re going to save the girl. Oh, I love it when I¡¯m wrong about things!¡±


    Joseph chuckled. ¡°I like it when you¡¯re wrong about things, too.¡±


    Martin unclipped his gaeite candle from his belt and held it tight in his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll need to do this alone. With the olprt weakened, the two of you would make mistakes I wouldn¡¯t and spoil the Operation.¡±


    Matthew and Joseph turned off their gaeite candles without protest. It was true that Martin was the strongest among them. The bathroom was momentarily a normal bathroom softly illuminated by candle light from the hallway with a mirror that clearly reflected the bathroom and the three manesologists, but as soon as Martin activated his gaeite candle, the room filled with silvery-white light and the mirror darkened until it was like a beetle¡¯s shell.


    A Dyeus Queen pointed to the West. That was where her son had fled. He did not take learning that he was dead well.


    The Aldi Operation


    The darkness in the mirror quivered like the skin of an animal. Then it started to swirl like a storm in a starless night. There was a sound like creaking glass on the verge of shattering.


    And then, faster than a blink, the darkness vanished from the mirror, leaving Martin to look at his own surprised expression.


    Bloody Mary had fled deeper into the mirror beyond the reach of Martin¡¯s Operation, beyond the reach of any manesological Operation that depended on photons.


    Martin grasped at the surface of the mirror with his fingers.


    ¡°Oh God. Oh God, oh god¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°I¡¯ve failed. I¡¯ve killed her.¡±


    Joseph touched his shoulder. ¡°Calm down, boy,¡± he said consolingly. ¡°You must calm down. You¡¯re a magic man.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s in the mirror and we can¡¯t get her out. It¡¯s not fair. It¡¯s not fair, we were about to save her!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s still the Zacare Operation. We can do it even without gathering up all the mirrors.¡±


    ¡°That would take days!¡±


    ¡°We may be lucky. The ghost might feel us pulling at him and attack us. It¡¯s happened before.¡±


    ¡°Not with a manes of this temperament, not with a ghost that hides from us in a mirror! There¡¯s nothing we can do! Nothing!¡±


    Martin¡¯s eyes went wide. A sudden thought crossed his mind.


    There was something they could do, or rather, something he could do.


    There was a certain thaumaturgical trick¡­


    Martin shook his head and banished the thought from his mind. No. No he couldn¡¯t do that. He would die doing it and then there would be two deaths tonight.


    Martin sighed. The strength had gone out of him and he wilted. ¡°It¡¯s not fair, Joseph. I thought she didn¡¯t have a chance when we walked in, but she had one. She had a real chance and I wasted it.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Dr. Johns stood in the threshold of the door. The manesologists hoped he hadn¡¯t heard too much.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°But there¡¯s a young lady that needs to speak to you three. Her name is Harriet Blackman and she¡¯s a close friend of Audrey¡¯s. She says that she knows why a ghost attacked her.¡±


    A teenage girl, eyes red from tears, shuffled into view.


    Harriet gaped at the three manesologists. ¡°Oh God¡­you¡¯re Ernst, Morton, and Glass¡­¡±


    Joseph nodded. ¡°We are.¡±


    ¡°I read about you in Illustrated Phantom Stories¡­oh, Audrey must be in a really bad state if you three are here. They told me that she was¡­very ill¡­¡±


    ¡°Harriet, we won¡¯t lie to you, girl.¡± Joseph said. ¡°She¡¯s dying.¡±


    ¡®Oh! Audrey!¡¯ Harriet grimaced as fresh tears swelled in her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s all my fault I ought to be sent to jail for murder!¡±


    She buried her face in her dress sleeve and sobbed.


    Joseph placed his hands on Harriet¡¯ shoulders while Martin placed a dog beneath her..


    ¡°Calm down, girl. Here, sit on this cushion of air.¡± Joseph gently leaned her onto the dog. ¡°They told us you had some information that might help explain what¡¯s wrong with your friend. Start from the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­yesterday evening, Audrey and I had an argument, not a big argument, but an argument. She said that there was no such thing as Bloody Mary, that she wasn¡¯t a real ghost, and I told her that too many people have seen her for her not to be real. She said she would prove to me that Bloody Mary wasn¡¯t real by trying to summon her, by doing all the things people said would make her appear in a mirror. I¡­I didn¡¯t think Bloody Mary was actually real! I was just having fun when I told her the steps!¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Bloody Mary is not real. Joseph said. ¡°And we would know. She¡¯s just a superstition. Girls have been looking into a mirror on Halloween night to see the reflection of their future husbands since my grandmother¡¯s time. Someone just came along and retold that superstition with the ghost of a woman added to it, and then as people started to talk about this woman in the mirror they started to say she was this murderess or that murderess. Bloody Mary is a rumor. She is not real.¡±


    ¡°Then what happened to her? They told me that a ghost had attacked her, stole her reflection somehow!¡±


    ¡°A ghost has attacked her. A ghost has attacked her and made her very, very sick. But the ghost isn¡¯t Bloody Mary. Harriet, sometimes ghosts awaken into physical reality very confused. They know nothing about their living bodies, nothing about their past lives. But they remember folklore. They see that they can fly and think they¡¯re angels. They see they can walk through walls and think they¡¯re faeries. This ghost has come to think of herself as the Bloody Mary of legend, but she is what we call a fetch, a pretender ghost.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it doesn¡¯t really matter what she is. What matters is what she¡¯s done to Audrey. Are you helping her? Can you help her?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re doing all that we can. Please, tell us what you told Audrey to do to summon Bloody Mary. We¡¯re having difficulty making the ghost appear before us through conventional manesological methods.¡±


    Harriet told them everything, and then, not feeling the least bit relieved about the situation, walked home.


    The manesologists went through the rituals. They went up the stairs, and down the stairs. They lit candles of wax while their gaeite candles hung dull at their sides. They turned around and around and stared hard into the mirror.


    But nothing they did, absolutely nothing, would summon Bloody Mary. The fetch was too clever and too well-protected. She knew she had only to do nothing, only to stay crouched behind the mirrors, to win.


    After several tries, the manesologists returned to the hall outside Audrey¡¯s room and resumed the Darsar Operation. The hallway once again held an image of Audrey and her room that allowed them to work miracles upon the girl without risk of spiritual contamination. Then, they worked the Zacare Operation. That it was their only hope went without saying. The Zacare Operation worked through the Astral, which touched every point of physical space. It could call a manes on the other side of the world to face the. It could call a manes out of a mirror. But the Zacare Operation required psychic familiarity. The more familiar one was with the summoned manes, the quicker and easier the Operation. Ernst, Morton, and Glass could summon Esmee or Nick in an instant because they saw them every day. But for a manes they barely interacted with, who resisted the glow of their gaeite candles, the Operation could take days. If they had only a little contact with her, if Martin had only been able to hold her before them for a moment, they could have summoned her in an hour or so.


    There was no hope of summoning Bloody Mary before the girl expired, and yet, there was simply nothing else they could do. And so, they stood in the hall, over the little image of Audrey Lewis, and wiped the sweat from their brows as they performed the Zacare Operation and willed with all their might for Bloody Mary to appear before them.


    The hours exhausted them, but they continued on, even as the sun started to set and the sunlight faded leaving the darkness of the house to surround their little bubble of silvery white light. Each of them suspected that they would fail, even Joseph, but only Martin knew with unerring certainty that they would fail, for he didn¡¯t dare to do the one thing that could save Audrey Lewis.


    ¡°How much longer do you think she has?¡± Martin whispered to his friends.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡± Joseph replied softly.


    It wasn¡¯t an answer to the question Martin gave voice to, but it was the answer to the question in his heart.


    Martin stared at Joseph.


    Joseph put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his bright eyes right through his dark lenses.


    ¡°Neither Matthew nor myself could have held her. We knew back in Blackwall that this haunting likely wouldn¡¯t end well. None of this is your fault, boy.¡±


    Martin¡¯s eyes watered. He looked away.


    Joseph held him close.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have hit you. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°You were right to hit me.¡± Martin said. ¡°This was the right thing to do. We tried to the end. That¡¯s honorable. What I would have done, that would have brought us knowledge without honor, and what good would that be?¡±


    Suddenly, Dr. Johns entered the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Lewis followed close behind him.


    ¡°They want to be here.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°At the end.¡±


    Martin looked at Audrey¡¯s parents. Reddened eyes met reddened eyes. Martin saw that Audrey¡¯s parents had expressions of pure despair. There was not a trace of blaming anger or harried fear on their faces. The hours had wrung away those feelings. There was only an accepting sorrow.


    ¡°I have to go.¡± Martin muttered as he pulled away from Joseph.


    Joseph held him fast.


    ¡°Please, Joseph, I need to go. I¡¯m not¡­I¡¯m not strong like you.¡± Martin said over choked sobs.


    Joseph looked him in the eye. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, boy?¡± he asked gently. Joseph could tell that there was something bothering his young friend beyond the presence of the parents, but Martin tore himself away from his grip and bolted out the door.


    It was quiet outside. Martin could no longer hear the parents crying and sobbing. His footsteps echoed down the empty street as he walked towards Whistle.


    The sun was setting and an orange light made things look warm compared to the silvery-white light of the olprt radiance, though the air was cool and comforting. What was happening inside the house felt as if it were a world away, but even an incomplete thaumaturgist knew that distance was as nothing to ghosts and their effects. What was happening inside the house might as well have been happening beyond the farthest star. Its effects still clung to Martin as close as his own shadow.


    Whistle tilted his head at Martin as he approached.


    ¡°Hello, horse.¡± Martin said. He generally didn¡¯t care much for Whistle, or any other animal. He found them unpredictable compared to his ever-reliable dogs. But Martin was in pain, and Whistle was another living creature. Martin envied Whistle¡¯s lower, animal intelligence.


    Whistle didn¡¯t have a care in the world. The horse was completely removed from the tragedy unfolding inside the Lewis¡¯ household. It was just another night for him.


    Martin patted the horse¡¯s head, fingertips passing through his translucent skin.


    ¡°Good horse.¡±


    Martin went inside the carriage and opened the trunk. It was a very special trunk. It was a sea chest once used by a ghost pirate to hold his treasure and was gifted to Ernst, Morton, and Glass after they convinced him that his tireless quest for treasure would no more bring him happiness in death than it did in life. The chest was infused with gaeite and maintained its position in space when surrounded by even the most gossamer ectoplasmic constructs. It didn¡¯t fall when inside a ghost ship and it didn¡¯t fall when inside a ghost carriage.


    Martin sifted through the chest¡¯s contents as he searched for what he wanted. He passed over a spare gaeite core, just in case any of their candles were damaged, painted to look like nothing more than a wooden block, a pair of dice carved from a dead man¡¯s skull, a few pages from the Orphicon of Galanis, the black claw of a peryton¡­


    Ah, there it was.


    A 1776 bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild.


    Joseph had placed it. He said that one might never know when one might need a drink. It and several bottles like it were gifted to Ernst, Morton, and Glass after they resolved a haunting in an Italian wine connoisseur¡¯s basement. Someone had walled up a man inside a wall and the man¡¯s ghost was understandably upset. One bottle was kept in the carriage and the rest of the bottles were kept back home in Blackwall, deep beneath the earth.


    Joseph had one of his dogs uncork the bottle. He gagged as he downed the bottle. He didn¡¯t normally drink wine, or other alcohol. His teachers at the Ror Raas taught him to avoid mind altering substances. Hashish and morphine might have been the drugs of choice for poets, but thaumaturgists consumed only tea and coffee in keeping with their precept that the workings of the mind should be clarified, not obscured. But Martin didn¡¯t want his mind to be clarified. He only wanted to be numb, and knew that alcohol was a way for men to numb themselves. He did not want to think. As a man of science and philosophy, this was the ultimate defeat.


    Martin took another drink.


    He wept.


    He beat his fists against the side of his head.


    ¡°Coward, coward, bloody coward¡­¡± he muttered to himself.


    It was not only because of his failure to hold Bloody Mary or the parents¡¯ evident despair that he stepped outside, though their suffering greatly disturbed him. He had stepped outside because he had, once again, found himself ensnared by the sacrifice of Odin. There were, once again, things he could not talk about with his friends, things that were tearing him apart. There was something he could have tried, something that could have saved Audrey, something he very nearly did when he saw the despair of the parents, something he feared he would do if he went back inside.


    Bloody Mary was protecting herself by protecting herself within mirrors. These reflective surfaces dulled the power of their olprt radiance by reflecting the part of olprt that was light.


    But gaeite candles and olprt radiance were tools of manesology.


    Not of thaumaturgy.


    There was something that he, and he alone, could have done¨Ca powerful, risky gamble that could have cost his life. That something was a thaumaturgical Operation. Martin was no true thaumaturgist, but he knew more about thaumaturgy and came closer to completing the Abramelin Operation, than he had let his friends know.


    He could use his very mind as a gaeite candle and his will as olprt radiance.


    What gave olprt radiance its power was that it was partly physical and partly metaphysical. It was light mixed with ectoplasm. It was an alchemical tool. Martin understood a great deal of alchemy, Matthew very little, and Joseph none at all. Olprt radiance allowed one, with the proper knowledge and disciplined thinking, to perform miracles in the alchemical direction of fire. The alchemical direction of fire meant that the powers of physical Earth, which meant human thoughts, acted upon the Astral, which meant ghosts, just as smoke from a fire rose from the ground and intruded upon the perfection of the heavens. But more things were physical than photons and more things were metaphysical than ectoplasm, and thus more things could function as a gaeite candle than a gaeite candle.


    Martin¡¯s mind was partly physical, part blood and muscle and nervous electricity, but because of his thaumaturgical education, his mind was also partly metaphysical. His thoughts did not write upon the Astral as did the thoughts of general humanity. His thoughts were of the Astral, and the dogs were but the simplest manifestation of this fact. And so, being part physical and part metaphysical, Martin could burn, and be a candle against the darkness that struck at the Lewis family.


    If he chose to be.


    He didn¡¯t dare tell his friends that he could set his mind afire and become a gaeite candle without light. He feared what they might say to him, because he had no idea what they might say. Would they tell him to do it? Would they tell him not to do it? Regardless, Martin believed that presenting them with such a choice wasn¡¯t right. This was his burden and his alone. This was what the sacrifice of Odin truly meant¨Cbeing alone with one¡¯s silent burdens.


    Martin sipped from the wine. He wished it would work faster on him. The girl would die soon, and then he would no longer have to worry about making any sort of choice. Regret, he hoped, would be easier to live with than indecision.


    Martin wiped away his tears. ¡°I hate you.¡± he muttered to the Whistle ¡°Damned beast. We bring you out, we take you back, Joseph brushes you and feeds you a carrot that falls through your mouth. You don¡¯t know where we take you or why. I wish I was you.¡±


    From the depths of his heart, the words of his old teacher Eliphas Levi suddenly sprang to his mind: ¡°There is nothing more to controlling demons than to do good and fear nothing.¡±


    Those words challenged the decision of his mind and strengthened the protest of his heart.


    Martin breathed as he was trained to breathe: in through the nose, and then out through the mouth. It was his first lesson, for controlled breathing led to controlled thoughts, and controlled thoughts opened the door to all the Operations.


    He would debate his problem out, as his teachers did whenever they came to an ambivalent impasse. He couldn¡¯t, as they could, interrogate his own soul on his problems, but he could still talk to himself. And so, he held a debate, mind against heart.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try it.¡± his mind argued, ¡°The risk is too great, the cost is too high. Bloody Mary is a formidable ghost to be able to do things you¡¯ve never seen before. You have never fought a ghost with thaumaturgy. You have never fought a ghost alone. You are very likely to die if you try it.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯ll die if I do nothing.¡± his heart replied.


    ¡°Think of all who depend upon you.¡± his mind argued. ¡°Don¡¯t for a moment think you are being selfish or cowardly. Think of how many times you¡¯ve saved Joseph and Matthew. They would have died long ago without your help. They will die if you aren¡¯t there to save them anymore. Think of how many people you¡¯ve rescued from violent manes. Think of how many people will die without you in the world. The girl is but one life weighed against countless.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯ll die if I do nothing.¡± his heart replied


    ¡°Think of what it means to die.¡± his mind argued. ¡°Think of them having to dress your body, buy a coffin, and set up a funeral. Think of putting all that in the lap of your friends.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯ll die if I do nothing.¡± his heart replied.


    And his mind had to concede that there was no answer to that one point.


    Martin placed the bottle on the ground. If things went wrong inside, he knew Joseph would want to finish the bottle.


    He carefully reentered the house. He didn¡¯t want anyone to hear him. He hovered silently off the ground with the aid of his dogs. He opened the doors by having his dogs smother the barriers so that no sound, not even a creak, was made.


    He glided down the halls until he came to the bathroom. Then, putting both feet on the ground, he prepared to face the demon in the mirror.

 A Voracious Mirror. Chapter 5, Shattering

    Martin commanded his dogs to wedge a broom against the doorknob. There might be sounds, horrible sounds, and he didn¡¯t want his friends to come in once they started.


    Martin gazed into the mirror.


    He saw no fear in his face and found it good that he could so easily disguise his inner thoughts.


    He strained his psychic eyes to see deep into the mirror, deep into where Bloody Mary hid. He saw a dot, a single black pupil in the center of the reflective surface.


    Martin breathed like his teachers taught him to¨Cin through his nose, out through his mouth.


    Martin spoke in the language of the Dyeus, the language of angels.


    ¡°Zacare.¡±


    An electric jolt shot through his body. He tasted blood in his mouth. It was only minor damage, but he had worked only a minor miracle. It wasn¡¯t meant to do anything more than draw Bloody Mary¡¯s notice. It was a nudge, not a pull.


    This was no manesological Operation. Manesological Operations were nothing more than men mimicking palimpsest memories of the Dyeus¡¯ spiritual art and science. This however, was the art, and the science, and the power, of the Dyeus.


    Martin saw the ectoplasmic traces of Bloody Mary as little black specs in the mirror. They floated like soot from a fire caught up in a gust of wind.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± he muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s grab the tiger¡¯s tail and pull.¡±


    ¡°Zacare da gafaonts.¡±


    Martin set his mind ablaze with power. No eye of blood and tissue could have seen the light that radiated from his body in spiked eruptions. This was light beyond olprt. This was source-light. This was the light of the single eye that stood at the summit of all things, that gazed down upon all and in gazing illuminated all. Though this light was significantly dimmed by its descent, it still held infinite potency. The Dyeus called it akele, which meant daughter of the purest light. Another interpretation was moon light.


    Martin¡¯s dogs braced his body as he convulsed. The power felt like thorns rolling beneath his skin, but pain was nothing. Pain was a primitive, solipsistic form of awareness and he learned to expand his awareness far, far beyond pain as an early lesson.


    The specs in the mirror expanded and devoured the mirror as night devoured day. Martin saw himself dimly as if in an obsidian sheet.


    ¡°There you are.¡± Martin said. ¡°Hello, dear. You aren¡¯t like other ghosts. But that¡¯s fine. I¡¯m not like other manesologists. I would like to talk, if we may, and if you¡¯re capable of it.¡±


    The mirror started to brighten. Martin felt Bloody Mary try to move herself deeper into the mirror, deeper into the Astral.


    ¡°Allar.¡±


    The mirror stopped brightening and then darkened to a hateful, angry black. Martin could no longer see his reflection in the slate black mirror.


    ¡°I can¡¯t let you go. May we talk?¡± Martin asked.


    It is hard to describe what Martin then felt. It was not a biological feeling, not a feeling based in any of the human senses. It could, perhaps, be best described as a tightening sensation, as if a giant hand has closed around Martin¨Cand then, pulled.


    Martin smirked.


    ¡°So, now you¡¯re trying to do to me what you did to the girl? Are you surprised? I think you are. I think you¡¯ve been surprised twice. You didn¡¯t want to claw at my reflection. You tried to run at first. You didn¡¯t think I could call you and I did. And now you¡¯re finding out that you can¡¯t take my reflection at all.¡±


    Martin chuckled.


    ¡°Oh, you know what you remind me of? A cat. A big, black cat. You remind me of a cat we keep back in Blackwall named Tybalt. He¡¯s a little pest. He likes to rub on my coworker¡¯s leg and scratch at mine. He scratches and scratches and scratches. That¡¯s you. Go ahead and keep scratching. Go ahead and keep trying to take my reflection. You might be able to hurt me, you might even be able to kill me, but not in that way, no, not with your favorite trick.¡±


    The glass began to creak like teeth set against each other tightly, angrily.


    Bloody Mary removed her grip, but Martin felt a new sensation. It was like the feeling one gets when standing on a high precipice. He could feel his mind being pulled into the mirror, into the Astral, into Bloody Mary¡¯s very being.


    Martin knew that in order to retrieve Audrey¡¯s reflection, he would have to allow Bloody Mary to swallow him. He would have to dive into the very heart of a voracious, insatiable mirror which fed on children. But it almost wasn¡¯t a matter of him allowing it. Her pull was strong, very strong.


    ¡°I had a feeling you would be this powerful. Just my luck. You¡¯re one of the most powerful manes I¡¯ve ever encountered. It¡¯s such a shame that your power is wasted on harming children.¡±


    Martin took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, as he was taught.


    It was a wonderful feeling to breathe deeply and freely. Martin hoped that he would be able to do so again.


    ¡°Look at me closely, Bloody Mary, I want you to see something. Do you see my eyes?Do you see how blue they are? The bluest eyes you¡¯ve ever seen, no doubt. These glasses of mine have special lenses. They dull the true color of my eyes. You see, I¡¯m a creature that lives behind a glass too.¡±


    Martin removed his glasses.


    What was behind the lenses threw two purple smears of light onto the blackened mirror.


    ¡°See? I¡¯m strange too. I might even be stranger than you.¡±


    Martin yielded to Bloody Mary¡¯s pull. He allowed her to yank his mind out of his body and what was more, he put his own force behind her pull. He rose fast into the Astral, fast enough, he hoped, to catch the manes off-guard.


    He rose into darkness and he felt his mind shiver with the sudden liberation. He was unbound, without a body, without weight, and soared through a dark sky that was without stars or limit. He left behind his cortisol and adrenaline burdened blood and with it his anxiety. He was pure mind, pure courage. He was pure will, pure action without any hesitation, and it was joyful being what he was.


    But his joy was short-lived. The darkness suddenly drained from the universe and revealed glass. Glass above, glass below, glass all around. The universe was a paneled with mirrors, and these mirrors were the eyes of Bloody Mary. She was surprised that her recent meal still twisted and turned inside her gut, but now her attention was drawn within herself. She looked within, turned all her eyes inward to gaze upon Martin, and set them to work destroying him.


    As pure will, Martin had no body, and no reflection, but such things did not matter in a world of pure abstraction. He was reflected anyway. He was reflected invisibly across an infinity of mirrors which began to crack and shatter. The mirrors shrieked as they fractured first into black spider-webs and then into crystalline mists.


    Martin felt himself shatter again and again and again. This was sympathetic magic. This was sympathetic magic¨Cstab a doll to stab a man, break a man¡¯s reflection to break a man.


    Martin countered by armoring himself in a form based on his body¨Ctwo legs, two arms, and a head. Bodily manifestation was a basic defensive technique. Psychic duelists who dismissed their bodies as chaff, as husks, neglected the benefits of a neurology crafted over aeons by evolution. The body, with its reflexes and instincts, was much faster than the conscious mind. Thus when the body was replicated here, in this place where the conscious mind ruled, it became like a swift blade, a weapon that, while not decisive on its own, was useful in psychic combat.


    Now that his form had a material substance, his reflections likewise filled with form and color. Martin could see his body distorted in a million ways across a million panes of glass. But the pain was less now that it was limited to a body. There was only so many ways a doll could be twisted.


    Martin held his hands in front of himself.


    ¡°Hubaro.¡±


    Light gathered in the space between his palms and was reflected on every surface. The light was his light, and carried the purple hue of his old wound. The mirrors became his, and now that they were his, he could do away with them.


    ¡°Avavago.¡±


    The mirrors shattered. Broken glass drifted like snow in the darkness. Martin felt as if he was inside a black snow globe. The glass swirled about him in prismatic currents.


    ¡°I put out your eyes, Bloody Mary, and I¡¯ll do more to you unless you give up the girl¡¯s reflection.¡±


    The darkness roared as if to say ¡°Never!¡±


    ¡°So you do understand me. That¡¯s good. I was afraid I was dealing with a manes of animal intelligence. You will show me the girl. Now.¡±


    ¡°Om Oma.¡±


    Martin recoiled at what his spell revealed.


    Before him floated not one, but several reflections. He saw Audrey Lewis, but also several young women he didn¡¯t know. Not one of their faces revealed peace. They showed horror, surprise, or confusion, but not peace.


    ¡°How many have you done this to?¡± he asked.


    It was a moment of hesitation that Bloody Mary seized upon. The purple light drained from the shards. They fell again under Bloody Mary¡¯s power and she hurled them at Martin like a wind full of razor blades.


    Martin felt tickling mixed with sharp, abrasive pain through his mental body. But he did not panic. He had been taught that it was over as soon as one panicked.


    ¡°Gmicalz.¡±


    Purple fire erupted from his body. Martin could have spread the fire to the corners of the universe and burnt Bloody Mary into submission, but that risked damaging Audrey¡¯s reflection, and so he pulsed the fire balefully from his body, just enough to get the stream of shards to back off. Then, acting on a hunch, he created a threatening blaze around the reflections.


    The world wailed.


    ¡°Do you see that? Do you see what I have around your precious collection? That¡¯s the fire of Acar. I don¡¯t think you know who Acar is, but you should know what fire is.¡±


    The flames began to turn into brittle glass waves. Bloody Mary¡¯s attention was upon the threat, and that gave Martin time to observe her with his psychic eyes and to think.


    She was some sort of fetch, that was obvious going by how she responded to the folk mythology of Bloody Mary. That meant that her personal memories were weak. She thought she was Bloody Mary because she could not remember what she was. She also did not have a body of her own. She appeared only as a presence or as mirrors. And she was highly protective of the bodily images she had stolen.


    Martin thought he understood.


    Without a body, she took the bodies of others. But evidently one body was not enough. Perhaps only one element of each body was to her liking and she sought to recreate herself by combining pieces? Perhaps she was simply a very vain and fickle creature?


    But maybe he strengthened her memory of her body, of herself, she would quit her mad obsession? Giving Bloody Mary sanity would be easier than trying to take Audrey¡¯s reflection from her by force.


    ¡°Sehul Menot Hngnis.¡±


    Bloody Mary changed. A smear of iridescence appeared next to the reflections. It elongated itself at several points. It formed a head, a body, and limbs.


    It was a change, but not nearly enough of a change.


    The world shimmered.


    If Martin had succeeded in awakening any slumbering memories or self-images, they were not dissuading Bloody Mary from retaliation.


    All was burning, glaring light. Martin burned like a gnat inside a fireplace. But through the pain, he conjured up a counter.


    He held out his hands and between them summoned a glass orb.


    ¡°That hurts very bad.¡± Martin said through clenched teeth. ¡°I think you should feel what it feels like.¡±


    ¡°Val Gisa.¡±


    Martin¡¯s orb flashed once. It reflected all the fire, all the light, and all the pain back at Bloody Mary. Then it was dark. There was no fight left to reflect. Bloody Mary had ended her attack. Like all that preyed on the defenseless, Bloody Mary could dish it out, but she couldn¡¯t take it.


    With the last remains of her power, Bloody Mary threw herself upon her reflections and shielded them and herself within a spun tumbleweed of glass tubes.


    Martin separated his hands. His crystal ball vanished.


    Though there was no air to breathe in this metaphysical realm, he mimed the old technique of his teachers and breathed in through his nose and then slowly out through his mouth. The memory of the act calmed him.


    The battle was over, but not the violence.


    Martin pooled his will and generated a purple fireball in front of the glass tumbleweed that protected Bloody Mary and her treasures. The purple light reflected off every glass tube and wire, staining Bloody Mary¡¯s defenses with Martin¡¯s power.


    ¡°I ought to affix you to a stone and toss you into an ocean. I can do that to you. I can make you stare at the ocean floor for all eternity, and you know what? I think you deserve it! Seven girls, and all just to what¨Cto try on their reflections? You mad animal! I really ought to punish you for that!¡±


    The glare that was Bloody Mary shimmered in fear like shaken foil, like a distressed icicle.


    Martin felt that fear, and for a moment, he delighted in it, but then he recalled more words from his old teacher, who continued to guide him, even after he left the path of the thaumaturgist.


    ¡°A thaumaturgist looks upon the wicked as invalids whom one must pity and cure. The world, with its errors and vices, is to him God¡¯s hospital, and he wishes to serve in it.¡±


    In this world, there was no air, and Martin¡¯s body was but a shadow of his body, but he still found the familiar action of breathing in through the nose and out through his mouth comforting.


    ¡°Wish to serve.¡± he commanded himself.


    Martin calmed himself. He brought himself down from the fury of pain and battle and regained his composure.


    ¡°Your mind is fractured. I cannot hate you. Even with your components strengthened, you remain a shattered thing. I will affix you, but not to a rock, and I will not toss you into the ocean. We will¡­I¡¯m not sure what we will do with you, but we will try to be as gentle as possible with you. That aside, I need that reflection, and if I have to crack you open like a watermelon and pull it out of you, I will, even if I break myself in the process. I¡­¡±


    Martin suddenly had an idea.


    ¡°How about a trade? You like reflections, but they¡¯re never enough for you. What if I could give you all the reflections that you want?¡±


    The fireball shrank to a single point of light and withdrew to his finger.


    ¡°Here, let me show you.¡±


    ¡°Matorb.¡±


    The purple point shot from Martin¡¯s finger like a bullet and hit Bloody Mary in the center of her massless being.


    There was an explosion of light. The entire universe of Bloody Mary¡¯s mind fragmented like a broken mirror. Purple fissures spread like spider-webs in every direction carving reality into panes. Each pain held a color of the iridescent shimmer that ruled this universe magnified and distilled into a tessellated rainbow that stretched several infinities in all directions.


    The shimmer crawled out of her glass nest and looked around. Martin could tell she was pleased by what she saw.


    The narcissist had finally found a mirror large enough for her ego.


    ¡°I¡¯ve fragmented you, like light through a prism.¡± Martin explained. ¡°All this around us? This is all you. This is you from every possible angle that can be expressed mathematically and some that can¡¯t. Here are your reflections. Here are enough reflections for a lifetime of introspective dress up.¡±


    Martin held up his hand. Purple light gathered at his fingertips.


    He snapped his fingers.


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    The universe returned to being a dull, featureless black.


    The shimmer screamed herself into a prickly mass of sharp light.


    ¡°You want it back? Then we trade. You give me the reflections you¡¯ve stolen, all of them, and agree to obey my every command, and I will bring it back. But if you cross me, at any time in the future, I will take it away forever!¡±


    The shimmer reached down with arms like morning sunshine into the glass enclosure. She speared the reflections and brought them out before Martin.


    She placed them messily before the manesologist, like a pile of clothes. Their forms and colors blended together into a mess of dresses and limbs.


    Martin shifted through the pile. Sorrow tore at his heart as he beheld their faces. Some were frozen in horror, or confusion, or awe, but all were frozen, never to change.


    Save for one. If he proved to be fast enough. If he proved to be lucky enough.


    He untangled Audrey Lewis. She drifted before him, as thin and fragile as a wet paper doll.


    ¡°When I tell you to, you will return this one.¡±


    Martin waved his hand. The colors returned.


    The shimmer expanded. Sparks of light drifted across the colored shards like a whirlwind filled with motes of fires. The sparks brushed against every shard, leaving some behind to linger as the rest moved to the corners of infinity.


    She filled herself. She felt herself.


    The bargain was made.


    ¡°We¡¯ll both be happy from now on, so long as you obey me.¡±


    Martin took his leave.


    ¡°Caosgon.¡±


    Instantly upon his return to physical reality, Martin was greeted by pain¨Cvibrant, pure, pain that blazed through his body like a fire. His battle with Bloody Mary created feedback on his body he could not detect until his physical senses returned.


    The pain was so great that it could have killed a normal man, but with a thought, Martin dulled his nerves. Pain was something he had absolute control over along with his thoughts, heartbeat, and breathing.


    But more concerning than the pain was what Martin saw when he looked at himself. He saw something that couldn¡¯t be shown in the mirror. Black manifestations pierced his body like pieces of broken glass. He was covered in jagged blades and each one signaled a wound upon his mind. It was as if a giant had thrown him through a pane of black glass, and then another one, and then another one.


    He could not determine the extent of the damage to his mind as he was now, or if any of the damage could be reversible. These wounds could be shallow, or they could be deep.


    What did his battle cost him? Permanent neurological damage? Forgotten memories? He could not know.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Martin muttered.


    He reached for his glasses and tapped the left lens.


    ¡°Nothoa.¡±


    To Martin¡¯s Astral eyes, the lens darkened, then returned to its transparency, marking the binding of Bloody Mary.


    He placed the glasses on his face. ¡°Now I¡¯ll always be able to keep an eye on you.¡±


    Then he summoned his dogs, both to hold him up, because he felt he might fall down if he had to walk, and because he knew time was of the essence.


    Martin commanded his dogs to push him through the house like a gust of wind. Joseph and Martin barely had time to realize he was there before he was past them and into the room, and certainly didn¡¯t have time for the olprt radiance of Matthew¡¯s gaeite candle to reveal the shards sticking in his body. Dr. Johns and Audrey¡¯s parents didn¡¯t notice Martin at all until he was by the girl¡¯s bedside.


    ¡®Where did you come from? Mr. Lewis asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re too late, and goddamn you for it.¡± Mrs. Lewis said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Dr. Glass, but she¡¯s passing now. Her heart just stopped.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    With his Astral sight, Martin saw that Audrey¡¯s soul floated above her like a black mist. It no longer touched her. It no longer had her shape.


    He feared, for a moment, that he was truly too late, and that all his struggles had been for nothing.


    But then he saw gray strands linking the cloud to Audrey¡¯s body and knew that all was not lost, not yet.


    ¡°Her heart shall beat again.¡± Martin vowed.


    Martin knew that this part would be hard, but not as hard as what had come before. He had her reflection, and some idea of how to restore it. He had seen thaumaturgists decouple from their souls without perishing as they completed the Abramelin Operation. This was that but in reverse. Instead of unbinding a soul, this was fortifying its bonds.


    He pulled back an eyelid. Sight was the mechanism by which her reflection was stolen and would be the mechanism by which it would be returned.


    Gently, very gently, he rolled back her eyeball so that it gazed lifelessly up at him.


    He sent a mental command to Bloody Mary to release her reflection, and Bloody Mary obeyed. His left lens flashed as dark as an opal, and then it cleared.


    Martin looked at the reflective surface of his gaeite candle and found Audrey¡¯s reflection was restored. But it would be the reflection of a corpse if not integrated with her body and soul.


    Martin touched Audrey¡¯s hand, already bereft of bodily temperature, with his own, and with his other, he touched one of the gray, gossamer strands that linked Audrey¡¯s corpse to her soul.


    ¡°Trof Vgear.¡±


    ¡°Oh god, what is he doing?¡± Mrs. Lewis sobbed. Fresh tears streamed down the thoroughly moistened currents of her wrinkled face. ¡°He¡¯s pinching the air and mumbling nonsense! Someone stop him! Just let my baby die in peace!¡±


    ¡°Etharzi.¡±


    Suddenly, Mrs. Lewis didn¡¯t feel afraid, or worried, or concerned.


    She couldn¡¯t explain why a wave of pure calm washed over her, but she felt it wash the anxiety from her soul.


    She looked at the manesologist standing over her daughter with dry eyes and found that, somehow, she could trust him.


    Martin smiled. He saw what he had hoped to see and it was proof that his spells were working. Audrey¡¯s reflection appeared in the form of a little gray shadow that covered her like a blanket. This was the odic-biological membrane upon which her vitality depended.


    But it was not doing its job. Audrey¡¯s soul remained at the very cusp of decoupling. The membrane had been replaced, but was not functioning.


    Martin suddenly remembered something that had occurred to him before he studied manesology, before he studied thaumaturgy, before he studied anything. When he was a boy, the family dog had birthed a stillborn as part of her first litter. His father took the motionless thing in his hands and touched it, rubbed it, prayed over it, and a mewling puppy crawled off his palm and returned to its mother¡¯s side. It was the first miracle he had ever seen, and he always strived to perform miracles like it.


    Perhaps if he coaxed the membrane, if he used just a little force¡­


    ¡°Carbaf Amipzi.¡±


    Martin pulled on the ectoplasmic string, very, very gently. He thought of a time he was walking Curant Street, back in Blackwall, and found a little boy crying. The boy had accidentally let go of his toy balloon and it floated high in the sky above his head. Martin summoned his dogs and had them push the balloon down until he could grab the string and hand it back to the boy, who, being young enough to assume that adults were innately magical and could do anything, did not ask how Martin had brought down his balloon and simply thanked him.


    He had pinched the string of that balloon exactly like he now pinched the ectoplasmic string.


    ¡°Carbaf Amipzi,¡± Martin repeated.


    And then Martin saw, to his great relief, that the dark cloud floating above Audrey began to brighten and thin just as the strings darkened. The direction of the soul had reversed. It now pulled itself back down into Audrey¡¯s body. In moments, the cloud dissipated, and Audrey¡¯s soul was concentrated in the black strings which stood rigidly upon Audrey¡¯s gray membrane like needles. Martin was reminded of the ancient Chinese art of acupuncture, in which small needles were driven into the body at points purported to mark the flow of life energy within the body. Acupuncture, like many arts of the ancient world, wasn¡¯t science, but had more truth in it than people realized.


    Soon, the cloud vanished and the needle-like strings sank into Audrey¡¯s body. The death shadow returned to her and she appeared as a black silhouette. Martin had rolled back the damage to what it was hours ago. He had transformed a dead girl into one that was merely dying. Now, if he could only produce a spark of vitality, just a spark¡­


    Martin took both her cold hands and held them between his own.


    ¡°Apila.¡±


    Audrey¡¯s pupils flexed.


    There, at last, in those brown eyes, was a spark of life.


    Now, Martin just needed to fan that spark.


    Martin removed his glasses and gazed into Audrey¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Apila!¡± Martin urged. ¡°Apila!¡±


    He squeezed the girl¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Apila!¡±


    Suddenly, the death shadow vanished from Audrey. Her soul returned, bound itself beneath her skin, and life returned to Audrey Lewis.


    Audrey jerked and spasmed as life returned to her limbs. Her body drank of the life-giving air. She inhaled, and coughed, and wheezed, and when she had enough sense to know she was awake, she sobbed, for she knew that she had escaped Bloody Mary through a miracle.


    ¡°Ha ha! Yes! Yes!¡± Martin exclaimed. Tears trickled down his monkshood eyes.


    Audrey looked up and saw a strange man with purple eyes standing over her. She knew not who he was, but she recognized her bedroom, and she recognized a warm smile and tears of happiness.


    ¡°Audrey, can you hear me?¡± Martin asked.


    Audrey sniffled. ¡°I¡­I want my momma¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s here, darling, she¡¯s here! Your mother¡¯s right here!¡± Martin waved for Audrey¡¯s parents to come over, then quickly moved one of his hands from Audrey¡¯s own and restored his glasses to his face. He had nearly forgotten to do that.


    ¡°Audrey! Oh, Audrey!¡± Mrs. Lewis nearly shoved Martin aside, reaching for her daughter. She held her close, as if she was the only piece of driftwood in a storm-tossed sea.


    Audrey sobbed. ¡°Momma!¡± she cried as she hugged her mother. ¡°Momma!¡±


    ¡°Dr. Glass¡­¡± Mr. Lewis said.


    ¡®Yes?¡±


    Mr. Lewis¡¯ mouth hung open. He wanted to say something, but had no idea what.


    Martin smiled and gestured to Audrey and her mother.


    Mr. Lewis made a sound in his mouth, then quickly said ¡°Thank you.¡± before rushing over to his family.


    Mr. Lewis held his family close. They were, at last, safe. They were all safe.


    Dr. Johns gazed blankly at Martin. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said. ¡°You resurrected her. You brought her back from the dead. I didn¡¯t think you could do that.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think I could either. But I did. I just barely did it, but I did, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    Martin looked at the Lewis family embracing as one and smiled.


    ¡°This is the greatest victory that can be seen.¡± Martin said.


    He placed an arm around Dr. Johns¡¯ shoulder. ¡°Look at what we¡¯ve won, Dr. Johns.¡±


    ¡°I did nothing.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    ¡°Incorrect. You did all that you could, which is exactly what I have done. Come, let¡¯s leave them to be happy, they deserve it.¡±


    Martin led Dr. Johns out of the room and commanded one of his dogs to close the door behind them. They stepped into the silvery-white olprt radiance of Matthew¡¯s gaeite candle and saw the two other members of Ernst, Morton, and Glass looking Martin up and down.


    ¡®He saved her.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how he did it, I can¡¯t know how he did it, but he just¡­appeared in the room and he said some things and did some things with his hands and she¡¯s fine now, she¡¯s perfectly fine. You can hear her crying with her parents.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s our magic man.¡± Joseph said. ¡°He¡¯s full of surprises like that.¡±


    Joseph crossed his arms and looked at Maritn. ¡°Alright, boy, you can start explaining. Matthew and I are about as in the dark on this as Dr. Johns. You went outside. That¡¯s where you left us. What happened?¡±


    ¡°I found the courage to do what I should have done when we first figured out the mirrors were interfering with our gaeite candles. I used thaumaturgy. My guess that the light within olprt radiance being reflected by the mirrors weakened our Operations was right. But through thaumaturgy, I could act upon her with just my will, and there¡¯s no light in willpower, no physical component to be reflected at all. I wrestled Audrey¡¯s reflection and the reflections of several other unfortunate girls away from Bloody Mary. Then I returned Audrey¡¯s reflection. That restored her Odic-biological membrane. And now she¡¯s well. Everything is okay.¡±


    ¡°You used your very mind? To fight a ghost alone?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°Not without difficulty, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Damn you and your surprises, magic man. One day you might share them all with us. So you set your very mind on fire to burn as a gaeite candle? Did it hurt?¡±


    ¡°Oh, considerably.¡±


    ¡°Good. Maybe it¡¯s taught you not to do something so stupid again. We¡¯re lucky that we aren¡¯t talking to your ghost right tnow¡±


    Martin smiled.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you smile like an idiot.¡± Joseph said. ¡°This is serious stuff, boy. You could have died and left Matthew and myself to pick what was left of you out of Bloody Mary¡¯s teeth.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Martin said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I just thought of something funny, something funny to me. My mind is all abuzz with thoughts.¡±


    ¡°And just what¡¯s so funny about what you¡¯re thinking?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°The way I reattached her reflection and fastened her soul back to her body. Well, from my perspective, it felt a little like giving a child back his balloon. Her soul was above her body, attached by the thinnest strands of ectoplasm you¡¯ve ever seen, and I grabbed one and just, well, pulled it back down.¡±


    Joseph smiled. ¡°You know what? That is a rather amusing thought.¡±


    ¡°I would swear you were all insane.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°But you do things I¡¯ve only read about in scripture, so you can¡¯t be insane. You just sound insane. I¡¯m sorry if that sounds rude, but it¡¯s how I honestly feel about you all right now, and if Dr. Glass can talk about balloons and souls, I think I should be able to talk about what I feel.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a problem.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Sometimes, I think we¡¯re insane too. Right now, I¡¯m pretty sure Dr. Glass had a spot of madness, because going off to fight Bloody Mary without letting us know was stupid to the point of madness.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t even hear you come in.¡± Matthew said to Martin. ¡°You must have done that thing where you use your dogs to move without a sound.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Martin admitted.


    ¡°You really didn¡¯t want us to know. Why?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Because before I found my courage, I had to fight myself over it. I weighed Audrey¡¯s life against my own, and the lives of all those I could possibly save in the future, including yours.¡±


    ¡°Including Matthew and myself?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes and don¡¯t you try and deny that I had to put you in the calculation.¡±Martin said. ¡°I¡¯ve saved you and Matthew before and I¡¯ll likely have to save you both in the years to come¨Cyou especially. Do you remember the Ballard Hall case? I thought we had lost you in that airless chamber.¡±


    ¡°What? Have you been keeping score? Are you going to bill me one day for all the times you¡¯ve saved my old carcass?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t kept score, don¡¯t be ridiculous, old man. But I knew if I saw you on my way to confront Bloody Mary, if you had said something to me, I might have stopped and turned back, out of fear that one day something would happen to you or Matthew and I wouldn¡¯t be there to save you.¡±


    ¡°Matthew and I were manesologists before we ever met you, boy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We made our agreement with the Ror Raas to devote our lives to being intermediaries between ghosts and men. That¡¯s our lives in total, boy. If it means we use them up completely, so be it.¡±


    Matthew nodded in agreement.


    ¡°One day we¡¯ll all probably die at the hands of some specter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I understand the decision you made was hard. I understand you having to weigh the lives you could save in the future against the life you could save in the present. But the next time you do moral calculus like that, don¡¯t include me and Matthew. Factor our lives as zero.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°If you care about truth and honesty, you will.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Our lives are not your life, boy. Use our lives as justification for going behind your partners¡¯ backs again and I¡¯ll break those big glasses of yours.¡±


    ¡°Say I told you two my plan. What difference would it have made?¡±


    ¡°Lord, you really have gotten a touch of madness, haven¡¯t you?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°What difference would it have made? Golly, boy, I don¡¯t know. What¡¯s the difference between talking to your partners and not talking to your partners?¡±


    ¡°Would you two have fought alongside me? Of course you wouldn¡¯t have. You couldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about whether or not we could have fought Bloody Mary with you. We could have been crippled and bedridden, that still wouldn¡¯t have given you the right to leave us out of your plans. We could have advised you, planned with you¡­¡±


    Martin shook his head. ¡°This is just another case of the sacrifice of Odin. I could not think of a way to talk to you about what I had to do, what only I could do¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, and here comes your magic man bit.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Strange how you never consider yourself one until you find it advantageous. Don¡¯t act like the problem was that you¡¯re so high and above everything.What you did wasn¡¯t because of your special magic strength, it was because of your own inner weakness.¡±


    ¡°Martin, were you afraid that we would have told you not to fight Bloody Mary?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t know what you would say. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t risk speaking to you.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Were you afraid that you would have wanted us to stop you?¡± Matthew asked.


    Martin hung his head. ¡°Perhaps¡­yes.¡±


    ¡°Then that¡¯s a weakness on your part.¡± Matthew said. ¡°And it isn¡¯t right that you blame your weakness on Joseph and I. We are your partners, Martin. Do not ever be afraid of what we might tell you. If there¡¯s a lack of trust between us, we are unbound from each other, and in our individuality, vulnerable.¡±


    Martin nodded. ¡°I am sorry, Joseph, Mathew. I see that now. I was blind and not in the way I thought I was. The fault here was with me.¡±


    ¡°In your case, you made yourself very vulnerable going behind our backs.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It looks like Bloody Mary skinned you alive with several knives and left them stuck in you.¡±


    Dr. Johns looked at Martin.


    And he saw that Martin, in the olprt radiance, was covered in black, jagged shards.


    The shards pierced up and down his body. They covered his arms, on his legs, and even his face. One bisected his eye.


    Dr. Johns sprang back. He took a deep breath and was about to scream, but he eyed the door and remembered the family behind it and covered his mouth with his hands.


    ¡°It¡¯s worse than it looks.¡± Martin said. ¡°Really.¡±


    Matthew switched off his gaeite candle. As the silvery-white light vanished, so too did the black shards seemingly piercing Martin¡¯s skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Matthew said. ¡°I thought you might have seen it already.¡±


    ¡°Of course I haven¡¯t seen it already!¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°Why would I be touching him if I saw that?¡±


    Dr. Johns looked down at his body and tried to see if he was pierced anywhere.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Matthew repeated. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to fear from them. They¡¯re purely mental manifestations. I thought that would be obvious to you.¡±


    ¡°If they¡¯re just mental manifestations, then does that mean they could have pierced my mind?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly safe to touch him.¡±


    Martin smiled and extended his hand to Dr. Johns.


    Dr. Johns gingerly reached for the hand, but remembered those sharp, pointed shards, and recoiled.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Dr. Johns, I¡¯m sorry if we gave you a little fright.¡± Joseph said. ¡°As manesologists, frightening people is the last thing we want to do. Just as sometimes what appears as very intuitive and obvious to Dr. Glass doesn¡¯t appear that way to us, sometimes what appears to us as intuitive and obvious doesn¡¯t appear so to laymen.¡±


    ¡°What was that though?¡± Dr. Johns asked. ¡°It looked like a whirlwind of broken glass blew through him!¡±


    ¡°Wounds.¡± Martin explained. ¡°Battle wounds. They¡¯re partly from Bloody Mary and partly because I used myself as a gaeite candle. I overexerted myself. Think of it as breaking a bone or pulling a muscle.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to act wounded.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    ¡°LIke I said, it looks worse than it actually is.¡± Martin looked down at himself. Though Dr. Johns couldn¡¯t see the shards without the olprt radiance, he could. ¡°These are like¡­dueling scars.¡±


    ¡°Oh, proud of them now, are you?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No. But I¡¯m going to have them for awhile, so I figure I might as well enjoy having them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m concerned that the wounds might be graver than you think.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Not too much graver, but still. Martin, could you summon your dogs and condense them? Make them like a tight fist.¡±


    ¡°I see what you¡¯re getting out.¡± Martin said. ¡°I¡¯ll do that right now and¨Cahhhhh.¡± Martin groaned and massaged his temple.


    ¡°I feared this.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I expected this.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Boy, did you really think you could take down that ghost by yourself with only a few odd manifestations clinging to your mind?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just have to hold off on using my dogs too much.¡± Martin said. ¡°They can move me around and close doors, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be squeezing coal into diamonds anytime soon.¡±


    Dr. Johns blinked. He didn¡¯t see Martin do anything. He just talked, and then he had a headache.


    ¡°I understand none of this.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°I feel as if I¡¯ve gone from out of a nightmare into a very strange daydream.¡±


    ¡°When I was in the bathroom fighting Bloody Mary, I saw that the Lewis family kept a bottle of laudanum. I don¡¯t think they would mind if you took a few drops.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going in that bathroom.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°Bloody Mary could be dead, bound, destroyed, whatever, I¡¯m not going in there.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of Bloody Mary, how did your confrontation with her play out?¡±


    ¡°I used the mirror in the bathroom to summon and hold her.¡± Martin explained. ¡°But she fought back. Considerably so. She tried to do to me what she did to Audrey and so many others.¡±


    ¡°Others?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Others. She attacked me psychically. My mind joined with hers and I saw inside her. She has a collection of reflections.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Six, not counting Audrey¡¯s own.¡±


    ¡°Is there any way we can return those reflections? Obviously it¡¯s too late to save anyone¡¯s life, but we could bring closure to some families.¡±


    ¡°It should be possible. She obeys me now. It¡¯s how I got her to restore Audrey¡¯s reflection. I can get her to show the reflections on glass and from there it¡¯s just a matter of finding a list of young women who perished under sudden and inexplicable fevers.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s awful to know she killed six more girls.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°But on the other hand, it¡¯s good to know she never will again. Who was she, though? Who was Bloody Mary?¡±


    ¡°She was what we call a fetch, a manes that believes herself to be a legendary or mythological figure. Do you remember the Knocker of the Huskar Pit?¡±


    ¡°I think I remember reading about him in Illustrated Phantom Stories.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    ¡°The Knocker was a young man named Alan. Because the spiritual component that controls memories and behaviors preserved from life was weak in him, and because the spiritual component that controls novel behaviors and the component that controls a manes¡¯ innate link with the collective thoughts of mankind were both strong in him, Alan believed himself a knocker, a kind of fairy that protects miners by knocking on the walls of mines to warn of cave-ins and disasters. He retained just enough of his memories to know that he wanted to protect his fellow miners, but not enough to know that he was once a human. He filled in the blanks with stories of knockers. Bloody Mary likewise maintained only a faint recollection of herself, whoever she might have been. She knew only that she was once a young woman but was now a manes, and one whose living body left only a poor impression. In that way, she was also a type of manes we call a wisp.¡±


    ¡°I know what one of those are.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°They look like balls of light, or puffs of smoke.¡±


    ¡°In Bloody Mary¡¯s case, like a glare of light. She longed to look again like a woman, and to that end used her strong connection to mankind¡¯s interconnected thoughts. She used that connection to reach out to young women who gazed long and hard into mirrors and asked to see a ghost. She saw their reflections and wanted them for herself. She collected them like clothes, but none of them satisfied her for long. None of them fit her. But she¡¯s satisfied now. She¡¯s a tamed animal on an unbreakable leash.¡±


    ¡°What did you do to her?¡± Dr. Johns asked.


    ¡°At first, I strengthened her component which controlled the memories of her life and her component which controlled the impression of the corporeal form. In doing this, I hoped that I could give her back her reflection. But those components were extremely weak¨Cif only all of her components were just as weak, the fight with her wouldn¡¯t have been so hard and I wouldn¡¯t have ended up a pincushion. It¡¯s a rule of manesology, you see. All spiritual components can be weakened to next-to-nothing, but they can only be strengthened to a certain extent past their natural strength. So with giving Bloody Mary back her old looks off the table, I shattered her.¡±


    ¡°You did what?¡± Dr. Johns asked.


    ¡°Refracted is probably a better word for it. I refracted her, like light through a prism. Optics were on my mind, so I just applied a little creativity. She is now an endless array of reflections. She has an infinite number of clothes to try on. She¡¯ll never be done, never be fulfilled, but she doesn¡¯t mind. She¡¯s like a hasher with an endless supply of opium, and to control her, all I have to do is threaten to take it away.¡±


    ¡°And where did you affix her?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Did you affix her to one of the crucifixes?¡±


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass always carried small crucifixes on their persons to affix ghosts. Through the Nothoa Operation, they could affix ghosts to any material, or even to a point in space, but found affixing them to crucifixes to be both practical and respectful.


    ¡°No. She likes mirrors. She¡¯s fully absorbed into being Bloody Mary. So I put her in the left lens of my glasses.¡±


    Dr. Johns gazed into the lens and tried to see anything besides Martin¡¯s blue eye.


    ¡°You won¡¯t be able to see her.¡± Martin said. ¡°But rest assured she¡¯s there. She¡¯s going to be there forever.¡±


    ¡°I never thought we¡¯d be able to add Bloody Mary to our list of helper ghosts.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Though I¡¯m not sure how much help a little murderess like her is going to be.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be a great help if we ever want someone dead.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°No. Other manes are better at that.¡± Matthew said. ¡°She¡¯s only useful if we want someone to die relatively slowly and in such a way that looks like a disease.¡±


    Martin smirked. ¡°Well, you never know¡­¡±


    ¡°I think I might actually have that laudanum after all.¡± Dr. Johns said.


    ¡°Nothing wrong with a little pick-me-up.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Do you have any more questions for us, Dr. Johns?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°Because with the girl safe and Bloody Mary affixed, we should be on our way if there isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I feel as if I should have questions. But no. No, I don¡¯t have any more questions.¡± Dr. Johns replied.


    ¡°Then take care, Dr. Johns.¡± Joseph said. The giant then shook his hand, and Dr. Johns felt as if he was a child shaking a grown man¡¯s hand. Martin and Matthew then took their turns shaking his hand, though for the life of him Dr. Johns couldn¡¯t understand why they wanted to.


    ¡°Dr. Johns, please tell the Lewis family that we¡¯re very happy for them, and that if they have any questions they should not hesitate to send us an electrogram, though it may take us some time to answer now that their case is not critical.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I will.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°And then I think I¡¯ll sleep for a few days.¡±


    ¡°Rest well.¡± Martin said.


    The manesologists turned to leave, and Dr. Johns began to form a syllable on his lips, though he wasn¡¯t sure for a moment if he wanted to let it fly.


    ¡°JJJJJJJJust one more thing!¡± Dr. Johns exclaimed.


    The manesologists stopped and turned.


    ¡°Dr. Glass, I know I will dream about this day for a long, long time, possibly for the rest of my life. When I see you in my dreams, will it be¡­just as a dream? Or will you actually be there?¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°Would you like to see me in your dreams?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, no.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°I struggle with the nightmares mundane life gives me. I mean no offense, Dr. Glass, but while I don¡¯t think I would mind seeing you again in waking life, I don¡¯t think I could stand seeing you while I sleep. I think I would cry.¡±


    ¡°Say no more.¡± Martin leaned close to Dr. John¡¯s face. Martin lifted his dusky glasses, and for a moment, Dr.Johns thought he saw his eyes flash an inhuman purple, a purple like that of monkshood, but he decided that it must have been his imagination, for a moment Martin¡¯s glasses were back on his face and his eyes were blue once more.


    ¡°What just happened?¡± Dr. Johns asked.


    ¡°I used a little mesmerism to make it so that you won¡¯t have to worry about dreaming of this day.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay.¡± Dr. Johns said. Martin could have told him anything and he would have accepted it at this point. He could have told him that he turned his soul into cottage cheese, and Dr. Johns would have said ¡°okay.¡±


    ¡°Boy, do you want to shred your mind apart?¡± Joseph snapped at Martin.


    ¡°That was just some mild mesmerism.¡± Martin said. ¡°Nothing like real thaumaturgy¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be doing any mesmerism until we get all those shards out of your mind.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You might have just lost a memory or two.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯ve lost a memory.¡±


    ¡°You mean you don¡¯t remember losing a memory? That would be the point, you mad magic moron!¡±


    ¡°Let us to Whistle and his carriage.¡± Matthew said. He then turned to Dr. Johns. ¡°It was good to work with you.¡±


    ¡°I did nothing.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°I keep telling you people that, and you keep acting as if I¡¯ve done something. It makes me think that I have done something, but I can¡¯t think of what that something could possibly be.¡±


    ¡°That people do nothing can, in its own way, be helpful to us.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Sometimes, human interference is more difficult for us to overcome than the supernatural power of manes.¡±


    ¡°I should go check on Audrey, now.¡± Dr. Johns said. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s fine, but I should check on her nonetheless, shouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡± Martin said.


    Dr. Johns turned and walked back into the room. Audrey¡¯s parents asked him a dozen questions and he could answer but one¨Cthat Audrey was truly well again. There was a loud whistling sound outside as the manesologists returned to Blackwall, and Dr. Johns found that he was left as a simple physician caring for a simple problem of badly frayed nerves.


    With nothing more to be done, Dr. Johns recovered his black doctor¡¯s bag from the corner of the room and took his leave.


    Outside, night had fallen and the stars were out, and yet, somehow, it felt as if it were a bright and refreshing morning.


    Martin would gradually recover from his injuries. Within a month, he regained full control over his dogs. Within two months, most of the shards had dissolved. But he would never lose all of his shards. Though they would become so faint so as to only reveal themselves at the most sensitive levels of olprt radiance, he would always have a few within the deepest parts of his mind. And when he became old and powerful and ascended to a state that his younger self could never have comprehended, he kept a single shard within his mind as a memento of his young life, for he had reached a state where such minor wounds within his mind had no effect upon his functioning.


    Bloody Mary would remain a rarely-used secret weapon in the left lens of Martin¡¯s glasses for all the years Ernst, Morton, and Glass remained in operation. Through study of Bloody Mary¡¯s ability to steal reflections, mankind¡¯s understanding of the Odic-biological membrane increased, and Dr. Ernst would publish a paper on the subject in 1868 titled Osmotic Action Between Body and Soul.


    Following Martin¡¯s retirement from manesology in 1905, he entrusted his glasses, which he no longer hid behind, to the care of American manesologist John Leeds, who would put the glasses in the New Jersey headquarters of the American Manesological Society where they remain to this day. Bloody Mary has been content to live inside her little glass, completely absorbed in the solipsistic study of herself from all reflections and all angles.


    The weakness olprt radiance had against mirrors was investigated by the Ror Raas and corrected in 1868 by a thaumaturgical spell. From that moment on, olprt radiance suffused a mirror without being reflected by it. A mirror in a room full of olprt radiance would show the room without it, even if the room was pitch black, creating a strange optical effect where a lit room had a dark mirror.


    The various reflections Bloody Mary had stolen were eventually returned to their corpses, and those that buried them gained closure from knowing how and why their loved ones took ill so suddenly and perished¨Cand that it would never again happen to another girl. Most reflections, once identified, were easily returned, but a few created cases of their own through unexpected complications¨Cbut these stories are for another time.


    Who Bloody Mary was in life was never uncovered and her identity remains a mystery to this day.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 1, A Creature the Color of Blood. 1/3

    1883, Late June


    Elizabeth West loaded one of the Winchesters and then another as the dogs outside continued to howl and whine. This had the makings of another Indian attack, and an attack at the worst possible time. Adam and Frank were far from the ranch. There was only herself and Dorothy Richards, and Dorothy wasn¡¯t answering, no matter how much Elizabeth shouted.


    But Elizabeth tried again. What else could she have done?


    ¡°Dotty! Dotty! Dotty, where are you!¡± she cried.


    Still no answer.


    The dogs continued to howl as Elizabeth placed one rifle on a table and clutched the other tightly in her hands.


    She looked out a window by the front door. The dogs were howling at something over the hill. They stood like sentries rooted to the spot and when they barked, they barked so forcefully their bodies quaked.


    Elizabeth prayed the dogs wouldn¡¯t die. The Indians killed their dogs the last time they attacked, and several cattle as well.


    Whatever was over the hill would not reveal itself. The dogs kept barking, and barking, and Elizabeth began to suspect that whatever they were barking at wasn¡¯t a band of Indian raiders. The Indians didn¡¯t wait like this last time. They shot the dogs, and then rode up to the ranch, firing blindly into the air in an effort to scare them out.


    After a minute of waiting, Elizabeth was sure that she wasn¡¯t dealing with a band of raiders. But what were the dogs barking at? What could it be? A wounded animal, maybe? Something too damaged to move but too large for the dogs to attack?


    Or maybe--a wounded person?


    ¡°Dotty?¡± Elizabeth called out again. ¡°Dotty, are you hurt, girl?¡±


    Elizabeth slowly unbolted the door and crept outside. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. ¡°Dotty! Dotty, are you there? Are you hurt?¡±


    There was still no answer.


    Then the dogs stopped barking. They became as still as statues.


    And then, yipping and whining, they bolted toward the house. They nearly knocked Elizabeth to the ground as they scampered to a hiding place in the back of the house.


    Elizabeth then saw why they ran.


    Slowly, over the hill, rose a large, red shape.


    It was four-legged, but that was where its similarities with any creature Elizabeth knew ended. It was covered in fur the color of blood. It was large, so large, Elizabeth never knew something could be so large. Its legs were long like stalks and its neck long like a snake. Its neck twisted about as it threw its head back and roared.


    It was a cry that brought Elizabeth to her knees in prayer.


    Through her tears, she could see something white on the creature¡¯s back, something round like a shell, but it didn¡¯t cover the entirety of the red back.


    The white something on its back nearly went horizontal as the creature brought its legs up, and then down, again and again, hammering at the ground.


    Its blows echoed through the prairie like thunder. Elizabeth shut her eyes tight and repeated her prayers.


    Even when the thundering stopped, she didn¡¯t dare open her eyes. She sat in silence, rifle clutched in her hands, and waited. The whimpering of the dogs in her bedroom was the only sound she heard.


    She thanked God when she saw Adam and Frank come riding over the hill, for she believed that her prayers had been answered, but as they got closer, she saw that something was terribly wrong. Their faces were bloodless and bore expressions of purest fear. When they approached the porch, they didn¡¯t bother to hitch their horses, they jumped out of their saddles and bolted through the door.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Adam hugged Elizabeth tight. She sobbed in his arms.


    ¡°Adam, oh, Adam! There was a monster over the hill! A red monster! It was horrible, like something from a nightmare!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Adam whispered. ¡°It¡¯s all okay.¡± But as his hands lowered her into a chair, Elizabeth could see that things were far from okay. She looked over Adam¡¯s shoulder and saw Frank Richards. There were tears in his eyes.


    ¡°Where is Dorothy?¡± Elizabeth asked. ¡°I¡­I couldn¡¯t find her. I screamed and screamed for her when the dogs started howling but I couldn¡¯t find her! Where is she, did you find her?¡±


    The men did not answer, but Frank recoiled as if a blow had struck him. He tightened his fist. Through his fingers, a mass of red hair seeped like blood from a wound.


    1883, Mid-July


    Whistle came to a sudden stop and Ernst, Morton, and Glass were tossed forward by the momentum, stopping only because of the ectoplasmic straps that secured them to the sides of the hollow carriage.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± Martin Glass said. The youngest member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass undid the straps that fastened him and his friends with but a touch. His brief education under the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas had left him with esoteric skills, including the ability to reshape ghosts and all their ectoplasmic manifestations with a touch, as if ectoplasm was mere clay to his hands.


    The three trampled over the hay that littered the inside of the hollow carriage as they left. The hay glowed like fairy gold.


    Whistle was a horse, and horses knew only a little of how the world worked. In Whistle''s experience, enclosed spaces, such as his barn, had hay, and so he assumed that hay had to be inside the little enclosed space that was always attached to him whenever he left his barn. Whistle expected there to be hay, and so there was hay. It was the same reason why the featureless shadow of a coachman sat above the carriage and held his reins. He expected there to be a coachman when he was out and about, and so there was.


    ¡°Ah, this weather is so nice!¡± Joseph Morton stretched his massive, wrinkled body and soaked in the sunlight like a wilted plant. ¡°Weather this nice is wasted on the Yanks. Blackwall is nothing but cold air and moisture by comparison! And look at that sun! Beautiful!¡±


    Martin Glass wiped down his glasses, and kept his eyes shut while doing so, lest his friends see how blue his eyes really were, and ask why they were such a vivid purple color. It was just one of the secrets he kept from them.


    He put them back on his face and joined Joseph in marveling at the sun. ¡°That really is an incredible view. The wonders of the sky are preserved out here in Arizona. There aren¡¯t any steam beasts or five story buildings to get in the way.¡±


    Matthew Ernst gestured to a white ranch house marked with a gaeite candle, the universal symbol of manesologists. ¡°It¡¯s nice to see this, too.¡± he said quietly. ¡°A real wooden building! Back home, you have to go all the way out to Epping Forest to see wood in any form besides a table.¡±


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass had arrived at one of the many stations used by the American Manesological Society, or Poeists as they were commonly called, built across the Americas. England was a small country, and so their single office in Blackwall was sufficient. But America was huge. The Poeists¡¯ first station, built several years ago in New Jersey, might as well have been placed in China for how far away it was from the Arizona territory. Thus many Poeist stations came to dot the American landscape, and every few years another sprang up.


    A man in a duster coat and stetson hat came outside the station to greet Ernst, Morton, and Glass. ¡°Welcome back to America!¡¯ he said as he approached.


    The silver star pinned to his chest said DEPUTY US MARSHAL and proclaimed his authority, but it was his skill with the revolver strapped to his side that guaranteed it.


    This man was Bass Reeves, a man who was a storied and colorful character before he ever joined the Poeists. Once the slave of a man named George Reeves, he escaped after beating George severely for cheating him in a game of cards and spent several years living among the Seminole, Creeks, and Cherokee. When the Ror Raas brought an end to the American Civil war in 1863 and the institution of slavery by placing fires in the sky over the Battle of Shiloh, Mr. Reeves used his newfound freedom to become a farmer in Arkansas.


    In 1875, he was made a deputy marshal of the Indian territory under marshal James Fagan and judge Isaac Parker. Though a black man, no one could not deny that Mr. Reeves¡¯ knowledge of the land and fluency in several Indian languages made him an ideal deputy, and Mr. Reeves became one of the greatest lawmen America had ever seen. He had captured more than a thousand outlaws and was known for his skillful marksmanship with revolvers and rifles.


    Bass Reeves joined the Poeists in 1880, and found the work not too dissimilar from law enforcement. Both involved hunting down targets over a vast area. Both required quick thinking and quick reflexes. Both were highly dangerous professions. Mr. Reeves continued hunting down human criminals without missing a beat--his work with the Poeists just increased the number of men on his list.


    Mr. Reeves was 45 years old, but age had affected him little, if at all. His beard was thick and dark without so much as a touch of gray. His skin was without a trace of wrinkles.


    Mr. Reeves shook the trio¡¯s hands and then turned to Whistle. ¡°So this is the legendary ghost horse!¡± he said.


    Mr. Reeves touched the creature¡¯s snout. ¡°And he¡¯s just as friendly as they say!¡±


    ¡°Would you like to feed him a carrot?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°He eats?¡±


    ¡°Well, he thinks he eats.¡± Joseph produced an orange treat from his massive pockets. ¡°Here, try.¡±


    Mr. Reeves took the carrot and smiled as Whistle first sniffed it, then chomped it between his teeth.


    ¡°Ectoplasmic carrot?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    Joseph pointed a thumb at Martin. ¡°He makes them. Not the most glamorous use of thaumaturgical powers, but Whistle deserves a treat every now and then, and normal carrots just fall right to the ground through his chin.¡±


    ¡°Thank you all for coming such a long way from England.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Not a problem.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Whistle makes distances a trivial matter, and we¡¯re always glad to help our American cousins.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s good thing you¡¯re here, we need your help. The Bisclavret siblings are back home in Louisiana investigating sightings of a human-shaped shadow that reportedly ate a person near Honey Island and Dirk Peters is in Washington, because they keep seeing Lincoln¡¯s ghost, so we need the extra hands for this case.¡±


    Mr. Reeves pointed to Whistle''s carriage and rider. ¡°Do we need to move any of that?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Matthew said. ¡°They¡¯re part of Whistle, like how the clothing of many a manes is part of them. Whistle believes he needs a carriage and coachman when he¡¯s out and about, and so he has a carriage and coachman.¡±


    ¡°So we don¡¯t need to hitch him?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡± Matthew pointed to two square pieces of leather placed at the sides of Whistle''s eyes. ¡°We figured out when we first met Whistle that as long as his blinders are on, he¡¯s passive.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but if you take them off, look out!¡± Joseph said. ¡°He¡¯ll crash around like a four-legged tornado--but worse!¡±


    ¡°Well, if Whistle''s good to sit out here, then we can head on inside.¡± Mr. Reeves led Ernst, Morton, and Glass into the station.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 1, A Creature the Color of Blood. 2/3

    The inside of the station was filled with the mementos of past cases and adventures. Most of the Poeists¡¯ trophies were kept back at their main station in New Jersey, far to the East on the coast of the Atlantic, but the Arizona territory station had a few marvels all its own.


    There was the feather of a Thunderbird, a great and mighty prince of the realm of Fairy, and so large was the feather that its glass case took up an entire wall. The feather was a gift from the Thunderbird Nanabush, though he more often took the form of a horned rabbit called a jackalope, who befriended the American Manesology Society after they helped an Ottawa trader by the name of Neyas Petosega, who was a fairy on his father¡¯s side and a shapeshifter on his mother¡¯s side, and ran into difficulties due to his mixed parentage.


    The feather was the color of lightning, white at the center and blue around the edges. There was a glow to it, and those unfamiliar with Thunderbirds often assumed that the feather was a long window made out of ghostly ectoplasm at first glance.


    On the opposite wall was a mouth-tentacle from the infamous shapeshifter known as the Snallygaster. Though not as long as the feather, it was still twice the height of a man. The slimy red appendage was claimed when little Adeline Bisclavret put her dainty hand on the tentacle, transformed it into a burly loup-garou claw, and pulled.


    That didn¡¯t kill the Snallygaster, his death came later when Adeline¡¯s brother Etienne wrestled the shapeshifter into a firepit. Fire was one of the few things that could truly destroy a shapeshifter.


    Below the tentacle was a gray canvas sack once used by a ghost known as Bloody Bones to carry away any wayward children that crossed his path. The sack was empty, but the sobs of children still echoed softly within its dark interior.


    Hanging by the fireplace was a case containing a white bandana and two pearl handled Colt revolvers. These were tools used by a mysterious vigilante known only as the Sunrise Kid, for that was when he appeared to outlaws and desperados. The Sunrise Kid, due to his superhuman exploits, such as when he disarmed the entire Clayton Gang by shooting their revolvers out of their hands, was commonly believed to be a ghost, but he was not. He was a living man, albeit one with superhuman abilities. He was, like ghosts, a representative of a race that was becoming more and more common by the day. The mask and guns were spares, gifted to the American Manesology Society by the Sunrise Kid as a way to apologize for them having to investigate him and waste their time with a being that, while peculiar, was not a ghost.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always loved how you put up trophies in your buildings.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I think we made a mistake putting all our interesting memorabilia in the basement.¡±


    Joseph gestured to a strange creature stuffed and displaced crouching on a rock. ¡°This one¡¯s new. What is it? It looks like someone crossed a monkey with a lizard.¡±


    The creature indeed looked like what Joseph described. Its body was hairless and scaled, but the head was rounded unlike anything reptilian. On its back were triangular spikes which ran down its spine and tail. Its eyes were black and shaped like beans. Its mouth was open, and Joseph could see small, but sharp, teeth and a red, forked tongue.


    A plaque below the creature read 1883--Cholula Rivadavia.


    ¡°They call this little fellow a goat-sucker, though it sounds better in the original Spanish--chupacabra.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°That sounds far too pretty to be ¡°goat-sucker.¡±¡±


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    ¡°I put holes in this poor devil back when John-a-Doors sent us south on some nagual business. I didn¡¯t want to do it, because these little critters are rare, nuisances to ranchers though they may be, but it jumped at me, and my reflexes being what they are, I put two in its little head before it got its claws to me.¡±


    ¡°Excellent reflexes.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Age has done nothing to you, I¡¯m jealous!¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I wouldn¡¯t be here today if they were any less. Outlaws would have put me under decades ago if I slacked even an inch.¡±


    Joseph looked closely at the goat sucker¡¯s scaly, yellow head. ¡°Excellent taxidermy as well. You have to look close to see the stitches.¡±


    ¡°Thank you again. Did it myself. These hands of mine are good for more than pulling triggers. Chupacabras, according to John-a-Doors, are fairy kin. They mostly populate South America, though a few have been sighted in the United States. Apparently, they came about when a nagual made a deal with a fairy, which they call nunnehi in these parts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I already don¡¯t like the sound of this.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Nagual are not natural shapeshifters, like the Bisclavret clan and their kinfolk back in France. They have to make a bond with an animal they call a tonal before they can turn into that animal. Well, one nagual wanted to break the trend of bonding with crows and coyotes and typical things like that. He wanted a tonal that was unique, and the fairy promised to show him an animal that had never before walked the Earth. The problem was, the way the deal was worded, it allowed the fairy to bring over an entire mess of goat suckers, an entire herd.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how they get you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s always word games with them.¡±


    ¡°It was something like ¡°Show me animals that have never walked the Earth.¡±¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that would do it.¡±


    ¡°Apparently, goat suckers are a kind of pest over in Fairy. They¡¯re like rats or weevils. Fairies are always looking for a way to get rid of them because they keep cattle just like humans do and dislike lizard monkeys feeding on them. The poor things though, they¡¯re likely to be wiped out soon. Not only do ranchers shoot them on sight, but the nagual, he was ripped off and he knew it, and he made it his life¡¯s mission to hunt down and kill every single goat sucker.¡±


    Mr. Reeves looked down at the goat sucker and patted its head. ¡°I wish I didn¡¯t kill the poor thing.¡±


    ¡°It charged at you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°What else could you have done?¡±


    ¡°True, true. Anyway, enough gawking at the trophies, let¡¯s go talk to Mr. Leeds, gentlemen.¡± Mr. Reeves led the three manesologists to a door. ¡°He¡¯s right through here.¡±


    Mr. Reeves opened the door and led the three into a simply furnished office. There was a desk and three chairs. It was all the little office had room for, and so Mr. Reeves stood by the door while his guests took their seats.


    Behind the desk was a figure shrouded by a long, white cloak and wide-brimmed hat. Everything about the man was hidden by fabric or shadows.


    He held up a stiff, gloved hand to greet the trio. ¡°Good day.¡± he spoke from a shadowed cavity below his hat.


    Mr. Leeds was an old friend of Ernst, Morton, and Glass. They had met him far back in 1867 on the East Coast of the United States, in a place called the Pine Barrens, and they helped him overcome his physical abnormalities. Mr. Leeds then supplanted Dirk Peters as leader of the American Manesological Society, which Mr. Peters didn¡¯t mind at all given that Mr. Leeds¡¯ great age made him incredibly wise.


    Mr. Leeds was born in 1735. He was 148 years old.


    He was, surprisingly, not the oldest man to walk the Earth today.


    ¡°Welcome back to the states, Gentlemen.¡± Mr. Leeds¡¯ voice was slow and awkward and came in slurping whispers. It was the fault of what Ernst, Morton, and Glass recorded as ¡°birth defects¡± in their notes back in their Blackwall library. His neck was too long, like a pipe, and air whistled going in and out of it. His tongue was too long, and sloshed around his cavernous mouth to make syllables.


    But none of that, of course, could be seen through the cloak.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need that coat and hat, Mr. Leeds.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Not with us around. And isn¡¯t it awfully hot here compared to the East Coast?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an ingrained habit, Joseph.¡± Mr. Leeds said. ¡°I feel as if these clothes are my own skin.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even like us seeing him without his clothes. Though I doubt any of us would be comfortable if one of us suddenly stripped down.¡±


    ¡°I still think you should try the John Tenniel clothes.¡± Joseph said to Mr. Leeds. ¡°I think the clothes would look smart on you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll decline, though I have considered something like a harness to help take the weight off my wings. But let us to business.¡± Mr. Leeds moved a corner of his cloak over the table, and when he removed it, photographs were left behind.


    The photographs showed a horribly mangled corpse from several angles.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 1. A Creature the Color of Blood. 3/3

    ¡°Ah, God, the poor woman.¡± Martin flinched from the photograph. ¡°Was this a woman?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mr. Leeds answered. ¡°Her name was Dorothy Richards. She was a rancher¡¯s wife.¡±


    ¡°It looks as if someone hit her with a large hammer.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Again, and again, and again.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Joseph disagreed. ¡°This is more like¡­tiny explosions.¡±


    ¡°Like a scatter gun at close range, right?¡± Mr. Reeves suggested.


    ¡°Yes, exactly Mr. Reeves.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I thought the same thing until we learned a ghost did it.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°It must have been quite a savage one.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Poor Ms. Richards looks like the Brute of Ipping got ahold of her.¡±


    ¡°We think it may be the ghost of an animal.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Like Whisper, but of a vastly different temperament.¡±


    ¡°And species.¡± Joseph said. ¡°If she was trampled to death, it couldn¡¯t have been by a horse, but then again, if the khet spiritual component is strong enough, a ghost can appear as small as an ant and still be able to toss around a mountain like a toy.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Reeves, can you continue informing Ernst, Morton, and Glass about the Red Ghost?¡± Mr. Leeds asked. ¡°I would like to rest my voice.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°If you all would turn your chairs to me, I¡¯ll bring you up to speed on the situation. It¡¯s like this, on June 5th, at a ranch along Eagle Creek, two women were left by themselves. There was a spate of Indian attacks in the area, and their men had gone to investigate a possible attack on their neighbors¡¯ properties. According to Ms. West, their dogs started to howl around sundown. She got her rifle and tried to find Ms. Richards, who had left the house to draw water for their cattle, but was unable to locate her. She stood by her window and watched, expecting Indians to come rushing to her door any moment. But they never came. The dogs kept barking at something over the hill, and eventually she figured that what they were barking at wasn¡¯t an Indian. She began to fear that Ms. Richards had gotten herself hurt outside and that the dogs were trying to call someone over to help her. She opened the door and began calling for Ms. Richards. That was when she saw it--what people are calling the Red Ghost.¡±


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°Oh. Another Red Ghost.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not our first Red Ghost.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°There was the Red Ghost of Essex, named such because he kept bleeding, and the Red Ghost of Nottingham, named such because he was dressed up all in red.¡±


    ¡°Any of those Red Ghosts go on four legs?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°No.¡± Matthew answered.


    ¡°This one does. Ms. West said that it was like a horse but bigger, much bigger. And it was hairy, like a bear, but even larger than a bear. Its legs were long and she compared them to the legs those steam beasts standing over Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°It was as big as a steam beast?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No, but if really was bigger than a house, she probably would have made a more comprehensive report. She said that there was something large and white on its back, but with the distance separating her from the Red Ghost and fear clouding her mind, she couldn¡¯t be sure what it was. She said it might have been a man, hunched over and covered with a white cloak, like what Mr. Leeds is wearing, but she also said that it might have been luggage strapped to the animal¡¯s back and covered by a white cloth.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s luggage, we may be dealing with an exaggerated manifestation of a mule.¡± Matthew said. ¡°They¡¯re fairly common in the territory, correct?¡±


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    ¡°Yes. Animals of all kinds are common out here.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Good God in Heaven.¡± Joseph muttered. ¡°The deranged killer ghost of a mule. That¡¯s one of the books.¡±


    ¡°Ms. West went back inside, and from the window watched the Red Ghost lift its long neck back and roar to the sky.¡± Mr. Reeves continued. ¡°Then it started to lift its legs and stomp the ground. She said it was like thunder. The dogs ran whimpering back to the house. Eventually, the Red Ghost stopped and vanished, not even turning before it popped itself out of the world. The men finally arrived back at the ranch, and they found the body of Dorothy Richards.¡±


    ¡°Has this been the only sighting?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°No. It was only the first. The Red Ghost has been seen up and down Eagle Creek. The sightings are all the same--like a horse but bigger, shaggy, red like the color of blood, and has something white attached to its back. Fortunately, there haven''t been any more attacks, only sightings.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s work fast to make sure there won¡¯t be another.¡±Joseph said. ¡°But a question---Mr. Reeves, are we certain this is a ghost and not a shapeshifter? Could we be dealing with another mad shapeshifter, like the Snallygaster?¡±


    ¡°We know it¡¯s a ghost because we have samples.¡± Mr. Leeds answered. Once again, he moved the edge of his cloak over the desk, and when he took it away, there was a clump of red hair.


    ¡°Let me show you.¡± Mr. Reeves said as he drew a heavily modified LeMat revolver from its holster. It was the first of its kind, the next step in the development of gaeite candles, a gaeite lantern. Unlike normal gaeite candles which could only project olprt radiance, Mr. Reeves¡¯ LeMat could project a concentrated beam of olprt from an aperture along the gun barrel.


    This beam could work manesological Operations, just like the gaeite candles used by Ernst, Morton, and Glass, but it could also serve as a weapon against spirits. Bullets fired down the beam could weaken and stun ghosts. Mr. Reeves could actually shoot ghosts, and he became the first man in history to shoot a man and his ghost when one of the many outlaws he put down during his long career attempted to take ghostly revenge on him.


    Mr. Reeves pressed a button on the side of the revolver and its amber colored gaeite core slid free, bathing the room in silvery-white olprt radiance.


    The clump of red hair revealed itself to be composed of ectoplasm as the olprt radiance rendered it a black silhouette, as it did with any spiritual object.


    ¡°Good.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I much prefer dealing with ghosts than shapeshifters. It feels like I¡¯m playing a game with someone who cheats whenever I flash my gaeite candle at a shapeshifter and the olprt does nothing but make me look silly.


    ¡°There are other photographs you need to see.¡± Mr. Leeds said before placing a stack of photographs down neatly next to the photographs of Dorothy Richards. ¡°These were taken at various sightings.¡±


    The photographs were of tracks.


    ¡°They¡¯re cloven!¡± Martin gasped.


    ¡°Yes. Split right down the middle, like a goat or a deer.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Or a sheep.¡± Martin said. ¡°Lord! Imagine if this is some sort of sheep--a giant, angry, red sheep!¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the strangest ghost we¡¯ve encountered.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Though I would rank it among the top 20¡­no, 15.¡±


    ¡°Assuming that this isn¡¯t the manes of an animal, but the manes of a man manifested in the form of an animal, are there any ideas for a motive?¡± Matthew asked Mr. Reeves.


    ¡°We have a few. The Red Ghost may be the ghost of an Apache raider. That¡¯s what we thought it had to be originally, because Mr. Richards once shot and killed an Apache during one of their raids, but if it is an Apache, we have to wonder why he hasn¡¯t taken to raiding other homesteads, and why he didn¡¯t go after Mr. Richards himself. It could also be the ghost of a jealous settler, someone upset he died making his way West while others settled the land. Or it could be the ghost of your general waste-of-breath outlaw. God knows there¡¯s a lot of evil men buried out here. I put some in the ground myself.¡±


    ¡°Regardless, our next step is clear.¡± Martin said. ¡°I¡¯ll perform the Aldi Operation and turn this little clump of hair into a compass that¡¯ll lead us to the Red Ghost. Once it¡¯s ready, we¡¯ll hunt up and down Eagle Creek until we find it. Simple work, though it¡¯ll be tiring, especially on my end. Since I¡¯ve never encountered the Red Ghost, it¡¯s going to take me most of the day to perform the Operation. Is there a room I can use?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mr. Leeds answered. ¡°The room in the back where we stored the ghost piano of Albright saloon.¡±


    ¡°So long as it doesn¡¯t play itself, that should suffice.¡± Martin picked up the clump of hair. ¡°Leave some food and water outside the door. I¡¯ll get hungry.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like the perfect excuse to get something to eat. I¡¯m hungry!¡± Joseph stood up. ¡°What¡¯s there to eat around here?¡±


    ¡°You can eat after seeing all those photos of Ms. Richards? Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Joseph smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse, and not just in photographs. Oh, the things I have seen Mr. Reeves¡­why don¡¯t I share some ghost stories with you over a pint?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a saloon about a mile away.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Just a mile? Whisper will have us there in a blink of an eye.¡±


    ¡°Then we can bring back some scrambled eggs and bacon for Dr. Glass.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Just leave it by the door.¡± Martin said. ¡°I¡¯ll nibble at it whenever I come out of my trance.¡±


    ¡°Hope you like the food.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°It¡¯s a little different from what you¡¯re used to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had eggs and bacon before.¡±


    ¡°But have you tried it with bird pepper sauce?¡±


    ¡°Bird pepper sauce? What on Earth is a bird pepper?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find out.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 2, Eagle Creek. 1/5

    The sun began to set as Martin continued to perform the Aldi Operation.


    His friends placed food purchased at the local saloon (local by the terms of the Arizona territory, Martin couldn¡¯t imagine going for food a mile away back home in Blackwall) by the door, and occasionally the door would crack open and a hand would creep through and seize the food. Moments later, the hand would return to deposit an empty dish.


    As the sun set, Mr. Reeves turned the electric lamps on the walls on. Soft, yellow light filled the station.


    ¡°You have electric lamps all the way out here?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all. We even have an electrograph.¡± Mr. Reeves answered. ¡°It¡¯s in that room over there, next to the bathroom. We have everything the stations East have, just in smaller quantities. To be honest, I prefer being out here. It puts me closer to my other work, and there aren¡¯t any walk-ins to bother me. The station back East is like an office, but this is like a fort. You rest up, eat up, gear up, and go.¡±


    ¡°We never have to worry about comparing stations back home on the account of only having one.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Perks of living on a tiny island, I suppose. Everything in our business is centralized at our office in Blackwall. It¡¯s where we keep our equipment, our notes, our library, our ghosts--everything is in the office.¡±


    ¡°And in the tunnels below the offices.¡± Mr. Reeves said with a wry smile.


    ¡°Ah, yes. But we¡¯re not supposed to talk about those! I don¡¯t think I would call our office an office, actually. That¡¯s just the name for it. And I don¡¯t think I¡¯d call it a fort, either. I think it¡¯s like a home, really.¡±


    ¡°I can see that. With how much time you three spend there, it truly is your home-away-from-home.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, Mr. Reeves, now that we have a little time on our hands, what say you teach me one of those card games popular out here in the great  American West?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Mr. Reeves produced a deck of cards from out of the pockets of his duster coat.


    ¡°You keep a deck of cards on your person?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the most important thing to keep handy while you''re on the trail, I wouldn¡¯t even say it¡¯s in the 10 most important things, but when there¡¯s no work to do, you have to find something to do.¡± Mr. Reeves turned to Matthew. ¡°Dr. Ernst, you want me to deal you in?¡±


    Matthew answered by tapping his notebook. He had a lot to record.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    Evening turned to night as Matthew wrote in his notebook and Joseph wagered his pence against Mr. Reeves¡¯ pennies. Martin continued to work away in the room in which they kept a haunted piano. Mr. Leeds had departed without a sound, leaving his coat and hat and gloves on his chair, all neatly folded. No one was surprised. It was his nature to be active at night, when it was dark, and no eye could see him. In the night, he could be free to be what he was, stretch his wings wide, and take to the air.


    A sharp cry came from outside, like an owl, but deeper, and with warbling notes.


    ¡°Boss sounds like he¡¯s on the hunt.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°You know, there are some elements of his physiognomy I envy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°His ability to devour raw food, for instance. I like that. I think it would save me a lot of time not to have to cook things.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you envy?¡¯ Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°Not that he can fly, but that he can strip a moose down to the bone in seconds?¡±


    ¡°Oh, well, I can fly. I fly often.¡± Joseph replied. ¡°I fly with Whistle, mostly, but also with the Sky Witch, and Martin¡¯s thought-form creatures. But I can¡¯t eat a mouse raw.¡±


    ¡°And you would want to do that?¡±


    ¡°If I could, and had the stomach and palette for it. It seems like a very efficient way of eating.¡±


    Mr. Reeves made a face. ¡°Disgusting! Almost as disgusting as your chances, Dr. Morton.¡± Mr. Reeves placed a pair of twos and fours down on the table.


    ¡°Sorry to disappoint you, my friend.¡± Joseph placed down a straight.


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    Mr. Reeves tossed a nickel onto Morton¡¯s pile. ¡°What are you going to do with all that, anyway? You can¡¯t spend it in Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But I like having it!¡± Joseph said. ¡°I think I may take a page from your organization and put it all in a glass case by my desk. I¡¯ll get bronze labels for all these coints--penny, won from Bass Reeeves, nickel, won from Bass Reeves, second penny, won from Bass Reeves, third penny, won from Bass Reeves¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not cheating, are you, Dr. Morton?¡± Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°You remember what I did to the last man that cheated me at cards, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not cheating. He¡¯s just very good at card games.¡±  Matthew said, not bothering to look up from his notes. ¡°He used to be an alienist before he became a manesologist.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s an alienist?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°One who studies the patterns and behaviors of men.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Sometimes, I can figure out what a man is going to do before he himself knows it.¡±


    ¡°You sound like a manhunter.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Coming from you, Mr. Reeves, I take that as a huge compliment!¡± Joseph said.


    Martin suddenly opened the door and stumbled into the main room of the Poeists station. His short blonde hair was disheveled and dark bags had formed beneath his eyes, but he perked up when he saw the scrambled eggs and coffee waiting for him on the table. ¡°Ah! Wonderful!¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°After seeing how fast you devoured what we left out, we had to go get you seconds for dinner.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°The saloon owner sure was surprised to see us back so soon! I also got you some coffee. I heard you liked it over tea.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Martin said. ¡°I know tea is more properly British, but I can¡¯t help but prefer coffee. I suppose I¡¯m just not a proper Englishman.¡±


    ¡°Eh, you aren¡¯t a proper man, let alone an Englishman!¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°And you aren¡¯t a proper anything.¡± Martin said.


    He sat down at the table and greedily devoured his eggs. ¡°Oh, I love the bite this red sauce has! Mr. Reeves, you said that it was made of bird pepper? What is bird pepper?¡±


    ¡°Small, red, wild chilies.¡± Mr. Reeves explained. ¡°They grow south of here near the Tumacacori Mountains. Birds love them.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°I would have thought they would have been used to repel birds with the way that sauce smells.¡±


    ¡°No. Birds can¡¯t get enough of the little peppers.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Ah! Who would have thought that avians would have such well-developed tastes?¡± Martin said.


    ¡°You would like something birds eat.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Perhaps we should try you on bird seed next?¡±


    Martin¡¯s fork clattered on his empty plate.


    ¡°I love this so much, I¡¯m going to bring this bird pepper back to Blackwall.¡± Martin said. ¡°You like to grow your asphodels, Joseph, well I¡¯m going to grow bird peppers.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll die in that climate.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Nick can make it as dry and hot as it needs to be.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. I remember him. The fire wisp.¡± Mr. Reeves recalled how Nick had helped him and the others burn the Snallygaster to ashes. ¡°How¡¯s he doing?¡±


    ¡°Much the same.¡± Martin said. ¡°Occasionally melancholic, but always helpful. He¡¯s our light. Literally, our light. We use him so we don¡¯t have to pay for lighting and heating at the office.¡±


    Martin took a long swallow of the coffee. ¡°Ah! Nice and hot!¡±


    ¡°It seems you only like food that burns and drink that scalds.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I like what I like.¡± Martin said. ¡°Anyway, gentlemen, I¡¯m going to finish this cup of coffee and then I¡¯m off to bed!¡±


    ¡°Who drinks coffee before they go to sleep?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done it a few times.¡± Mr. Reeves said.¡± It helps when you need to wake up early, or if you need to sleep light because owlhoots are moving around in the dark.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to wake up early, and we all know who¡¯s making the boogieman sounds outside tonight, so there¡¯s no reason he should be drinking coffee.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Martin said as he took another sip of coffee. ¡°Say! This is rather thicker and chalkier than people normally make it.¡±


    ¡°Sorry if it''s not to your liking.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Oh no! I prefer my coffee to be like this. Where did you learn how to it like this?¡±


    Mr. Reeves shrugged. ¡°Just on the trail.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating! Do you know what this coffee reminds me of? It reminds me of the coffee I drank back when I was a student of thaumaturgy studying the original texts of Abdul Alhazrad in Baghdad. My dear teacher Dr. Lumen made coffee like this, and he got it from a Turkish recipe that Afet Alhazrad shared with him.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know anything about Turkish recipes. I just make it like how I learned to make it from cowboys.¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°You know, whenever I find little commonalities like this, it refreshes my faith in God¡¯s cosmic order.¡±


    ¡°Coffee does that to you?¡±


    ¡°It shows that things are always more interconnected than they appear. If a lawman in the United States makes his coffee like the venerable Afet Alhazrad of Bagdad, and neither knows the other exists, well, that¡¯s a minor miracle!¡±


    ¡°A miracle?¡± Mr. Reeves smirked. ¡°Come on, now. That¡¯s a little much, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Well, I did say a minor one.¡±


    ¡°Well, speaking of minor miracles, where¡¯s that Aldi compass you made?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Don¡¯t go to bed without giving it to us first.¡±


    ¡°I have it right here.¡± Martin took out the mass of red hair, now twisted into the shape of a crucifix.


    Joseph made a little face as he took the Aldi compass. ¡°You tied it into a little cross! Why¡¯d you do that?¡±


    ¡°It helped me concentrate, and the Red Ghost¡¯s hair is surprisingly supple.¡±


    ¡°The things that you do when you¡¯re by yourself. Look at you, playing with hair like a girl!¡±


    ¡°Someone should play with your hair. No one can tell where your beard ends and your hair begins.¡±


    ¡°I like that. It makes me look like a lion.¡±


    ¡°It makes you look like a gorilla.¡±


    Joseph flicked the Aldi compass between his fingers. ¡° Well, so long as this little thing works, I suppose the shape doesn¡¯t matter¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, it will work, better than any Aldi compass you could possibly make, I might add! I did a very good job with that compass, if I do say so myself.¡±


    ¡°Or say so by yourself¡­¡± Joseph muttered.


    ¡°This compass is so good we may be able to wrap up this case tomorrow.¡± Martin turned to Mr. Reeves. ¡°Anyway, where do we sleep?¡±


    ¡°On the floor, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°We don¡¯t have beds at the station, we don¡¯t have the room for them, but we do have bedrolls. I¡¯ll get them out.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t need one for me.¡± Martin said.


    He leaned back and relaxed seemingly in the empty air. He placed his arms behind his head.


    ¡°Ah, your thought-form dogs, I see.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Or rather, I don¡¯t see.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 2, Eagle Creek. 2/5

    Martin¡¯s dogs were a product of his brief thaumaturgical instruction. The Ror Raas taught him how to shape his mental energies into two beings that he could control like puppets. They were clouds of force and could lift things, hold things, or, in this case, be used as a bed.


    ¡°You can hop up.¡± Martin said to Mr. Reeves. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of room.¡±


    ¡°No thanks.¡± Mr. Reeves replied. ¡°I¡¯m too used to bedrolls. I¡¯ve used so many on the trail it now seems weird to me to sleep even a hand¡¯s breadth above the ground.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take a bedroll.¡± Joseph said. ¡°And I¡¯ll hunker down next to the goat sucker. We make quite the pair, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d rather sleep on the floor than on one of the dogs?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°With the floor, I don''t have to worry about it suddenly moving and causing me to fall.¡±


    ¡°How are the dogs going to suddenly move?¡± Martin asked. ¡°They obey my every command.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what concerns me.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Oh, ha ha.¡±


    ¡°I wonder if the goat sucker will give me interesting dreams?¡± Joseph said. ¡°He¡¯s an ugly fellow, but he¡¯s still fairy kin, and they say they fill your mind with wonder just by being close to them.¡±


    ¡°Knock yourself out trying it.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep by the fireplace.¡± Mr. Reeves turned to Matthew. ¡°You know where you¡¯re going to sleep, Dr. Ernst?¡±


    ¡°Right in this chair.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Just hand me a blanket. I¡¯ll write by the olprt radiance of my gaeite candle until I fall asleep.¡±


    Suddenly, a howl which was like an owl trapped in a wolf¡¯s throat split the night.


    ¡°Glad to hear Mr. Leeds is having fun.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s crazy to me how much time he spends with those straps on. I think I¡¯d go mad in his place.¡±


    The Second Day


    As dawn broke, Mr. Reeves was the first to wake up. He fixed coffee for himself and Dr. Glass and tea for Dr. Morton and Dr. Ernst. He gently cracked open the door to Mr. Leed¡¯s office, saw that he was curled up and asleep, and quietly closed the door.


    Dr. Morton and Dr. Ernst woke shortly after Mr. Reeves, but Dr. Glass remained fast asleep as they gathered in the main room for breakfast.


    ¡°Any dreams?¡± Mr. Reeves asked Joseph.


    ¡°I dreamed of an old case.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It was the Chelmsford Bandage Man.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Him.¡± Matthew said. ¡°That must have been an awful dream.¡±


    ¡°It was, but I won¡¯t hold it against the goat sucker.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°The Bandage Man was a bad one?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Very bad.¡± Joseph said. ¡°He killed many. He was horribly mangled in life. Doctors tried their best to keep him alive, but all they could do was hold death off a few days. He was just..blood and bandages, all stuck together. And he killed people because he felt he could repair himself with the pieces. He was mad. He thought he could take off the bad parts and attach new, good parts¡­but enough of that, the Bandage Man is old news, and if I spoke any further about him I''d ruin breakfast for you! What do we have to eat, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Biscuits.¡± Mr. Reeves answered.


    ¡°Oh? What kinds? Sweet teas? Chocolate digestives? Scousers?


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    Mr. Reeves shrugged. ¡°American, I guess?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, no problem. I¡¯ll just have to soak them a bit in my coffee. These old teeth of mine can¡¯t stand things so hard.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not hardtack.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    "Yes, but it¡¯s not proper English biscuits either. I think you Yanks use biscuits as a synonym for rocks.¡±


    ¡°Poor Dr. Glass seems like he wants to sleep until the afternoon.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°That Aldi Operation takes a lot out of a man, I see.¡±


    ¡°It does, which is why we have him do it.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Martin¡¯s not as young as he used to be, but he¡¯s still younger than Dr. Ernst and myself.¡±


    ¡°Should we wait for him to get up, or should we head out on our own and let him sleep?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Let him sleep.¡± Joseph said. ¡°He did his fair share of work, and it¡¯s not like the Alid Operation improves with the number of manesologists, one man does it as well as several.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not experienced with that Operation.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°So I¡¯m afraid one of you has to do it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Mr. Reeves, you can perform the Perkunos Operation.¡±


    ¡°The Perkunos Operation?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Yes. Are you familiar with it?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir, Dirk Peters taught it to me. But that¡¯s to weaken the khet component of a ghost, to make their physical manifestations stronger or weaker. Why will we need someone to perform that while we¡¯re hunting for the Red Ghost?¡±


    ¡°Because we¡¯re going hunting with Whistle, and the thing about Whistle is, his physical manifestation naturally blinks.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°Sometimes he¡¯s solid, sometimes he isn¡¯t, and if someone isn¡¯t constantly performing the Perkunos Operation, he¡¯ll turn intangible while you¡¯re riding him, and well, we did an experiment with a pumpkin one time. We ate pumpkin pie that night.¡±


    ¡°So no more.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°This ought to be interesting. I¡¯ve never hunted anything or anyone with a ghost horse before. I bet if I had Whistle a year ago, I would have gotten to the Clayton Gang before the Sunrise Kid. This ought to be real interesting. Hell, I bet it¡¯s even going to be fun!¡±


    ¡­..


    ¡°Is this interesting enough for you, Mr. Reeves?¡± Joseph asked as Whistle took to the air.


    ¡°Hell yes it is!¡± Mr. Reeves tapped the ectoplasmic straps holding him fast to the hollow insides of the carriage. He kicked a clump of glowing yellow hay with his boot. ¡°I don¡¯t know whether I¡¯m inside Cinderella¡¯s pumpkin carriage or Rumplestiltskin¡¯s lair!¡±


    ¡°Just be sure to keep performing the Perkunos Operation in the back of your head, otherwise we¡¯ll all find ourselves in Humpty Dumpty!¡± Joseph said.


    Mr. Reeve¡¯s gaeite lantern hung from his belt. It¡¯s gaeite core was open and exposed. Olprt radiance shined forth from the amber colored block of gaeite and slivery-white light filled the hollow carriage. At the back of his mind, Mr. Reeves performed the Perkunos Operation, guaranteeing that he and his friends would remain in a solid carriage.


    A large round window allowed the group to see over Eagle Creek, which from their height appeared as a blue ribbon snaking across the Arizona territory.


    ¡°How are you handling the Aldi Operation, Dr. Ernst?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    Matthew fiddled with the ectoplasmic cross of hair in his hand stained black in Mr. Reeve¡¯s olprt radiance.


    ¡°I feel the pull.¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll be on him in a moment.¡±


    Suddenly, Matthew tightened his grip on the cross.


    ¡°I misspoke. We¡¯re actually on him now and--ah, damn it all, I lost him!¡±


    ¡°You lost him?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Oh no! Don¡¯t tell me--the Red Ghost is another teleporter?¡±


    ¡°It would seem that way.¡± Matthew said.


    Joseph groaned. ¡°Oh I hate dealing with teleporters. Cheaters, the lot of them.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s worse is that the Red Ghost also has one of the most sensitive manifestations I¡¯ve ever encountered.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Oh, joy.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°As soon as my mind touched his manifestation, he teleported.¡± Matthew said. ¡°This is like the Oxford Flash all over again. We¡¯re in for a long and troublesome chase, gentlemen.¡±


    ¡°So be it.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°The greater the trouble, the greater the glory.¡±


    ¡°We need to talk about a plan B, however.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Matthew, assuming that we can¡¯t get close enough to the Red Ghost to affix him, when do you think you¡¯ll have enough psychic familiarity with his manifestation to drag him to our side with the Zacare Operation?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s hard to say.¡± Matthew said. ¡°I¡¯m going to tentatively say two days, maybe three. I only got a very brief flash when my mind made contact, but it was a vivid flash. I can make psychic contact with the Zacare Operation with just a few more of those, I think.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to think the Red Ghost is the ghost of an animal, like Whistle here.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°He wasn¡¯t spooked by a woman, but sensing the approach of several people and a horse set him to flight. That feels like animal behavior.¡±


    ¡°You may be right, Mr. Reeves.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But it¡¯s still early in the investigation. We haven¡¯t even seen the Red Ghost with our own eyes. Anything can happen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting a pull towards port quarter.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Port quarter?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    Joseph pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ¡°It means back that-a-way, or just abouts.¡± Joseph took out a large metal cube from his pocket covered in knobs. He twisted one.


    The cube made a sound like a whip cracking through the air once, and then twice in rapid succession. The men felt themselves pull against the ectoplasmic straps as Whistle turned.


    ¡°New question--what¡¯s that box that sounds like a horsewhip?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Oh, it can sound like more than that. This is our noise box. We built it shortly after we acquired Whistle to deal with a ghost called the Modern Siren who could only respond to sound.¡±


    ¡°I remember reading about her in Illustrated Phantom Stories.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I thought it was funny that the drawing on the cover had her as a beautiful lady in a diaphanous gown but in the story itself she was a living song without a physical shape.¡±


    ¡°A cover with a pretty girl on it will always sell more than a cover of three men staring at empty space.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°And it was a fine cover indeed.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°But about this port quarter thing?¡±


    ¡°We have a system based on the directions of a boat.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°Towards Whistle is bow. Away from Whistle is stern. To the right of Whistle is starboard and to his left is port. Port quarter is halfway between port and stern.¡±


    Mr. Reeves smiled. ¡°So I¡¯m on a flying horse-drawn boat? Hell, I knew this was going to be fun!¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 2, Eagle Creek. 3/5

    ¡°Oh!¡± Matthew gasped. ¡°I think I feel the Red Ghost again! And¡­ and he¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad, Dr. Ernst.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°We have all day to hunt for him, and even if we don¡¯t corner him, there¡¯s the Zacare Operation.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still so frustrating.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Like trying to grab a fish with your bare hands, it just slips right out.¡±


    The manesologists continued to fly up and down Eagle Creek in search of the Red Ghost. They fell into a familiar pattern. Matthew would get close to the Red Ghost, it would teleport, and then Joseph would use the noise box to turn Whistle in a new direction indicated by the Aldi Operation.


    Little by little, Mr. Reeves grew restless. The Perkunos Operation was but a trifle for him to perform. Dirk Peters taught it to him years ago, and he was so familiar with it that he could perform it in his sleep. He started to rap his fingers on his ectoplasmic straps and listen to the strange chime-like sound it made. That satisfied him for a minute, then Mr. Reeves started to sing to accompany his strumming.


    ¡°I killed a man in Dallas, and another in Cheyenne, but when I killed a man in Tombstone, I overplayed my hand. I rode all night for Tucson, to rob the Robles mine, and I left old Arizona, with a posse right behind.¡±


    ¡°What are you singing?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Does it bother you, Dr. Morton?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Not at all. I just want to know what it is.¡± Joseph answered.


    ¡°It¡¯s an old cowboy ballad. Arizona Killer.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s actually called that?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    Joseph chuckled. ¡°Oh, I do so love this continent! Do you know a lot of these cowboy ballads, Mr. Reeves?¡±


    ¡°I know a lot of them, and for some of them, I even know the poor desperados that inspired them.¡±


    ¡°Poor?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes. Even bad men can be poor men, when they have to run from me.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°You have a remarkable singing voice.¡± Matthew said. ¡°If you ever tire of chasing after men and ghosts, there¡¯s this theater we know of in Essex called the Gnome, it used to just show Shakespeare plays, but it started showing operas a few years back.¡±


    Mr. Reeves laughed. ¡°You really think I can do Opera?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯d be smashing.¡± Joseph answered.


    ¡°No, sir, I can¡¯t agree. Can you imagine? Bass Reeves, lawman, manesologist, and now, baritone for an Essex opera! This world of ours is strange, Dr. Morton, but it¡¯s not that strange!¡±


    ¡°Have you always been a singer?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°This singing of mine, it¡¯s a habit I developed in my childhood. I¡¯ve always liked to sing, especially on a trip. My mother swore up and down that one day I¡¯d become an outlaw because I always sang about them. She was close, I suppose. Becoming a lawman meant my life became encompassed by outlaws.¡±


    ¡°And ghosts.¡± Joseph said.


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    ¡°True. But I find they¡¯re very similar.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°They both cause disruptions to the lives of normal folk, they both take to hiding whenever someone¡¯s after them, and they--¡±


    Mr. Reeves stopped. Something outside the window caught his eye.


    ¡°Wait! Stop the carriage!¡± Mr. Reeves pointed at a spot on the ground. ¡°There¡¯s something down there! It looks like a body!¡±


    Joseph squinted and strained to see what Mr. Reeves saw. ¡°Damn it!¡± he hissed. ¡°I can¡¯t see a thing! It all looks like dirt to these old eyes of mine.¡±


    Joseph pressed a button on the noise box. The sharp sound of a single whip crack made Whistle stop. The horse stood still in the middle of the air, not seeing anything out-of-the-ordinary with doing so.


    Matthew then worked an Operation to make the horse and carriage descend to the ground.


    A Dyeus king pointed at an ancestral warrior battling opponents on all sides, whirling and cutting with every rotation. The ghost was then transported through the air and deposited safely on a mountain. The battle would be lost, but this ancestral warrior had proven more valuable than the land, and could not be lost to enemy necromancers.


    The Ozien Operation


    As the ghost horse and carriage descended, what Mr. Reeves had spotted became clearer. Something had been torn to pieces next to the creek. Its blood was being washed downstream in fat globs.


    When Whistle touched down, Matthew quickly performed another Operation to allow him to tear away their ectoplasmic straps with his hands.


    The Dyeus prince touched the ghost¡¯s face and rearranged the features until they bore a resemblance to his own. The trick would only work once, but it would only need to work once to bait out the assassin.


    The Molvi Operation


    The men bolted from the carriage as soon as Matthew had freed them.


    ¡°Oh Lord, please don¡¯t let it be another person.¡± Matthew said.


    Mr. Reeves was the first to reach the corpse. ¡°It¡¯s not a person, thank God, though this is a cause for concern.¡±


    ¡°What is it? A moose? A coyote?¡± Matthew asked as he got closer.


    ¡®No.¡± Mr. Reeves answered. ¡®Take a look. It¡¯s a poor bear, and a grizzly at that. It looks like a butcher and a tanner had a fight over him and neither won.


    It was hard to tell skin and fur from muscles and organs. Everything was a red mass. Most of the grizzly was scattered about in a smear across the shore, but parts were inside the shallow water. Strings of gore flowed in the current. Something white, which might have been a jaw or a rib or a bit of skull, had been washed clean by the water and clung to the side of a rock.


    ¡°It did this to a grizzly. My god.¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°An entire grizzly!¡±


    ¡°When they say the living have no defense against the dead, it goes for animals as well.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Poor creature was eviscerated like it was made out of paper.¡±


    Mr. Reeves crouched down by the remains and regarded them as only a seasoned trailman could.


    ¡°God, all the red reminds me of Martin¡¯s horrid bird pepper sauce.¡± Joseph said. ¡®It¡¯s making me feel sick.¡±


    ¡°That it¡¯s blood doesn¡¯t bother you none, but that it reminds you of pepper sauce does?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Joseph answered. ¡°I know the taste of blood and it¡¯s metallic, like mushrooms. But that abhorrent sauce is simply pain in liquid form.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Fair enough.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I¡¯ve had blood in my mouth enough times to know how it tastes. But I don¡¯t think it¡¯s worse than something people put on eggs.¡±


    Mr. Reeves pulled a clump of hair from the wet mass. With his other hand, he activated the gaeite core of his lantern. The clump shone beetle-black in the olprt radiance.


    ¡°The Red Ghost did this, as if we needed any more proof.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Still, more curios for the collecting .Maybe we¡¯ll collect enough hair to make a whole blanket?¡±


    ¡°Leave a few strands for us.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We¡¯re a sentimental lot ourselves. I like to watch the shelves stock up in the basement.¡±


    ¡°You gentlemen see those piles?¡± Mr. Reeves pointed to several small piles of thoroughly ripped and smashed flesh. ¡°They look like someone went over the meat with a hammer and knife many, many times, or in other words, they look like someone chewed them. I don¡¯t think the Red Ghost just killed this grizzly. I think he tried to eat it, not fully understanding he was a ghost, and left these piles as the flesh fell through him.¡±


    ¡°Just like Whisper and carrots.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°So, it tramples a woman to death, but it eats a whole grizzly bear, or rather tries to eat a grizzly bear. Why? Why does it kill a woman but eat a beast?¡± Joseph asked


    ¡°Human impulses.¡± Matthew said. ¡°That¡¯s my guess. This points to the Red Ghost being the manes of a man, just in the form of a strange and monstrous animal. A man would eat an animal, but a man won¡¯t eat another human, not even one he hated.


    ¡°And he¡¯s a very hungry man.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Hungry enough to literally eat a bear. I¡¯m starting to think that the hypothesis that this is the ghost of a jealous settler is true. I can see it--a man from back East goes West, but he¡¯s not prepared for how it really is out here when your closest neighbor is a mile away, so he ends up starving. It¡¯s not too uncommon a story. But then his ghost manifests, and he sees all these well-fed homesteaders cultivating the land he wanted, the land he died on, and decides to take his revenge.¡±


    ¡°A man becomes so jealous that he becomes a red-furred monster¡­¡± Matthew mused. ¡°It almost sounds like a fairy story.¡±


    ¡°The animal form might be a way for him to disassociate from his crimes.¡± Joseph suggested. ¡®Like how murderous shapeshifters like the Snallygaster only killed in bestial forms.¡±


    ¡°We need to take photographs.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Mr. Reeves, please help Joseph retrieve the photography equipment from the trunk inside Whistle¡¯s carriage.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem, Dr. Ernst.¡± Mr. Reeves replied. ¡°I love photographing clues, be they for a manhunt or a ghost hunt.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s a man that loves to solve a mystery!¡± Joseph said. ¡°A man after my own heart! I am so happy we got to team-up with you for this case and not Etienne Bisclavret--but don¡¯t tell him I said that. He¡¯s liable to eat me if you do.¡±


    Mr. Reeves smirked. ¡°Oh, Etienne would do worse than that. He¡¯d eat you after covering you in bird pepper sauce.¡±


    ¡°Truly, my Hell.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 2, Eagle Creek. 4/5

    While Mr. Reeves, Joseph, and Matthew took photographs of the bear¡¯s corpse, Martin and Mr. Leeds played each other in an old board game that predated not only chess, but chess¡¯ inspiration chaturanga.


    Mr. Leeds was once again tied into his suit and his stiff arms rested at his side as Martin moved the pieces for the both of them. The sawdust filled gloves of Mr. Leeds¡¯ suit couldn¡¯t pick up the pieces.


    The board and its pieces came from the Antarctic palace of the Necromancer King Tekeli-Li, the White Necromancer, and Tekeli-Li himself had found the board within the ruins of a gaeite spire that once loomed over Pangea. The game was called zilodarp, which meant conquest in the ancient language of the Dyeus.


    The zilodarp board was, as with chess and chaturanga, composed of 64 squares arranged in eight rows and eight columns. The board was red, and was built from the wood of a tree that no longer grows on Earth, but a 2X2 square in the center was made of a bright silver alloy that was nearly the exact color of olprt radiance. The game pieces numbered 52 in total, 26 for each player, but only twenty of the pieces had survived the aeons. The rest were modern glass replicas.


    The original pieces were made out of a material known as perkunite and were colored blue and yellow. Very little was known about perkunite. What the Ror Raas could glean from their psychic visions of the past told them that perkunite was created from gaeite, but retained none of its metaphysical properties. Perkunite was an indestructible metal, vastly stronger than even Krupp steel, and could do strange things to heat and energy. It was not without good reason that the Dyeus sacrificed their most precious material to create perkunite. Dragons from distant stars invaded Earth back when the continents were one, hungry for the secrets of gaeite. The Dyeus and their ghost armies fought the dragons back, pushing most of them back to the stars and a few to distant underground caverns where they slept dreaming to this day. That the pieces to a wargame were made out of material used for weapons perhaps indicated a sort of ¡°swords-to-plowshares¡± statement on the part of the craftsman--it was one of many things Mr. Leeds and Martin discussed over their game.


    The pieces depicted two Dyeus kings and their spectral forces. The kings were easy to identify, they wore robes and gaeite crowns similar to what the Ror Raas saw in their visions of the past. But what their forces represented was a matter of dispute. Their forms were highly abstract. Some looked like stacks of building blocks, others like billowing clouds, and others still like frozen waterfalls. Some said they represented ghosts, others said they represented thought-forms similar to Martin¡¯s dogs. It was also possible that they were a mixture of thought-forms and ghosts.


    The game was played with each player taking turns placing two pieces in the center of the board which represented the Astral. Each piece moved a different way and had different rules for how it could be captured. The goal of the game was to fill one¡¯s back row with summoned spirits while preventing one¡¯s opponent from doing the same, though victory could also be achieved by slaying the opponent¡¯s king, an action accomplished by placing three pieces adjacent to the king.


    As the game currently stood, the board was filled with a mixture of blue and yellow pieces. Even an intermediate player familiar with the rules would have struggled to figure out who was winning. To a novice, it looked like two boys playing with toy soldiers. There was a suggestion of structure and rules, but only a suggestion and nothing more.


    ¡°So, who¡¯s winning?¡± Joseph asked as his group entered the station.


    ¡°I am. I think.¡± Martin said. ¡°But I think Mr. Leeds may have a different take on the situation.¡±


    Mr. Leeds made a sound that was as close as he could come to laughing. It was highly unsettling to those that didn¡¯t know it represented laughter.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± he said.


    ¡°So, did you affix the Red Ghost?¡± Martin asked.


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    ¡°No.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°No? But you¡¯ve been tracking it all day!¡±


    ¡°The Red Ghost is a tricky one, unfortunately.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Its external manifestation field is extremely sensitive. As soon as I sense the very fringe of its Astral hand, it teleports away.¡±


    An Astral hand was the manesological term for the faintest part of a ghost¡¯s manifestation, as it was a ¡°hand reaching down from the Astral and entering the physical world.¡±


    ¡°Oh, another teleporter. Damn!¡± Martine exclaimed. ¡°Those are so annoying to deal with.¡±


    ¡°But not impossible to deal with.¡± Mr. Leeds said. ¡°Old Bloody Bones was a teleporter, and there¡¯s his sack up there under the Snallygaster¡¯s tentacle.¡± Mr. Leeds gestured to the sack with a stiff glove as if he were slapping the air. ¡°We will get him.¡±


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s just a matter of time.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Our minds are gradually adapting to the Red Ghost¡¯s presence. If we put in a full day of hunting tomorrow, we should be able to use the Zacare Operation on it, and reel it in towards our location like a big, furry trout.¡±


    Joseph pointed to a fur-bearing mounted on the wall. ¡°We¡¯ll hang him up there!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite a way of putting it, but yes.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°We just need to make sure people know to stay indoors for the time being,  because the Red Ghost didn¡¯t slake his bloodlust with Mrs. Richards.¡±


    Mr. Reeves placed the photographs of the bear on the table.


    Martin gasped--then gave a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Oh. I thought it was a person!¡± he said.


    ¡°We did, too.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Until we got a good look at it.¡±


    ¡°Still, poor creature. Nothing deserves to die like that.¡±


    ¡°Ever seen what a bear does to a fish it catches?¡± Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°It¡¯s not too dissimilar to what was done to it. You could call this justice, albeit a very strange form of it.¡±


    ¡°It looks like it¡­ate parts of it.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Good eyes!¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°It took me a few moments looking over the remains to figure that one out.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Martin said. ¡°I¡¯ve always had good eyes.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we think it tried to eat the bear, but it couldn¡¯t hold any of it down in its ectoplasmic body.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Those piles are bits of bear that got chewed up and swallowed down to a stomach that didn¡¯t exist.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you poor creature!¡± Martin frowned at the pictures. But at least you weren¡¯t a human.¡±


    ¡°Given that the Red Ghost killed a woman but ate a bear, we¡¯re thinking that the Red Ghost isn¡¯t the ghost of an animal but the ghost of a man. A man will kill another person, but not eat them.¡±


    ¡®And so the bloodshed of the Red Ghost continues, regrettably.¡± Martin said. ¡°We need to send an electrogram to the authorities. Who would that be in Arizona territory, exactly?¡±


    Mr. Leeds pointed to the electrograph room. ¡°Directions for how to contact Fort Bowie are on the wall. They should be able to send an alert to all the post offices and they¡¯ll send riders to alert the homesteads.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get to it.¡± Matthew said before heading to the electrograph room.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving soon.¡± Mr. Leeds said. ¡°For my nightly business.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let us keep you.¡± Matthew said. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what we¡¯ve found today, so go ahead and take off.¡± With that, he walked into the electrograph room and closed the door behind him.


    ¡°Leave it to Matthew to volunteer to do some writing.¡± Joseph said. He turned to Martin. ¡°Tomorrow, be sure you wake up so you can come with us,¡± he said.


    ¡°An extra manesologists won¡¯t help you three acclimate faster to the Red Ghost¡¯s telepathic signature.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°True, but you going out with us has got to be better than sticking around here all day playing magic man chess with Mr. Leeds.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I didn¡¯t spend all day here.¡± Martin snapped his fingers and several canvas sacks levitated onto the table through the power of his dogs. The dogs then pulled back the drawstrings to reveal the yellow and red contents of the sacks.


    ¡°Good lord!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°You really were serious about this bird pepper business!¡±


    Martin nodded. ¡°If it all goes well, I¡¯ll have all the bird pepper sauce I could ever want. I may even sell some in little bottles and donate the profits to Asphodel Street.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a bad idea.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°There¡¯s a man by the name of Edmund McIlheney down in Louisiana, a friend of the Bisclavret clan, though he¡¯s not a shapeshifter himself. He owns an island about three miles from Vermillion Bay called Avery Island. It¡¯s not a good land for growing things, on the count of a salt dome beneath it, but what does grow good on Avery Island is peppers.¡±


    ¡°I like this man and his salt island, and I¡¯ve never met him.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°McIlheney learned about a unique variety of bird pepper that grows down in Mexico, in a state called Tabasco. He imported some and now these Tabasco peppers grow like a weed around Avery island. He makes a sauce out of it, vinegar, and salt--which is dirt cheap on Avery Island, literally from the dirt.¡±


    ¡°Is it good?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say so. The Bisclavret siblings love it, they drink it like its water.¡±


    ¡°I see you two have the tastes of not only birds but loup-garou. Charming.¡± Joseph said.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 2, Eagle Creek. 5/5

    ¡°Mr. Leeds, I must ask you, have you ever tasted this bird pepper sauce that¡¯s become such a point of contention between my colleagues?¡± Matthew asked.


    But Mr.Leeds didn¡¯t answer, because Mr. Leeds wasn¡¯t there.


    On a hunch, Mr. Reeves opened the door to Mr. Leeds¡¯ room and found his clothing neatly hung over his chair.


    Joseph whistled. ¡°So he went past us, took his clothes off, went past us again, and left without any of us knowing it. It is incredible how fast he moves.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I sometimes forget how quick he is.¡± Martin said. ¡°I remember how a cannonball smacked into him and didn¡¯t so much as bruise his flesh and I get to thinking of him as like Joseph--big, strong, and slow.¡±


    ¡°Slow, am I?¡± Joseph smirked.


    ¡°Slow you are.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Slow compared to who, Martin?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°I tend to recall a time when we went hiking through Epping forest to check on the Black Pool and you were lagging quite some ways behind me--or am I remembering several times, Martin?


    ¡°Only because of your freakishly large stride¡­¡± Martin mumbled.


    ¡°He¡¯s faster than my draw.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°He¡¯d be the greatest quickdraw in all of America if we could somehow convince him to learn how to hold a gun.¡± he looked down at his holstered gaeite lantern. ¡°If people could build this contraption, they could build something for his hands, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a gentle soul.¡± Martin said. ¡°The way he hunts may be off-putting, to say the least, but he learned those behaviors at a young age, and he would never think of turning his teeth upon another man, or harming another man in any way.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s good he never learns. Violence does change a man.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°And not for the better. I know this all too well.¡±


    ¡°Well, gentlemen, I¡¯m going to finish my coffee, and I¡¯m off to bed.¡± Martin said. ¡°I suggest you all follow shortly. The Red Ghost still prowls Eagle Creek, and if we can¡¯t capture him, at least we can patrol the area and make sure the innocent are kept away from any possible danger. If he¡¯s teleporting from us, he¡¯s not hunting them.¡±


    The door to the electrograph room opened and Matthew stepped into the main room. ¡°The message has been sent to Fort Bowie and they promise to forward it to nearby post offices. With any luck, the population will keep itself inside.¡±


    The Third Day


    As on the previous morning, Mr. Reeves was the first to rise. He checked in on Mr. Leeds and found him sound asleep after his night of aerial play, then he made coffee, tea, and biscuits.


    At breakfast, Martin drowned his biscuits in bird pepper sauce until the dry, crumbly bread was wet and pink.


    ¡°Good lord, do you have to put it on everything now?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Bury me with a bottle.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll drown your coffin with it.¡± Joseph said. He wrinkled his nose from the smell.¡±Ugh! How does that not knock you out?¡±


    ¡°Says the man that smokes like a chimney.¡± Martin said. ¡°You know what, I think that¡¯s your problem, Joseph, you¡¯ve dulled your sense of taste. You simply can¡¯t enjoy bird pepper sauce, it¡¯s wonderment is beyond you. Breathe the smell in deep, old man, it¡¯s vitalizing, you could use it.¡±


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    ¡°There¡¯s nothing vitalizing about that horrid red substance.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I am convinced that you would die on the spot if you tipped the whole bottle down your gullet. In fact, I''ll bet you a whole crown that you can¡¯t drink that whole bottle.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d take money from a dead man?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll claim it from your ghost.¡±


    ¡°I have to intercede here, children.¡± Matthew said. ¡°But we¡¯re here on business, and I¡¯m not going to let Martin scald his insides off a bet.¡±


    ¡°What if I made the bet a crown and two shillings?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Speaking of business, I checked the electrograph today.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Fort Bowie sent a reply to your electrogram, Dr. Ernst.¡±


    ¡°What did they say?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°About what you¡¯d expect. They¡¯ve sent word up and down Eagle Creek for people to stay in doors and keep away from the Red Ghost. They''re also slightly upset that we haven¡¯t resolved the haunting yet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s usually how the authorities treat us outside Blackwall.¡± Joseph said. ¡°They want the ghost gone and they want the ghost gone now. It makes me appreciate Chief Constable James. Sarcastic though he may be at times, he¡¯s always had our backs. I know you Poeists don¡¯t have a central base of operations, what with you covering the entire bloody continent, but do you have anyone like Chief Constable James? Someone in authority that¡¯s always got your backs?¡±


    ¡°Well, like you say, we¡¯re very decentralized, but our two main stations are in New Jersey and West Virginia, and the governors of those two states are usually on good terms with us. Usually. But we don¡¯t have a Chief Constable James. I wish we did¡­no wait, you know what? Would Judge Isaac Parker and Marshall James Fagan count?¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Friends. More my friends than friends of the American Manesological Society, but friends nonetheless. Judge Parker is who I send all my bounties to, the ones with pulses, and he sometimes sends them back to me when he¡¯s done with them--their ghosts, that is. They call him Hanging Judge Parker.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like a very merciful man.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s fair to say. It¡¯s hard to call a man that¡¯s stretched the necks of so many men merciful. But consider the nature of Indian territory. Back in 1828, Jackson¡¯s Democrats uprooted the Indians and pushed them west of the Mississippi, to Indian Territory, and promised them protection--protection which never came. Like Judge Parker once said when he defended himself from men that called him brutal, it fell to the courts to provide some of that long-promised protection, the courts and their officers, like myself and Marshal Fagan. Men, that I would scarcely call men, that Judge Parker calls devils in human form, cut their teeth on bloody sin back east and flee west, to Indian Territory, to try and escape the law. The United States exports the worst of their criminals to Indian territory. I¡¯ve seen the worst evil that comes on two legs. I¡¯ve put bullets in some of them, but most I capture alive to face Judge Parker. And I can¡¯t rightfully say I feel sorry for most of them.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re no strangers to the rawest evil of man.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°True. There was that killer back in 1866, the ¡°Werewolf of Blackwall¡± you called him, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He liked to cut young women of the night and watch them bleed out as they ran from him. We never encountered his ghost, but a friend of ours did, and dealt with him properly.¡±


    ¡°The Bisclavret siblings never liked how you called him the Werewolf of Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°Apologies. It was before shapeshifters were known to the world at large. They clung furtively to the shadows back in 1866. But regardless of what we called him, he was certainly the kind of man Judge Parker would have called a devil in human form.¡±


    ¡°True. But the Werewolf of Blackwall was one devil from one city. Indian territory is a lake of filth whose tributaries are the dirty cities of the east, Dr. Morton. There was this one half-breed, went by the name of James Foy. He killed a man the local natives called the barefoot school teacher, all because he happened to have a roll of bills in his hand at the time. James Foy hid his body in the mountains where it moldered for years until a Seminole boy found it. His name, even after several years, was still legible on the fly-leaf of the book he had in his coat pocket, and that led me to James, and I led him to Judge Parker¡¯s gallows. That¡¯s one devil, Dr. Morton, just one of many. If Judge Parker is a hard man, he¡¯s a hard man because this is a hard territory. I spent time among the Cherokee and Seminole and Muskogee after I escaped slavery. They were good to me. If I have to send some men to Hell to return the favor, I will.¡±


    ¡°I see your point. But what about the other man, this Marshal Fagan?¡±


    ¡°Judge Parker is the one that signed off on my star, but Marshal Fagan is the one that pinned it on my chest. He used to be a Confederate, if you can believe it.¡±


    ¡°A Confederate deputized a negro?¡±


    ¡°A Confederate general, actually. He was at Shiloh when the Ror Raas brought an end to the war with their sky-fires. When the Confederacy started to dissolve under economic strain, General Fagan was appointed Marshal Fagan, and Marshal Fagan appointed me.¡±


    ¡°Even though you were a negro?¡±


    ¡°I speak Tsalagi, among several other Indian languages, I can ride to beat the devil and shoot his horns off, and I¡¯m as good a shot with my left hand as my right hand. A Democrat would have appointed me, and Marshal Fagan was never a Democrat. He was a Whig, then he joined the American Party. He never owned a slave and he clearly has nothing against my race. He gave a negro the power to arrest white men, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°That seems odd to me.¡±


    ¡°Nothing odd about it. Not every man in the South fought because of slavery. Anyway, Dr. Morton, Marshal Fagan and Judge Parker are my friends. But I¡¯m not sure they would count as counterparts to your Chief Constable James.¡±


    ¡°I would say they would count, even if they¡¯re just your friends. Really, that¡¯s all you need sometimes--someone who knows you and can sympathize with you.¡±


    When they finished breakfast, the men boarded Whistle¡¯s carriage and took to the Arizona sky. Though Matthew found the Red Ghost to be just as hard to pin down with the Aldi Operation as yesterday, it would not be long before the manesologists found another clue left by the Red Ghost.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 3, Revelations. 1/4

    Their search for the Red Ghost was as fruitless as it was the day before. Mr. Reeves performed the Perkunos Operation to keep their ghostly carriage solid enough to not drop several yards above Eagle Creek. Matthew performed the Aldi Operation to track the Red Ghost until the ghost felt their approach and teleported away, at which time Joseph would use the noise box to lead Whistle in a new direction.


    Martin felt a little useless, and wished he was back at the station picking bird peppers in the wilderness. To relieve the tedium of the search, Mr. Reeves would sometimes sing a song.


    It was a comfortable, albeit frustrating, hunt.


    When the manesologists suddenly spotted a body lying on the ground, the shock disrupted the steady tedium of their search and made them feel as if they had been shaken out of a dream.


    This time they were sure it wasn¡¯t a bear. It was a man, and a whole one at that. Fortunately, he was not lying in a red spot, but he was lying face down, on his belly, and the ground around him was upturned and disturbed in such a way to suggest that he had been dragged through the dirt a long, long way.


    ¡°Oh God¡­¡± Martin muttered as the body came into sharp focus as Matthew lowered the carriage with the Ozien Operation. ¡®He looks dead!¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Joseph said. ¡°He can¡¯t be dead. He¡¯s not torn apart like the woman and the bear.¡±


    As the carriage landed, Mr. Reeves drew his gaeite lantern, gaeite core locked inside, fresh bullets loaded.


    ¡°What the hell do you need that for?¡± Joseph asked.


    "In case this is an ambush.¡± Mr. Reeves answered.


    The Englishmen stared at him.


    ¡°I told you gentlemen, this isn¡¯t Blackwall. This is hard territory. I¡¯m not going to shoot him, not unless he flips over and aims a gun at us first.¡±


    ¡°You really think that could happen?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s happened to me before. And shoot, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m the only one with a target on my back. Quite a few people want you three dead, and some of them even have special powers.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s neither here nor there.¡± Joseph said. He nudged the door of the carriage with his large fingertips and it flew open. ¡°Let¡¯s not let the man die while we stand around wondering who he is.¡±


    The three Englishmen rushed to the man¡¯s side as Mr. Reeves covered them from a distance. He aimed his gun, but he kept his finger away from the trigger.


    ¡°Easy, boy, easy.¡± Joseph said as he helped the man to his feet. ¡°Can you stand?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m alright.¡± The man gently brushed Joseph¡¯s hands aside. ¡°Thank you kindly, but I¡¯m just bruised, not broken.¡± he looked Joseph up and down. ¡°Lord, you¡¯re a big feller!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m English.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°English, huh? What¡¯s an Englishman doing out in Arizona territory?¡±


    ¡°Hunting what I think you just had a nasty run-in with.¡±


    ¡°Well, best of luck to you. That red devil, he¡¯s got the temper of Satan himself, and he pulls like a goddamn steam train.¡±


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    The man extended his hand. ¡°Name¡¯s Silas Johnson.¡±


    Joseph shook his hand.


    ¡°Whew!¡¯ Silas withdrew his hand and shook it like a glove. ¡°Feels like I just shook hands with a grizzly bear!¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Mr. Johnson, my name is Dr. Joseph Morton. My associates are fellow Englishmen Dr. Matthew Ernst, on my right, and Dr. Martin Glass, on my left.¡±


    Silas made a face as he saw Mr. Reeves.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that nigger aiming a gun at me?¡± Silas asked.


    Mr. Reeves holstered his gaeite lantern. ¡®Bass Reeves. Deputy Marshal and member of the American Manesological Society.¡±


    Silas looked at the Englishmen. ¡°He for real?¡±


    ¡°You mean you¡¯ve never heard of Bass Reeves?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°The legendary lawman?¡±


    ¡°No. But I never heard of Englishmen in Arizona looking for furry devils, either.¡±


    ¡°So the alert hasn¡¯t reached you yet?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°What alert?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°Then it hasn¡¯t.¡± Matthew said.


    Mr. Reeves knelt down and picked up something off the ground. ¡°Red hair.¡± he said. ¡®Mr. Johnson has indeed encountered the Red Ghost.¡±


    ¡°Red Ghost?¡± Silas asked. ¡°That¡¯s what that devil was called? What exactly is it? I¡¯ve never seen anything like it, it was like a horse but it¡¯s legs were long, and it¡¯s neck was like a snake! It was shaggy, like a bear, and it pulled like a whole goddamn herd of cattle!¡±


    ¡°It pulled you?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Yes sir, like nothing ever pulled me before!¡±


    Silas looked past Mr. Reeves and saw Whistle and the light shining through his body and carriage.


    ¡°What in the blue hell is that?¡± Silas asked. ¡°Is that a ghost?¡±


    ¡°Ghost horse.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°There are goddamn ghost horses now?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°There are such things as animal manes.¡± Matthew said. ¡°In fact, we may be hunting one, though our current theory is that it''s really a man¡¯s manes in the shape of a monster.¡±


    ¡°You mean that devil¡­you mean that creature that I roped, that creature that dragged me God only knows how long through the dirt, that was a ghost? No way!¡±


    ¡°You roped the Red Ghost?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you call it, then yes, I roped the Red Ghost! But it wasn¡¯t a ghost! It was solid, solid and strong!¡± Silas exclaimed.


    ¡°You make a common misconception.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Manes can be as solid as a wall or as immaterial as the wind.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Silas asked. ¡°That¡¯s how ghosts work?¡±


    ¡°That is how ghosts work.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We should know, we¡¯re manesologists.¡±


    ¡°I thought that was what the nigger said, but I...well, I didn¡¯t think I heard him right.¡± Silas said. ¡°God, this world has gone strange. Englishmen in Arizona. Solid, fuzzy ghosts that look like horses from out of a nightmare, and a nigger that¡¯s a Deputy Marshal and a ghost man!¡± Silas turned to Mr. Reeves. ¡°How the hell did that happen?¡±


    ¡°I speak several languages, most fluently the language of violence. It comes in great use in Indian territory.¡± Mr. Reeves answered.


    ¡°But aren¡¯t niggers afraid of ghosts?¡±


    ¡°Not this one. But I¡¯ve met a few that were afraid of me.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°No fooling?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°No fooling.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°You¡¯re very lucky to be alive.¡± Joseph said to Silas.


    ¡°I feel lucky to be alive!¡± Silas said. ¡°The damn thing dragged me for miles!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re even luckier than you imagine.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The Red Ghost has killed before. It stomped a woman into a puddle and eviscerated a grizzly bear.¡±


    ¡°A whole grizzly bear?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°And tossed its parts around like sawdust. It spared you, Silas Johnson, and we need to know why. It may inform us as to the origin of the Red Ghost.¡±


    ¡°I believe you when you say the devil spared me. It had me on the dirt. It could have turned around and trampled over me in a flash. But for the life of me, sir, I can¡¯t think of why it would spare me.¡±


    ¡°Tell us everything that has happened to you. How did you come across the Red Ghost?¡±


    ¡°Well, I was out with my horse, damn thing¡¯s probably ran off to God only knows where by now, and I was just going down the creek, just to have a little ride, when I see the red devil, and at first i think he¡¯s a horse distorted by the light, because the way it was built didn¡¯t seem right, but then it got closer and I saw it was something real but no quite natural. And there was this white thing on the back, hunched over with a cloth over it, and I couldn¡¯t quite tell what it was. So I think to myself, I have no idea what kind of creature this is, but someone tied something to its back, so it¡¯s carrying something someone probably wants, so I take my rope and I lasso the devil. Then the damn thing goes wild! He pulls me like nothing ever pulled me before! He knocks me to the ground and he starts dragging me, but I hold on. Lord have mercy, if I didn¡¯t have my gloves on, my hands would be bloody rags. Eventually, it was too much of a bumpy ride for me and I had to let go. Why the devil didn¡¯t end me right there on the spot, I don¡¯t know, Dr. Morton, I rightfully don¡¯t know.¡±


    Silas brushed at his pants. Dirt fell from his buckle to reveal a metal plate that read CSA.


    ¡°You were a Confederate?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Just a Virginia infantryman. Decided to go west while I was young. I wanted to see the continent, you know?¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Joseph said. ¡°England is a dreary, wet island. You could drop it several times in the American west and still have room for grand vistas the likes of which you see everyday.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 3, Revelations. 2/4

    A chestnut colored horse trotted up close to the group.


    ¡°And there¡¯s my damn horse!¡± Silas exclaimed. ¡°And my rope¡¯s around the Red Ghost¡¯s neck! Damn it!¡±


    The horse trotted around the group, interested, but cautious.


    ¡°Will he come if you call him?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Not that horse.¡± Silas said. ¡°Especially not with so many people around he doesn¡¯t know. I don''t suppose there¡¯s a fancy manesological magic spell you could do to make my horse come over?¡±


    ¡°Does your horse look like a ghost horse?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Why is it that you magic men can do so much to ghosts but next-to-nothing to a living creature? That doesn¡¯t make sense to me.¡±


    ¡°Firstly, we aren¡¯t magic men. Those are thaumaturgists and we¡¯re manesologists.¡± Joseph answered. ¡°Except for Dr. Glass, he spent a few years training with the thaumaturgists.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t rightfully make me a thaumaturgist.¡± Dr. Glass said. ¡°Though I did learn a few tricks from them.¡±


    ¡°Secondly, we do have a few things we can do against the living.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s just that none of them would be appropriate for roping a horse.¡±


    ¡°I could order my thought-forms to grab your horse.¡± Martin said. ¡°But the poor thing would get startled, and might hurt itself in its confusion.¡±


    ¡°All the power in the whole universe is inside those little candles of yours and you ghost men can¡¯t do anything?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°There is something we can do.¡± Mr. Reeves said. He cracked his modified LeMat revolver and revealed its gaeite core. Silvery-white light washed over him.


    Silas flinched.


    Mr. Reeves touched the olprt radiance with his hand.


    A Dyeus architect touched the side of his recently constructed palace. The palace laughed at his tickling touch. The young princess always wanted to be a palace.


    The Molvi Operation


    The olprt radiance softened and yellowed as Mr. Reeves¡¯ touch pulled metaphysical ectoplasm away from physical photons until a glowing silver rope was around his arms. In a moment, the free photons were bound by fresh ectoplasm from the gaeite core and the olprt radiance was once again its characteristic silvery-white.


    ¡°Tell him I can rope his horse with this.¡± Mr. Reeves said to his friends.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to throw that on my horse?¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a rope.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°If it¡¯s just a rope, then give it to me.¡± Silas said. ¡°Let me rope my own horse.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do that.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Mr. Reeves can pull a rope out of olprt radiance because he knows how to keep the right images and stories in his head. You aren¡¯t a manesologist. If you touched that rope, your mind wouldn¡¯t know what to do with it. It might burn you or even make your hand vanish completely--gobbled up by the Astral!¡±


    ¡°Is this really okay?¡± Silas asked. ¡°I mean, for him to do it?¡±


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    ¡°Mr. Reeves is the most dexterous manesologist in the world.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Of course it¡¯s okay.¡±


    ¡°Alright, but if your nigger burns my horse with that glowing rope of his¡­¡±


    With deft skill, Mr. Reeves formed a spinning hoop with the ectoplasmic rope and threw it over the horse. The horse didn¡¯t resist. It was used to being led by a rope and Mr. Reeves was used to leading men and animals by a rope.


    ¡°Here you are.¡± Mr. Reeves said as he dissolved the ectoplasmic rope and handed the reins to Silas.


    Silas did not thank him.


    ¡°If we have any more questions for you, a man in a white cloak will visit you one night.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°This man wouldn¡¯t happen to be a ghost right? Please don¡¯t send any ghosts after me.¡± Silas asked.


    ¡°Oh no. He¡¯s just as flesh and blood as you or me.¡± Joseph said. ¡°His name is John Leeds.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief! I wouldn¡¯t want anything spooky to visit me! I¡¯ve had enough spookiness for a lifetime encountering the Red Ghost.¡±


    Silas mounted his horse. ¡°You all take care.¡± he said to the Englishmen.


    Silas spurred his horse and rode away, muttering about ghosts, nigger marshals, and other things he couldn¡¯t understand.


    Shortly after, the manesologists boarded Whisper¡¯s carriage and flew into the sky.


    ¡°That man was rather rude, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Martin said to Mr. Reeves.


    Mr. Reeves chuckled. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry he made those disparaging comments towards you.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°He was more ignorant than malicious. Not that I care either way.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Mr. Reeves, do you know a place nearby where we can regroup and refresh ourselves?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Need to take a break from the search?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Though some water and food would be nice, I want to stop so I can use the Zacare Operation to summon an old Confederate friend of ours, a manes named Theodore.¡±


    A look of realization flashed in Mr. Reeves eyes. ¡°Ah! The haunted Confederate buggy ghost! I remember him. You think he can help us?¡±


    ¡°For some reason, the Red Ghost spared Mr. Johnson when he trampled Ms. Richards to death. I have a hunch that his big CSA belt buckle might be the reason. I think we may be dealing with the ghost of a Confederate. Maybe the shape of the monster means something to old Confederates? Maybe it was some sort of symbolic figure, like something they put on one of their flags?¡±


    ¡°Would Theodore know?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Teddy was an operator in the Confederates armored cavalry. They were going to send an attack force up the Mississippi to attack Washington as soon as they finished building a pillbug shaped version of the electric buggy that could go underwater. Theodore is rustic in his attitudes and speech, but he was a capable engineer, and well-connected with the Confederate military. If the Red Ghost is some sort of esoteric Confederate symbol, Teddy would know.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°But we might as well head back to that station. It¡¯s not that far away, and we don¡¯t have to worry about people asking us if they can touch our ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you just hate when they do that? I can¡¯t tell you how many times people have asked if they could touch Nick.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t Nick made out of fire?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You think that would deter them, but it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Back at the station, the manesologists found that Mr. Leeds had gone. He had left behind his white clothes, which were, as usual, neatly folded, and a note.


    ¡°Fort Bowie sent an electrogram.¡± Mr. Reeves read. ¡°There were reports of the Red Ghost near Clifton. I have gone to investigate. Will be back soon.¡± Mr. Reeves placed the note down. ¡°They saw the Red Ghost all the way out in Clifton? The damn thing is running circles around us!¡±


    ¡°Truly a formidable adversary.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Hopefully Teddy will be able to provide us with a lead.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll carry out the Operation.¡± Matthew said. He unclipped his gaeite candle from his belt and turned it on.


    ¡°Summon Teddy above the stuffed goat sucker.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯ll be funny!¡±


    ¡°It would, but he¡¯s already doing us a favor by coming.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Let¡¯s not antagonize the man that might be our only lead. Summon him right in that clear spot next to the Snallygaster tentacle, Martin.¡±


    The Dyeus warrior snapped his fingers. He wanted his old swordmaster to see this--his wedding. He had only survived this long thanks to his tutoring.


    The Zacare Operation


    A pile of metal scrap that was once one of the CSA¡¯s finest mechanical buggies materialized in the center of the station. Sitting comfortably in the fractured driver¡¯s seat, unphased by the metal jutting from his body, was a smiling man.


    ¡°Ah, it feels good to be back in America!¡± Teddy exclaimed. ¡°Thanks for calling me over, sirs. As fun as it is driving buggies for Hermes Transportation, Blackwall is just so¡­wet.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t drive those buggies looking like that, does he?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°No. He alters his appearance when he¡¯s on the clock.¡± Matthew said. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be a very good driver if his passengers saw that metal rod sticking all the way through the back of his head.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re the famous Bass Reeves!¡± Teddy exclaimed. ¡°The man with over a hundred arrests--and that¡¯s just the living men, am I right, sir?¡± Teddy extended his hand--the one that didn¡¯t have nails and screws sticking out of it.


    Mr. Reeves shook his hand, being careful not to squeeze the ectoplasmic limb into mist. ¡°I have brought many men to give an accounting of themselves before Judge Parker. A few men I¡¯ve brought before St. Peter.¡±


    ¡°Strange that I¡¯d be helping a Federal Deputy Marshal. ¡°Teddy said. ¡°To think, only a few years back, I''d have been shooting at you Federals. But I guess time heals all wounds, as they say, sir.¡±


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t begrudge me for preferring the Union to the Confederacy.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°My employment opportunities were rather limited in the Confederacy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all water under the bridge, sir.¡± Teddy said.


    ¡°More like blood under the bridge.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°But the war was then, and this case is now.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 3, Revelations. 3/4

    ¡°Listen closely, Teddy.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a manes called the Red Ghost. We believe it to be the manes of a Condefeate, because while the Red Ghost was violent enough to kill a woman and a grizzly bear, he spared a man with a CSA belt buckle.¡±


    ¡°Ah, another ¡°Red Ghost.¡±¡± Teddy said. ¡°It always seems like they¡¯re always either red or white, don¡¯t they, sir? Shame they¡¯re hardly ever blue, or green. Esmee is blue and Nick is green, but they don¡¯t call themselves the Blue Ghost and the Green Ghost. I wonder why?¡±


    ¡°Focus here, Teddy.¡± Matthew said. ¡°The Red Ghost has been sighted in the form of a large, hairy, horse-like creature. Its legs and neck are long. Its feet are cloven. Its fur is blood red.¡±


    ¡°Why sir, that sounds like the ghost of Old Douglas!¡± Teddy said.


    ¡°Well!¡± Mr. Reeves smiled. ¡°We¡¯re actually getting somewhere!¡±


    ¡°Old Douglas, you say? Was this someone you met in the service? A captain or a general?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°No, sir. Old Douglas was a camel. But he was loved like he was a good captain, the gentle beast¡­¡±


    The four men stood speechless for a moment.


    ¡°Did you just say that he was a camel?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Yes. An Arabian camel. A dromedary, sir, if you want to be fancy.¡±


    ¡°You Confederates used camels?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes sir. We had a lot of things the Federals didn¡¯t. We had camels, we had mechanical buggies, we had Stonewall Jackson¡­¡±


    ¡°You used camels? In North America?¡± Joseph simply couldn¡¯t believe it.


    ¡°Shipped from Arabia.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Camel isn¡¯t like, southern slang for a stallion or something?¡±


    ¡°No sir, I¡¯m not talking about a stallion or any other kind of horse. When I say a camel, I mean a camel, hump and all. Why, there used to be an entire Camel Corps, or didn¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°No, we didn¡¯t.¡± Matthew said. He turned to Mr. Reeves. ¡°Did you ever hear anything about a Camel Corps?¡±


    ¡°Never.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Then allow me to fill you all in and give you a bit of a history lesson. You see, back in 1855, people were looking to see if there wasn¡¯t a better way to haul things across the West than using mules and horses. The thing about America, sirs, is that unlike England, there¡¯s a lot of different climates. Up North, you have climates like what you have back in Blackwall, but the South sure is different from the North. Down South, you got places that aren¡¯t too dissimilar from the desserts of Araby. Just take where we are now, sirs. Arizona¡¯s got the Mojave and the Sonoran, both desserts, both hot, both dry. 1855 was like a different world. People thought ghosts weren¡¯t real, the Ror Raas hadn¡¯t formed yet, and Jefferson Davis wasn¡¯t President of the Confederacy, he was Secretary of War for the United States. Now, Jefferson Davis, along with some others, got the idea to purchase around 70 camels from Araby and take them on reconnaissance missions around the Colorado river. That¡¯s around the border between Arizona and California, so only a little east of where we are now. They figured that if camels were good enough for Araby, they were good enough for America.¡±


    ¡°I take it the camels didn¡¯t do so well?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°No sir, they did wonderful. They outperformed the horses and the mules. The camels could carry around 600 pounds. They could last 15 days without a drop of water. They even ate greasewood, sir.¡±


    ¡®Nothing eats greasewood.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°What¡¯s greasewood?¡± Matthew asked.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°A weed.¡± Mr. Reeves explained. ¡°It grows out here in abundance. It¡¯s also called hediondilla, has yellow flowers, and smells a little like rain. Nothing eats it. I mean, a jackrabbit, if it''s hungry enough, might, but nothing bigger than a jackrabbit will.¡±


    ¡°Camels would.¡± Teddy said. ¡°And camels did, sir.¡±


    ¡°Well, if these camels were such wonderful creatures, how come we don¡¯t see them running around America like horses these days?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Part of the reason has to do with those who already had a vested interest in selling people horses and mules. They didn¡¯t much appreciate the competition that came from camels, and they let their local congressmen know all about their concerns over steak dinners, if you catch my meaning. Another part was that the camels were just plain different from horses and mules. You know, they had a different sort of temperament, sirs. Camels don¡¯t settle for the kind of treatment horses and mules do. You try to whip them or spur them, and they will spit in your face--literally, spit in your face, sirs. Spitting is a thing that they do when they¡¯re mad. But they brought some camel drivers from Araby to show people how to handle the beasts. The best of the drivers was a chap by the name of Hi Jolly.¡±


    ¡°Hi Jolly?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes sir, that was his name, Hi Jolly. And he did live up to his name, sirs. He was a jovial fellow, and everyone liked him very much.¡±


    ¡°I doubt he was actually named Hi Jolly.¡± Martin said. ¡°That¡¯s not an Arabic name, and I¡¯ve read enough of Abdul Alhazred to know my Arabic.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you sir, he was named Hi Jolly, as in ¡°Hi how are you?¡± and ¡°Thanks, I¡¯m Jolly, how are you?¡±


    ¡°He was probably called something like Hadji Ali or Ali al-Hajaya.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°He was only known to the Camel Corps as Hi Jolly.¡±


    ¡°So in 1855, the United States military experimented with using camels in the West. I get that.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But how do we get from the United States having camels to the Confederacy and Old Douglas?¡±


    ¡°Through Jefferson Davis, sir. He never stopped believing in the usefulness of camels. He was always one for new ideas, Jefferson Davis. He believed in the Armored Cavalry Corp. He believed in the Confederacy. He believed in camels. While he never went as far as to establish a Confederate Camel Corps, if the winds of fortune had blown our way after the Ror Raas forced a cease fire, I bet you everything that he would have. Still, the great praise he heaped upon the camel caused it to be purchased by various Confederate farmers and plantation owners. That¡¯s how Old Douglas came to be in the possession of the 43rd Mississippi Infantry. Old Douglas was purchased from Araby by a Mississippi farmer by the name of William Hargrove. Hargrove found Old Douglas a fine animal, hard-working and patient, and being a firm believer in the cause of the Confederacy, Hargrove gave Old Douglas to Colonel W.H. Moore.¡±


    ¡°A question, Teddy--how old was Old Douglas?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Honestly sir, I have no idea. For all I know, Old Douglas may have been a young camel. How can one even tell an old camel from a young one? I don¡¯t think their hair grays with age and falls out.¡±


    ¡°Some mysteries are for the universe.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°The men of the 43rd Mississippi Infantry loved Old Douglas. They had him carry all the instruments of the regimental band. They even let him roam free, though at first they tied him up.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like Old Douglas liked the men.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Since he didn¡¯t run from them.¡±


    ¡°No sir, Old Douglas never ran, though early on, when they tried to tie him up, he broke free. Eventually the men got the message and stopped tying him up. But Old Douglas never ran. He liked the boys, and the boys liked him.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea camels were so strong.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I wonder if a camel could beat a lion in a fight--or maybe even a tiger?¡±


    ¡°You get the strangest ideas, Dr. Morton.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Oh he does.¡± Martin said. ¡°You should hear what sort of inane statements come out of his mouth back home in Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°Old Douglas was so loved by the boys that they even forgave him for getting their horses killed.¡± Teddy said.


    ¡°Oh no.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me he also ate them?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, sir. Old Douglas did nothing of the sort.¡± Teddy said. ¡°Old Douglas was a gentle giant, he would never hurt another creature, sir. You see, what happened was that the horses didn¡¯t like Old Douglas. I think they were jealous. Whenever he got near, they got spooked, and bolted. One day, when a horse ran from Old Douglas, it caused a little stampede. Two horses died.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t shoot Old Douglas for that.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°It cannot be stated how much they loved that camel, sir. When a Union sharpshooter shot Douglas in the head, they were furious.¡±


    A sigh of disappointment and disapproval came from the manesologists.


    ¡°They killed the camel?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes sir. Bullet right between the eyes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just wrong.¡± Martin said. ¡°Shooting a man, that¡¯s war, but to shoot a unit¡¯s mascot, that¡¯s just¡­no, that isn¡¯t right.¡±


    ¡°The men of the 43rd Infantry Regiment shared your sentiments, sir. Colonel Moore deployed six of his best sharpshooters to get the son of a bitch that killed Old Douglas.¡±


    ¡°Did they get him?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes, sir, I¡¯m happy to report. They got him.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°So is the Red Ghost Old Douglas?¡± Martin asked. ¡°That cloth covered mass on the Red Ghost¡¯s back could be an ectoplasmic image of the regimentary band¡¯s equipment.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it is, sir. Though Old Douglas was a true Confederate at heart, they even buried him in Vicksburg, in Cedar Hill Cemetery, with the flag on his grave, I don¡¯t see the gentle giant taking vengeance on innocent women.¡±


    ¡°That must have been quite a large grave.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°How would he even know Mrs. Richards was Union?¡± Teddy asked. ¡°Did they fly the Union flag outside their homestead?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know, Teddy.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°And what about the bear? Why¡¯d he kill the bear, if this was all because he was mad about a Union sniper killing him? Furthermore, sirs, how would Old Douglas have known it was a Union soldier that killed him? I doubt he saw the color uniform of the man that shot him from yards away.¡±


    ¡°Good points, Teddy.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s probably not the ghost of Old Douglas, but didn¡¯t you say that there were other Confederate camels?¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 3, Revelations. 4/4

    ¡°Yes sir. None were actually enlisted like Old Douglas, but there were other camels owned by Confederate officers. It was something of a fashion among Confederate gentlemen due to Jefferson Davis. I suppose it''s possible that a Confederate gentleman owned a camel of a dark and violent disposition. The creatures are generally patient, so long as you don¡¯t tie them or beat them, but animals are like people, sir, they come in all kinds. That camel might have been the kind of animal to like killing things for the fun of it, but the sight of the letters C, S, and A reminded him of his old master and calmed him.¡±


    ¡°Good lord, the ghost of a kill-crazy Confederate camel.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Don¡¯t take this the wrong way, Teddy, but I''ve always found Confederate ghosts to be very strange among all the different kinds of ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we certainly are, sir.¡± Teddy said. ¡°Just look at me and all my riveted glory. So far I¡¯m the only ghost of a man that¡¯s died in a motor vehicle. It¡¯s a distinction I hope to hold onto for a few more decades. There¡¯s just one more thing you should probably know concerning camels and the Confederacy, sirs: there was the matter of Camp Verde. That was where most of the camels used in the original US experiments ended up. We captured Camp Verde in 1861 and when we did, we came into the possession of about¡­eighty camels or so.¡±


    ¡°So what did you do with them?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Put bonnie blue blankets on them and put them to work?¡±


    ¡°Only a few. Most of them, we just let loose. We were on the march and in contested territory. We didn¡¯t have the time to wrangle a bunch of camels. But here¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking, sir: perhaps one of the camels felt obliged to the CSA for giving it its freedom.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a delicious irony here.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°But I won¡¯t stress it, it¡¯s fairly obvious.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see the irony, sir.¡¯


    ¡°I had a feeling you wouldn¡¯t, Teddy.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡®So we¡¯re after a Confederate camel, that shouldn¡¯t be too hard to deal with.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We just mix some greasewood in with a mint julep and he¡¯ll come to our side like a cat to a bowl of milk.¡±


    A knock suddenly came from Mr. Leed¡¯s office.


    Everyone save for Mr. Reeves jumped.


    ¡°I have something I need to show you all.¡± Mr. Leeds called out.


    ¡°He did it again!¡± Matthew exclaimed. ¡°He moved in and out without any of us seeing him! Mr. Reeves, are you sure there isn¡¯t a secret door in his office?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure there isn¡¯t, though you¡¯d think there would be one around here somewhere given all the haunted house stuff we collect. He¡¯s just fast. Very fast. Superhumanly fast, naturally.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Mr. Leeds! He¡¯s the¡­special one among the Poeists, isn¡¯t he?¡± Teddy asked. ¡°Do you think I could see him? You know, as thanks for helping you all out here?¡±


    ¡°I think we should part ways for now, Teddy.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Tell Esmee and Nick we are doing well and that we should be home before Friday.¡±


    ¡°Well, hold on! I didn¡¯t say I wanted to see him without his cloak on, sir, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking I was getting at! It shouldn¡¯t be hard thing to see him with his--¡±


    Matthew turned off his gaeite candle and Teddy returned in an instant to England.


    ¡°For the best.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I don¡¯t think Mr. Leeds would have been able to stand him.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The four men entered Mr. Leed¡¯s office to find that the shrouded man had placed a strange, white object on his desk.


    The men would have figured out what it was in an instant, but the brown detritus and black strands clinging to it in certain spots threw them.


    ¡°...Is that a piece of skull?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Oh God, did it kill again?¡± Martin asked.


    Joseph suddenly thought of Tybalt back in Blackwall. The little fellow would sometimes bring him dead birds and rats--and sometimes pieces of dead birds and rats.


    ¡°This is a piece of skull.¡± Mr. Leeds answered. ¡°But it''s not from a victim. While you were out, I checked the electrograph, and found that Fort Bowie had sent us a message. A group of men came across the Red Ghost and shot at it with their rifles.¡±


    ¡°Why do they always do that?¡± Martin asked. ¡°You¡¯d think by now everyone would have heard the old adage ¡°The living have no defense from the dead.¡±?¡±


    Mr. Leeds chuckled, and the sound was like a muffled horn. ¡°I¡¯m proof that people always like to shoot what can¡¯t be killed.¡±


    ¡°So these men were alright?¡± Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°Did the Red Ghost attack them?¡±


    ¡°No. The Red Ghost turned and ran.¡±


    ¡°Were any of the men Confederates?¡± Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°Were they wearing anything that would have identified them as Confederates, uniforms, CSA belt buckles, things like that?¡±


    ¡°Not that I could tell, but I did not pay much attention to what they were wearing.¡±


    ¡°We learned quite a bit today about who the Red Ghost might be.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°It¡¯s a long story, but he may have Confederate sensibilities. He may spare those that wear emblems of the Confederacy and kill those associated with images of the Union.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting development. Perhaps one of the men that fired on the Red Ghost was a Confederate? That is something worth following up on. Anyway, the men chased after the Red Ghost but, to no surprise, the Red Ghost teleported away, leaving behind the standard red hair--and this bit of skull.¡±


    ¡°They all said that something white was riding the Red Ghost.¡± Joseph said. ¡°White like a skeleton wrapped in a blanket, apparently.¡±


    ¡°They were good enough shots to blow a bit of ectoplasm off the Red Ghost.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°A skeleton atop a camel¡­¡± Martin mused. ¡°...It reminds me of depictions of the demon Gremory in the Ars Goetia¡­¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, did you say camel?¡± Mr. Leeds asked.


    ¡°The Red Ghost is either the ghost of a camel or an actual camel.¡± Martin explained. ¡°I know, it sounds very odd for there to be a camel ghost in the United States, but that¡¯s what we¡¯ve determined. The Red Ghost is the ghost of a camel or camel driver related to either the US Camel Corps or, more likely, later Confederate camel operations.¡±


    ¡°I lived well before the Revolution, and I don¡¯t remember any sort of Camel Corps.¡± Mr. Leeds said.


    ¡°A lot of people don¡¯t.¡± Martin said. ¡°But it was, indeed, real.¡±


    ¡°But the Red Ghost manifests not as a camel, not exactly, but as a skeleton riding a camel.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°And now because of the men, he¡¯s another headless horseman.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Unless he¡¯s the kind of ghost to regrow his ectoplasm. Good Lord! What¡¯s with this country and headless ghosts?¡±


    ¡°It seems rather queer to me that the skeleton was so still people confused it for luggage.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Normally when you get a ghost that manifests itself in the form of a skeleton, they¡¯re very animated. Old Bloody Bones is an example of that. They know they¡¯re dead and delight in being dead, they want everyone to know they¡¯re dead. But this skeleton had a cloth over him, like he was hiding himself. That¡¯s queer.¡±


    Matthew took out his gaeite candle. ¡°I¡¯m curious about something. I¡¯m going to illuminate the room for a moment.¡±


    Silvery-white olprt radiance washed over the room--and the bit of skull.


    The men and Mr. Leeds were stunned. It did not turn black.


    The skeleton was a physical skeleton. A real corpse rode the back of the Red Ghost.


    ¡°What made you think the skeleton was physical, Matthew?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°What Mr. Reeves just said.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°Along with a hunch of my own. The Red Ghost is a violent ghost. Violent ghosts usually spring from messy ends. I¡¯m not sure what sort of circumstance would have placed a corpse on the back of a camel, but it couldn¡¯t have been clean.¡±


    ¡°I think this development further points to the Red Ghost being the ghost of an animal instead of a man.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°If this was the ghost of a man, I don¡¯t think he would keep his corpse riding in the same saddle he was in. I think he would have dropped the corpse and rode as a ghost rider.¡±


    ¡°Some manes are very attached to their corpses.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°But they tend to animate their corpses when they¡¯re attached, and no one¡¯s seen the corpse move so much as a jerk.¡±


    ¡°Hm. True, true.¡± Martin said. ¡°A loyal camel, still carrying its rider after all these years¡­such a sad manes.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°But if it''s the manes of a camel, why did he attack a woman and a bear?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°His violence doesn¡¯t make much sense for a man either, and yet his violence remains a fact.¡± Joseph said. ¡°In time, we¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    ¡°Anything more to report, Mr. Leeds?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Nothing more, save that there was a slight decrease in the jackrabbit population tonight.¡±


    ¡°Then I say to you, Mr. Leeds, have a good stroll under the moonlight, and to the rest of you, good night.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Let¡¯s get our rest, gentlemen. We have made great progress today, but there is still much more work to do tomorrow. Tomorrow, I feel that I can try the Zacare Operation.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 4, The Rest of the Red Ghost. 1/4

    The Fourth Day


    As before, Mr. Reeves awoke first, checked to see that Mr. Leeds was fast asleep in his office, and prepared breakfast. He also checked the electrograph for messages, for he assumed Fort Bowie would have something to say about the Red Ghost still roaming Eagle Creek, and he was right.


    ¡°The garrison at Fort Bowie sent an electrogram.¡± He informed his English guests over breakfast.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°Let me guess, they want us to know that they have the utmost faith in our abilities and are praying for our success.¡±


    Mr. Reeves smirked. ¡°No. Not even close.¡±


    ¡°I thought so.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°They¡¯re urging us, in the strongest possible words that they dare use, to put a swift end to the bloody rampage of the Red Ghost.¡±


    ¡°Good Lord.¡± Joseph muttered. ¡°This is only the fourth day. There¡¯s only been one death. I don¡¯t mean to sound like I¡¯m belittling what happened to poor Ms. Richards, but Mr. Reeves, you¡¯ve hunted down murderers before, human murderers, and did the authorities ever give you grief just four days into your manhunt?¡±


    ¡°Not once.¡±


    ¡°Of course! I swear, I don¡¯t think mankind is ever going to stamp out ghost shyness. Some people will always be ghost shy--especially people in power, it seems! It¡¯s alway the the authorities that can¡¯t stand ghosts. I bet it''s because they can¡¯t tax them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right. Indians make them nervous for the same reason. It¡¯s why they keep trying to make citizens out of them.¡±


    ¡°Have you sent a reply?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°Tell them the Red Ghost¡¯s haunting should be resolved today.¡±


    ¡°Tell them it¡¯s a camel.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Imagine the look on their faces when they read that!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already sent a reply.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I told them we¡¯re going to run the Zacare Operation against it today. I didn¡¯t tell them about it being a camel, though.¡±


    ¡°Ah, why not?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d save such things for after we affix the Red Ghost.¡± Mr. Reeves answered. ¡°They already think we¡¯re incompetent, I don¡¯t want them to think we¡¯re insane.¡±


    When they had finished breakfast, they flew Whisper out to a remote place along Eagle Creek, far from any homes. They were sure they would be able to affix the Red Ghost, but experience had taught them that a little caution could save a lot of grief. If anything happened, they wanted to make sure that an angry ghost wouldn¡¯t be placed somewhere it could harm people.


    Matthew produced his gaeite candle. ¡°I¡¯ll begin.¡±


    He pressed a button on the metal base of his candle then turned a knob to the right as far as it would go.


    A bubble of olprt radiance bloomed in the Arizona territory, stretching for miles in all directions. A tiny sun bloomed like a flower in the Arizona wilderness.


    Matthew gathered his thoughts, then began.


    A Dyeus King recalled the previous king to the throne room. He arrived with a sly grin. Of course, he would be needed. He had arranged things well before the assassination to make sure that he would be needed.


    The Zacare Operation.


    Far into the distance, a red beast walked out of the air. Its long legs stamped down into the yielding earth like tentpoles driven by a hammer. Now that the manesologists were aware of what was on its back, they could clearly see the skeleton bobbing up and down on its back. Time and dusty winds had eaten away the skin, but the ligaments still held firm.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Do we affix him now, Matthew?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No. Not now.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°He doesn¡¯t detect us, we¡¯re well outside his Astral hand. Let¡¯s try and study his habits before he starts kicking and screaming.¡±


    ¡°If he starts heading this way we need to move, so be ready for that.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°That acute sensitivity of his means as soon as we brush up his Astral hand, he¡¯s going to either run from us, or charge at us.¡±


    ¡°Spyglasses, everyone.¡± Matthew said.


    The group produced spyglasses made with gaeite lenses. The light seen through their amber-colored ends could be altered with simple Operations to produce clear images of the naturally invisible well beyond the range of conventional gaeite candles. In the case of a ghost that was already visible, the spyglasses were still useful as spyglasses.


    Through their spyglasses, the men could see the Red Ghost and its white rider in clear, gruesome detail.


    ¡°Look at that!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°God, there¡¯s still some flesh hanging off the bones.¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s clothing.¡± Martin said. He took a closer look. ¡°No, wait, I was wrong. It¡¯s clothing and flesh. Oh God, I think he died in the saddle. I think he died slowly.¡±


    ¡°Very slowly.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Look down at his legs and waist and you¡¯ll see what I mean.¡±


    The Englishmen did so, and saw leather straps so tightly bound to the desiccated legs that they almost seemed a part of him, like drooping strips of peeled skin only partially cut from the muscle.


    The straps vanished beneath the red fur of the ghost camel. The straps had evidently been on for a long, long time. Raw flesh and matted fur must have grown over the straps, and the ectoplasmic body of the ghost camel mirrored the poor fate of the living camel.


    ¡®Martin, your eyes have a way of sussing out the difference between physical matter and ectoplasm.¡± Joseph said. ¡°What are those straps?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re physical matter.¡± Martin said. ¡°I was right. Some poor man died in the saddle, but what¡¯s more, someone lashed him to it. Even after he died, the camel continued to carry him. Even after the camel died, the camel continued to carry him. Oh, that¡¯s so hellish!¡±


    ¡°Maybe when the Union retook Camp Verde they tied a Confederate soldier to a camel and made it go, just to torture the poor man?¡± Joseph suggested.


    ¡°Both sides did things like that to each other.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°So it¡¯s certainly possible. But another explanation is that the man could have been learning to ride his camel.¡± Mr. Reeves suggested. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of people that tie themselves to their horses when they¡¯re just learning how to ride. Maybe the man wanted to ride a camel. Maybe he was a Jefferson Davis fan and purchased one from Arabia, or maybe he was a Confederate soldier and picked one up when they first took Camp Verde. Regardless, my guess is that the camel got spooked by something, broke into a gallop, and he could never get the straps undone.¡±


    ¡°Amazing how just one innocent mistake like that can end a man.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Wait! Everyone be quiet!¡± Mr. Reeves held up a hand. ¡°Quiet! You hear that?¡±


    The manesologists strained their ears to listen to the wind. Joseph¡¯s old ears couldn¡¯t hear a thing, but Martin and Matthew heard a voice as dry and creaky as the bones strapped to the camel.


    ¡°Water¡­water¡­take me to water¡­¡±


    ¡°God, poor man went an awful way.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Better a bullet to the head than that.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he saying?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Water.¡± Martin said. ¡°He¡¯s begging for water.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Then I can see why the man manifested as his mount.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Think about it. The poor man is tied to a camel. His body is baking in the sun. He¡¯s dying. His only hope is that his camel leads him to water, and it''s a damn thin hope considering how long camels can go without water. His mind starts to go. But he thinks, in his last thoughts, that if the camel keeps going, he can stay alive. He starts to will the camel to take another step, just another step. He starts to think of himself as the camel. And now, as a ghost, he is the camel.¡±


    ¡°I know I¡¯d rather think of myself as the beast over the poor man attached to it.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I just remembered something, gentleman.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Mrs. Richards was killed while watering the cattle. And the bear was killed close to the creek. Parts of it were even in the water. It may have been trying to get a drink when the Red Ghost came upon it.¡±


    ¡°So the Red Ghost killed them to try and get at their water.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Seems that way.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s something I don¡¯t understand.¡± Martin said. ¡°Eagle Creek is right there. He¡¯s been sighted going up and down the creek since his haunting began. Lucid the Red Ghost is clearly not, but he¡¯s been around here long enough to figure out that the creek is full of water, and he was certainly aware of it when he killed that grizzly, so why is he roaming around? Why isn¡¯t he by the creek constantly drinking?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out. It¡¯s time for an experiment.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Martin, could you tell your dogs to gouge out a little furrow from the creek?¡±


    ¡°Hold on, Matthew.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We should try a different water source. Let¡¯s eliminate the possibility that something about the creek makes him hesitant to drink from it.¡±


    Martin spread his arms out and gestured to the dry wilderness around them. ¡°A different water source, such as?¡±


    ¡°The Sky Witch.¡± Joseph answered.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to call her?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Are you sure you want to do that? If I remember your reports correctly, she¡¯s a little exuberant when it comes to requests.¡±


    ¡°We recruited her before Blackwall was even built. She does have a spirit to her, but she can be trusted to act so long as what¡¯s requested of her pertains to lightning, wind, and rain. The Bancroft incident you¡¯re probably thinking about happened because we asked her to dry up a body of water, not create one. We won¡¯t make that mistake here.¡±


    ¡°So she¡¯s all about service, rain or shine.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Like a US postman.¡±


    ¡°Well, in her case, service in rain, but never shine.¡± Matthew said.


    He closed his eyes and called to the Sky Witch. His thoughts reached out to her across the planet, reached out to her all the way at her remote chain of islands in the Atlantic. Ernst, Morton, and Glass had placed her there so that she could play with the weather as often as she liked without disturbing a soul.

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 4, The Rest of the Red Ghost. 2/4

    The Dyeus King called his old lover to his side, but dismissed her an instant later. He could not bear to see her face, which held the same beauty, and the same disapproval.


    The Zacare Operation


    The Sky Witch appeared in her preferred form, that of a black and billowing stormcloud chuckling with thunder. The olprt radiance didn¡¯t make her look a bit different from her regular appearance. A black silhouette of a stormcloud was just as black as a stormcloud.


    ¡°Ah, Dr. Ernst! It¡¯s been a while since you¡¯ve called me.¡± the Sky Witch said. ¡°What is that over there? A camel? Oh, may I have it? I want to take it back to my island!¡±


    ¡°No, sorry Mattie.¡± Matthew said. ¡°That¡¯s the manes we¡¯re trying to help today.¡±


    ¡°Another animal ghost? Interesting! You don¡¯t see many of those! Oh, are you sure I can¡¯t have it, Dr. Ernst? It looks so fluffy, and its big head is so cute! It would look so keen running on my beaches! What¡¯s that thing on its back, by the way?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can¡¯t have the camel, Mattie.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Mattie, we need you to pay attention. We called you here to fill a hole with water. We¡¯re doing an experiment that will hopefully teach us something about the manes. The manes wants to drink water, but won¡¯t drink from the creek. We¡¯re going to find out why.¡±


    ¡°Uh? Another watering hole? It seems you always want rain from me. Rain, rain, rain. This is the American southwest, isn¡¯t it? Can¡¯t you find some natives to do a rain dance for you?¡±


    ¡°Just fill the hole, Mattie, and then you can go back to your island.¡±


    ¡°Good! It¡¯s so dry out here, and quiet. Not like my island at all.¡± The Sky Witch looked at Mr. Reeves. ¡°Oh! Look at you! A black man! I¡¯ve never seen a black man before!¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ve never seen a Sky Witch before.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Focus, Mattie.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We need you to fill a hole with water.¡±


    ¡°Well, where¡¯s the hole?¡± the Sky Witch asked. ¡°I can¡¯t fill what I can¡¯t see!¡±


    ¡°Martin?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°One moment.¡± Martin replied.


    Suddenly, there was a puff of dust, far off to the side of the Red Ghost. When it cleared, the group could see the small fissure in the earth Martins¡¯ dogs had made.


    The camel rolled its massive neck over to the crack in the earth. Its feet soon followed.


    ¡°...Find it...Find water¡­¡± the Red Ghost muttered to the wind. ¡°Water¡­bring me to water¡­¡±


    ¡°Fill it, Mattie.¡± Matthew said.


    Far above, the clouds began to swirl. White whirled into gray and then into black.


    ¡°Good lord, she¡¯s stirring the entire sky1¡± Mr. Reeves exclaimed. ¡°From horizon to horizon, like a big bowl of milk!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so fancy.¡± Matthew said to the Sky Witch.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t, but it¡¯s so much fun to be fancy! Especially when I have an audience! Are you impressed, black man?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t rightfully say I¡¯ve seen the sky do that before.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°So yes, I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    ¡°Fill the hole, Mattie.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We don¡¯t have all day.¡±


    The Sky Witch sighed, and her sigh was like the sound of a brief summer shower tickling the Earth.


    ¡°Fine, fine¡­¡±


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    The Sky Witch reached out with her power and tore a small fraction of a cloud off, like a child pulling apart a bit of cotton.


    ¡°First, you pinch off a piece of cloud.¡±


    The cloud fell like a feather to the Earth and filled the crack in the ground like mist.


    The camel looked at the mist, very confused, and snorted.


    ¡°Then all you have to do is make it cold, see? It¡¯s very easy--for a Sky Witch!¡±


    The mist congealed into water and filled the crack.¡±


    The voice of the Red Ghost roared. ¡°Water! Water! I can smell it! Bring me to water! Go!¡±


    The camel darted over to the crack, and then, a black body arose from the white bones and flung itself towards the water.


    The body was raw and burnt. It was hard to tell how old the man was. The damage to his flesh gave him the appearance of wrinkles, but he could have been a young man.


    The body landed just shy of the water and crawled toward the liquid, fingers arched like claws, mouth agape.


    He buried his blistered arms in the water and sank his face into it. Then, with a pained growl, he pulled himself away.


    The water wasn¡¯t disturbed. Not as much as a ripple crossed its surface.


    ¡°Bad water! Dirty water! Poison water!¡± the man screamed.


    Not a drop fell from his face or arms. Nothing clung to his ectoplasm.


    He drank nothing.


    The man sobbed tears without moisture. ¡°It¡¯s never good water¡­never good¡­always thirsty¡­gonna die¡­gonna die soon¡­¡±


    The man vanished. The camel turned away from the water and began to trod off in search of water.


    The camel had been searching for a long, long time.


    ¡°I think I understand now.¡± Matthew said. ¡°The poor man can¡¯t slake his thirst. His thirst is a deep,  deep memory. Touching water does nothing to remedy it, so he thinks whatever he touches is bad water, and goes off in search of more.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been doing this for so long¡­poor man¡¯s an American Tantalus.¡± Martin said. ¡°He¡¯s surrounded by water, but he can¡¯t drink a drop!¡±


    ¡°Would it help if I made it rain?¡± the Sky Witch asked. There was concern in her voice, and the Sky Witch was rarely concerned about anything.


    ¡°No.¡± Matthew answered.


    ¡°But Dr. Ernst, the poor man¡¯s dying of thirst! He¡¯s dying of thirst forever! I can wring all the moisture out of the sky just like one would a towel! I can cause such a downpour that he¡¯d never need to drink another drop of water again!¡±


    ¡°No, Mattie, that won¡¯t work.¡± Matthew said. ¡°You could flood all of Arizona, it wouldn¡¯t help a thing. The problem isn¡¯t the water, it''s him.¡±


    The Sky Witch sighed, and her sigh was like a muffled thunderclap. ¡°Then why did you call me here if all I can do is watch that poor man suffer?¡±


    ¡°I have an idea, Mattie.¡± Matthew turned to his fellow manesologists. ¡°I think we can affix the Red Ghost in such a way so that he¡¯ll be content and comfortable. First, we weaken his ba spiritual component, his memories, not enough so that he forgets who he is, but enough so that he can forget that he¡¯s perpetually thirsty. A fleeting thirst can be slaked.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± the Sky Witch exclaimed. ¡°Then I can make it rain, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We¡¯re going to bury him in a body of water. We can¡¯t use the creek though, people use it, so we¡¯ll make a little pond for him. The sensation of water finally slaking his thirst, and being surrounded by that water, should give him a profound and embryonic feeling of calm. And when he realizes that, when he realizes he¡¯s submerged but not drowning, he will realize that he is a manes. His nightmare will be broken. He will know that he is dead, he will feel that he is at peace, and what more could we do for a manes, gentlemen?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I like this plan, Matthew. If this goes like you say, then this will be one of our good cases, even with the earlier homicide.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re going to repeat what we did before, Mattie.¡± Martin said. ¡°I dig a pit, and you fill that pit with water.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure I understand what¡¯s going on here, but if you say it¡¯s for the best, then I¡¯ll believe it''s for the best.¡± the Sky Witch replied.


    ¡°Hold on.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°I think it''s a good plan, Dr. Ernst, but there¡¯s a hitch. I think we might be dealing with two ghosts, not one.¡±


    ¡°Two ghosts? Joseph asked.


    ¡°Yes. The camel and the man. I think they¡¯re together.¡±


    ¡°That would make this one hell of an exceptional case.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Animal ghosts are rare, and so are combined ghosts. If you¡¯re right, the Red Ghost is a rarity of a rarity.¡±


    ¡°Well, this is the country for such things.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    Joseph shrugged. ¡°Right. I can¡¯t argue with that. The country that made Bass Reeves would be the country to make the first human-animal ghost pair.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think there are two manes, Mr. Reeves?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly a hunch, though my hunches tend to be good. The poor man is insane. He wants water, but he can never get water. That¡¯s Tantalus, from Greek mythology, like Dr. Glass said. He¡¯s in such a bad state people would call it divine punishment, and he attacked not only a beare but a woman for their water. I can¡¯t see a man that desperate and crazed relenting from attacking someone that might have fought on his side. I¡¯ve known enough men like that to know they aren¡¯t that considerate.¡±


    ¡°But what about the Confederate with the belt buckle?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he was spared because the deceased man had Confederate sensibilities. I think he was spared because the camel had Confederate sensibilities. That camel is clearly dog-loyal to his rider. It took on a grizzly without knowing that it itself was a ghost and invulnerable. That takes loyalty. But such a loyalty would also logically apply to all its previous owners, who were presumably Confederates. I can see the camel stopping short of killing the Confederate once it saw the belt buckle. What I think happened was this: one of the camels the Confederates released from Camp Verde found its way to Eagle Creek and it remembered the nice men with shiny CSA belt buckles and gray shirts that opened its cage. It thrived out here, as camels do in this environment, until it came across a frontiersman, maybe a trapper, or a prospector. This man was probably wounded, maybe even dying. Maybe he ran into bad men, it happens out here, or maybe he just had a bad accident without anyone around to help him, that happens out here too, but regardless, he¡¯s hurt, he¡¯s bleeding, and then he sees this strange animal trot up to him. Maybe he himself was a Confederate, or maybe the camel was just a very helpful and friendly animal, but it gets close enough that our man can get a rope around it. Our man figures that this strange animal before him might not be a horse, but it¡¯s still an animal, and all animals drink.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the poor man.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting the idea, Dr. Glass. Our man figures that if he lashes himself to this animal it¡¯ll eventually head to water. It was just his awful luck that a camel can go up to fifteen days without a drink. But how would he know? But that¡¯s how I think he and his animal are both ghosts.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 4, The Rest of the Red Ghost. 3/4

    ¡°What does all that have to do with anything?¡± the Sky Witch asked impatiently. ¡°So there are two thirsty ghosts, so what? Let¡¯s make a lake already, we can push them both in and end their pain.¡±


    ¡°If it was that easy I would have waited until we were done to speak up.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Before we affix the man, we have to separate him from the camel, otherwise one or both of them might panic. I don¡¯t think the camel would take it well if the man was suddenly pulled of his back, and given the teleportation abilities we¡¯ve encountered, if we do this wrong, we might send a berserk ghost up and down the entire territory.¡±


    ¡°So just affix both of them at the same time.¡± the Sky Witch said. ¡°Surely you all can do that? Let¡¯s make that pond or lake or ocean or whatever already and dunk them in it!¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t affix them both in the pond.¡± Matthew said. ¡°The camel doesn¡¯t seem to have its rider¡¯s crazed thirst. It may find the water distressing rather than calming. And if we affix them both out of water, one or both will panic, and they¡¯ve suffered enough. We will do what Mr. Reeves suggests--we separate them first.¡±


    ¡°I can do that!¡± the Sky Witch exclaimed. ¡°Just give the word and I¡¯ll create one of those special spiritual winds and blow one that way and the other the other way!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s try a more gentle approach.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We¡¯ll lure the man with water, just a little, until he¡¯s well away from the camel. Then we drop a rain cloud on him.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll drop the raincloud.¡± the Sky Witch said. ¡°But you can all take the credit if you want, I don¡¯t mind. Just be sure that when Illustrated Phantom Stories prints this adventure that I¡¯m on the cover. And make sure I¡¯m marked this time, I didn¡¯t like how the last cover had me as a rain cloud.¡±


    ¡°But you are a rain cloud.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Yes, but they ought to label me so people know I¡¯m a very special rain cloud.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this plan, Matthew.¡± Martin said. ¡°We show him water and then pull it away, that¡¯s making him more like Tantalus than the poor man already is.¡±


    ¡°If you have a better idea, please share it.¡± Joseph said.


    Matthew sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t. So let¡¯s do it.¡±


    ¡°First, we need a puddle.¡± Matthew said. ¡°And I mean a puddle, Mattie. Make a bucketful of water and if we need more we¡¯ll tell you. Put it on the ground a little ways from the camel. That should get the man to detach from the camel.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t even need to cut up a cloud for that.¡± the Sky Witch said. ¡°Just the air on the ground will do.¡±


    The camel stopped. It curved its neck. There, within only a few feet, was suddenly a puddle of water.


    The ghost of the man sprang out of the bones. ¡°Water! Water!¡±


    ¡°Move it quickly, Mattie!¡± Matthew cried.


    The puddle jerked away like a living creature.


    ¡°No!¡± the blistered ghost shouted. ¡°No! Come back! I¡¯m so thirsty! Water! Water!¡±


    ¡°Martin, make a pond and make it deep.¡±


    There was a crack like thunder.


    A sphere of rock and dirt disgorged itself from out of the ground, rolled some distance, and crumbled into a small hill. The blistered ghost didn¡¯t pay the miracle any attention. His eyes were set upon the dancing water which dripped like a blue sake down the sides of the crater. The blistered ghost chased the water on his hands and knees.


    ¡°Water!¡± he shouted as he reached the bottom and sprang like a feral animal at the puddle, fingers stretched like claws.


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    ¡°Now!¡± Matthew shouted. ¡°Fill the pond, Mattie!¡±


    The Sky Witch did so.


    The sky darkened in an instant and opened itself. A torrent of rain fell upon the blistered ghost. So thick was the rain that it was like a solid column of water.


    When the water sloshed over the sides of the crater, the Sky Witch ended the storm, and the sky was as clear and blue. Not a drizzle was left upon the hot Arizona air.


    The water was still. Not a ripple disturbed its surface.


    ¡°I think that did it.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± Matthew said as he gestured for the other manesologists to follow him to the water¡¯s edge. ¡°You¡¯ve done your part, Mattie, you may go now.¡±


    ¡°I want to see the ghost up close!¡± the Sky Witch said. ¡°After all, don¡¯t I deserve to after I helped him?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but your part here is done. You may return to your island.¡±


    ¡°Can I at least take the camel with me?¡±


    ¡°No, you cannot take the camel with you.¡±


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t have a rider anymore! I¡¯ll take good care of it, honest!¡±


    ¡°Robert Lumen would kill me if he heard that we gave you an animal ghost as a pet. They¡¯re too rare and too valuable to be kept as pets.¡±


    ¡°But you three keep Whistle!¡± the Sky Witch whined.


    ¡°Whistle is our work horse.¡± Matthew said. ¡°He is not our pet. Besides, you have plenty of fish to care for.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but they¡¯re so dull! They don¡¯t even notice me unless I¡¯m pulling them up in a waterspout, and even then all they do is swim around and stare until they fall back down into the water.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this later, Mattie. Right now, the four of us still have work to do. Now, would you like to go back through the Operation, or can we trust you to fly back to your island chain?¡±


    ¡°Can I sprinkle some showers on the way back?¡±


    ¡°Light showers. Very light. And don¡¯t stir up the wind. This is flat country, you¡¯ll likely cause a dust storm if you do.¡±


    ¡°Okay! Well, since I get to have a little fun, I guess I can forgive you three for not giving me the camel.¡±


    The Sky Witch rose into the air and became the one black cloud on a sunny day. Then, she headed East, and drifted over the horizon.


    ¡°Yep. Just like her file.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Anyway, let¡¯s go see if this haunting is resolved or not.¡±


    The four manesologists walked to the edge of the newly formed pond.


    The ghost floated just below the surface of the water. He could see a silvery-white light shine above the water, and in the light, four men came to the edge of the water.


    ¡°What is your name, sir?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m George Sleather. I¡¯m a trapper. I hurt my leg. I¡­I¡¯m not thirsty anymore¡­¡±


    ¡°How do you feel?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°I feel whole. And cool.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cooler at the bottom.¡± Matthew said. ¡°And darker. Would you like to take a nap?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I can nap in water? How can I nap in water?¡±


    ¡°The same way you¡¯re talking in water.¡± Matthew answered.


    ¡°Oh¡­Oh, I think I understand.¡± George Slather¡¯s cracked flesh stretched into a smile. ¡°I was afraid of being this. I tried so hard not to be this¡­¡± his leather-like eyelids closed over his burnt eyes. ¡°...But it¡¯s not so bad, not while I¡¯m not hot and thirsty¡­¡±


    ¡°Go to sleep, Mr. Slather.¡± Matthew said. ¡°A new life will wait upon your rest.¡±


    The ghost of George Slather sank to the bottom of the pond, and as he fell, the heat, and dust, and sunburns of his miserable ride oozed out of him and stained the water red.


    The camel, ever dutiful, ran to the edge of the water. It peered down and saw his long-suffering rider go limp within the crimson water. Never had he gone quiet, not in all their years of wandering. But now, he was silent and at peace.


    Their long journey was finally over.


    The camel gave a mighty grunt, and the sound echoed throughout the wilderness. His rider had dismounted, and so there was no more need for the stinking weight that bound the two together.


    The camel flexed its mighty back. The straps strained then snapped. The skeleton shattered to pieces and scattered around the creek.


    The camel shook itself, glad to feel the pressure on its body finally abate. Then it bent down, sipped from the red pond, and content with the little drink it took, vanished.


    ¡­..


    The sun was high as they gathered the scattered bones of George Sleath. Mr. Leeds had arrived swiftly to assist in the gathering. He could smell bone all the way down to the marrow, which allowed the group to gather every bit of George Sleath down to the smallest digit. Martin kept the sun off their backs with his dogs, which allowed them to work in the shade.


    ¡°Dr. Glass, that is an awe-inspiring ability.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Dimming the sun  like that is like a miracle from out of the Bible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s something, alright. You turned day into night, at least in this little area.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing more than the thaumaturgical equivalent of opening an umbrella.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Sure. And I suppose what the Ror Raas did back over Shiloh was the thaumaturgical equivalent of dry grass and a tinder box?¡±


    Martin shrugged. ¡°Well, more or less¡­¡±


    ¡°Dr. Glass, How does the trick work, exactly?¡± Mr. Reeves asked. ¡°How are the dogs blocking sunlight if they¡¯re invisible? Isn¡¯t light passing through them?¡±


    ¡°Usually, light does pass through them.¡± Martin explained. ¡°They¡¯re nothing but Bessantic force. They¡¯re a hand pushing, or pulling, but without the hand. But a few years back, we faced a manes that nearly killed us. He was very lucid for a manes, and very intelligent, and he trapped us inside his mansion. He had things fixed in such a way so that we were in an airtight chamber, and if we did anything to get out, used any sort o Operation, a floor above us would vanish, and fire, pure fire, like the ghostfire that composes Nick¡¯s body, would fall down on us. He doubted whether or not my dogs would have protected us, and in truth, I thought doubted as well. We had to thread the needle to get out of that one. But after we got out of that, I researched and experimented with the dogs until I was able to will them to block heat and light. If you could reach up and touch them, right before your fingers made contact, the air would feel incredibly cold, because they¡¯re absorbing not just the light but the heat, but then, just as your finger made contact, the dogs would feel hot, hot like a skillet.¡±


    ¡°I get the idea.¡± Mr. Reeves smirked. ¡°So they¡¯re not just the thaumaturgical equivalent of an opened umbrella, but the thaumaturgical equivalent of a hot skillet?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Quite a lot of thaumaturgy is just mundane things done in a weird way.¡±

 The Red Ghost. Chapter 4, The Rest of the Red Ghost. 4/4

    They continued to gather the earthly remains of George Sleath, the only thing the poor trapper had to his name in the end, down to the last white fragment. Mr. Leeds did most of the work by virtue of his swiftness and ability to hold several bones in his large mouth at once. When they were done, they emptied the gathered contents of their sacks into a wooden coffin.


    Matthew activated his gaeite candle.


    A Dyeus hunter whistled, and his loyal dog came to his side, as he did, as he would, as he would do forever.


    The Zacare Operation


    In the silvery-white light of the olprt radiance, the black silhouette of a young man in a miner¡¯s cap appeared. The light on the end of his cap was black, for it was part of who he was, and all parts of a ghost were rendered as a silhouette inside olprt radiance.


    He looked around, and his gaze fell on the red pond.


    ¡°So, this is Arizona¡­¡± the words bubbled out of his broken neck along with silt-filled water.


    ¡°Yes. Welcome to America, Alan.¡± Matthew greeted his old friend.


    ¡°Are all the ponds in Arizona red?¡±


    The group shared a laugh, and after what they had gone to, it felt very good to laugh.


    ¡°Well, Alan, we have a black pond back in Epping.¡± Joseph said. ¡°And far to the south in Tekeli-Li¡¯s kingdom, there are white ponds everywhere. God apparently likes the colors of chess, because he placed a red pond here in Arizona to round out the set.¡±


    Mr. Reeves approached Alan. ¡°So you¡¯re the Knocker of Huskar Pit? I¡¯m honored to meet you, sir. I¡¯ve heard all about the miners you¡¯ve rescued over the years. Why, just back in February you crossed the ocean to save all those boys in Illinois, in Diamond Mind. You saved hundreds.¡±


    ¡°There are no oceans or borders where I live, far below the cities.¡± the Knocker said. ¡°I listen for danger through the rocks. I go where there is danger and I do what I can. I do what any man would do, had they my unfettered range.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to shake your hand, if I can.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    Alan shook his arm. Ectoplasmic dirt fell from his body. The dirt was as much a part of him as his neck wound and miner cap. ¡°Even as I am, you would shake my hand, sir?¡±


    ¡°Shoot! My skin¡¯s about as dark as yours! A little grunge is nothing!¡±


    ¡°I thank you for the sentiment, sir, but I cannot touch people. I am not that kind of ghost. I can touch only the substances that buried me--water and rock and dirt. You would touch my dirt, but not my hand.¡± The Knocker turned to Matthew. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t need me to do something to the pond, Dr. Ernst. I don¡¯t think I can change the color of water, just its shape.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need you to do anything to the pond, Alan.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°Believe it or not, the pond is just the way it needs to be. What we need you to do is make a grave and a headstone for the poor manes that now sleeps in that pond.¡±


    The Knocker peered closely into the pond.


    ¡°You must have done him a good turn, Dr. Ernst. He¡¯s smiling.¡± the Knocker said.


    ¡°He¡¯s finally getting to rest after a long, long search.¡± Matthew said.


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    The Knocker pointed to a spot next to the pond. The ground suddenly caved in, leaving a perfectly square grave. ¡°Is this good?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Matthew said.


    Mr. Reeves whistled. ¡°You say you can only touch earth and water. Well, my friend, you got a good and mighty grip from what I can see!¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± the Knocker said. He pointed again and a rock emerged at the end of the grave. The Knocker vanished, and reappeared by the rock. He touched it with his fingers, now black from soot instead of olprt radiance, and the rock began to change. Portions of its mass sloughed off and pooled at the bottom forming a solid puddle.


    ¡°He¡¯s melting it!¡± Mr. Reeves exclaimed.


    ¡°Not really.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s still solid, it just moves at his command. It¡¯s like a very controlled, extremely graceful rockslide, but with only one rock. A pebbleslide, if you would.¡±


    ¡°Call it what you like, Dr. Ernst, it looks like he¡¯s melting it like a big icicle to me.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    The Knocker removed his hands. The rock had formed into a simple, but stately, cross.


    ¡°Good job, Alan.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Shall I write something on it?¡± the Knocker asked.


    ¡°He can do that?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    ¡°Oh yes.¡± Matthew smiled. ¡°Alan has precision as well as power.¡±


    ¡°His name was George Sleath.¡± Martin said. ¡°We don¡¯t know when he was born, nor when he died. I suppose you can write ¡°19th Century.¡±¡±


    ¡°That should work.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I feel like there should be a sentence or two after. Any ideas, gentleman?¡±


    Martin closed his eyes. ¡°¡±With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.¡± That¡¯s from Isaiah. Isaiah 12:3.¡±


    ¡°You got the whole Bible memories or something?¡± Mr. Reeves asked.


    Martin grinned. ¡°And the Torah, and the Quran, and the Mahabharata.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get a big head.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Libraries do what you do, and libraries don¡¯t give you lip whenever you try to get an answer out of them.¡±


    ¡°I think that verse is a fine thing to put on his headstone.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Go ahead and write it, Alan.¡±


    The Knocker touched the cross with his fingertip and the smooth surface retracted to form letters.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m ever going to see something like this again in my entire life.¡± Mr. Reeves said. ¡°Excuse me? Alan?¡±


    The Knocker turned. ¡°Yes, Mr. Reeves?¡±


    ¡°I got a favor to ask you. When I die, could you make my headstone and grave?¡±


    ¡°I would be honored to make the grave of the greatest American lawman.¡± the Knocker answered. ¡° Who wouldn¡¯t be?¡±


    ¡°I have an idea for a Bible passage you could use, Mr. Reeves.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Naw, keep it to yourself, Dr. Glass. I don¡¯t mind talking about my grave, but talking about my epitaph feels like a bridge too far. It doesn¡¯t seem right for a man to know his own epitaph.¡±


    When the Knocker finished, he stood back and allowed the others to appraise his work.


    GEORGE SLEATHER


    19th CENTURY


    WITH JOY YOU WILL DRAW WATER


    FROM THE WELLS OF SALVATION


    ¡°An excellent job, Alan.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°It¡¯s very pretty.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The grave, the headstone, the sun setting in the back, that wide, beautiful sky¡­Mr. Reeves, Mr. Leeds, you have a very beautiful country.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Dr. Morton.¡± Mr. Reeves said.


    ¡°Your country is big and wide and filled with strangeness.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s great ugliness here, but also great beauty, as you said.¡±


    ¡°And sunsets as big as the universe.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Those are quite nice, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°In Blackwall, Mr. Reeves, the sun doesn¡¯t set. It just goes behind buildings. But this, this is a sunset.¡±


    Mr. Leeds, with one hand, carried the coffin to the grave and placed it inside.


    They said a few words over the coffin--words that asked God to forgive his sins, words that expressed sympathy for his painful demise, and words that extolled any psychopomp that might one day take an interest in guiding his soul through the deep Astral to be patient with him and to take him to a place with cool, deep waters.


    They had only a little to say, for they had only known George for a ew moments, but if George Slather could have heard them through his blissful slumber, he would have wept with joy to know that people said something over his body.


    When they had said their peace, the Knocker gestured, and the earth filled itself, swallowing the coffin of George Slather and leaving behind a grave so perfectly filled that it appeared as if the earth was never upturned.


    A note of surprise fluted in Mr. Leeds¡¯ throat. The four men and the Knocker turned to where he was looking to see the ghost of the camel stroll up to the red pond, dip its long neck, and sip from the water.


    ¡°Look at that.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The poor thing had to endure the man¡¯s wrath. Now he gets to partake of the man¡¯s peace. There is justice in the universe.¡±


    ¡°Is that a camel?¡± Alan asked. ¡°America has camels?¡±


    Matthew smiled. ¡°There¡¯s a very interesting story behind all this. Alan, behind the camel, behind the pond, and behind poor George Sleath. There¡¯s a saloon not too far from here, Martin says they sell a remarkable pepper sauce. Let¡¯s go there with Whisper, and I¡¯ll share with you some of the strange history of the strangest continent in the world. Alan, have you ever heard of the United States Camel Corp?¡±

 All the World. Chapter 1, Dress Rehearsal. 1/2

    For Mr. Gayer, who taught me the healing power of literature.


    Late December, 1865


    Mr. Simon Carter, director of the Gnome theater, waited restlessly in the dark outside the theater room in the main lobby. He couldn¡¯t wait with a lamp, for he expected to see a blue light pour itself beneath and around the double doors very shortly and knew from experience that natural light was bright enough to obscure it.


    He knew that he would see the blue light any moment now. It came every night, and by his careful records, it was coming sooner and sooner.


    His pocket watch ticked away in the silence. Its mechanical repetition and Mr. Carter¡¯s heartbeat were the only sounds in the Gnome theater.


    No one else in the entire company was willing to monitor the haunting. So being the director, the responsibility fell to him--or so the company¡¯s investors told him. According to their logic, related to Mr. Carter over long, contentious meetings, he was in charge of the stage. He commanded the people that got on the stage, and so he was also in charge of any ghosts that got on the stage.


    That made sense--to them, at least.


    Mr. Carter bitterly disputed their logic, but they countered with a point he could not dispute--he used their money.


    Mr. Carter regretted the raise he gave his performers a few months back. It seemed to be a good idea at the time, it was a way to keep up everyone¡¯s spirits after London was wiped off the face of the Earth in a massive, white fireball. It was a frighteningly unnatural catastrophe that shook the world from Japan to California, and no amount of scientists repeating that ¡°ghosts are a natural, not supernatural phenomena and never again will such an event occur.¡± could quiet the existential fears of his Essex cast.


    Extra money, however, was always appreciated in uncertain times.


    But Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t understand it--they used his money, yet they were at home sleeping in their beds while he was here, in the dark and silence.


    Actors. They could talk to the ghost of King Hamlet, they could talk to the ghost of Julius Caesar, but could they stand to actually talk to a real ghost? No!


    Suddenly, the blue light he had been expecting shined beneath the door frame. It flowed slowly underneath the door, like smoke, unlike any natural light born of fire or electric filament. It flowed underneath the door and then, to Mr. Carter¡¯s surprise, through the door. The door itself absorbed the light like a sponge water and glowed blue


    The blue light had never done that before. But it was the nature of ghostlight to be surprising.


    The muttering that accompanied the blue light through the door was fortunately of the usual volume. At least that, if nothing else, was the same.


    Ghostlight was what people called the blue radiance--normal people, that is. Those with personalities peculiar enough to research such things as ghostlight called it ¡°a combination of dispersed ectoplasm and Odic energy.¡± But to the average man, it was light from a ghost, ghostlight. But from Mr. Carter¡¯s perspective, it could have been called fairy dust, what was important was that it was the skin and bones of ghosts, and to ghosts with enough awareness, their ears and eyes, and potentially, even their arms.


    If you could see the ghostlight, the ghost could see you. If you could touch the ghostlight, the ghost could touch you. That was what they said--though ¡°could¡± was the operative word here. Not all ghosts were the same when it came to lucidity and thus sensitivity. Some ghosts were like sleeping dogs and could be touched without notice---if touched gently. Slowly. Softly.


    Mr. Carter approached the door very, very slowly, and touched the door handle very, very gently.


    The ghosts that haunted the Gnome Theater were evidently not very lucid. There was one thing a person could do, to Mr. Carter¡¯s knowledge, that drew their attention, which he had learned by accident, but in his experience, their ghostlight could be touched without drawing their notice.


    It was not the first time that Mr. Carter had touched ghostlight. He had touched it, night after night, for three weeks. But touching it now was just as strange as touching it the first time. It was strange in how it didn¡¯t feel like anything. The door suffused with ghostlight felt just like the door in daytime. There was no heat. There was no chill. It was only light, but oh, what ghosts could do with that light, according to the stories!


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Mr. Carter tried not to think of the stories as he opened the door, tried not to think about how a ghost in Boston once tossed a man into the sky. Where that man landed, if he landed at all, was unknown to this day. He tried not to think about how a ghost in Berlin pulled an entire boat down into the Spree and held the passengers to the riverbed until their faces were blue and inflated. He tried not to think about a million ghost stories that proved the old aphorism ¡°The living have no defense from the dead.¡±


    But he thought of a few of them, anyway. He couldn¡¯t help it. Mr. Carter was the kind of man whose mind was but a stage for thoughts to play upon.


    Very slowly, very gently, Mr. Carter pushed the door open.


    There were no lamps lit inside the theater, but all was aglow from the performers on stage.


    Men whose skin and costumes were all of the same eerie blue crowded the stage. They were a shade of blue Mr. Carter had only ever seen in the arcs of electricity, only ever in the brass tubes of natural philosophers demonstrating scientific principles to laypersons such as himself or in the sky-splitting fall of a lightning bolt.


    It was a soft shade of blue, a radiant shade of blue, and if there was no form behind the color, Mr. Carter would have found it a very soothing sight.


    But oh, how disquieting was that color when it was in the form of people!


    Mr. Carter did not recognize the men pacing and gesturing on stage. They certainly weren¡¯t anyone that graced the stage in life. He was the first director of the Gnome theater and none of his players had died. But he did recognize who the men portrayed.


    There was Brutus in his toga, dagger held close to his side, a look of stoic resolve on his face. There was Hamlet putting on an antic disposition, darting here and there in the throes of mock madness. There was Falstaff, rotund and jovial and ill-fitting in his armor, and Prospero, wise and thoughtful.


    They did not act together. Each ghost seemed unaware that he shared the stage with others. They flowed through each other as they moved across the stage like clouds blowing through clouds. King Lear walked through Brutus. Brutus gestured and his hand went through Hamlet¡¯s face. Hamlet walked into Prospero¡¯s shoulder.


    They did not act together, but they all spoke together, and the cacophony was maddening.


    Mr. Carter thought Hell might have sounded like the stage--loud, incoherent, and meaningless. He thought Hell might have also looked like the stage. Perhaps in Hell, souls did the same actions, all the time, forever and ever. Perhaps in Hell, all the varieties of mankind were trapped together, but were unaware of each other. As one, they toiled alone, without reason or purpose and acted out at living, but never truly lived.


    Mr. Carter crept closer and kept himself low to the ground and hidden by the audience chairs. He did not want to be seen, for while the ghosts could not feel him crawling through their ghostlight, he knew that they could see and hear as a man could see and hear.


    They had seen him before, and he did not want to repeat that horrible experience.


    In an attempt to calm himself, Mr. Carter reminded himself that hauntings were not so uncommon in this modern year of 1865. Ghosts were once a disputed fact of reality but now they were a topic of study. Manesology had been a branch of scientific inquiry since  Edward James published Multiple Intelligences Within The Human Body in 1861. Mr. Carter reminded himself that this was not a supernatural phenomena. He didn¡¯t understand the physical, precise mechanics behind the ghosts, he couldn¡¯t begin to understand the mechanics, but he couldn¡¯t understand the precise mechanics of the flu that knocked him down season after season, but that didn¡¯t mean the flu was incomprehensible. This haunting was scientific, understandable, and controllable.


    But as Mr. Carter crept closer, he realized that repeating the words of the manesologists did very little to bolster his flagging courage.


    When he got close enough to see the front of the stage, he saw something that made his heart leap in his chest.


    There were more ghosts than he had seen from the back of the theater. Up close to the stage, he could now see that there were some who were off the stage---Othello and Oberon and someone else whose arms were the only visible part with the rest of him stuck inside the stage itself.


    This had never happened before! Night after night, Mr. Carter had observed the haunting. The number of ghosts had steadily increased, and that had been some cause for concern, but the ghosts had never gone off the stage! Never! Mr. Carter had even dared to hope that the stage was some sort of prison for the ghosts and its boundaries, something they could not break. But they were breaking those boundaries before his very eyes!


    Mr. Carter made a little noise in the back of his throat, but he wasn¡¯t aware that he had made that noise until the sound was up on the air and in the blue ears of ghosts.


    The cacophony stopped. Total silence filled the theater. The ghosts stopped moving, stopped acting, stopped talking, and turned, as one, to leer in silence at Mr. Carter.


    The ghosts had done this before, when one night Mr. Carter¡¯s pocket watch fell out of his pocket and clattered to the floor. Mr. Carter was frightened by the ghosts then as he was now.


    Their faces were empty masks that expressed nothing in their blank features. Falstaff did not grin. Hamlet did not frown.


    They looked, and only looked.


    Mr. Carter did not know why they looked at him, he could not even guess. But he knew that when they looked at him, they did not look at him as their characters. It was not Othello, or Halet, or Brutus that looked at him. It was not the characters that leered, but the actors.


    It was the ghosts, dead men, that looked at him with emotionless eyes and expressionless faces.


    And Mr. Carter could not begin to guess what they wanted from him, if they wanted anything from him at all.


    He was frozen to the spot, on his hands and knees.


    Then he stood up, rising slowly, moving one knee beneath himself, and then the other.


    He walked backwards the way he came in, never taking his eyes off the ghosts, for they never took theirs off him.


    Mr. Carter continued walking backwards until he could see the frame of the doors he had opened previously stand before him. Ahead of him, framed like a portrait by the doorframe, the faces of the actors had gathered together.


    Not an eye in the theater wanted to leave him.


    Then, Mr. Carter, as slowly and as gently as he had opened the door, closed it.


    And then, with that little barrier giving him a little courage, he turned his back on the nightmare, and he ran.

 All the World. Chapter 1, Dress Rehearsal. 2/2

    Mr. Carter ran, stumbling through the dark, bumping his leg against walls and furniture.


    He ran and he didn¡¯t stop running until he reached the little kitchen in the back of the building and locked the door.


    He knew it was foolish, locking the door. Everyone knew ghosts could walk through doors. But he did it anyway.


    He stared at the locked door. Oh, these ghosts were making a fool of him. Did he think he could do anything to them, if they suddenly all rushed through the building and grabbed him? ¡°The living have no defense against the dead¡± was a common saying for a reason.


    He made a face, then jerked the key out of his pocket and slammed it into the lock. He pushed the door open.


    There! At least, if the ghosts had aims on making him dead, he wouldn¡¯t be a dead fool.


    Mr. Carter would have shouted something defiant and obscene at the ghosts, but he considered the possibility that actually doing so would really bring them running after him and a pressure in his throat stopped his words.


    Moving in the dark, for the kitchen was familiar to him, he found the icebox, pulled out a long bottle of beer, and opened it. He normally liked to savor his beer, to pour it in glass and wait for it to warm up a little. It tasted better that way, but he wasn¡¯t so much concerned with taste now as numbing his anxiety, and so down his hatch it went.


    The alcohol only made him feel a little better, but a little better meant a lot considering how he was feeling at the moment.


    He took a deep breath.


    ¡°They say we¡¯re a modern theater,¡± he thought. ¡°And we are. We¡¯re only three years old. We haven¡¯t even had our first cobweb yet. We called ourselves the Gnome after one of the races the thaumaturgists saw in their recent visions of the pre-human past. We¡¯re very modern, so it makes sense that we would have modern problems. Like hauntings. Hauntings are a very modern problem, like electric fires. And well, an electric fire wouldn¡¯t have left a theater, now, would it?¡±


    He found the knob for the gas lamp and turned it. Light filled the kitchen. This was one of the rooms that hadn¡¯t yet been fitted with an electric lamp. Mr. Carter had fought long and hard against the electric invasion of his theater, but it was a losing battle. The gas lamps were rather old fashioned for a recent building, and the investors wanted to be as modern as possible. But Mr. Carter found gas lamps to be much more attractive than modern filament lamps. What was more, he had heard rumors about electric lamps. They worked on a similar principle to the gaeite candles used by manesologists--an electric current ran through a metal wire, and many reported that because of the similarity, filament lamps had some of the power of a gaeite candle and could attract ghosts like moths.


    Of course, these were only rumors, and Nisbet¡¯s Manesology said nothing about electric filament lamps attracting ghosts, but Mr. Carter had a simple philosophy concerning rumors--they were best collected, but unexplored, out of the fear they might actually be confirmed true.


    And, of course, electric lamps had a greater chance to cause a fire. Everyone knew that.


    With the light, Mr. Carter could now check his pocket watch, which he did after every haunting--but never during a haunting, as he never wanted to risk dropping it again after the first time.


    The watch face read 10:30.


    That wasn¡¯t good. That wasn¡¯t good at all.


    When the hauntings first started, they happened a little after midnight. Then, they were pushed back, gradually, over several nights, to 11:00. Now, in the span of a single night, they were pushed back a whole half-hour.


    And on top of that, the population of ghosts had grown so much that they were overflowing the stage.


    And perhaps they would keep on growing, until they emptied into the streets for all to see¡­


    Mr. Carter sat down in a chair, inhaled, exhaled, and thought.


    Waiting for the problem to go away wasn¡¯t working. He had hoped, he had prayed, that the hauntings would stop on their own. He heard rumors that hauntings were like illnesses in that if you waited them out, they would go away on their own, unless the hauntings had abnormally powerful ghosts. Illustrated Phantom Stories had a story just the other day about a woman who was haunted by her mother for a month, and just a month. One day, her mom went off into the Astral like a good ghost, and hadn¡¯t been heard from since. Mr. Carter hoped that the ghosts that haunted the Gnome theater would do the same. But now, with what he had seen, the haunting was clearly not just persisting but growing.


    It was time to get help--professional help.


    One of the benefits of living in an age of phantoms was that there were trained professionals in dealing with them.


    Mr. Carter reached for a shelf above the icebox and looked through a little collection of books, reading material for actors coming in to have a snack or for the cook to have something to read while the pots boiled--that cook, more often than not, being himself.


    He found his copy of Nesbit¡¯s Manesology, an introductory text to the scientific study of ghosts he had been reading through in an attempt to gain some understanding of the hauntings, and removed a folded stack of papers he had been using as a bookmark.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    He spread the papers out on the table: a business flyer and a couple of copies of Illustrated Phantom Stories.


    He looked at the flyer and allowed himself a brief smile.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass: Manesologists.


    His potential saviors!


    Below their names, which were written a fancy cursive not too dissimilar to what Mr. Carter used for his own programs, was a drawing of a gaeite candle. That alone was a good sign. The frauds and the hucksters, they were afraid to so much as draw a gaeite candle for two reasons, the second far more pressing than the first.


    The first reason was that people were still afraid of gaeite candles after London, and there was serious money to be made presenting an alternative, any alternative, to gaeite candles. The frauds claimed to be able to use quartz crystals, or silver crucifixes, or oak wands, or what have you to tame ghosts. These things couldn¡¯t blow up a city and thus seemed safer, but there was no scientific power to them. They were as useless as those that wielded them.


    The second reason was that the thaumaturgists were very protective of their manesologists and the gaeite candles which they had given them. There were stories of foolish men who tried, for whatever mad reasons, to mug a manesologist. A man would appear from out of the shadows and drag him away, never to be seen again. The thaumaturgists were always watching the world from Paradial. Prudent men through it was best not to advertise a false claim on their property.


    Mr. Carter then looked at the copies of Illustrated Phantom Stories, which proudly bragged that it was the ¡°world¡¯s most popular publication on current manesological happenings.¡± It was by the same people that published the lurid but popular Illustrated Police News and people said that for as popular as Illustrated Police News¡¯ stories of murder and theft were, Illustrated Phantom Stories sold three to four times as much.


    There were certainly more accurate accounts of ghostly activity than Illustrated Phantom Stories, but none were as comprehensive. Every delusion, every misidentification, every lie, was reported in Illustrated Phantom Stories--but also every truth.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass weren¡¯t uncommon sights in the broadsheet publication. Manesologists were to Illustrated Phantom Stories what policemen were to Illustrated Police News. They weren¡¯t the main attractions, those were the ghosts and criminals, but they were the ones that pursued and contained the main attractions. They swept them from the stage, cleaned up after them, and told their audience to go home.


    Mr. Carter could relate.


    He looked at one cover depicting Joseph Morton. He loomed, as if he was a ghost himself, over an imp-like ghost that crawled away from his approach. JOSEPH MORTON HUNTS THE BREATHSTEALER OF BURKEN TOWN, the cover stated. Joseph Morton¡¯s eyes were small black pinpoints drawn into the wrinkled sockets of his eyes. The breathstealer''s eyes were wide and white and fearful.


    Mr. Carter figured that was the expression he would make if Joseph Morton was ever after him.


    Joseph Morton was a tall, hulking man. Illustrated Phantom Stories loved to draw him, for he was visually striking. Everything about him seemed elongated from his stovepipe hat to his long beard to even his age. His wrinkles placed him at a sagacious age, but there certainly wasn¡¯t anything sagacious about temper. Though he was mostly known as a jovial character skilled in calming victims of a haunting and getting them to open up about details they would otherwise be reticent in sharing, he had a temper, and though his temper mostly manifested through his tongue, it sometimes manifested through his fists. He once punched a rival manesologist in the face over a disagreement concerning a case they were both working on. Rumor had it that Ernst, Morton, and Glass had to pay out in a settlement and buy the man false teeth.


    Another cover depicted Matthew Ernst. The middle-aged professor looked on with fearless interest as a disembodied hand wrote in a book. MATTHEW ERNST STUDIES THE SAGACIOUS HAND! WHO DOES HE BELIEVE IT BELONGS TO? MERLIN? NEWTON? NOSTRADAMUS?


    Mr. Carter remembered it ended up belonging to a scrivener named Alvin Hope. Not all the stories in Illustrated Phantom Stories lived up to their advertisements.


    Matthew Ernst was, at once, the least and most popular member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass. He was very popular in the manesological community, for he wrote a lot of academic papers. He was famous for pioneering the oppositional theory of manesological composition which stated that certain elements of a ghost¡¯s composition worked against each other. It was assumed, early on in the field of manesology, that all parts of a ghost worked together to support the whole as organs did in the body. But Matthew Ernest believed that some parts worked against each other, particularly two parts known as the ba and ka, the memories and behaviors a ghost carried from his living body against impulsives and thoughts novel to the ghost. But the average person didn¡¯t particularly care about the academic minutia of manesology, and so the soft-spoken Matthew Ernst was, to most, the ¡°other¡± member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass.


    People said that Matthew Ernest was the ghost of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, because he was the one that didn¡¯t seem to be present, even when he was. And that was something Mr. Carter could understand, for as the director of the Gnome theater, he did everything that wasn¡¯t seen by the audience.


    A third cover depicted Martin Glass, the youngest member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass and also the last to join. Matthew Ernst and Joseph Morton met each other during what people now called the ¡°Thames settlement¡± in which the survivors of the London fire huddled along the Thames river in leather tents and log cabins. They operated as manesologists in secret, for people feared and hated manesologists due to the cause of the fire, and eventually settled, like most survivors of the fire, in Blackwall. It was in Blackwall that they met Martin Glass.


    The cover showed Martin in one of the strange, Astral worlds known only to thaumaturgists. He was one of them, in a way. He had learned from them, trained to become one, was even brought to Paradial, the city of the thaumaturgists. But something had happened which caused him to turn away from the path just before he became a thaumaturgist, something he would not disclose to the public. Whether he told Joseph Morton and Matthew Ernst, none could say. He wasn¡¯t a full thaumaturgist, but he retained some skills from their teaching, the most notable of which were his ¡°dogs,¡± depicted on the cover as two floating canine heads, noble and strong like heraldry animals. They flanked him, his loyal and protective hounds, as he walked through a sandy wasteland filled with eroded pyramids and titled obelisks. Above him, bright stars burned in an alien sky. MARTIN GLASS IN THE DOMAIN OF THE SILVER STARS.


    In real life, his dogs were invisible pockets of force. Neither man nor beast nor ghost could see them, for they were what were called ¡°thought-forms¡± born from out of Martin Glass¡¯ own mental energies.


    He, without a doubt, would have been the most illustrated member of Ernst, Morton, and Glass if Joseph Morton wasn¡¯t so damned odd. Martin was a striking man. He had short, blonde hair and bright, blue eyes, but he was not a wrinkled giant like Joseph Morton. His features were often exaggerated by the illustrators to make him look more interesting. The cover before Mr. Carter had his hair long, almost angelic, and it moved in the wind. His eyes sparkled as he looked over a hostile, unknowable world with a clam, knowing expression.


    Because of his age and background, he knew less than his colleagues and yet more than they ever would.


    Mr. Carter was aware that some of the stories in Illustrated Phantom Stories had to be exaggerated or even fictionalized. He doubted the stories about them destroying vampires were real. No one said vampires were real. No one published academic papers about vampires. But there were just so many stories, and if only one percent of them were true, then they were surely the men for this job.


    They would work. They could do this.


    ¡°Gentlemen, you do this for me, and you¡¯ll have free passes to my theater for the rest of your lives.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    He looked at the bottle, had a fleeting moment of reconsideration, then upended the bottle and poured its contents down his gullet.


    ¡°But just for your lives. I hope you¡¯ll understand.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 2, Act I. 1/3

    The company¡¯s treasurer had allocated Mr. Carter funds for a buggy to take him to Blackwall so that he could bring his business directly to the doorstep of Ernst, Morton, and Glass.


    The buggy,however, was a horse drawn buggy, which Mr. Carter felt was not at all appropriate transportation given how dire circumstances were. The ghosts were moving off the stage. Who knew when they would be out in the streets, waking up the living in the dead of night?


    Mr. Carter wanted to rent a new horseless, mechanical buggy. The Americans had invented them during their brief civil war, though some would say ¡°reinvented¡¯ was more accurate.


    Like many inventions of the modern age, horseless buggies came about from engineers studying reports thaumaturgists made concerning the machines of the Dyeus culture. The thaumaturgists, when deep in meditation, sent their minds journeying through memories of the distant, pre-human past. These memories were said to be within the mind of a great, slumbering being named Abramelin, who was old when the Earth was young and who was neither man, nor animal, nor ghost. In the memories of Abramelin, the thaumaturgists saw the machines of the Dyeus, and when they awoke, they drew what they saw and wrote how they moved.


    Robert Lumen, one of the more public thaumaturgists, though that wasn¡¯t saying much since the thaumaturgists had become notorious for isolation since they folded Paradial into the sky, once described the Dyeus Civilization as a ¡°superscientific¡± civilization. With only drawings and notes to go off of, modern engineers weren¡¯t able to recreate the mechanical marvels which pranced across the earth and soared through the sky as if they were living beings, but they were able to glean enough information to make something that rolled on the ground without the need for a horse.


    The mechanical beasts of the distant past had the grace of fawns and falcons, but the mechanical beasts of the present had only the grace of snakes and beetles--for now.


    The modern mechanical buggy was known for being a bulky, jerky, lurching thing that stopped and started with each belch of steam, but it was also known for being fast, and that was what was important to Mr. Carter.


    Mr. Carter did his best to impress upon the treasurer the importance of renting a mechanical buggy for its speed. He went to his office, cap in hand, and calmly and thoroughly explained his need.


    The treasurer told Mr. Carter to take a horse drawn buggy, and if he wanted more speed, to take one with more horses.


    And so, Mr. Carter had to use his own money to rent a mechanical buggy.


    Such was the life of a stage director, he thought, always needed, rarely appreciated.


    Mr. Carter was only somewhat surprised the treasurer threw him under the proverbial cart. The treasurer did not like him. The treasurer had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. The treasurer once read in Illustrated Phantom Stories how a theater in Scotland became haunted by phantom players--and turned those players into lucrative stars. While many feared so much as laying eyes on their theater, there was a dedicated portion of the populace who couldn¡¯t get enough of Macbeth with ghosts.


    ¡°Carter, they look at you, and when they look at you, they give you more attention than any of your flesh and blood actors!¡± the treasurer told him. ¡°So why don¡¯t you talk to them? Give them orders, don¡¯t make them go away! We can monetize this!¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    But of course, the treasurer couldn¡¯t be bothered to face the ghosts himself.


    To think, he had the nerve to tell him to just ¡°talk to them,¡± as if one even could talk to beings that leered like the souls of the damned at any sudden sound. How did the treasurer know that their blank stares meant ¡°Give us stage directions, Mr. Director?¡± and not ¡°Give us your blood, weak mortal?¡±


    Mr. Carter made arrangements with Mercury Transportation, a subsidiary of National Reclamation, the company that ran the steam beasts that were building Blackwall and rebuilding London, for a man with a mechanical buggy to pick him up next evening. Even if Mr. Carter could have teleported to the door of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, he wouldn¡¯t have. He was exhausted from the haunting and needed to rest. He figured it was only fair. The ghosts that haunted the Gnome theater were inactive during the day, so why shouldn¡¯t he be as well? He slept until noon, but found much to his frustration that upon waking he was just as tired as when he had laid down.


    He tried coffee, and cigarettes, but he just could not put energy back into his body. Then he decided to go for a walk to the post office, partly because he hoped a brief walk would revitalize him and partly because he was curious about the recently installed electrograph.


    Mr. Carter wanted to see if it was possible for him to send an electrogram to Ernst, Morton, and Glass, but even if he could send an electrogram, he wasn¡¯t going to rely on it solely.  He didn¡¯t want to send an electrogram and then have to wait for Ernst, Morton, and Glass to send a reply. The back-and-forth of electronic communication could take days, and by the time Ernst, Morton, and Glass physically appeared at the Gnome theater, the ghosts would be performing in the streets. In addition, there were rumors that electrographs didn¡¯t work half the time they were used. People said that messages sent by electrographs, electrograms, were often swallowed by the air, especially if there was a thunderstorm. The thunderclouds attracted the words like a magnet attracted iron filings. It had something to do with the principles of electromagnetism, so they said, but Mr. Carter wasn¡¯t really sure of the exact mechanics.


    When Mr. Carter arrived at the post office, he learned that in order to send an electrogram, he had to dictate his message to a young woman named Elizabeth who worked as the post¡¯s dedicated typist. He couldn¡¯t do that. Young women always talked, and he didn¡¯t want people to talk about the ghosts. He asked if he could type the message himself, but that proved to be an impossibility. It was a liability issue. Electrographs were new, expensive, and rare. They couldn¡¯t risk someone walking in off the street and breaking off a key by handling it the wrong way.


    And so, disappointed, both by his inability to send an electrogram and by the looks the staff gave him (God only knew what they thought his reticence indicated), he trudged back to his home and fell asleep, managing an additional twenty minutes of sleep that didn¡¯t make him feel the slightest bit rested.


    The mechanical buggy driver honked an air horn to get his attention, but he didn¡¯t need to. Mr. Carter heard the engine loud and clear as it idled outside his home.


    The mechanical buggy was just as rough a ride as people said. It was controlled from the front by a burly man named Teddy who tamed the bucking beast with a series of levers and a wheel. Mr. Carter thought Teddy looked like a man hard at work in the world¡¯s smallest industrial factory.


    If the unevenness of the ride wasn¡¯t enough to prevent Mr. Carter from falling asleep, Teddy proved to be chatty--very chatty. He told Mr. Carter all about the history of the mechanical buggy, all the things Mr. Carter would have gladly gone his whole life without knowing. Teddy told Mr. Carter how the Confederate States of America developed the first models and how those models helped hold Confederate supply lines even as the Union captured their railroads. Teddy was enthusiastic about mechanical buggies. He could talk on and on about them--and did so, even as Mr. Carter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the thinly cushioned headrest and tried his best to block out the world.


    Teddy explained that he himself had been a mechanical buggy operator under the command of General J.E.B Stuart, which Teddy pronounced as one word: Jeb. It seemed to Mr. Carter that the Yankees gave themselves strangest names.


    Teddy spoke worshipfully of Jeb Stuart, who apparently knew a great deal about cavalry warfare and invested a great deal in mechanized cavalry, which he saw as one day replacing the regular kind. In the same breath, Teddy cursed the name of General Jubal A Early, who undercut Stuart¡¯s push for mechanization. Teddy placed more blame upon Jubal Early for the CSA¡¯s defeat at Shenandoah--wherever that was--then he did the Federal army. If J.E.B Stuart was Teddy¡¯s God, Jubal A Early was his Devil. But Teddy was certain that, even with the detrimental influence of Jubal A Early, his side would have eventually trampled the Union beneath the wheels of their mighty mechanical buggies had not the Ror Raas intervened in 1863 by placing a great fire in the sky over the Battle of Shiloh. That brought an end to the Federal invasion of Confederate land, as well as the practice of slavery for both the Union and Confederacy.


    Like the ride, Teddy went on, and on, and on¡­

 All the World. Chapter 2, Act I. 2/3

    Mr. Carter rested his head on the stiff cushion of his seat and drifted on the border of sleep, never once crossing over, but coming close several times. As he felt himself start to grow comfortably numb despite his surroundings, Teddy began to talk about how the CSA was so ingenious that towards the end of the conflict they were crafting buggies that were sealed up like coffins. These buggies not only shielded riders from rifle fire but could travel underwater like a whale. The CSA had plans to send a team of such coffins up the Mississippi to burn Washington, but it never came to pass, and now the point was moot. The CSA was fracturing under economic pressure from the North, and as the Ror Raas forbade martial retaliation, the component states of the Confederacy were gradually returning to the Union to avoid ruination.


    Teddy¡¯s talk of rolling coffins brought to Mr. Carter¡¯s sleep deprived mind the ridiculous but disturbing image of men fighting on a battlefield in actual coffins. In his mind, he saw Confederate soldiers paddling down a river in coffins. When they reached the shore, their coffins dragged themselves across the beach, scooting along like baby sea turtles in the sand. Then, when a Federal bullet smashed through the soldier¡¯s skull, he fell back, and his coffin clamped shut over him.


    But that was not the end. Mr. Carter saw inside the closed coffin. He saw the soldier¡¯s eyes, open and blank and staring up at nothing in the darkness.


    That reminded Mr. Carter of his ghosts.


    Mr. Carter bolted upright.


    He panted. He felt wet with sweat.


    Teddy chuckled. ¡°Bad dream, sir?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t dreaming.¡± Mr. Carter answered. ¡°It doesn¡¯t count as a dream if you aren¡¯t sleeping, and I can¡¯t do that with all the shaking and the sound of¡­that infernal motor running.¡±


    He almost said ¡°and the sound of your talking.¡±


    ¡°So if you were not dreaming, were you going off into vision-worlds like the thaumaturgists, sir?¡± Teddy asked.


    ¡°No. My mind was just going off into nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Would that nonsense happen to be related in any way to ghosts?¡± Teddy smiled at the look of annoyance on Mr. Carter¡¯s face.


    ¡°Ah, I see you were, in fact, daydreaming about ghosts, sir!¡± Teddy said.


    ¡°I said no such thing.¡± It was just his luck. Teddy was nosey as well as talkative.


    ¡°Yes. But sir, consider the circumstances. I¡¯m no Holmes or Dupin, but I know a little of that reduction thing, that deduction, induction, whatever it is, I know it, A man rents my buggy in the wee hours of the morning. He shows up exhausted. He¡¯s heading to Blackwall, and everyone knows what¡¯s in Blackwall--Ernst, Morton, and Glass. It seems to me, sir, if I may be so bold as to suggest it, that you have a ghost problem. A haunting, as they say.¡±


    ¡°And if I do? Is a haunting really so uncommon nowadays?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it''s common and it¡¯s getting more common. It¡¯s just that  I¡¯ve noticed you¡¯ve got one. You aren¡¯t the first person with a ghost problem in the back of my buggy and you certainly won¡¯t be the last. But I¡¯ve had many, many passengers who have had many, many different kinds of hauntings. Would you like to talk about your kind of haunting, sir?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s why I¡¯m seeing a professional consultation in Blackwall.¡±


    ¡°I once had a passenger who was a historian, a man of great learning and distinction sir, with a seat at the heights of academia.¡± Teddy either didn¡¯t understand the hint or he ignored it.


    ¡°He was haunted by the ghost of a Roman soldier who marched on London back when it was called Londinium.¡± Teddy said. ¡°The ghost claimed to be his honored ancestor Secundus Tuccio, though that was just a lie, sir. Secundus Tuccio just wanted to be under the care of a historian who knew a little of what it was like to live back in ancient Rome. He pretended to be related to the historian just to get in man¡¯ts good graces. And for a time, he as in the man¡¯s goo graces, because who doesn¡¯t want to be nice to his ancestor¡¯s ghost? If its¡¯ a faux pas to kick grandma out of the home, it¡¯s something mighty taboo to kick grandma¡¯s ghost out of the home. But ancestor or not, Secundus Tuccio got on the bad side of the historian by being far too talkative.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t say?¡±


    ¡°He wanted to know everything about anything that was new and modern to him, and after several centuries that added up to quite a lot of questions about quite a lot of different things! And this Secundus Tuccio, sir, he could talk a man¡¯s ear off from what they say about him.¡±


    ¡°Oh, how dreadful.¡±


    ¡°It could have been a lot worse sir, a lot worse but the historian couldn¡¯t stand Secundus Tuccio and so got in my buggy, got to Blackwall, and called up Ernst, Morton and Glass, and they set the haunting right like they always do. They struck a deal with Secundus Tuccio, you see. They got him to leave the historian alone and in exchange they made him this big, wide, stone called a sinataph¡­cynotaph¡­no, a cenotaph! Yes, a cenotaph!¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°What on Earth is that?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s like a gravestone, but without a grave. You see, the Greeks would send their boys off to battle in Europe, they would die, and it was considered a terrible fate to die on alien soil, sir, it was said the ghost couldn¡¯t rest in that state. Of course, we know better nowadays. But the idea was that if you built a cenotaph, you could honor the ghost without the body being present.¡±


    ¡° You could have just said it was a shrine for a ghost.¡±


    ¡°A shrine! Good word, I¡¯ll have to remember that! Shrine! Anyway, that cenotaph got Secundus Toccio under control. He liked being honored. And the historian would sometimes miss his old faker ancestor and come by his cenotaph and talk to Secundus Tuccio--though never for long! Anyway, sir, is that what your problem is? Do you have a ghost talking to you in the middle of the night, keeping you awake, sir?¡±


    ¡°No. They never say anything to me.¡±


    ¡°What do they do then, sir?¡±


    ¡°They just¡­stare. They stare at me, blankly, as if they were looking through me, but their eyes always follow me, so I know they¡¯re looking at me.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried talking with them? If someone¡¯s staring at me, sir, I would think they were doing so because they expected me to say something, or do something.¡±


    ¡°No, I have not tried talking with them.¡±


    How on Earth had this become a conversation?


    ¡°Why not, sir?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t know how they¡¯ll answer. I don¡¯t know anything about them. They don¡¯t look like anyone I know. They don¡¯t act like anyone I know. For all I know, the moment I open my mouth to say something, they¡¯ll attack me.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t know, sir. Maybe the ghosts simply want to hear you say something, because they¡¯ve gone a long time without hearing a living voice?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like gambling on uncertainties, Teddy, and ghosts are nothing if not uncertainty embodied.¡±


    ¡°No sir, I don¡¯t believe they are.¡± Teddy said. ¡°Have you ever read Nesbit¡¯s Guide To Manesology?¡±


    From cover to back, twice.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I highly recommend it sir, and Ernst, Morton, and Glass do as well. It¡¯s a nice little layman¡¯s guide to ghosts. But it says something, and I do paraphrase here sir, but the general idea should come across clearly, that ghosts are impressions left by the mind and body upon the Astral. That¡¯s the big thing around everything else, like a big cloud. You go down to the beach, you press a coin in some wet sand there you go, that¡¯s a ghost, more or less. Nothing uncertain about that.¡±


    ¡°That says nothing about individual ghosts, and it¡¯s the individual variations that make ghosts such uncertain creatures. One ghost looks like a man and acts like a man. Another looks like a man, but acts like a living storybook, moving back and forth, doing the same things again and again. Another looks like nothing, and spends his time smashing anything that gets near him with Herculean strength--that was the Brute of Epping, remember him?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir, he was one of the first cases of Ernst, Morton, and Glass--or rather, Ernst and Morton. They hadn¡¯t recruited Dr. Glass yet.¡±


    ¡°The powers and behaviors of an unknown ghost are always a mystery, so when I see those ghosts leering at me, my mind is filled with questions--Do they just want to talk? Do they expect something of me? Do they think I¡¯m someone I¡¯m not? Do they want to hurt me? This is the uncertainty I speak of.¡±


    ¡°I would think talking to them would have cleared up some of that uncertainty, sir, surely, and without being too much of a risk. If a ghost was mad enough to want to hurt you just for saying ¡°Hello, how are you, what do you want from me?¡± then I would think he would be mad enough to want to hurt you just for being seen.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. But who can account for the behavior of ghosts, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Who can account for the behavior of men? After all, sir, ghosts come from men. They say ghosts are mankind¡¯s children.¡±


    ¡°At any rate, I¡¯ll leave the accounting to the professionals.¡±


    ¡°You trust Ernst, Morton, and Glass, sir?¡± Teddy asked.


    ¡°Of course I trust them.¡± Mr. Carter replied. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t? Illustrated Phantom Stories prints success after success after success for Ernst, Morton, and Glass.¡±


    ¡°I see, I see. Mr. Carter, are you one for hearing rumors?¡±


    He absorbed them like a sponge.


    ¡°Not particularly¡­though I suppose it depends on the rumor. You mean like, rumors about ghosts? I¡¯ve picked up a few, here and there. One can¡¯t help but pick up rumors about ghosts. Everyone talks about them. I take it that you, with your outgoing nature and mechanical buggy business, have picked up some rumors about ghosts?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard a few.¡±


    Mr. Carter leaned forward. ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a rumor started by a preacher-man by the name of Putnam¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Mr. Carter slouched in his seat. ¡°Him.¡±


    ¡°Good to hear you aren¡¯t a friend of the preacher-man, because I¡¯m not either.¡±


    ¡°No one with even an ounce of sense is. Putnam is a malicious little demagogue. I¡¯m not sure why he wants to convince people that ghosts are demons. Maybe he likes the power that comes with people hanging off his every word? Maybe he¡¯s a madman? Regardless, he¡¯s a fiend.¡±


    ¡°I think he just got disturbed by there ending up being things inside us.¡± Teddy said. ¡°A lot of people got disturbed back when Edward James published that paper of his back in 1861. Silas Putnam just got disturbed real bad.¡±


    ¡°I do remember being a little uncomfortable myself about the revelations, yes.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it made my blood turn cold, sir!¡±


    ¡°I remember reading excerpts from Multiple Intelligences in those broadsheets the government printed to spread the news. At first I thought ¡°Oh. So we have souls. Well, everyone knew that already, if they weren¡¯t pagans." Then I read more and learned that these thaumaturgists, these modern wizards who hated to be called wizards, were talking to their souls. That was unexpected. And so I thought, ¡°Oh. These things that aren¡¯t us, but are part of us.¡±¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re just fellow passengers along for the ride.¡±


    ¡°So they are. Well said, Teddy.¡± Mr. Carter supposed that even Yankee fools had their moments of wisdom. ¡°I always liked that one line from the forward to the second edition of Multiple Intelligences--¡±A man is his mind. His soul is his ghost.¡± It made it all seem so simple, even if it wasn¡¯t. But my point is, we all were unnerved by the discovery of ghosts--the whole world was. But if that¡¯s what made Silas Putnam miserable, there¡¯s no reason for him to spread that misery to others.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, sir.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 2, Act 1. 3/3

    ¡°Teddy, I hope you have better rumors to share besides Putnam¡¯s so-called Abyssal Theory of ghosts?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I do, sir. Have you heard the rumor that the gods of old mythology--Thor and Zeus and all those characters--were really the ghosts of ancient kings, and that one day modern ghosts will become the modern versions of those old gods?¡±


    ¡°Yes I have. But that¡¯s not even a rumor, really. That¡¯s a hypothesis put forward by Dr. Ernst. But I understand the confusion, Teddy. People share it around and discuss it as if it were a rumor.¡±


    And Teddy probably didn¡¯t even know what a hypothesis was.


    ¡°Have you heard the rumor, and I¡¯m sure that this is a rumor, sir, that ghosts are the reincarnations of the Dyeus culture? According to this rumor, ghosts aren¡¯t coin-in-sand impressions made by the human mind touching the Astral, instead, they¡¯re the Dyeus. Of course, the Ror Raas has said that the Dyeus left Earth for the Astral a long long time ago, but that¡¯s just what those mind-images of the past show them, and they¡¯ve admitted those mind-images aren¡¯t complete. The idea, sir, is pretty interesting. It¡¯s that the Dyeus wanted to--¡±


    ¡°No, no, no, Teddy, that¡¯s another hypothesis, and a fairly common one.¡± Mr. Carter smiled. ¡°I overheard my Ophelia discussing it with my Gertrude just the other day. I believe it was first proposed by Dr. Sheridan.¡±


    ¡°You know quite a lot of rumors, Mr. Carter!¡±


    ¡°Actors are a very sociable lot. They share everything with you.¡±


    ¡°But have you heard the rumor about Ernst, Morton, and Glass?¡±


    ¡°Are you talking about there being tunnels under Blackwall that they use to meet with clients that fear their hauntings will become public knowledge? Because everyone knows those are real, it¡¯s just that the insurance companies can¡¯t prove they¡¯re real, which is for the best, really. It¡¯s so awful what they do to people just for knowing a ghost.¡±


    ¡°No sir, I¡¯m not talking about the tunnels. I¡¯m talking about¡­who the manesologists really are.¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°Or another way of putting it, sir, what they are.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now this is something you must  share with me, Teddy.¡±


    ¡°The rumor deals not only with Ernst, Morton, and Glass, but all manesologists.¡±


    ¡°Stop drawing it out, man! What¡¯s the rumor?¡±


    ¡°The rumor, sir, is that all manesologists are ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Ghosts?¡± Mr. Carter smirked. ¡°Oh, Teddy, that¡¯s¡­well, that seems a very¡­parochial rumor. Ghost-men must be ghosts, I take it? Is that how the rumor works?¡±


    ¡°There are well-developed arguments behind the rumor.¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°Well, consider how different ghosts are from humans, sir. They have memories, and false memories, and half-remembered memories. They have bodies, and half-there bodies, and not-there bodies. They¡¯re uncertain creatures, as you yourself said, sir. Wouldn¡¯t an uncertainty be best understood by another uncertainty?¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­¡± Mr. Carter was surprised that there was substance to the rumor, after all. ¡°...perhaps.¡±


    ¡°And considering how old and wise some ghosts are, wouldn¡¯t they make great manesologists? I mean, manesology is a young science, but it¡¯s steeped in old philosophy, and they¡¯d have the pick of the ancient world to choose from, the best and brightest!¡±


    ¡°That is true¡­but if the Ror Raas wanted ghosts to be manesologists, wouldn¡¯t they have just made them so? General Geoffrey Barton said that the Ror Raas were the uncrowned kings of the world.¡±


    ¡°Recall London, sir.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good point. People are still nervous about the candles even when they¡¯re in human hands.¡±


    ¡°So you see how it¡¯s possible that they¡¯re ghosts?¡± Teddy asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­possible, but unlikely.¡±


    ¡°But possible, sir!¡±


    ¡°How is it supposed to work, exactly? Manesologists are people with history. Dr. Glass was a student of thaumaturgy before he became a manesologist. Dr. Morton was an alienist. Dr. Ernst was an anthropologist. Is the idea that the Ror Raas murders talented people so they can recruit their useful ghosts?¡±


    ¡°No. The idea is that they first recruit talented people to turn into thaumaturgists. But it doesn¡¯t work out. Are you aware of the goal of thaumaturgists, sir? Do you know what they seek at the end of their instruction?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t everyone? They strive to awaken and commune with their own soul.¡±


    ¡°Without themselves dying, however.¡±


    ¡°I see. So manesologists would be those who stirred their souls but perished in the attempt?¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.¡°Dr. Glass got closer than most, which is why he has his dogs and other little magical things. But he failed, in the end, as they all failed, poor modern heathen wizards. Tell me, sir, would you still trust Ernst, Morton, and Glass with your business if they were, in fact, ghosts in dead, human bodies?¡±


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t speak to them at all if they were ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Because you can¡¯t trust ghosts, sir?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but also because the evasion speaks ill of them. Even with what happened to London still looming large in everyone¡¯s minds, why lie to people? It has such a sinister undercurrent!¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they would lie about them being ghosts in human bodies, sir, because people would have your response to the revelation?¡±


    Guilt made a sudden stab at Mr. Carter¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Hm. I did not consider how the situation would look from their side.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°From the ghosts¡¯ side?¡±


    ¡°If they are ghosts¡­but I doubt it.¡±


    Still, the thought lodged itself deep in Mr. Carter¡¯s mind. They could be ghosts. He could be going, right now, to talk to people who moved their bodies like puppets made of sinew and bone¡­


    Mr. Carter shivered.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t ghosts, and I¡¯ll tell you why.¡± Mr. Carter said, partly to Teddy but partly to himself. ¡°The very reason people have manesologists to begin with is because it shouldn¡¯t be a normal person¡¯s job to talk with some unknown person freshly materialized onto their property just because someone buried a locket under the foundations or something like that. Ghosts are too frightening for normal humans to deal with. That is why I¡¯m certain they¡¯re humans. The Ror Raas are distant, aerial men, but they¡¯re wise. They would certainly know that a human needs a human to talk to about hauntings.¡±


    But Mr. Carter still wondered¡­


    ¡°But wouldn¡¯t, by the same token sir, a ghost need a ghost to talk to about hauntings?¡± Teddy asked.


    Mr. Carter opened his mouth to say something, but found he had nothing to say, and so he sat in silence for the rest of the ride.


    He was certain he was right about the manesologists¡­fairly certain¡­


    A few moments later, the mechanical buggy lurched to a stop that sent Mr. Carter plunging forward, nearly taking him out of his seat.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a rough stop, Teddy.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°It¡¯s almost bad enough to warrant someone installing straps in this thing!¡±


    ¡°Sorry sir, but I doubt people would want to ride in a mechanical buggy if they had ot be tied down like luggage. But anyway, welcome to Harwood street, sir. The office of Ernst, Morton, and Glass are just a little ways down. It¡¯s the really big building, you can¡¯t miss it, and there¡¯s always people in front of it.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have brought me any closer?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I could have, sir, but I stop down Harwood street a little ways from the office as a courtesy to my customers. You see, one time, I dropped a lady off right at the door, and sir, she did complain that I did so to Mercury Transportation later on, and how did she complain!¡±


    ¡°She had a bad experience at Ernst, Morton, and Glass?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I would say so, sir. She ran screaming from the premises and ran right into a jellied eels stand, got spiced broth all over her nice clothes. She blamed me, said I forced her to confront the horrors of Ernst, Morton, and Glass before she was suitably prepared. So now, I drop my passengers off at the end of Harwood street as a courtesy, just in case they decide they want to make a run for it.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Mr. Carter slowly opened the door--slowly because it was a large, heavy door, and because Teddy¡¯s story was creating hesitancy in his mind.


    ¡°Hope they¡¯re able to help you with your haunting, sir. Have a good evening!¡±


    The door to the mechanical buggy shut on its own. Mr. Carter wasn¡¯t aware they could do that. It was incredible how animated automata were these days.


    Mr. Carter watched the buggy roll down the street, turn, and vanish from his life.


    He was left alone in Blackwall.


    Blackwall. They called it London¡¯s ghost, not only because it inherited London¡¯s people, but because it inherited London¡¯s spirit. It was dark and wet. The streets were slick with moisture. The steam beasts sprayed mist into the air as they pulled up earth and rooted buildings in the resultant holes. When Blackwall cooled in the evening, the steam condensed into what people called ¡°Blackwall dew.¡± This made the city wetter and colder than foggy London ever was, and moldier. Mold was a major health concern, and the government kept trying different chemicals to kill it, which often contributed in their own way to the poor health of Blackwallians.


    Mr. Carter looked up, craning his neck all the way back.


    The steam beasts were more emblematic of the city than the dam which gave Blackwall its name. They reminded Mr. Carter of many different kinds of animals. Their bodies were rotund like whales. Their necks were long like giraffes. They had four thin legs like deer, legs that seemed far too gracile to support their massive bodies, and yet the steam beast were able to do their work while carefully stepping through the congested streets on their thin legs. Not once did they step on a building, though they sometimes left scratches in the street.


    The steam beasts were plated like a tortoise, if a tortoise¡¯s shell covered its entire body. Through the plates¡¯ seams, blue light, the shade of deep ocean water, could be seen, though what was burning inside the beasts to produce such a light, none could say.


    Their operators had been given the steam beasts to control and care for, but that didn¡¯t mean they knew how they worked.


    The steam beasts loomed over the city. Their shadows were strips of midnight cast over the gray evening. Even in the brightest morning, wherever the shadows of the steam beasts fell, there was midnight. It led to a few lawsuits against the city. Several civilians argued that the steam beasts were positioned in such a way as to deprive them of access to natural sunlight relative to other Blackwallians. The litigation was still making its way through the system, but it was expected that the city would win. The claimants proposed that their lack of sunlight had negatively impacted their health and mood, but the city countered with a small army of scientists that claimed that the shade provided by the steam beasts prevented their skin from being damaged by too much sunlight, and who could argue with scientists?


    The steam beasts were awe inspiring creatures. Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t understand how anyone could stand to live in a place where giants watched over them. Mr. Carter felt that at any moment, a steam beast could lower its head and pluck him off the street like a stork fishing a minnow out of a stream. Only the thaumaturgists knew how they worked, but even that was an assumption rooted in the fact that they created them. But when it came to magic, it was entirely conceivable they made the steam beasts without understanding them. They could have wished the steam beats into existence with all their cryptic innards and functions assembled by the hand of the universe. There were also rumors that the steam beasts were ruins of the Dyeus culture dug up somewhere in Egypt or India, repaired, and put to use. Other rumors said that the thaumaturgists reached through time itself and traded with the Dyeus culture for the steam beasts, though what they gave in exchange, none could guess.


    SPAK!


    A steam beast far above spat a white cloud of steam into the air. In the light that poured from its seams, Mr. Carter saw the droplets disperse, sparkle, and vanish into the evening dark.


    Mr. Carter felt like he was inside a giant, living creature. Its bones were the buildings, tall and strong. These bones were not  built out of bricks like in other cities but sheets of metal. Its heart was the Blackwall dam, which gave the city its name, built along the Thames, which sent fluid coursing through the many tunnels beneath the city. And its lungs were the steam beasts, ever working, ever wet.


    Blackwall was a phlegmatic city, Mr. Carter observed.


    Mr. Carter strongly disliked the city. It made him feel small, like a little morsel caught in Blackwall¡¯s digestion. He pulled his coat close around himself to shield against the cold and damp and looked around. Just as Teddy said, it was easy to find the office, it was indeed the biggest building on the street, three times the size as any other horizontally and vertically, and as Teddy said, there was a crowd of people in front of the building.


    And the crowd was runnin


    Mr. Carter stumbled out of the way of the crowd. They were shouting something about a dog.


    Below the awning of a building that advertised itself as Gaskell¡¯s Manesological Books, Mr. Carter watched the crowd flee into the night. Not a single one looked back.


    Silence chased after the fleeing crowd, and in the silence Mr. Carter could hear heavy footsteps. In but a moment he was confronted by the giant who made those footsteps--Dr. Joseph Morton.


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Carter! ¡°We¡¯ve been expecting you!¡± Joseph exclaimed, and increased his pace to bring him face-to-face with Mr. Carter.


    How Joseph Morton knew his name Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t even guess.


    ¡°Please excuse that rambunctious display by some of Blackwall¡¯s local color. We had a little disagreement outside our office, but it''s nothing for you to be concerned with.¡±


    Mr. Carter could feel himself trembling as the giant approached and put his arm around his shoulder.


    ¡°Follow me, Mr. Carter!¡± he said.


    And Mr. Carter did. He didn¡¯t dare disagree.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 1/9

    Matthew Ernst heard the screw rattling in its drawer and took it out. He held it to his ear so that he could hear Teddy speak to him about their new client.


    This wasn¡¯t spying, Matthew reminded himself, this was vetting. They couldn¡¯t be too careful after the last assassination attempt.


    Teddy was just one of the many, many ghosts who repaid Ernst, Morton, and Glass with favors. Joseph Morton was fond of joking that the three of them were modern Necromancer kings collecting an army of ghosts to one day siege Parliament with. Martin Glass hated that joke, as it reminded him that people feared that the Ror Raas really would one day lead an army of spirits to overthrow the government, but his hatred of the joke made Joseph want to repeat it all the more.


    The screw, though seemingly nothing more than a rusty, bent piece of scrap, was tied to the spiritual components of Theodore ¡°Teddy¡± Boseman. It was once part of the mechanical buggy he operated as a cavalryman under general J.E.B Stuart, but when an artillery shell blew the vehicle and its operator apart in 1863, what was left in the wreckage was a ghost.


    The scrapped buggy became like the ghost¡¯s body. He could make it move, even with a shattered engine, and when Federal salvagers took the field and tried to take the buggy apart for parts, they found that it wouldn¡¯t stay still. The parts jerked from their hands. One soldier described it as trying to skin an animal that wasn''t all the way dead yet.


    The American Manesological Society, better known as the Poeists, was called upon by the Federal government to investigate, but various factors prevented them from conducting a proper investigation. The Ror Raas put an end to the American Civil War in 1863 (poor Teddy had nearly survived the war) by placing baleful fires in the sky over the Battle of Shiloh, but tensions between the Union and Confederacy persisted. Skirmishes still broke out along the Federal-Confederate border drawn out by the Treaty of Shiloh. Whether the scrap belonged to the Confederate or Federal government was a matter of dispute, and the Poeists were afraid of appearing as favoring the Union over the Confederacy if they took the case. And so in late October of 1865, the call was made to England, to Blackwall, to Ernst, Morton, and Glass, and the three thaumaturgists quickly responded, crossing the Atlantic in moments with the aid of one of the many ghosts they befriended over their adventures.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time Ernst, Morton, and Glass visited America--that had been in late September of 1865, when they were called by Mexican statesman Miguel Lerdo de Tejada to investigate a haunting at Mission San Castulus. A powerful ghost in the form of a black fox had manifested to attack tax collectors and bankers spearheading the dissolution of communal property owned by the Catholic church and Indigenos. The manesologists were able to resolve the haunting, though not in a form Miguel Lerdo de Tejada expected.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass were sure they would return again and again to the continent to ¡°pick up the Yanks¡¯ slack,¡± in the words of Joseph Morton. America was a large continent, but even it didn¡¯t seem to have enough room for its many, many ghosts. But Ernst, Morton, and Glass wondered if they would ever take anything home from the American continent quite as useful--or as colorful--as their haunted Confederate mechanical buggy, complete with operator.


    The buggy was certainly the largest thing they had ever transported, and would have given them no end of trouble getting it through customs¡­if they had transported it through conventional channels. But they had not, and the government of Blackwall knew better than to raise a fuss with Ernst. Morton, and Glass over the legal minutia of shipping laws.


    Teddy¡¯s ghost, like many ghosts, had no legal property to his name due to the Manes Charter, which was adopted by the United States shortly after it was penned in England in April of 1865. To repay Ernst, Morton, and Glass for their help (and they did have to go through a good deal of trouble helping him, as the Union claimed him as a POW and demanded he reveal to them the secrets of Confederate battle buggies under pain of being buried un-alive), he became their informant, and was quite a good informant. A driver could hear quite a bit from his passengers, after all.


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    Parts of Teddy¡¯s buggy were incorporated into a new civilian version of the mechanical buggy built by Hermes Transportation, who didn¡¯t charge Ernst, Morton, and Glass for the service. Ernst, Morton, and Glass had performed more than a few favors for Hermes Transportation¡¯s parent company, National Reclamation, the largest company involved in the ongoing construction of Blackwall and the reconstruction of London, and National Reclamation was glad to be able to balance the books, though the company knew very well nothing they could do could possibly balance Ernst, Morton, and Glass resolving the Gog and Magog haunting.


    Gog and Magog were powerful ghosts who manifested shortly after the London fireball. They helped many of the lost souls created by the fireball find peace, and together they created a small community of ghosts amid the ruins. But just as the human survivors of the London fireball eventually settled in Blackwall, so too did the ghosts of London start to drift to the new city, leaving the ruins of London, and Gog and Magog, behind.


    The two ghosts, lonely and hurt, lashed out at National Reconstruction operations around London. At first, they knocked down a steam beast named Longneck John, but when Longneck John righted itself, to the surprise of not only Gog and Magog but National Reclamation, Gog and Magog beat the steam beast until it stopped moving. The lights that burned through the seams of the steam beat faded, but try as they might, Gog and Magog couldn¡¯t so much as dent the Longbeck John¡¯s plates. They hammered on the steam beast day and night without success. Angered that they could only break, but not destroy, Longneck John, Gog and Magog began to hurl large stones all the way from London to Blackwall. The craters created by these missiles were unlike anything modern artillery could make.But though their power was great and their tempers ferocious, Gog and Magog were pacified by Ernst, Morton, and Glass. And so, Hermes Transportation didn¡¯t think anything of it when Ernst, Morton, and Glass asked that they stick parts from an old war vehicle into one of their new civilian models.


    A few Hermes Transportation mechanics said a couple of things to management after a man showed up in the buggy they were assembling and began driving it around the garage floor, but their fears quickly abated. Teddy was quite personable for a ghost. He was an excellent storyteller, and the mechanics quickly came to appreciate his company--and management quickly came to appreciate his inability to tire.


    Teddy was a ghost, and ghosts made people nervous, but he could also work his shifts without rest. So long as Teddy¡¯s vehicle was moving, Teddy was happy, and Hermes Transportation could certainly keep him moving as their newest mechanical buggy operator.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass allowed Hermes Transportation to employ Teddy on one condition--that Hermes Transportation kept Teddy assigned to jobs transporting people to Blackwall, which wasn¡¯t a hard thing to ask of Hermes Transportations since traffic into Blackwall had been ceaseless and enormous since it opened to the public in early August of 1865.


    Teddy proved to be a loyal employee of Hermes Transportation and a loyal informant for Ernst, Morton, and Glass. Through the screw kept in Matthew''s desk, Teddy kept the manesologists informed on all incoming clients that rode in his buddy.


    As he had done many times before. Matthew held the screw to his ear and heard Teddy¡¯s voice clear in his mind.


    His colleagues Martin Glass and Joseph Morton watched anxiously, but held their questions until he put the screw back in its drawer.


    ¡°Please tell me it¡¯s a client coming.¡± Martin Glass said. ¡°And not another assassin.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a client.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°His name is Mr. Carter.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank God.¡± Martin shut his eyes and gave a sigh of relief. ¡°I like it so much more when we have guests that bring paychecks instead of bullets.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re happy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Personally, I was rather looking forward to another spot of gunplay.¡±


    Joseph cupped his large wrinkled hands to his mouth. ¡°Esmee! Nick! Come hear about the new client!¡±

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 2/9

    Nick was the first to appear.


    There was the smell of woodsmoke. Then the three men felt a warm, comforting presence fill the room. Then there was Nick, floating above them, crackling and glowing.


    He was fire, for fire had ended his life and birthed his ghost. A weakness in his spiritual components prevented Nick from being anything other than a ball of fire. He could not form a body. He could not even form a face. He was, and could only be, a ball of fire, and when he first met Matthew and Joseph in the wilderness of the Thames settlement, he couldn¡¯t even do that. Without the aid of gaeite candles, which revealed ghosts no matter how invisible they might be, he couldn¡¯t be seen.


    But though the spiritual component that controlled Nick¡¯s physical appearance was weak, the spiritual components that controlled a ghost¡¯s externalized power were strong in him. Nick¡¯s fires were as hot as he willed them to be. They could be colder than a winter pond or hotter than a blast furnace. They could burn any physical material to ashes, and they could do the same to any Astral material. He didn¡¯t like to do it, but he could reduce a ghost to a pile of charred ectoplasm--still living, of course, for the dead cannot die again, but living as ashes.


    Nick was one of the most dangerous ghosts Matthew and Joseph encountered during their early manesological career in the Thames settlement, easily as dangerous as the Brute or the Sky Witch. He manifested before the survivors of the London fireball in phases. First, he manifested as a distant scream and a sudden, sharp rise in temperature, as if the sun suddenly came out from behind some clouds. As the scream got louder and louder, the temperature began to rise in tandem until things started to catch fire. When the screams reached their loudest, they competed with the crackling of a raging inferno. The frightened inhabitants of the Thames settlement called Nick the Hellbound Screamer.


    From Nick¡¯s perspective, he was trapped within a prison of fire. He could see the world, but the world couldn¡¯t see him. Nick thought he was in Hell and being punished for what sin he couldn¡¯t imagine, for he always thought he was a good man, and in truth, he was a good man. In his despair, he screamed, and sobbed, and cried out for God. He threw his emotions at the walls of his prison, for his emotions were all he had in his bodiless existence. These emotions manifested in physical space as smokeless fire that devoured all it touched.


    That he was a dangerous ghost worked to Nick¡¯s benefit, however, as it brought him to the attention of Joseph and Matthew. The two manesologists used the occult Operations of the Dyeus culture to restore Nick¡¯s lucidity. Through their efforts, he became aware that he was not trapped by the fire, but was in fact, the fire itself.


    But Joseph and Matthew were unable to make Nick look like a person. The spiritual component that controlled his appearance was very, very, weak, and while Dyeus Operations could weaken the spiritual components of any ghost to next-to-nothing, there was a limit to how much they could increase the strength of each component. The most they could do for Nick was to turn him from an invisible fireball into a visible one.


    Nick was determined to repay them for their kindness, and so became an employee of Ernst, Morton, and Glass in Blackwall.


    Nick was a very helpful employee. He kept the offices warm and lit. He cooked their food and warmed their coffee. And if they needed a little extra strength against a ghost, he could be summoned to their side in an instant through the Zacare Operation.


    Nick appeared before Joseph, Martin, and Matthew in the form of a green fireball the shade of emerald. Nick could be any color he wished, that was one of the few things about his manifested body that he could control, but he chose to be green because he believed that there was no such thing as natural green flames. He believed his emerald color marked him as a living spirit instead of a living flame. But in truth, his flames were the color of burning copper sulfate, and Joseph threatened to give Martin the beating of his life if he ever, in his know-it-all sort of way, brought Nick¡¯s attention to that fact.


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    Shortly after Nick appeared, Esmee pulled herself piece-by-piece out of thin air. First an arm, then a portion of her dress, then her face, and then she filled in the gaps until she was all there. It was one of Esmee¡¯s tricks. She had quite a few.


    While her khet and sekhem were not as powerful as Nick¡¯s, she was capable of using her ghostly powers with greater skill and precision. Nick was a strong hammer, but Esmee was a sharp knife. Most of Esmee¡¯s tricks involved making things disappear and reappear by temporarily taking them into the Astral through a process Matthew Ernst termed ¡°Odic induction.¡± These tricks made Esmee very useful to Ernst. Morton, and Glass, and she was glad she was a big help to them, for they saved her from her own madness just as they had Nick.


    Unlike Nick, Esmee was very fortunate to have a spiritual component strong enough to grant her a human form. While no one would confuse Esmee for a human, she was human-looking enough for people to feel comfortable speaking to her. She was like a painting of a woman instead of a woman, but that was better than being a fireball without a face or a voice. What was more, she was very pretty. Some ghosts looked like they came out of nightmares. Esmee looked like she came out of a dream. All the slight imperfections Esmee Walker¡¯s body had in life were made smooth and flawless in death. She looked like she was made of blue glass. She left no shadow. Light passed through her like water passing through water.


    Light recognized her as a child of its substance. There was a faint glow to her body, nowhere near as bright as the glow Mr. Carter saw with his own ghosts, but in a dark room, she could easily be seen. It was as if something in her rejected the dominance of darkness.


    Nick had a crush on Esmee, and everyone could tell.


    Esmee and Nick were not the only ghosts that aided Ernst, Morton and Glass. There was, of course, Teddy, but there also were others, mostly kept in the basement and in the caverns dug beneath the basement.


    These ghosts were not as sociable as Esmee and Nick. There was Edward Piers, who Joseph called ¡°Peers¡± on account of his intense stare, who Illustrated Phantom Stories called Jack Frost. Piers was a homeless derelict who perished on a bench in early December. He rose from his body and was confused by what had happened to him, but he was confused by most things around him. He was a man born with low intelligence, who found his way onto the streets of Blackwall because of his inability to care for himself. He continued to do what he had done in life--look for warmth and food, but this time the chill of his death followed him. He would snuff out any fires he came across, crusting them over with frost, before moving on to another, not understanding why the fires kept going away. He was kept in the basement next to the boiler, and because the boiler¡¯s fires were lit by Nick¡¯s powers, they were hot enough to warm Jack Frost even through his ever-present chill. Piers was kept warm day-and-night, and so Piers was a content ghost. A warm place to sleep was all he ever wanted, in life and after-life.


    There was Eva, a mischievous little sprite of shadows and whispers, who died too young to appreciate the sadness of her brief life. She saw the world as a great big playground. Walls were just doors to her that were always opened. If unsupervised, her childish attitude combined with her supernatural power could make her a potential danger to others, and so she was kept confined to the basement and the caverns with the power of the Nothoa Operation. She didn¡¯t mind. She liked the dark far more than the light, and the caverns gave her plenty of room to explore. She also kept Blackwall¡¯s sizable rodent population under control, though not underpopulated. She took good care of her numerous ¡°kitties¡± and taught them that the caverns were their home, not the world above.


    There was John Kale, an orange light who lived in books. He would suffuse one book with his light, read it, and move on to another. He was an avid reader in life, who regretted that there was more to be read than any man could read in one lifetime. Now, as a ghost, he really could read all there was to read. John was kept in a room in the back filled with books, which Joseph called the library and Martin called the book storage, because, as he argued, a library had books that were organized on shelves for optimal perusal instead of stacked from floor to roof for maximum storage. Matthew just called it John¡¯s room.


    Joseph called John their ¡°great luminescent brain.¡± He glowed, and he read, and he remembered. He had gone through all the books that were originally in the room and was now working his way through a new batch purchased from Gaskell¡¯s Occult Books down the street. There was little that John couldn¡¯t tell Ernst, Morton, and Glass when it came to history or the occult. When they needed to ask John a question, all they had to do was ask him to jump into a blank book kept in Matthew¡¯s desk. John would burn letters into the blank pages and in this way communicate with his friends.


    And there were many other ghosts in the nooks and crannies of the offices. The lives of Ernst, Morton, and Glass were filled with ghosts. ¡°When we finally meet our destiny, we''ll be in good company.¡± Matthew once told his friends that had pulses.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 3/9

    Though Nick and Esmee were only two out of a ghostly multitude that assisted Ernst, Morton, and Glass, they were the only ghosts who worked regular hours for the manesologists and thus made regular paychecks. Nick liked to spend his paychecks on various edible oddities he would ask others, usually Joseph, to eat in his place and describe the flavor to him. Because of Nick, Joseph had consumed most of what could be found in a zoo.


    Esmee liked to spend hers on artwork. Her house on Curant Street was filled with paintings, mostly portraits by pre-Raphalites. She loved how they used color, especially when it came to flesh. The women they painted were no more human than she was, but they looked more human, and so she was in awe of them. They looked warm in their red and yellow skin, and when she looked at them she could almost feel her ectoplasmic caul sweat, or tickle, or itch with the memory of blood and pores. Her current favorite painting was Elaine by Emma Sandys. It depicted Lancelot¡¯s wife from Arthurian myth. Her eyes were wide and youthful and her skin had a warm, golden hue.


    Nick hovered by Esmee¡¯s hand. She stroked his flames and he sat on her forearm like a loyal hawk.


    ¡°It¡¯s so nice to hear that people are still coming to the office.¡± Esmee said. ¡°I was worried with how many electrograms we¡¯ve been getting that people would stop visiting altogether.¡±


    ¡°Our client is named Mr. Carter.¡± Matthew said. ¡°He¡¯s a gentleman from Essex and his haunting is that a group of manes leer silently at him every night.¡±


    ¡°Has he asked what they want?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°He has not. And he doesn¡¯t believe he should. He¡¯s rather shy about manes.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Another one.¡± Joseph rolled his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Esmee said. ¡°We¡¯ll be in the back, like that time we had the chef over.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter sees manes as fundamentally unpredictable, random entities.¡± Matthew said. ¡°He doesn¡¯t want anything to do with his manes. He simply wants his manes gone. Because he hasn¡¯t so much as attempted communication, we¡¯re going to need to illuminate him.¡±


    Illumination was what manesologists termed exposing a person or object to olprt radiance to uncover the influence of ghosts.


    ¡°And if the illumination reveals that he¡¯s as haunted as his property, we¡¯re going to have to convince him to work with us on the investigation.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be a problem, assuming the illumination reveals something.¡± Joseph said. ¡°No matter how ghost-shy a man is, he¡¯ll do what you ask him to do if you show him a shadow sticking to his body. But how long exactly do we have before Mr. Carter arrives?¡±


    ¡°Probably not long.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°They were entering the city when Teddy started making the screw vibrate. Mr. Carter should be here any minute now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, why didn¡¯t you say something earlier?¡± Joseph stood up, took his coat from a coat rack, put it on, and took up his walking cane. ¡°He¡¯s probably walking up to the door right now!¡¯


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°I like to meet the shy types outside. It helps to thaw them out and convince them to come into our haunted house. Remember what that lady I didn¡¯t meet outside did once she came inside and saw Nick floating?¡±


    ¡°And I bet you want to do your cheap fortune teller gag as well.¡± Martin said.¡±You know, the whole ¡°How did you know my name, Dr. Morton?¡± ¡°Oh, I have my ways.¡± bit.¡±


    ¡°I do find that very fun..¡± Joseph said.


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    ¡°Just don¡¯t scare the poor man.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be nice to him.¡± Joseph walked to the front door.


    ¡°Oh, and Joseph--¡± Matthew stopped Joseph right before he opened the door. ¡°Don¡¯t bother the watchers outside. They seemed to be in a very foul mood today, I don¡¯t know why. Several of them were staring daggers at me when I came into the office this morning.¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­I wonder what¡¯s gotten them so angry?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask, don¡¯t find out.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Just ignore them for today.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡± Joseph said. And he was determined to make an earnest attempt for Matthew, though he doubted its success.


    ¡°I mean it, Joseph. Don¡¯t start anything with them, not with a client on his way.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I shall not initiate hostilities.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°But what if they initiate hostilities?¡± Martin asked.


    Joseph didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he opened the door and stepped outside to meet the watchers.


    The watchers, as they were called, had watched the doors of the offices of Ernst, Morton, and Glass ever since they moved into the building.


    A few of them were journalists hungry to report on Ernst, Morton, and Glass¡¯ latest cases. In the beginning, a few of them worked for Illustrated Phantom Stories, but they left after Matthew made an arrangement with the publishers: Matthew would share with them his reports on (almost) every Ernst, Morton, and Glass case, and in exchange, they would not only remove themselves from the street but publish a little educational section in the back of every issue titled From the Desk of Matthew Ernst. In this way, Matthew hoped that Illustrated Phantom Stories¡¯ readership would get a little manesological education with their lurid ghost stories.


    The vast majority of the watchers were private investigators in the employment of various insurance companies who wanted to know who had hauntings, because haunted people, or even just regular people with haunted property, called for higher premiums.


    It was a simple matter of mathematics. Those that associated with ghosts, in any capacity, ran the risk of supernatural danger, and those that didn¡¯t associate with ghosts, didn¡¯t. Ernst, Morton, and Glass paid a small fortune every month for their insurance, but they saw no reason to place such a burden onto their clients.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass protected their clients through surreptitious means. The watchers stood as close to the building as the law would let them, taking notes on whoever walked in and out of the front door, but those that arranged to meet with Ernst, Morton, and Glass through mail or by electrogram found that there were secret ways to enter the offices, and even those that walked through the front door learned that there were ways to leave the building unseen, which protected them from the watchers following them back to their haunted home or property and relating the matter to their insurance company handlers.


    Joseph found the watchers to be in just as foul a mood as Matthew had warned. Some of them squatted, or sat on the ground. Some of them brought chairs. Some leaned against the wall of Peckham¡¯s Caskets And Funeral Arrangements next door, though they had been told time and time again not to do so. Joseph considered reminding them not to touch the building, but he remembered what Matthew had told him, and so walked on.


    The watchers glared at Joseph.


    Joseph smiled back.


    ¡°Morton.¡± a watcher with long, mop-like black hair said.


    Joseph stopped.


    He wasn¡¯t going to start anything, but he wasn¡¯t going to slink away when his name was called, either.


    ¡°Where are you going, Morton?¡± the watcher asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m off to investigate a haunting at the jellied eel stand down the street. Something keeps rolling around in the tins, so they tell me.¡±


    ¡°Going to the tunnels, are you?¡± another watcher leaning against Peckham¡¯s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements asked. ¡°I bet you¡¯re going to your secret ghost tunnels.¡±


    ¡°You lot can follow along, if you like. I¡¯ll even buy each of you a tin. It¡¯s the least I can do. You blokes are the reason there¡¯s such a wide assortment of vendors on the street in the first place.¡±


    The plan was, of course, to lead them down the street and then vanish into what seemed to be a normal wall on the side of Gilbert¡¯s Antiques and Curios. It was, like many walls around the city, empowered to permit passage to those that knew the right way to knock on it, and then appear as nothing more than a normal wall. Joseph hoped that would give the watchers something to fuss over while he circled back to meet with Mr. Carter.


    ¡°Is that a dig at our poverty, Morton?¡± the first watcher asked. ¡°Are you making fun of us, you giant ape?¡±


    ¡°I bet he is!¡± a young watcher with a grubby face said as he stood up from a trash bin serving as his seat. ¡°That would be just like him, to put on airs, the big gorilla!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the reason times are hard!¡± the watcher on the wall of Peckham¡¯s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements thumped his heel against the wall. ¡°Criminal. Outlaw. He¡¯s just a big rat crawling underneath Blackwall in those ghost tunnels.¡±


    The watchers murmured their approval.


    ¡°Lads, lads!¡± Joseph held up a hand, palm out. ¡°My friends told me that you were in a foul mood today, now let¡¯s talk about that, what¡¯s the problem here, exactly?¡±


    Joseph turned to the watcher that first spoke his name. ¡°I don¡¯t recall your face. Are you a new member of the group?¡±


    ¡°I am new. I¡¯m new because you got some of the old guys fired.¡± he gestured to his mates. ¡°No results, no work, they said. Or didn¡¯t you notice a couple of faces missing today?¡±

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 4/9

    Joseph calmly surveyed the leering faces whose eyes warned of violence. ¡°Now that I¡¯ve taken a good look at you all, I see what you mean. I don¡¯t see Mickey. I don¡¯t see Cotton. And you, young man, by the bin, I¡¯m not sure who you are, either.¡±


    ¡°Joby.¡± the grubby faced watcher said.


    The mop headed watcher turned and glared at Joby, who cringed beneath his gaze.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to know our names. Morton.¡± the mop headed watcher said. ¡°You¡¯d probably tell your failed wizard to put a spell on our names.¡±


    ¡°See, lads, the problem we got here is that neither of us know much about the other.¡± Joseph locked eyes with the mop headed watcher. ¡°I don¡¯t know your name, and you don¡¯t know much about Dr. Martin Glass. He can¡¯t put a spell on peoples¡¯ names. That¡¯s not how thaumaturgy works. And he is not a failure by any means.¡±


    The mop headed watcher grinned. ¡°He seems that way to us. After all, he¡¯s down here in Blackwall, with you, and not up in the wizard¡¯s heaven.¡±


    That got Joseph¡¯s blood to boil, but he remembered Matthew and decided to try and change the course of his conversation, though he knew it would be like righting a boat in a hurricane.


    ¡°So your bosses have been kicking you around? ¡± Joseph asked. ¡°We¡¯ve got some common ground there, mates. You don''t¡¯ like your bosses, I don¡¯t like your bosses.¡±


    ¡°Our bosses are good.¡± the mop headed watcher said. ¡°It¡¯s our work that¡¯s the problem. Specifically, you¡¯e the problem, Morton.¡±


    There was a great rumbling of affirmed discontent among the watchers.


    One of the watchers stood up, spoke up, and shook his fist at Joseph. ¡°One day, Morton, we¡¯re going to find out how you keep getting in and out without anyone seeing you. And when we do, you and your spooky friends are going to jail, because you are using an underground passage, everyone knows it! And one day, it¡¯s going to be proven. Yeah¡­it¡¯s going to be proven, in a court of law!¡±


    The man turned to other watchers. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, boys!¡±


    The watchers gave a roar of approval.


    The mop headed watcher smirked at Joseph.


    ¡°Everyone knows it, Morton!¡± he said. ¡°People have seen you, the doc, and the failed wizard, climbing out of the ground like rats from the sewer!¡±


    It was exactly what the watchers suspected. There were, in fact, a series of tunnels dug under Blackwall by their old friend the Knocker which converged beneath the offices of Ernest, Morton, and Glass. The tunnel system was in violation of several municipal zoning laws which forbid ¡°manes-associated businesses,¡± like Ernst, Morton, and Glass, from building any sort of structure near other businesses, even if those structures were deep underground. The tunnels also violated ordinances which guaranteed that the right to upturn earth in Blackwall belonged only to National Reclamation.


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    The tunnel system was an open secret among the members of the city council, and they kept it under their hats either because Ernst, Morton, and Glass showed them the tunnels personally when they helped them with their own ghost problems, because they feared getting on the bad side of a group of men who had magic and ghosts on their side, or because they believed that the tunnels might one day be used to create a copy of the London Underground transport system without the city having to spend a single penny.


    But though the city council was secretly on the side of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, as were most of the clients they showed the tunnels to, a few were willing to sell them out to the watchers. But the watchers had a problem when it came to producing evidence of the tunnels outside witness testimony. They would be told that an opening was at such-and-such a place, go to investigate, and find nothing but solid ground filled by the Knocker¡¯s power. And so, the watchers were stuck trying to prove a fact with only hearsay and rumor to substantiate it--and the insurance companies were growing tired of hearing about secret tunnels underneath Blackwall that the private detectives on their payroll couldn¡¯t show.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Joseph tapped his cane against the ground. ¡°You lot have been frustrated in your quest to find our supposed ghost tunnels for a long time, yet you¡¯ve never been this outraged before¡±


    ¡°Seeing your friends lose their jobs and go to the workhouse because they say we ¡°don¡¯t produce results¡± will do that.¡± the mop headed watcher said.


    Joseph understood. The replacement hires were acting up to win over the established watchers. They wanted to prove that they were part of the group, lest they be attacked for taking a job that used to be held by three.


    ¡°But you take your frustrations out on us, not the big wigs that terminated the employment of your friends.¡±


    ¡°Of course we take it out on the outlaw.¡± the mop headed watcher said. ¡°We don¡¯t break the law, Morton. But you people do. There¡¯s nothing that gives you the right to dig holes underneath Blackwall. We looked into it. You¡¯re going to jail as soon as we prove it.¡±


    ¡°Do you boys realize that without us protecting the privacy of our clients, none of you would have a job? Absolutely none of you?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Say I wrote a list tonight of everyone that¡¯s ever visited our offices, where they lived, and how they were haunted, and then I announced to your masters that it was for sell. Before sunset the next day, I¡¯d be richer than John Ellerman and you would back to doing whatever it was you were doing before you decided to bother people for living. And yet, not once have you thanked us for your jobs!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try and take a moral stance, Morton¡± the mop headed watcher said. ¡°No one¡¯s got a right to hide who and what is haunted. Every man should know if they¡¯re living next to a ghost or not. In fact, France and Germany already have manes registries. England won¡¯t be far behind!¡±


    Joseph sighed. ¡°See, boy, I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s always going to be the chief sticking point between you lot and us. We value the privacy of others, even at our own expense. You sell the privacy of others, to the betterment of yourselves. I¡¯m afraid we aren¡¯t ever going to see eye-to-eye, boys.¡±


    ¡°And then you take that tone, like some sort of school master! Did you come out of your haunted house just to mock us, is that it, Morton?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°Well, no. I¡¯m not out here only to mock you.¡±


    ¡°Cruel old man! Honest men are going hungry because you¡¯re too good at hiding your crimes!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t expect me to feel bad for men that profit off human suffering.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Tell your friends to go find themselves decent jobs.¡±


    The mop headed watcher¡¯s face grew scarlet beneath his greasy locks. ¡°Oh. Ohhhhh!¡± he fumed ¡°You can say that Morton, you can say that, but it¡¯s not because you¡¯re a strong man, Morton. Big as you are, you are as old as the hills, you withered bastard, and if you didn¡¯t have your failed wizard watching your back with his magic dogs, I bet you wouldn¡¯t talk to us like you are!¡±


    Three times the dirty haired man had called Martin a failed wizard.


    The first time, Joseph let it pass for his own sense of personal honor, because he was aware of his temper, and the problems it caused. The second time, Joseph let it pass for Matthew, for he had warned him not to cause trouble. But the third time was for Martin, and for Martin alone.


    Joseph brought his cane up to his shoulder and tightened his grip on the handle. ¡°¡°There¡¯s no magic out here, boys. Only me.¡±


    The watchers mumbled nervously amongst themselves. Then, as one, they fell silent as their red-faced, black haired leader approached Joseph.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re a real big man, don¡¯t you, Morton?¡± the mop headed watcher asked. ¡°You think you¡¯re such a really big man?¡±


    ¡°My tailor thinks so, otherwise I¡¯ve been paying him extra for nothing.¡±


    Suddenly, an eerie sound exploded above their heads. It was so loud and so piercing that even Joseph was startled, and he knew insantly what the sound was from.


    Martin¡¯s dogs were howling like Cerberus unbound.


    The thought-form beasts exhaled, and a great wind blew through the street. The watchers bolted, some screaming, some cursing, some vowing retaliation.


    The dogs then fell completely silent as their master stomped up down the street towards Joseph.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 5/9

    ¡°God, that¡¯s an unearthly sound.¡± Joseph said, tugging at his still-ringing ear.


    ¡°What the hell were you doing?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°Trying to go down the street.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s why your feet were rooted in place? You were trying to go down the street? Are you going senile, old man? Is your brain finally becoming as rotten as your teeth?¡±


    ¡°They started it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they always start it, so you say!¡±


    ¡°I doubt they¡¯ll try picking a fight with me again, though. It was a couple of new watchers egging on the rest, one in particular with greasy, long hair like a girl. The insurance companies fired a couple of watchers and hired a handful of new ones to take their place, so they were squaring up to me to try and prove they belonged.¡±


    ¡°Madness.¡±


    ¡°I know, but when you give people money to stand around and watch, you¡¯re not going to attract scholars.¡±


    ¡°I mean you. Picking fights like you¡¯re some kind of French apache! Why don¡¯t you act your age? Why don¡¯t you act your profession? Why don¡¯t you act human?¡±


    Joseph shrugged. ¡°In my defense, it did not come to blows.¡±


    ¡°Because I showed up and rescued you! Honestly Joseph, what did you expect to do against a group of men a third your age?¡±


    ¡°Win.¡±


    ¡°Madness! Senile old fool, you know Matthew is furious with you? He told you not to do anything, he told you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have a talk with him later.¡±


    ¡°I hope he lays into you when you do.¡± Martin gazed down the street. ¡°Huh. They¡¯re still running to beat the devil.¡±


    Joseph put a hand over his eyes and joined Martin in looking. ¡°That they are! Good. I hope they run all the way home.¡±


    Martin sighed. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to do something about the watchers, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°No, they¡¯re just barking dogs.¡±


    ¡°Oh, ha ha.¡±


    ¡°I mean it. On some level, they realize they can¡¯t hurt us. Our little game puts food on their table.¡±


    ¡°Well, if we¡¯re going to leave this thing alone, we need to make sure the Ror Raas doesn¡¯t hear about it.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I never thought I would hear you say that.¡±


    ¡°I trust Dr. Lumen. But Violet somehow discovered we were threatened by the Putnamites, and she nearly set Silas Putnam on fire in front of a crowd and martyred him.¡±


    ¡°Poor Bob has an ear around him, somewhere. And I hope he finds it.¡±


    ¡°But maybe one of us should go visit Manifold Financial.¡± Martin said. ¡°Just to be safe.¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t in any danger.¡±


    ¡°But just to be safe--and besides, if Violet was able to find out about the assassination attempt, she might be able to find out about this. I doubt they¡¯re going to keep their mouths shut about this altercation.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll let Matthew decide.¡±


    ¡°Why is it we have so much trouble with humans?¡± Martin asked. ¡°You¡¯d expect trouble from manes. We¡¯ve been trained to deal with manes, we¡¯ve been given special equipment to handle manes, and yet it¡¯s the human problems we face that don¡¯t have a resolution.¡±


    ¡°They say the nature of humans is directed towards conflict and the nature of ghosts is directed towards rest.¡± Joseph squinted into the distance. ¡°Say¡­my eyes aren¡¯t as good as they used to be, but do you think that¡¯s Mr. Carter at the end of the street?¡±


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    ¡°Where?¡± Martin asked. ¡°I can¡¯t see through the watchers. Which one do you think he is?¡±


    ¡°The one that doesn¡¯t have his back turned to us, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Oh! I think I see him¡­yes, that might be him.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then I¡¯ll go and greet him.¡±


    ¡°You mean you¡¯ll do what you were supposed to have done instead of picking a fight with the rabble?¡± Martin asked.


    Joseph waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked down the street. ¡°If it gets done, it gets done, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡­..


    Mr. Carter was awestruck as Joseph led him through Harwood street. The giant of Ernst, Morton, and Glass wasn¡¯t as big as Illustrated Phantom Stories depicted, but he was big. Mr. Carter felt like a child, following along in Joseph¡¯s shadow and having to look up at him to talk.


    Mr. Carter suddenly looked down as he heard something crunch beneath his feet. He saw that he had crushed a half-consumed tin of jellied eels.


    ¡°Ah, what a waste.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We have such good jellied eels around these parts, too. Sorry about that, one never walks barefoot in Blackwall for a good reason.¡±


    ¡°Did those men leave this?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°And likely more. But it¡¯ll be cleaned before sunset.¡±


    They would ask little Eva to send her ¡°kitties¡± out to clean. They could pick a street clean in minutes under her command.


    ¡°What were those men doing?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°It¡¯s like they had a picnic out here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not too far from the truth.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We call them watchers, because they do a lot of watching. They¡¯re private investigators, most of them. Like Pinkertons. They work for insurance companies. The companies like to raise the premiums of people with hauntings, and the watchers are out here to find people with hauntings.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m certainly glad they were too busy running away to see me, but they¡¯d know who I was even if they did. My theater has enough to worry about without our premiums going through the roof.¡±


    ¡°You own a theater?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a shareholder, but only a small one. I¡¯m also the director of the Gnome theater.¡± Mr. Carter kicked a crumbling Chelsea roll. ¡°You have my sympathies, Dr. Morton, we¡¯ve banned snacks from the Gnome, but we still find all sorts of disgusting crumbs on our floors after a show. I suppose these watchers are like an audience for your adventures--a very misbehaved audience.¡±


    ¡°True, very true. And when the show¡¯s over, it¡¯s so hard to get them to leave.¡±


    As they approached the offices, Mr. Carter saw white flowers in the window. They grew in long, vertical clusters. Parts of the plant were like segmented rods and looked a little like thin pinecones, but other parts flowered into pointed, star-like flowers.


    ¡°Oh. You keep flowers?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Asphodels, to be specific. They¡¯re hard to care for in this climate, but I appreciate the challenge. I started growing things back in the Thames settlement so I could eat something that wasn¡¯t the gruel the soldiers handed out. I liked growing things, so I keep doing it.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re very pretty flowers.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Thank you. Homer said the afterlife was filled with white asphodels.¡±


    ¡°Well, mankind knows better now.¡±


    ¡°Homer was wrong, but not completely so. When you look at the afterlife, it does look like a field of white stars.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°To me, that¡¯s what the afterlife looks like. And I imagine Homer saw it similarly. The Ror Raas say that the greatest minds of the ancient world could intuit what they now explore with gaeite.¡±


    Joseph pushed the door open.


    ¡°You don¡¯t lock your doors?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    Joseph grinned. ¡°Why would we?¡±


    ¡°Good point.¡±


    Mr. Carter was glad to find that it was very warm inside the offices. He unbuttoned his coat and placed it on a nearby coat rack. ¡°It¡¯s so warm!¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°Apologies if it¡¯s too warm.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s hard to balance the heating for a building this large.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, it¡¯s not a problem, not even close to a problem. After the cold and damp outside, this is like heaven!¡±


    ¡°The man that does our heating does great work. He¡¯s an expert when it comes to boilers, and boiling.¡±


    Mr. Carter saw that the desk by the flowers in the window belonged to Dr. Morton. Even without the presence of the flowers, he could tell by the great accumulation of bottles and food containers. A giant would have a giant appetite. But if that was not enough, beneath the squalor was a tiny sign, immaculate and free of dust even on the hard to reach spots around the raised bronze letters which spelled out DR. JOSEPH MICHAEL MORTON. MANESOLOGIST.


    Mr. Carter smiled. These men were supposed to be ghosts, according to the rumors? They were far too animated to be the living dead.


    Joseph motioned towards a door. ¡°This way, Mr. Carter. This is where we have our meetings.¡±


    ¡°Dr. Glass and Dr. Ernst are waiting for us?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Yes. We¡¯re all ready for you.¡± Joseph replied.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s somewhat unnerving that you¡¯re ready for me, but I think it¡¯s better than what I was expecting. I was afraid this would be like visiting the dentist and I would have to sit in a lobby and wait and wait and wait. But how much exactly do you already know about my case?¡±


    ¡°Very little.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We¡¯d like for you to fill in the blanks. The spirits only told us who you are and that you¡¯re in distress. It¡¯s not like we spy on our clients, Mr. Carter.¡±


    Inside the meeting room, Mr. Carter saw that Dr. Matthew Ernst was as plain and nondescript as Illustrated Phantom Stories depicted. And Dr. Martin Glass, while still striking, lost something without two floating dog heads flanking him.


    Mr. Carter took a seat at the table, which took up most of the room. It could easily have accommodated more than four men, and Mr. Carter imagined that for some cases, like the one involving the lost crew of the HMS Glider, the entire room was filled with clients,


    ¡®Thank you for coming, Mr. Carter.¡± Matthew said.¡±We appreciate having guests, but if you ever have need of us in the future, please send us an electrogram. We recently installed an electrograph in the offices. It can, and has, received electrograms from any point on the planet. They arrive near-instantly, and we can respond just as quickly. Electrography allows us to better arrange face-to-face meetings with our clients.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Wow¡­I¡¯m a little overwhelmed, I admit, seeing you three together. I¡¯m so used to seeing you in drawings!¡±


    ¡°You read Illustrated Phantom Stories?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s not something I read often. It¡¯s fairly¡­common literature, and Nesbit¡¯s Manesology is much more comprehensive, though the broadsheets do inform about recent hauntings.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be coy about it.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Everyone reads Illustrated Phantom Stories.They say even the Queen has skimmed through a few issues. And what you will about the prose, but I think the pictures are quite nice. I keep a few of the really nice ones pinned up around my desk.¡±


    Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t recall seeing any, but he was very distracted by the clutter.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 6/9

    ¡°Tell us about your haunting, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Because from very little we¡¯ve heard,  it doesn¡¯t sound like much of a problem.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it is a problem, Dr. Morton. And it¡¯s getting worse by the night.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    He told the manesologists all about his haunting. He told them about the players on the stage and how they would prance about without any awareness of their surroundings and how they would suddenly turn stock-still and leer at him if they detected him. He told them how they had appeared on the stage night after night and had recently overflowed the stage like water bursting through a broken dam. He told them how he feared that the ghosts would make it out into the street soon and ruin the reputation of the theater. He told them how he would be eternally grateful to Ernst, Morton, and Glass if they could just get the ghosts to go away.


    ¡°A small, quiet haunting, like what passes through rumors and only rumors, can be good for business.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°It gets people talking. It gets people to come to the theater to see if they can ¡°find the ghost¡¯ and if they see a shadow change they feel like they¡¯ve had an adventure. My actors, naturally, told everyone in their social circles about the ghosts, but not that they only come out at midnight after we lock up. So the portion of the population attracted to hauntings comes to have a little adventure while the sensible portion of the population that wants nothing to do with ghosts dismisses it all as an unfounded rumor. Yes, a small and quiet haunting can be good for business, our uptick in attendance proves that. But a large, loud haunting? That is very, very bad for business! I understand that there being several ghosts involved might run up the bill, but I¡¯ll see that you¡¯re paid in full. I know that you waive your fee for impoverished clients, but I assure you, I am not that kind of client! We¡¯re a new theater backed by investors newly rich off reconstruction money.You will be paid in full, and what¡¯s more, I¡¯ll give lifetime passes to each of you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Now, um, how long do you estimate the removal of the ghosts will take?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°And will you be able to do it without disrupting daytime operations?¡±


    The three manesologists looked at each other. Mr. Carter instantly realized that he had missed a step, but for his life he couldn¡¯t imagine that step was.


    ¡°We have a few questions.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Oh. Oh, certainly, go right ahead. Ask me anything.¡±


    ¡°First of all, could you throw in two to three more passes, please?¡± Joseph asked with a sly grin.


    ¡°Certainly, certainly!¡± Mr. Carter smiled back, feeling disarmed. ¡°All your friends and family members can come as often as they like! Bring all of Blackwall if you want, just get those ghosts out of my theater.¡±


    ¡°Second question--what exactly are your intentions concerning the ghosts?¡±Joseph asked.


    Mr. Carter shrugged. ¡°I thought I made that clear. I want them gone, I want them removed from the property. Take them to one of those common houses for ghosts, like Morning Manor, it doesn¡¯t matter so long as they¡¯re gone.¡±


    ¡°Do you truly have no interest in learning about these ghosts?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°You truly have no care for who they are or what they want?¡±


    ¡°Dr. Morton, I¡¯m not a historian and I am certainly not a manesologist. I am a theater director. The ghosts could be the ghosts of old Globe actors, or the ghosts of Atlantean Necromancer Kings, it doesn¡¯t matter to me, they can go on being what they want to be out of my theater and out of my life.¡±


    ¡°Well, before we discuss removing the ghosts, we should discuss whether they should be removed in the first place.¡± Matthew said.


    Mr. Carter flinched. ¡°Should? I¡¯m well within my rights to request their removal! I guarantee that none of the ghosts are the ghosts of investors. I know the investors. None of them have perished since the Gnome was built. Even if by some miracle one was the ghost of an investor, the Manes Charter says that, excluding explicit instructions within a legal will, ghosts are not entitled to the property owned by their previously inhabited bodies. The law is on my side here. I am well within my rights to request their removal!¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°You are correct in that you are within your rights.¡± Matthew replied. ¡°But as manesologists, we must consider what manes want as well as humans. I know Illustrated Phantom Stories likes to call us ghost hunters, but we are not hunters of any kind. We are negotiators. There are two parties here, you and the ghosts on stage. We¡¯ve heard your side, but we need to hear their side. We¡¯ve heard nothing of what they want.¡±


    ¡°I want them gone. There¡¯s no reason you can¡¯t attend to their needs after they¡¯re gone from the property.¡±


    ¡°You say that now, but you might not want them gone once they start talking.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The way you described the ghosts, it seems they¡¯re in what we call a phantasmagoria. They only notice you, and when you aren¡¯t present, they¡¯re so caught up in their own acting they don¡¯t even notice the other ghosts around them.  I know that right now, they seem like things from out of a dream, things without a lot of sense, but we have ways to increase the awareness of ghosts, to bring them out of their fog, as it were.¡±


    ¡°Dr. Morton. I am aware that you have, through gaeite Operations, increased the lucidity of certain ghosts and made them communicable and sociable. Your two helper ghosts, odd as they are, represent that fact. But you could turn this troupe of night-time goblins into the most articulate, well-behaved ghosts imaginable, and I would still want them out of my theater.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re being hasty. What if all they want is a job?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°What if this is all just an audition filtered through a phantasmagoric fog? Would you really say no to them? I heard a theater up in Scotland has had great success with ghost performers.


    ¡°The Gnome theater gets along fine without ghosts. Dr. Morton, I don''t want to give them a job. I don¡¯t want to talk with them. I don¡¯t want to deal with their histories or their mysteries. I don¡¯t want to deal with them.¡±


    ¡°Another question, Mr, Carter, if we were able to stop and reverse the ghosts¡¯ expansion throughout the theater and confine them to the state, would that suffice?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°If we reduced what¡¯s quickly becoming a large and loud haunting back to a small, quiet haunting, nothing more than a few ghosts occupying the stage in the dead of the night, would you be satisfied with that?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°What if we could guarantee that the ghosts would never again overflow the stage?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why you need to keep asking these questions.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°My position is clear. I want the ghosts gone, and I¡¯m in my right to request that they be removed.¡±


    ¡°As Dr. Ernst said, we must consider the feelings of the ghosts.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Removal can be distressing. For all we know, these ghosts only want to perform on an empty stage.¡±


    ¡°I understand that removal can be distressing, but I¡¯m not saying that you should, I don¡¯t know, affix them to a stone and toss them into the sea. There is nothing, absolutely nothing those ghosts can get from my theater that they can¡¯t get somewhere else. If there¡¯s some sort of hidden locket buried below the theater, dig up and give it to the ghosts. If they¡¯re old performers, find them another stage. Direct them to that theater up in Scotland. Dr. Morton, are you suggesting that you can¡¯t remove the ghosts from my theater?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, all we¡¯re saying is that there are steps we need to take before removal. Very important steps. We¡¯re not like Burke and Robins, Mr. Carter. We take steps before affixing a ghost, and sometimes those steps make it so that we don¡¯t have to affix a ghost at all.¡±


    ¡°I think I prefer their approach better.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Then you may leave and seek their assistance in Bristol.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°No. While I don¡¯t like all these extra steps you place before affixing ghosts, your reputation, diluted as it is through the lurid contents of broadsheet publications, speaks for itself. And, well, Burke and Robins have the incident of the Rot Umhang hanging over their reputation.¡±


    ¡°Yes. That was such a dreadful incident.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°And entirely avoidable, if Burke and Robins had even the slightest bit of consideration for the poor ghost.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But another question, Mr. Carter--is it true that you never talked to them? Not even once?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even wave or mutter a ¡°hello?¡±¡±


    ¡°Never. Night after night, I¡¯ve watched them, and on nights in which I am not very fortunate, they watch me. That has been the extent of our interactions.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, why haven¡¯t you talked to them?¡±Joseph asked in a tone of voice that reminded Mr. Carter of when his old schoolmaster would ask him why he didn¡¯t finish his letters.


    Oh no.


    Not this again.


    Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t help but remember the face of the treasurer, and of Teddy.


    Why were so many people asking him to talk to ghosts--as if that was something sensible to do?


    It wasn¡¯t as insulting, however, coming from Dr. Morton. Unlike the treasurer, Dr. Morton wasn¡¯t afraid to face ghosts. He had faced some truly horrific nightmares according to Illustrated Phantom Stories. Mr. Carter remembered reading about the Brute of Epping Forest--that was a ghost that could frighten even other ghosts. It was so powerful it snapped trees in half for fun. Of course Dr. Morton wouldn¡¯t see what the big deal was with interacting with ghosts. The Blackwall dog catcher probably didn¡¯t understand why sensible people were so nervous about dogs, either.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 7/9

    ¡°Whenever they see you, they give you their undivided attention like good little schoolboys.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It seems they want to hear from you. You¡¯re a director. Maybe they want you to direct them?¡±


    ¡°But Dr. Morton, I can¡¯t be sure of that.¡± Mr. Carter said ¡°Maybe they do want me to direct them--and then they¡¯ll dislike my directions, turn on me, and kill me!¡±


    ¡°That seems very unlikely. Remember, ghosts are the children of humanity, as they say. They are as unpredictable--and predictable--as humans are. If all your ghosts ever did was stare at you, it is extremely unlikely that they ever meant you harm.¡±


    Mr. Carter raised a finger. ¡°Unlikely, but not impossible! Manes have done odder things than suddenly turn on a man and rip his throat out!¡±


    ¡°So have men!¡± Joseph replied. ¡°But if you found that strange men, night after night, were using your stage, and then looked blankly at you while you looked fearfully back, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°I would speak to them.¡±


    ¡°Well, there you go, Mr. Carter!¡±


    ¡°But those would be men, not ghosts!¡±


    Joseph sighed. ¡°Ah, Mr. Carter, you aren¡¯t getting it. It is wise to be afraid of ghosts. It is wise to be afraid of anything that can kill a man just by looking at him. But it is unwise to be incurious about ghosts. I say that to your benefit, sir. Because more and more ghosts are walking the Earth every day. Those Archon walls that separate our physical universe from the Astral have been thinning since the Dyeus, since before the Dyeus even, and they¡¯re going to keep on thinning. We¡¯re going to resolve your haunting, Mr. Carter, but I don¡¯t want to see you back here one day telling us how night after night you watched another set of ghosts look at you while you said nothing.¡±


    ¡°Well, most nights they don¡¯t see me.¡± Mr. Carter said. I hide behind the chairs.¡±


    ¡°We have had cases similar to yours where men and women have encountered silent ghosts that stare at them. Those men and women said something to their ghosts because, as with humans, their behaviors are dominated by patterns. If someone knocked on your door every night, you would think they wanted something from you. Those men and women spoke to their ghosts, and how their ghosts responded told them a lot about their motives. It made their cases so much easier to approach . You wonder what people in Essex would do if they saw your ghost actors on the street outside the Gnome? Well, they¡¯d probably ask them why they were there! Have you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King, Mr. Carter?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid in my cursory reading of Illustrated Phantom Stories that I have not come across that ghost.¡±


    Joseph smiled. ¡°The Fisher King isn¡¯t a ghost, Mr. Carter. He¡¯s a figure from Arthurian folklore. You know, King Arthur and Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°His story is that he had a magical connection to his kingdom. So long as he was healthy, his kingdom was prosperous. But one day, he was wounded, and his kingdom began to fall to ruins. Crops withered and died. His kingdom was friendly to Camelot, and so King Arthur sent his knight Percival to aid him. Percival comes across the king, but he doesn¡¯t look like a king. He¡¯s lamed because of his wound, and all he does all day is fish, hence his name. Percival wants to help, he¡¯s on this quest to save the king and his lands, but he¡¯s a child of the Camelot court. He was taught never to ask unnecessary questions, and could this lamed fisherman really be the king? He thinks not, and so goes on his way, failing his quest when all he had to do was ask the fisherman who he was. All he had to do to begin the healing of the Fisher King and his lands, was to ask a question--who are you?¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s a very nice story, Mr. Carter, but I am not a knight, nor a manesologist, nor any sort of man who deals with adventurous sorts of scenarios.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I am a theater director. You are the knight.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have to knight you, in this case, Mr. Carter.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, so that we can work in both your best interest and the best interest of the manes, we have to ask you to accompany us on our investigation.¡±


    Mr. Carter was speechless for a moment. Then he gasped out ¡°What?¡± and in the silence of the room his gasp fell like a thunderbolt.


    ¡°I shall explain.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Please do!¡±


    ¡°Perhaps Illustrated Phantom Stories doesn¡¯t make it very clear, because they like to depict us as near-superhuman ghost fighters who jump into a haunted house and clear out all the manes inside, but we believe in a heterogeneous approach to resolving hauntings.¡± Matthew explained.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°You are involved in this haunting. When the manes see you, they stop, and they look at you. There is clearly something about you that the manes see as special. We would like for you to be involved in the investigation because of this.¡±


    ¡°What exactly do you expect me to do? You don¡¯t expect me to actually be in the theater with you while you¡¯re interacting with the ghosts, do you?¡±


    ¡°We do expect you to be physically present.¡±


    Mr. Carter bit his lip.


    How could they ask him this? How could they not understand how unnatural, how off-putting, it was to so much as look at a ghost let alone speak to one?


    If these manesologists couldn¡¯t understand his anxiety¡­then maybe they really were ghosts?


    No.


    No, they couldn¡¯t be.


    He pushed the thought deep down into the bedrock his mind.


    What was he supposed to do if they were, in fact, ghosts inhabiting dead bodies? Get up and walk away? And go where? To other manesologists? If Ernst, Morton, and Glass were ghosts inside human bodies, then all manesologists were ghosts in human bodies.


    He had to trust that they were human.


    Mr. Carter straightened up. He took a deep breath in through his nose. He carefully considered what he had to say--he was in front of celebrities, after all.


    And, perhaps, ghosts in the bodies of dead men¡­


    ¡°Dr. Morton, Dr. Ernst, and Dr. Glass, I do not agree with your heterogeneous approach to haunting resolution.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I cannot speak to the ghost side of this approach, as I am neither ghost nor manesologist, but it seems very burdensome and troublesome from the perspective of the human side.¡±


    ¡°There may also be another reason for you to accompany us on our investigation.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Mr. Carter, are you familiar with the Ogdoad Quad?¡±


    ¡°Yes I am. The ¡°Eight that is Four,¡± it¡¯s like a ghost¡¯s anatomy, it¡¯s all their spiritual components.¡±


    ¡°Correct. Eight spiritual components, called papnors, divided into four pairs, called salmon. There¡¯s a salmon called the sema, and it contains the rn papnor and the ib papnor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of the sema, but I¡¯m not very knowledgeable. Nesbit¡¯s Manesology described the sema in rather poetic, hard-to-follow terms.¡±


    ¡°The sema is the trickiest salmon to discuss.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯s the most difficult salmon to observe in a scientific context and thus the least understood. In truth, no one, be they layman, manesologists, or thaumaturgist, is very knowledgeable on the sema. The sema is commonly called the part of a manes that doesn¡¯t truly belong to a manes. It¡¯s a system distributed across the Astral, across the entire metaphysical sphere of human thought.¡±


    Mr. Carter shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s when metaphysical spheres get discussed that I lose the trail.¡±


    ¡°The ib component of the sema unites a manes with those that were close to him or her in life--friends, family, even beloved pets. When a manes looks at a painting of how he looked in life, and miles away his daughter starts to cry and doesn¡¯t understand why, that is the working of the ib. The rn unites the manes with the a wider, more generalized portion of humanity When a manes feels drawn to churchyards and pacified by crucifixes, it is because these objects are commonly understood by Englishmen to have spiritual power, and so they exert power over the manes through the rn. The rn is why, when we have to affix ghosts, we like to affix them to crosses. It makes them feel comfortable compared to being affixed to, so say, a rock.¡±


    Matthew pulled out a small wooden cross from his pocket. ¡±We keep several of these in our pockets.¡±


    He placed the cross on the table. ¡°You may keep it, if you like, Mr. Carter. Think of it as a Blackwall souvenir.¡±


    ¡°I respectfully decline.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Very. Well. As I was saying,all other spiritual systems and components of a manes are localized.¡± Matthew continued. ¡°They exist close to each other. But the rn and ib function irrespective of all physical distance. The manes of a Chinese Buddhist feels nothing when he hears the name of Christ, not even if he¡¯s standing inside Salisbury Cathedral. But he trembles at the mention of Zhong Kui, a legendary figure from his culture noted for quelling demons, ghosts, and spirits. And if the manes of a man¡¯s wife binds her ib to his soul, then that man can climb the tallest mountain or dive to the bottom of the sea, it will make no difference--when the manes cries, he will also cry.


    ¡°Dr. Ernst, are you implying that a ghost¡¯s ib has bound itself to me?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°It is a possibility.¡± Matthew replied.


    Mr. Carter sighed and clutched at his head.


    They were going to want to illuminate him, he was sure of that. Illuminating was when they shined their gaeite candles on people to see if a ghost had done anything to them, and it was something he dreaded.


    To be bathed in the same light that burned London to the ground, that was something he was sure he wouldn¡¯t be able to stand.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 8/9

    ¡°No, I contest the possibility of an ib being bound to me.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I do not know these ghosts. I am certain I do not know these ghosts. I am certain I have not experienced any of the symptoms of ib bonding. I have not experienced any out-of-place thoughts, feelings, or emotions. I have not had strange dreams. I have not had strange visions. The last person who could have possibly produced a ghost that could bind its ib to my soul was my uncle, and not only did he die before the Gnome was constructed, well before I had even started my directing career, he disliked the theater and strongly encouraged me to become a scrivener instead. There is no way Uncle Henry would be on a stage!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, we¡¯ve had several cases where clients were very surprised to learn that they were ib bonded.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Like you, they protested how impossible it was, but illumination revealed proof to the contrary. They went on and on about how they didn¡¯t know the manes, how they didn¡¯t know anyone even remotely like the manes. Yet illumination revealed the truth, and after we conducted our investigation and brought every little detail to light, they looked at the facts we had uncovered and went ¡°Ah! The manes was so-and-so! I remember them now!¡± Sometimes, Mr. Carter, we¡¯re not aware of all the connections we¡¯ve made in life.¡±


    ¡°I actually live a very organized life with a very small circle of friends and acquaintances. It¡¯s impossible for there to be a connection I am unaware of.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°We would like to test that, Mr. Carter.¡± Matthew said. ¡°May we have your permission to illuminate you?¡±


    ¡°All we do is shine our gaeite candles on you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s simple, quick, and easy.¡±


    ¡°But¡­there¡¯s no need!¡± Mr. Carter protested. ¡°I couldn¡¯t possibly have be bound to an ib!!¡±


    ¡°We would just like to make sure.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°It is a completely painless procedure, I promise you.¡± Matthew said. ¡°The light is neither blinding nor burning.¡±


    Mr. Carter knew, rationally, that he had nothing to fear from gaeite candles. He knew that the London fireball was caused by a careless, nameless manesologist doing the unthinkable--putting his gaeite candle down in the middle of a haunting. A ghost got a hold of the candle, and as the candle was lit and radiating olprt energy, it was an active gate into the higher, energized realms of the Astral. An Astral hand touched an Astral gate, and a power that could have drowned the world in fire swept across London, stopping only because the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas worked a miracle within a fraction of a second.


    Mr. Carter knew this. Everyone knew this. Not a soul in all the world, save perhaps some tribesmen beyond the colonial reach of the Empire, was ignorant of the fate of the world¡¯s largest city and how it came about. But he also knew that the Ror Raas had taken steps to ensure that what happened to London would never happen again. The candles had been altered and fixed in such a way so that they turned themselves off when not held by a manesologists, and could not be turned back on unless touched by the same manesologists that placed them down.


    Mr. Carter knew gaeite candles were safe. And yet¡­he could not forget London.


    An entire city. On fire.


    And the photographs¡­ruins as far as the eye could see¡­


    ¡°Can this be done later?¡± Mr. Carter whined. ¡°Can this be done after the ghosts are removed?¡±


    ¡°What we reveal may help us in resolving this haunting.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Is there no way to¡­I don¡¯t know¡­not do this?¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°I would think a man would want to know for sure if he¡¯s been affected by a ghost or not.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Not now. Not with everything happening so fast¡­¡± Mr. Carter sighed.


    Then he relented. ¡°Very well then, bring out the candles.¡±


    Martin stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll go get them. We keep them in a very secure place.¡± Martin opened the door and vanished into the hallway.


    A few moments of silence passed.


    Awkwardness lingered in the room


    And then, suddenly, there was a loud thumping sound that echoed throughout the building.


    Mr. Carter nearly jumped out of his skin. ¡°What was that?¡± he shouted.


    Joseph stood up. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s just Eva.¡± Joseph walked to the door and rapt his large knuckles on the wall. ¡°Hey! Keep it down, girl, we got company over!¡±


    ¡°Who is Eva?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°She¡¯s the little girl that lives in our walls and floors.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Oh. I see.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve never heard of her? I believe they printed her story in Illustrated Phantom Stories a couple of times.¡±


    ¡°Well, uh, now that you mention her, I think I do remember her.¡±


    ¡°Do you, now?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes Dr. Morton, I remember Eva! I¡¯m surprised I even forgot her! She¡¯s¡­interesting.¡±


    ¡°Oh, very!¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s a good girl, all things considered.¡±


    Mr. Carter never read a thing about Eva, and didn¡¯t want to know a thing about Eva.


    ¡°Ha ha!¡± Joseph chuckled. ¡°She has her moments! But on the whole, yes, she¡¯s a good girl!¡±


    Martin returned with a metal chest, not unlike what people used on sea voyages, and placed it on the table. The three manesologists reached into the chest and withdrew their gaeite candles.


    ¡°My word!¡± Mr. Carter gasped. ¡°They¡¯re sharp!¡±


    ¡°The gaeite columns are very sharp.¡± Joseph said. He brought his finger close to the edges of the amber colored column. ¡°You can cut your finger on them if you aren¡¯t careful.¡±


    ¡°He should know.¡± Martin smiled. ¡°He¡¯s done it a few times.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re such small things.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°They really are the size of a simple wax candle, just a little bit thicker, and yet London happened...¡±


    ¡°But never again.¡± Matthew said. He pressed a knob built into the side of the candle¡¯s metal base and the amber column began to glow a soft, silvery-white. The other manesologists followed suit.


    Mr. Carter gulped. He could feel himself sweat.


    ¡°We can tell the candles make you nervous.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡®What? Did you say something, Dr. Ernst?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for your fear. Fearing this ancient power is understandable, but you need to trust the hands that hold such power.¡±


    ¡°Of course I trust you all¡­¡± Mr. Carter could not take his eyes off the candles. They were the color of square moons yet glowed like little stars.


    ¡°We started on a low setting to ease you into this.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We will expand the olprt radiance in a moment and uncover what, if anything, ties you to the ghosts of your theater. You may see a dark spot around you. It may look like a shadow stuck to your skin or a cloak hanging off your shoulders. It may look like soot on your clothes or a piece of black fabric tied to your arm. It may look like none of these things. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Hope and pray that nothing black is on me. Yes, I understand.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°If anything is on you, Mr. Carter, be not alarmed.¡± Matthew said. ¡°All it means is that an ib is bound to you. It was considered a great shame not to be bound to an ib back in aeon of the Dyeus culture.¡±


    ¡°My, how times have changed¡­¡±


    ¡°We will begin now. Are you ready, Mr. Carter?¡±


    ¡°Just do it¡­¡± Mr. Carter whimpered.


    ¡°Very well.¡± The manesologists increased the strength of their olprt radiance. Silvery-white light filled the room. Mr. Carter shut his eyes, anticipating a blinding flash, but found the light was serene and painless.


    The manesologists then summoned images to their mind which had been passed down through aeons, through the dreams of Abramelin.


    Mental images combined with silvery-white light and suffused the room.


    A Dyeus king felt a chill run down his spine and in one motion, drew his gaeite blade and turned to face who he knew would be behind him. His brother had come to avenge his death.


    The Pehuson Operation


    Mr. Carter blinked.


    He was expecting something black to appear on his arms or hands, and so his attention was originally upon his extremities. But a flash of darkness against the light made him adjust his field of vision and he saw it.


    There was a thorn, like a jagged piece of black glass, sticking out of his chest.


    Some impulse within Mr. Carter brought his fingers to curl around the thorn, but another impulse prevented him from touching it.


    Mr. Carter screamed.

 All the World. Chapter 3, Act II. 9/9

    Martin gave an exasperated sigh.


    Joseph smirked.


    Matthew gave a pitying shake of his head.


    Mr. Carter continued to scream.


    Matthew tried to say something, but he could not be heard over the screaming.


    ¡°Good lord, Mr. Carter, find your nerve.¡± Martin said. ¡°It¡¯s intangible. There¡¯s nothing sticking in you.¡±


    ¡°Get it out!¡± Mr. Carter shrieked. ¡°Get it out! Get it out of me!¡± the poor theater director grabbed at the thorn and felt only his fingers closing into his palm again and again.


    Joseph grabbed one of Mr. Carter¡¯s hands. ¡°Look. Look at your hand!¡± he shouted.


    Mr. Carter obeyed and sat sniffling as he watched Joseph lead his hand into and out of the black thorn.


    ¡°It¡¯s just light and shadow. See? It doesn¡¯t even feel like anything, does it?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Mr. Carter replied.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Do you see that now?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Mr. Carter panted. ¡°I¡¯m okay¡­I¡¯m okay¡­¡±


    Joseph patted his shoulders. ¡°Good man. Now, let¡¯s get you some water.


    Joseph opened the door and called out. ¡°Esmee! Could you bring a glass of water?¡±


    In a moment, a glass was placed in Joseph¡¯s hand, and Joseph brought the glass to Mr. Carter.


    ¡°Drink this, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You¡¯ll feel better.¡±


    Mr. Carter drank, and he did feel better--a little.


    ¡°Do you understand now, Mr. Carter?¡± Matthew asked. ¡°This shadow, this thorn, means that you were part of the haunting from the beginning. Somehow, the ghosts have a connection with you, and if you are absent while we investigate, we won¡¯t be able to figure out that connection. We won¡¯t be able to help you. We won¡¯t be able to get the thorn out.¡±


    In a moment, Mr. Carter calmed down.


    He considered what he should say to Ernst, Morton, and Glass. There were a lot of nasty things he wanted to say to them. He came here to get help, to alleviate his fears, but instead they had added to them. They drug him deeper and deeper into this infernal haunting business, and Mr. Carter wanted to tell them off for it.


    But he didn¡¯t.


    They had a point about the thorn. It meant he had been part of this whole mess from the very beginning. He could argue about their heterogeneous approach all he liked, but he couldn¡¯t deny that the thorn bound him to this haunting.


    He would be polite. He would even be grateful, because they would certainly start making things better. They could not possibly make things worse.


    He took a deep breath.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m not disappointed that I¡¯ll have to tag along for the investigation, but I understand, and I trust you.¡± Mr. Carter touched the spot on his chest where the thorn had been. ¡°If you can¡¯t get this thorn out of my chest and those ghosts out of my theater, well, I doubt anyone can.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.¡°We¡¯ll resolve the situation to the best of our abilities.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Please just say that you¡¯ll make the ghosts go away.¡± Mr. Carter begged. ¡°I know you have to look at both sides, but please just say it, I need to hear the words.¡±


    ¡°If the removal of the ghosts is the best outcome for this situation, then we will remove the ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Close enough, I guess.¡± Mr. Carter stood up. ¡°Well, gentlemen, thank you for your time, it pleases me greatly to see that your reputations were not unwarranted. If all goes well, my troubles will be over before tomorrow evening. Do you know of any good lodgings nearby? Preferably with locks on the doors?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to wait.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°We have ways of traveling quickly. Very quickly.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°The means by which may be disturbing to you, however.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that, Matthew.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Trust the man to have more courage than that!¡± Joseph looked at Mr. Carter. ¡°It¡¯s not anything, believe you me.¡±


    ¡°What is it? It¡¯s almost sundown. How can we get from Blackwall to Essex before the ghosts come out?¡±


    ¡°By utilizing the services of a ghost.¡± Matthew explained.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Mr. Carter squeezed the arms of his chair tightly. ¡°So, like the ghost of a carriage driver?¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s not like that at all.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Good, because I couldn¡¯t stand being that close to a ghost. I¡¯m sorry, Dr. Morton, but I simply couldn¡¯t. I¡¯d scream. I¡¯d run. And having to be that close through an entire trip, well, that would be like torture!¡±


    Joseph smirked. If Mr. Carter only knew¡­


    ¡°What will it be like?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have the Sky Witch transport us through the air.¡± Joseph explained. ¡°She¡¯ll lift us up high into the air, you¡¯ll feel cold and wet for a moment as if you walked right through an early morning fog, and then you¡¯ll be back on solid ground.¡±


    Mr. Carter opened his mouth. It hung open for a moment as he slowly formed what he wanted to say in his head.


    He gathered his thoughts. ¡°One moment¡­the Sky Witch? As in the ghost that dropped hailstones that couldn¡¯t melt over the Thames settlement in mid-July?¡±


    ¡°She goes by Matilda now. Mattie.¡± Joseph said. ¡°She¡¯s very happy with the isolated chain of islands in the Atlantic we purchased for her. She¡¯s like a happy child in a bathtub, she gets to play Juno all day long creating any kind of weather you can imagine and some you can¡¯t, and in return, she comes when we call her and does us favors.¡±


    ¡°And you want her to lift me up, carry me through the air, and place me back down in Essex?¡±


    ¡°We can put a blanket over your head. I¡¯m told that helps a great deal.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°This was supposed to be better than the carriage driver?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°We do have one that owes us favors, but he¡¯s far slower. With Mattie, it¡¯s up and down. It¡¯s very quick, very simple, and it¡¯s over before you know it.¡± Joseph said.


    Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t believe it. How were these men able to treat being hurled through the air on ghostly winds conjured up by a woman best known as the Sky Witch as a trifle? They were treating him like a child that didn¡¯t want to eat his vegetables, but wasn¡¯t it reasonable not to want to be tossed up into the air?


    Maybe these men really were ghosts. They seemed as strangely dispositioned as ghosts¡­


    ¡°No. No, no no.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°It¡¯s bad enough that I have to tag along, and have this Astral thorn stuck inside me, but now I can¡¯t even get a good night¡¯s sleep before we start? Frankly, gentlemen, I feel as if you three should be paying me for all this!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, time is of the essence.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Your ghosts are expanding at a rapid rate. There is a real possibility that they will be out on the streets this very evening.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m prepared to take that risk.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Are you? You said it yourself--you¡¯re fine with your theater having the reputation of a quiet haunting, but not a loud one.¡±


    ¡°But it is not a certainty that they will overflow the theater. Even if they doubled, or tripled their range, they¡¯d only get¡­about to the lobby, I think.¡±


    ¡°It may be more than triple. It may be much more.¡± Matthew said. ¡°At any rate, we¡¯re going to head on over to see your haunting for ourselves. But if you¡¯re not present, we will be limited in what we¡¯ll be able to do. It will be like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces.¡±


    ¡°Will you be at least able to keep them confined to the theater, if they are overflowing it? Or at the very least can you turn them invisible if they¡¯re out in the streets?¡±


    ¡°We will try. But I can promise nothing without your presence. That is why I implore you to come with us.¡± Matthew said.


    Joseph stood up. ¡°Mr. Carter, you¡¯ve got a choice between two unpleasantries. The first is that you get a hotel for the night, and if you do I recommend the Eternity Inn down on Waterfront Street, it has a strict no-ghosts, no-haunted humans policy.¡±


    ¡°That sounds reasonable to me.¡±


    ¡°I thought a gentleman such as yourself would like it. But that comes with the unpleasantness of risking the loud haunting that you fear.¡±


    ¡°As I said, that is a risk I am willing to take.¡±


    ¡°I know it is. But when you wake up, regardless of what happens tonight, you will have to deal with it. You will have to deal with something that could have been resolved before your head touched a pillow. And on the drive back to Essex, you¡¯ll be thinking how comfortable you would be if only you got it all out of the way while you had the chance.¡±


    Joseph believed he made his point and  walked to a trunk resting against the wall and opened it. He took out a large white quilt. ¡°Now, these are not just for covering your eyes. We all use them, because it¡¯s very cold and wet up there.¡±


    ¡°Where did you say the Eternity Inn was located, again?¡±


    Joseph rolled his massive shoulders. ¡°Very well then, Mr. Carter. Hermes Transportation doesn¡¯t normally send out mechanical buggies this late in the evening, but we have a special arrangement with them. There¡¯s one driver they keep ready for us around the clock. He barely sleeps, he¡¯s a real lively chap. We¡¯ll call him up right now through the electrograph and he¡¯ll be here in minutes.¡±


    ¡°A lively chap you say¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, very lively. He¡¯s always talking.¡±


    ¡°What is the name of this mechanical buggy driver?¡±


    ¡°His name is Teddy. He¡¯s an American, the Confederate kind, not the Federal kind.¡±


    ¡­.


    Mr. Carter kept his whimpering deep in his throat as they put the blanket over his head. He hoped the process would be as quick as Ernst, Morton, and Glass had promised.

 All the World. Chapter 4, Act III. 1/5

    Joseph pulled the blanket away and Mr. Carter saw that he was standing before his Gnome theater.


    He blinked. The trip through the air didn¡¯t seem long enough to be real. He remember standing outside, waiting for them to put the blanket over his head like a man being led before a firing squad. Then the wind was howling, blowing cold against his body, and then he was here, on solid ground, in Essex.


    ¡°See? That wasn¡¯t so bad, was it?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No. It wasn¡¯t bad at all.¡± Mr. Carter admitted. ¡°It wasn¡¯t¡­anything at all, really.¡±


    ¡°We told you so.¡± Joseph said.


    Mr. Carter brushed some moisture off his arm and gazed upwards at the clouds. To think the light sprinkling on his body came from up there, all the way up there¡­


    Matthew turned the knobs on his gaeite candle and his friends followed his lead. Small, tight halos of silvery-white radiance hovered close to their skin. Mr. Carter gasped. This was the second time in his life he saw gaeite candles in action.


    The glow was startling--but not as startling as it was the first time.


    ¡°Alright, everyone into the theater.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Why are we going inside if the haunting hasn¡¯t started?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Because hauntings don¡¯t rightfully end.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°They just become immaterial. Gaeite is a physical material that can, when you run an electric current through it and conduct it with clear, disciplined thoughts, produce Astral phenomena. This is the opposite of a manes, which is an Astral being that can circumstantially produce physical phenomena.¡±


    Matthew tapped the gaeite column of his candle. It made a delicate, ringing sound, like a bell. ¡®This is always a physical column of matter, no matter what, and hauntings are always a cloud of Astral substance, no matter what. We¡¯re going to find the edge of that cloud.¡±


    ¡°Think of it like checking on the ghosts while they¡¯re sleeping.¡± Joseph explained.


    ¡°Oh. Alright. So long as you don¡¯t wake them up, that should be fine.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°So, I trust you can find where the stage is, it¡¯s the big room through the large double doors. I¡¯ll wait out here.¡±


    Joseph gave him a look. ¡°Come with us. We may need you when it starts getting physical, and we¡¯re not going to turn our backs to it to run out here and get you.¡±


    Joseph manipulated the knobs on his candle and his olprt aura expanded enough for a person to share it with him.


    Mr. Carter slowly shuffled to Joseph¡¯s side. A large arm folded around his shoulders. ¡°Come along, friend. There¡¯s no safer place to be during a haunting than inside the olprt radiance. It¡¯s to the old magic pentagram what the Neander man is to us.¡±


    Mr. Carter looked down at himself. There in the light was his black thorn again, jutting from his chest.


    He knew he couldn¡¯t touch it, but he kept moving his fingers over it, regardless.


    Together, the group made their way to the Gnome theater.


    Upon noticing the stone gnome above the entrance, Martin stopped and smirked at the little wrinkled man with a pointed hat and long beard.


    ¡°Look Joseph, it¡¯s you in miniature!¡± Martin said.


    ¡°I think I may have looked like this as a babe.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You know, I think that conical hat of his looks rather smart. I think I would look smashing in one, pity no one makes them.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re called cornuthaum.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°Well, if I was lying to you, you¡¯d never know it¡­¡±


    ¡°I just want to know if the magic men in the Ror Raas really wear those Merlin-looking things.¡±


    ¡°Of course not. Have you ever seen Dr. Lumen wear one?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see Bob all the time, though. Maybe it¡¯s like a bow tie for the magic men and they only put one on for formal occasions?¡±


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    ¡°They do not. Don¡¯t be absurd.¡±


    ¡°Well you¡¯re the one that suggested the hats were real¡­¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, are you talking about Dr. Robert Lumen?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°The thaumaturgist?¡±


    Mr. Carter had heard about Dr. Lumen. Everyone had heard about Dr. Lumen. He was the most public of the thaumaturgists, which meant he would occasionally lecture about thaumaturgical and manesological topics to packed auditoriums and streets, but that was, of course, far more than what the others would do.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Joseph pointed at Martin. ¡°Dr. Glass has just revealed to me that thaumaturgists wear pointed hats in the fashion of Mr. Gnome here at parties and social gatherings to honor Jubjub the unicorn. They consider Jubjub a great and enlightened teacher, you see.¡±


    Mr. Carter looked at Martin.


    ¡°Unicorns are real?¡± he asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s lying.¡± Martin said. Please forgive him, Mr. Carter. Dr. Morton does that sometimes. He thinks it''s funny, because he¡¯s old and his sense of humor decayed back when Napoleon took a beating at Waterloo.¡±


    ¡°Dr. Glass¡­if the Ror Raas does have unicorns, the secret is safe with me, I promise.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    Martin narrowed his eyes at Mr. Carter. ¡°Please don¡¯t be absurd, Mr. Carter. The Ror Raas is an organization consisting of humans, manes, and the great Abramelin.¡± Martin said. ¡°Those three races, none more.¡±


    ¡°But¡­are there such things as unicorns?¡±


    Martin ignored the question and pointed to the gnome statue. ¡°I take it the theater was named after the Gnome race of the Dyeus culture, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not actually what they looked like.¡± Martin said. ¡°But I can understand why you would depict them that way. They¡¯d be confused for modern humans if you depicted them as they were. They¡¯re very much like you and me, physically speaking, so much so that some doubt Dr. Darwin¡¯s theory of common ancestry with apes and believe we arose from Gnomes that stayed on Earth when the rest of the Dyeus left for the Astral.¡±


    ¡°We were aware they looked like men instead of well, little men. But sometimes, you need to give people what they expect.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Take it from someone in the business of making large groups of people happy. If you¡¯re going to present scenes from Hamlet, for instance, you¡¯re going to have to include ¡°To be, or not to be,¡± because that¡¯s what Hamlet is to many people.¡±


    Mr. Carter moved past the manesologists. ¡°Excuse me, I¡¯ll get the door.¡±


    Mr. Carter pushed it open.


    ¡°You don¡¯t lock your doors?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No need to in Essex. Don¡¯t take this the wrong way, Dr. Morton, but when Blackwall took on London¡¯s populace, it took on London¡¯s problems. People go to Blackwall to make money, legally or otherwise, and well, when they go to Blackwall, they don¡¯t come here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just the truth.¡± Joseph said. ¡°People have been stabbed in the streets for tins of jellied eels. Blackwall¡¯s a rough city. In fact, our own business has been burgled. Twice.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°And that¡¯s not including the assassination attempt.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°The what?¡±


    Joseph chuckled. ¡°Oh, it sounds grim, but it was quite a funny event. Oh, you should have seen their faces when their bullets stopped dead in their tracks!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­you two are having quite a good reminiscence about an attempt on your lives.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Murder is hilarious.¡± Joseph said. ¡°So long as it''s only attempted murder.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be hearing about the assassination in Illustrated Phantom Stories.¡± Matthew said. ¡°They¡¯re very adamant that every story they print about us involves a phantom. But they¡¯ll print it in Illustrated Police News, one day, maybe. It¡¯s a rather contentious subject, things might have to be redacted in the telling to protect certain people.¡±


    ¡°Well, if I happen to come across that issue, I¡¯ll take a look¡­¡±


    ¡°The two burglary stories will be in Illustrated Phantom Stories, the publishers have confirmed that with us, though only one features a ghost.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But the story that doesn¡¯t have a ghost leads into the one that does. It¡¯s complicated, but it¡¯ll make sense when you read it. It¡¯s also a pretty funny story.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll attempt to brush up on Illustrated Phantom Stories¡¯ ghost stories after we take care of my own story.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Now, follow me, gentlemen.¡±


    Mr. Carter led the way through the door. He was surprised to see how different his theater looked bathed in silvery-white olprt radiance. The light penetrated even the deepest shadows and the imperfections those shadows hid were revealed for all to see.


    Mr. Carter ran a finger along a framed illustration of the Globe theater and cringed at the grit he felt.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s so dirty¡­¡± Mr. Carter mumbled. ¡°My apologies, gentlemen!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been in houses more than a century old, don¡¯t you worry about a thing.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We¡¯ve been in houses where the cobwebs are as thick as blankets.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re a new theater, though. We shouldn¡¯t be in such a shabby state, I¡¯ll have to get on to the maid about her neglect.¡±


    Martin spied a round glass object affixed to the wall.


    ¡°Ah, electric lamps!¡± Martin said, gesturing to one. ¡°This really is a modern building!¡±


    ¡°Thank you, though I¡¯m skeptical of these things. I prefer gas, but the investors want electric, so we have a mixture, and every day we get more electric lamps.¡±


    ¡°They are kind of funny-looking things, aren¡¯t they?¡± Joseph said. ¡°I think they look like glass onions.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not so much the look of them that bothers me as it is the¡­well, people say they start fires.¡±


    Joseph shrugged. ¡°Well, I suppose anything that makes heat can make a fire, but if they were really more dangerous than gas, I don¡¯t think they would have caught on.¡±


    ¡°Well, there are other rumors¡­um, this may sound like an odd question, but¡­do they have any¡­interaction with ghosts?¡±


    ¡°Interaction?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Well, I noticed back at your office that you used gas lamps instead of electric lamp, and, well, I¡¯ve heard rumors that electric lamps work similarly to gaeite candles.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Similarly? Yes, I suppose they would be similar-- if you connected the filament of an electric lamp to a block of esoteric super-matter mined from pre-human ruins!¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Mr. Carter, electricity does have the appearance of something mystical and metaphysical.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Sometimes, it is literally lightning captured in a bottle. But electricity is still a physical phenomena, not an Astral phenomena. Whatever the reason for your haunting, it has nothing to do with the electric lamps in your theater.¡±


    Mr. Carter felt foolish. ¡°I never believed the haunting was because of the lights! I just heard rumors, and those rumors stuck in my mind, nothing more.¡±


    ¡°You need to be careful about rumors, especially when they stick in your head so easily.¡± Martin said.


    Matthew held a hand out. The group stopped.

 All the World. Chapter 4, Act III. 2/5

    At the edge of Matthew¡¯s olprt radiance was a gray imperfection flowing like smoke and oozing like water.


    Mr. Carter gasped. ¡°What is that? What on Earth is that?¡±


    ¡°What we¡¯ve been looking for.¡± Matthew said. ¡°But it isn¡¯t actually on Earth, not if you consider Earth as being solely physical reality.¡±


    ¡°The magic men of the Ror Raas sometimes call this an Astral hand.¡± Joseph explained. ¡°As in, it¡¯s a hand from the Astral, reaching down into our world.¡±


    ¡°So¡­that¡¯s the ghost?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°It sure isn¡¯t a dust bunny.¡± Joseph said


    ¡°These gaeite candles of ours work through principles of displacement.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°A ghost creates a black silhouette because his physical ectoplasm and Odic energies displace the cloud of olprt. We can increase the strength of our olprt radiance so that weaker traces of ectoplasm and Odic energy don¡¯t appear, or do the opposite so that any trace appears, no matter how faint. That¡¯s what this is, the faintest possible residue of a haunting. And now, we¡¯re going to examine it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised the haunting reaches this far out.¡± Mr. Carter pointed to the door leading to the stage, several feet behind the Astral hand. ¡°I¡¯ve stood here, and closer, nights before, but the ghostlight never reached this far.¡±


    ¡°There are two possible explanations for that.¡± Matthew said. ¡°The first is the gradual expansion you previously mentioned. It may not be so gradual anymore.¡±


    ¡°Good lord!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. ¡°Then I truly did get you three here in the nick of time!¡±


    ¡°The second is that the haunting has always extended this far. It¡¯s not uncommon for the Astral hand to extend further than visible manifestatios.¡± Matthew said.


    He turned to Martin and Joseph. ¡°Done?¡±


    They nodded.


    ¡°Wait? You¡¯ve examined the haunting already?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Matthew answered.¡± I know Illustrated Phantom Stories likes to depict us gesturing and mumbling whenever we perform our manesological Operations, but we really don¡¯t need to do all that.¡± Matthew tapped his head. ¡°It¡¯s all a mental exercise. All we need to do is visualize some images from the Dyeus culture, preserved through the ages by the great Abramelin and taught to us by the Ror Raas, and concentrate. It¡¯s really simple, once you grasp the basics of meditation and disciplined thinking.¡±


    ¡°I once managed to pull off an Operation while playing the piano.¡± Joseph said. ¡°And I¡¯m a very bad piano player.¡±


    ¡°I detected one manes, and only one.¡± Matthew said, ¡°How about you two?¡±


    ¡°Just one.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Just one for me as well.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Just one ghost?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°That¡¯s not possible! Wait, does that mean the others fled?¡±


    Matthew shook his head. ¡°We would have detected the path of their flight. No. There¡¯s only one manes in this haunting, and there has always only ever been one manes.¡±


    ¡°But there was a small army on stage!¡±


    ¡°Manes are not limited to one body, or one form. We once encountered an entire army of 17th century Cavaliers, all created by one soldier who felt lonely on an empty battlefield.¡±


    ¡°One ghost¡­¡± Mr. Carter mumbled to himself. ¡°Only one¡­what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to ask him to find out.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Now, please excuse us a moment, Mr. Carter. We need to conference together. When we examine the spiritual components of a manes, it¡¯s not like measuring something with a meter stick, there¡¯s a degree of subjectivity involved. I may think one component is strong, and Dr. Glass might think the same component is weak while Dr. Ernst thinks it¡¯s average. So, excuse us, please.¡±


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    ¡°Take all the time you need.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    The manesologists briefly conversed on how strong various Egyptian words Mr. Carter recognized from Nesbitt¡¯s Guide to Manesology were. Mr. Carter attempted to follow along, but the pronunciation of various words threw him. Was khet really pronounced cu wat? He couldn¡¯t believe it. He hoped that the next edition of Nesbitt¡¯s Guide to Manesology came with a pronunciation guide.


    When they were done, Matthew turned to Mr. Carter.


    ¡°For the two spiritual components that control a manes¡¯ externalized powers, the khet and the sekhem, we find that they¡¯re both strong.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Mr. Carter winced. ¡°That means they could have seriously hurt me!¡±


    ¡°Even a ghost with a weak khet and sekhem can hurt a person, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°People say ¡°The living have no defense against the dead¡± for a very good reason. Compared to a human, a ghost¡¯s strength is always overwhelming no matter how it ranks. We rank how strong a ghost¡¯s sekhem and khet are not to judge how dangerous a ghost is, but to determine how a ghost may behave. For instance, say we encounter a ghost that is physically moving a locket with the power of his khet. If his khet is powerful enough to crush the locket, we can conclude that him moving it demonstrates that he wants to protect it. But if his khet isn¡¯t powerful enough, it opens the possibility that he¡¯s not trying to protect the locket but shatter it, for whatever reason.¡±


    ¡°But¡­what exactly does a strong sekhem and a strong khet mean?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°Did you not hear a word that I¡¯ve told you, Mr. Carter?It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it doesn¡¯t matter,what¡¯s the harm in telling me?¡±


    ¡°Alright then. His khet is powerful enough to uproot mountains, twist metal like flower stems, and carry the very oceans upon his back.¡±


    The blood ran from Mr. Carter¡¯s face.


    Joseph thought it best not to talk about all the psychic violence the ghost could commit with his sekhem.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you blanche on us, Mr. Carte!¡± Joseph said. ¡°You haven¡¯t listened to a word I said! Even the little wisps that can¡¯t so much as pinch with their piddling khets can kill a man just by reaching through his skin and pinching his heart! A ghost¡¯s sekhem and khet tells us the least about their personality, the least about whether or not they pose a danger! If you want to know whether a manes is a danger or not, you look at its personality components.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of which, let''s discuss that pair now.¡± Matthew said, hoping to take Mr. Carter¡¯s mind off ocean-carrying ghosts.


    ¡°The ba and ka are the personality pair. The ba determines the strength of memories and behaviors copied from the living host. The ka determines the strength of novel impulses. The ba and ka oppose each other under a theory I developed, and out of this struggle springs the manes¡¯ personality.¡±


    ¡°I understand that.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°The concept wasn¡¯t hard for me to grasp when I read it in Nesbit¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, we have determined that the manes has a strong ba and a very strong ka.¡±


    ¡°Oh, lord¡­¡± Mr. Carter wiped the sweat from his face. ¡°Dr. Ernst, why do you keep telling me the ghost is so strong?¡±


    Matthew shrugged. ¡°Because it is.¡± he said.


    ¡°Just my luck¡­so, what are the implications of the ghost having ba and ka components this strong?¡±


    ¡°Manes with a strong ba and a very strong ka are known informally as specters. Their strong ba means they remember their life near perfectly, better than their living body ever did. They remember all ambitions, desires, and dreams their body once possessed, no matter how deeply buried they might have been. In a manes with a weak ka, a strong ba causes a manes to cycle through familiar behaviors in a phantasmagoria. But this manes has a ka greater than his ba, and so he is a specter. Specters are known as seekers of unfulfilled dreams. They seek to fulfill the desires of their ba in novel ways, and are stuck cycling through unfamiliar behaviors, daring in death what their body feared to do in life.¡±


    ¡°In other words, your ghost wants to be an actor, and is stuck continually trying to become an actor.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°So, how do you fix the ghost and restore his lucidity?¡±  Mr. Carter asked. ¡°Will you use a manesological Operation to decrease the power of his ba and ka?¡±


    Matthew shook his head. ¡°No. We don¡¯t like to alter naturally strong bas and kas unless absolutely necessary. Alteration can destroy memories and fundamentally alter behaviors. It¡¯s not right to do that to a sapient being unless there¡¯s no other option. We¡¯re going to have a discussion with the ghost. Often, words are a better treatment than taking a mane apart with manesological Operations.¡±


    ¡°You think you can break the ghost out of his phantasmagoria just by talking to him?¡± Mr. Carter asked skeptically.


    ¡°Of course. We¡¯ve done it before.¡± Mathew said. ¡°


    Now, let¡¯s discuss the physical impression pair. The sah and and shut are made of impressions of the physical world. This manes¡¯ sah, which is an impression of the physical body, is very strong. This furthers our theory that the manes is taking on the forms you see on stage not because he is compelled to, but because he wants to. He could easily appear as he was in life, but he isn¡¯t. Manes with a sah this strong can choose how they appear. He is choosing not to appear as who he was in life.¡±


    ¡°What about the other component?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°That¡¯s the one that imprints on objects and locations, right? Like¡­buildings¡­like theaters¡­?¡±


    ¡°That would be the shut.¡± Matthew replied. ¡°The shut is both an impression of objects close to the living body as well as a power that imprints upon such objects.¡±


    ¡°Yes. That one. How strong is his shut?¡±


    ¡°Strong.¡±


    Mr. Carter sighed. ¡°Why are they all strong, Mr. Ernst? Why am I so unfortunate?¡±


    ¡°They are not all strong. Some of them are very strong.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°What can a ghost with a strong shut do, exactly?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°I know it means he can do something to the theater itself, but¡­¡±


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°He can make the walls vanish, the halls stretch on forever, summon light to suddenly fill a room, anything, everything, does it really matter, Mr. Carter?¡±


    ¡°No, I suppose not.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°It¡¯s a nigh-omnipotent ghost, no matter how its powers are categorized!¡±


    Matthew pointed to the thorn in Mr. Carter¡¯s chest. ¡°Now, about your connection. We looked at the Astral impression pair, that would be the ib and the rn. We discussed those two with you back at the office.¡±


    ¡°I recall.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°His ib, unsurprisingly, is strong. Its run, however, is only average. That I hope is of some comfort to you.


    ¡°Oh. How wonderful. It¡¯s not all-powerful.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°One part of it, the part associated with everyone but me, is only of average strength! Oh, I am so fortunate! Dr. Ernst, does this finally end the examination?¡± Mr. Carter asked.

 All the World. Chapter 4, Act III. 3/5

    ¡°That¡¯s all eight of the Ogdoan Quad, so yes.¡± Matthew answered.


    ¡°Very good.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°At least this part of the ordeal is over with.¡±


    Mr. Carter checked his pocket watch. ¡°So¡­the haunting shouldn¡¯t happen until 10:30, though given how it keeps happening earlier and earlier, it¡¯ll likely happen before 10:30. Still, my watch says it¡¯s only 9:00¡­so, what do we do now?¡±


    ¡°What else can we do?¡± Matthew said. ¡°We wait.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know any good street food vendors in Essex?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, ¡°street food?¡±¡± Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t believe that a manesologist ate penny foods like some sort of manual laborer. He remembered the mess on Dr. Morton¡¯s desk back, but it was still such a strange idea--a man who wielded the power of an ancient, pre-human race bundled up in a little candle--eating stall foods!


    ¡°Vendor foods are his weakness.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Oh, ¡°his¡± weakness! As if you don¡¯t love jellied eels.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°They¡¯re very good in the right broth.¡± Martin said. ¡°So good they transcend being street food. You know good and well some restaurants serve them.¡±


    Mr. Carter believed that jellied eels were a fine British tradition and were indeed good in the right broth--but that was when they were served in a restaurant. If they came out of a tin--good lord!--there was no telling what else came out of the tin with it!


    If the manesologists were, in fact, ghosts inside dead bodies, perhaps street food was how they died¡­


    ¡°We¡¯ll wait right here, Mr. Carter.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It won¡¯t feel as long as you think it will.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the trick about waiting for ghosts to go into their act.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The wait only feels long until it actually gets long. You think ¡°Oh no, we have to wait for sunrise before the ghost starts ringing the bell in the chapel tower!¡± But then before you know it, it¡¯s sunrise, and the bell¡¯s ringing but you can¡¯t get up the stairs fast enough because someone sat the wrong way and their leg fell asleep.¡± Joseph cut his eyes at Martin.


    ¡°Are there any chairs we can borrow, Mr. Carter?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°There are plenty¡­in the theater.¡± Mr. Carter answered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I should have made sure to leave chairs out, I¡¯m not sure why I didn¡¯t think of doing so. But there¡¯s one or two in the kitchen. I¡¯ll go retrieve them¡­but of course, I¡¯ll need one of you to go with me.¡±


    Joseph raised a bushy eyebrow. ¡°But the ghost is in there, in the theater. Why would you need one of us to go with you to guard you as you move¡­away from the ghost?¡±


    Mr. Carter paused. Dr. Morton had a point.


    But he still wanted someone to go with thim.


    ¡°You raise a very salient point, Dr. Morton.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I will admit, that while most of my feelings concerning ghosts and hauntings are informed by logic, some of them aren¡¯t. This is one that isn¡¯t. I simply cannot stand the thought of being alone in this building.¡±


    ¡°Remember what I told you about ghosts, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s rational to be afraid of them. It¡¯s rational to be afraid of anything that can kill with just a touch.¡±


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    ¡°Thank you for reminding me of that fact.¡± Mr. Carter grumbled.


    ¡°But there is something wrong with being incurious about ghosts, and you¡¯re being so incurious as to be irrational. You¡¯ve been in this building before, alone, while the Astral hand was present. It was always present, it was just simply beyond your awareness. And what¡¯s more, the kitchen is away from the theater! You can¡¯t get around that point, Mr. Carter!¡±


    ¡°I am being irrational. I admit it. But an irrational thought can still be a very strong, very pressin thought!¡±


    ¡°And your irrational thoughts are strong, are they?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Very strong!¡±


    Joseph sighed. ¡°Very well then, if you need me to chaperone you down to the kitchen, I¡¯ll come with you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I¡¯ll protect you from the dust bunnies.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even bother.¡± Martin said. ¡°There¡¯s no need.¡± Suddenly, Martin was seemingly sitting on the air itself, legs crossed and feet inches off the ground.


    ¡°You¡¯re floating!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. ¡°Oh! I know what this is! You¡¯re using your dogs!¡±


    ¡°Yes I am.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°His magic dogs are very versatile.¡± Joseph said. ¡°They can block bullets, pin down ghosts in all their forms and manifestations, and make very nice seats.¡± Joseph sat next to Martin and put his arm around him. ¡°If only he was as versatile as his pets, eh?¡±


    ¡°Very bold of you to say that when I could order one to bite you.¡± Martin said.


    Matthew joined the other three on top the dogs. Mr. Carter remained standing on the ground.


    ¡°Um¡­may I touch it?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Now hold on!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°Ghosts vex you to the point I have to walk with you to the kitchen, but Dr. Glass¡¯ weird invisible thought-beasts fascinate you? Don¡¯t you know they came out of his mind, his dirty, little mind!¡±


    ¡°Ghosts are uncertain creatures.¡± Mr. Carter replied. ¡°But Dr. Glass¡¯ dogs were created by him and are controlled by him.¡±


    ¡°That is true.¡± Martin said. ¡°They are extensions of my will. They obey my will and are, in fact, composed of my will.¡±


    ¡°Oh, like you aren¡¯t an uncertain creature yourself.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You¡¯re the most talked-about member of our group. Half the letters to Illustrated Phantom Stories come from people claiming that you¡¯re the Sandman because they swear they saw you in their dreams, or that you¡¯re Springheel Jack because they swear they saw you leaping over their heads one foggy evening, or that you¡¯re a vampire because they swear they saw you in Parliament.¡±


    ¡°So, may I touch it?¡± Mr. Carter asked again.


    ¡°You can do more than that.¡± Martin offered a hand. ¡°Come on. Take a seat.¡±


    Mr. Carter took Martin¡¯s hand and climbed up on the invisible bench.


    ¡°Incredible!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s just like how they were described in Illustrated Phantom Stories! They¡¯re not hot, or cold, or fuzzy, or slippery. There¡¯s no texture or temperature. I suppose if I had to say that they were something, I would say that they were smooth--but there must be something like friction at work since we¡¯re not falling off.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all force and energy, all push and pull.¡± Martin explained. ¡°It¡¯s an animal without meat or skin.¡±


    ¡°They are so neat! I almost asked you back at the office to make them appear.¡± Mr. Carter admitted.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re always there.¡± Martin said. ¡°Even when I¡¯m sleeping, they¡¯re right by my side.¡±


    ¡°Such incredible things! Beings of pure thought-energy!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.


    ¡°Bessantic energy, to be precise.¡± Martin said. ¡°Ghosts are made of Odic energy. Thought-forms, such as my dogs, are made of Bessantic energy. But the difference is rather academic, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°Oh, look at you, being all technical in front of the client.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The important difference between Bessantic energy and Odic energy, Mr. Carter¡­is the taste.¡±


    ¡°The taste?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You see, Bessantic energy pairs best with white wine and Odic energy with red wine.¡±


    Mr. Carter looked questioningly at Martin.


    Matthew hid his smile behind his hand.


    Martin sighed. ¡°Odic and Bessantic energies are not edible.¡±


    ¡°They are.¡± Joseph said. ¡°That you can eat them is the best-kept secret of the Ror Raas. It¡¯s how they keep up their magic powers.¡±


    Martin nudged Joseph with his elbow. ¡°Don¡¯t pay any mind to Dr. Morton, Mr. Carter. He¡¯s back in one of his moods.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind some jesting.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°After all, we have some waiting ahead of us. We have to do something to entertain ourselves.


    The group sat together on the dogs for what to Mr. Carter felt like minutes, but was, in fact, a single minute. His anxiety needled him and he could not become calm like the three manesologist. He kept watching the Astral hand, waiting for it to do something to signal the coming of the blue ghostlight. He kept watching and sweating and worrying, and then he decided that he had to say something or he would burst.


    ¡°Is this the worst part of the job?¡± he asked.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I mean this infernal waiting, it''s the worst part of this whole ghost business to me, having to wait night after night after night. I remember sitting right here and waiting, just waiting, and it would be so quiet I could hear my pocket watch ticking away, just tick-tick-tick, and I¡¯d wonder how many ticks had passed. Then I¡¯d take my pocket watch out in the light of the kitchen and see that I¡¯d spent hours waiting--many hours. All that time, burned up by ticking.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 4, Act III. 4/5

    ¡°For me, no, waiting isn¡¯t the worst part of the job¡± Joseph said. ¡°The worst part for me comes at the end, for the cases that don¡¯t end right.¡±


    Matthew nodded.


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m still bothered by how the doctor turned out.¡± Martin remarked cryptically.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. The conversation had taken a turn he didn¡¯t expect.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Our cases always end well for the living. It¡¯s the ghosts that are sometimes beyond our ability to help.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­don¡¯t think I¡¯m unsympathetic to ghosts.¡± Mr. Carter thought it prudent to voice his sympathies toward ethereal man, just in case Teddy¡¯s rumor happened to be true. ¡°Which ones didn¡¯t end well, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡±


    ¡°Have you heard the story of Ellington House?¡±


    ¡°Ellington House¡­no, I don¡¯t recall an Ellington House¡­no, wait! That was the case in Epping forest! The house that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the woods, and the four young people that got stuck in it when their mechanical buggy broke down on the nearby road! I remember that one!¡±


    ¡°Yes, that was the case.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°But didn¡¯t it end well? The ghost was at peace by the end of the story.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he was in a better position than when the whole thing started, but he still had a lot of regrets, and a lot of pain.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Illustrated Phantom Stories likes to stop the story just as the ghost quiets down¡­but that¡¯s never the whole story.¡±


    Matthew nodded. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carter, we like to make sure our clients, humans and manes, are happy, not just at peace.¡± Martin said.


    Mr. Carter attempted to steer the conversation back towards a more positive direction. ¡°Well¡­as a layman, it¡¯s all this waiting that gets to me! Do you gentlemen have to do a lot of waiting upon ghosts? Is this a common thing in your line of work?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes,there is quite a lot of waiting in manesology.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I figured that Illustrated Phantom Stories edited out the waiting. In their stories, you three always seem to open the door just as the ghost does something.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Yes.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing ghosts tend to be an awfully punctual lot. Otherwise we¡¯d be doing a lot of this a lot of times for a lot of nothing. The Birkman Road rider, he always makes his rounds at midnight. The Harkingwood bride, she always sings to greet the sunrise. The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, he always rides on Halloween night.¡±


    ¡°Hold on a moment. He¡¯s real?¡± Mr. Carter was dumbstruck. ¡°The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow? The Washington Irving character? His story was true?¡±


    ¡°His story was based on true events.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Mr. Irving took some liberties, but on the whole, he gave an accurate account of the legend. He was far more accurate than Illustrated Phantom Stories, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    ¡°So¡­wait. He wasn¡¯t Brom Bones?¡±


    ¡°Brom Bones was a fictional character invented by Irving. The Headless Horseman was real.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Unbelievable! Have you ever met him? I know you¡¯ve been to America a few times.¡±


    ¡°No. But others have. The American manesologists, the Poeists, they love him. He¡¯s their mascot. They arrange parties for the old Hessian and his midnight rides. They dress up like it¡¯s the 18th century every Halloween and line his run with lanterns and cheer like banshees as he goes galloping by. The poor ghost. God only knows what he thinks of it all.¡± Joseph sighed. ¡°Oh, how I look forward to the day one of them tries to touch him and he chops them off at the neck!¡±


    And there it was--another little wad of grimness tossed Mr. Carter¡¯s way. The theater owner couldn¡¯t help but cringe. Why were manesologists like this? They tossed out grim observations like one would say something about the weather. Mr. Carter guessed that prowling around haunted houses and graveyards must have given them a distorted perception of what was appropriate for small talk.


    Martin saw Mr. Carter cringe. ¡°Don¡¯t mind the old man, Mr. Carter.¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s still upset from the Revolutionary War. General Cornwallis was an old classmate of his, you see, so Yorktown rubbed him the wrong way.¡±


    ¡°I dislike American manesologists for the same reason I dislike Americans in general--they¡¯re loud, brass, and self-centered.¡± Joseph said.


    Martin smirked. ¡°Mr. Carter, have you heard about the evolutionary theory of niche competition?¡± Martin looked at Joseph. ¡°How the more similar one organism is to another, the more likely it is that they will compete over ecological niches?¡±


    Mr. Carter chuckled. ¡°I may have heard something about that!¡± he said.


    As grim as these manesologists were, at least they balanced their grimness with humor. Dr. Glass and Dr. Morton got along like a nephew with his favorite uncle.


    Mr. Carter gazed at the olprt radiance. He had feared the silvery-white light when he first saw it in the offices of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, but now, after spending so much time within its glow, it no longer held any fear for him. Even the black spike in his chest revealed by the light had lost its menace. He began to appreciate the beauty of the radiance. It was like moonlight. It was soft and gentle and warm.


    ¡°This is really a very pretty light.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°It is.¡± Martin said. ¡°To think, long ago, there used to be gaeite spires that reached higher than the mountains. Imagine what it must have looked like from high above--moonlight colored needles all around the planet! Earth used to have stars that rose to meet the stars of heaven.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t just beautiful.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Though they are indeed beautiful. I¡¯m struck by how useful they are, I mean for things besides ghosts. We¡¯ve been sitting here for ages, but I don¡¯t feel like getting a blanket.¡±


    Matthew checked his own pocket watch. ¡°It¡¯s only been a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°We still have your blanket if you¡¯d like it.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°No need! It normally gets so cold in here if you don¡¯t keep moving around, but not with these candles. Their light is as warm as it is bright.¡±


    ¡°They truly are very versatile devices.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Even used as ordinary candles, they''re useful. With other candles, you have to worry about the rain and the wind and no matter what you do, some wax will always end up on your hand. But gaeite doesn¡¯t burn, never melts, and can¡¯t go out. It¡¯s just heat, light, and magic.¡±


    Joseph smirked at Martin. ¡°And if Dr. Glass wouldn''t get upset over me doing it, I¡¯d even use my candle to warm my soup and light my pipe.¡±


    ¡°You would think of the most mundane uses for the Dyeus¡¯ miracle, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°Of course! Why, the Dyeus themselves used it for mundane purposes! It¡¯s just for them, ghosts and thaumaturgy were mundane, everyday things. If the four races of the Dyeus were born in our modern world, I bet you they would be using their gaeite to warm their food, make their coffee, and light their pipes.¡±


    ¡°And I bet they would have the mental faculties to get up and go set the stove.¡± Martin said. ¡°Unlike some people, who have to helplessly wait for others to do it for them.¡±


    ¡°What do you think, Dr. Ernst?¡± Joseph asked, ¡°Do you think the Dyeus would have used their candles to warm their food or do you see the Great Ghost Kings fumbling for a spark at the stove?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s getting too late in the evening for games, you two.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Ha. Coward!¡± Joseph grinned. ¡°But regardless, Mr. Carter, it¡¯s very handy to have a light that never goes out. It¡¯s like having a pocket knife that never dulls.¡±


    ¡°It never goes out?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°But isn¡¯t it powered by a battery--a normal battery?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°And it can run out if you don¡¯t watch it, but it¡¯s possible to feed some of the energy created by the olprt back into the battery. You can keep it going forever if you¡¯re smart about it. Just producing olprt like we¡¯re doing now, we could do that forever. But if we started performing specific Operations over a long period of time, we would have to watch the battery.¡±


    ¡°Ah, perpetual motion!¡± Mr. Carter gazed with wonder at the candle. ¡°These small things truly are filled with miracles! Why, if you could attach one of these to a dynamo¡­¡±


    Martin smiled. ¡°No offense, Mr. Carter, but that hungry look in your eyes is why the Ror Raas are very selective with who they share their gaeite with.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes. I understand.¡± Mr. Carter quickly pulled his eyes away from the candle. ¡°The consequences of misusing gaeite were made very clear at London.¡±


    ¡°Personally, I think they ought not to hoard it like they do.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°You would take a reckless position.¡± Martin said. ¡°If gaeite was handed out to everyone, the world would be destroyed in an hour or so, maybe less.¡±


    ¡°If man is meant to destroy himself, then he¡¯ll do it. He¡¯ll do it with sticks and stones if it''s really in his nature.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But if it''s not in his nature, then I think he can hold the sun in his hands and all will be well.¡±


    ¡°That shows a good deal of faith in mankind.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Well, I ought to, right? After all, I¡¯m part of mankind!¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course, of course! It¡¯s just that¡­well¡­you know, some rumors contest that fact.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 4, Act III. 5/5

    Mr. Carter felt they were all close enough now for him to give voice to that rumor which had been nagging him ever since he arrived in Blackwall.


    True, he had only known the manesologists for a short time, and he was quite upset with them through a good portion of that time,  but none of his friends in Essex ever waited on ghosts with him, not even his closest, lifelong friends.


    ¡°Which rumors are you talking about, Mr. Carter?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°The ones that say I¡¯m a vampire, or the ones that say I¡¯m a devil?¡±


    ¡°There are rumors that you¡¯re a vampire? I¡¯ve never heard of those!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.


    He had stumbled upon another rumor to add to his collection.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s just one of the typical rumors.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard rumors that you¡¯ve destroyed vampires, but never that you are one!¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°¡®I¡¯ve long been perplexed by all the vampire rumors.¡± Martin said. ¡°There was a surge of reported vampire attacks in 1861 after Edward James published the first scientific work on manes, ¡°Multiple Intelligences Within the Human Body.¡± That¡¯s understandable. The rational confirmation of something long suspected of being folkloric caused people to wonder what else might be real. But that was four years ago! The idea that ghosts are real and vampires aren¡¯t should be as commonly accepted as the idea that horses are real and unicorns are not--and yet people still claim that we once dispatched a vampire in the Battersea ruins!¡±


    ¡°I never believed in that rumor.¡± Mr. Carter said, feeling rather proud of himself.


    ¡°Anyway, Mr. Carter, what rumors are you talking about?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°You need to be specific.¡±


    ¡°Er, I¡¯m talking about the ones that say you¡¯re¡­ really a ghost wearing a person¡¯s skin. A dead person¡¯s skin.¡±


    Mr. Carter felt very silly, now that he had finally said it, like when he talked about electric lamps.


    ¡°Oh those!¡± Joseph grinned. ¡°Let me guess, ¡°Only a ghost can truly understand a ghost, so the Ror Raas put a bunch of ghosts inside dead bodies and ta-dah! Manesologists!¡±¡±


    ¡°The rumors were¡­like that, more or less¡­¡±


    ¡°As if humans couldn¡¯t truly understand a ghost!¡± Joseph said.¡± Ghosts come from humans! Ghosts are troubled by loneliness, confusion, and regret, just like humans. You don''t hear people saying that a zoologist can¡¯t understand a tiger without being one himself, now do you?¡±


    ¡°No¡­I suppose not.¡± Mr. Carter answered sheepishly. It had seemed like such a viable rumor not that long ago¡­


    ¡°Let me tell you something more--bodily possession doesn¡¯t work like the rumor suggests, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°A ghost can¡¯t just enter into a dead body and move it around. We¡¯ve met ghosts that have tried just that. They recently decoupled from their bodies and felt very strongly that they were the body lying still beneath their ectoplasmic manifestation. They thought ¡°Dear God, I¡¯ve gone outside of my body. Maybe things will go back to normal if I just go back inside and put it on like a coat?¡± But it doesn¡¯t work like that, sadly, it doesn¡¯t work anything like that.¡±


    ¡°But haven¡¯t ghosts taken possession of people before?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°Like Legion in the Bible? Like the Contagious Song of Boston?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But they work by taking over a living mind and using that to control the body. Possession is an Astral power rooted in the sekhem When there¡¯s no living mind to take over in a dead body, the ghost has to operate the meat manually.¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Oh dear.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°That¡¯s an¡­interesting and descriptive way to put it, Dr. Morton.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an interesting sight to see.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Interesting, but a little disturbing.¡±


    Mr. Carter instantly regretted ever starting a conversation with the manesologists.


    ¡°At first, there¡¯s a rumbling sound. It¡¯s not like a death rattle, though when you first hear it you might think that¡¯s what it is. But a death rattle is from air moving through compressed passageways. The rumbling sound I¡¯m speaking of comes from things inside the body moving in ways they shouldn¡¯t. There¡¯s a stretching sound, like guitar strings being tuned too tightly, that comes from the ligaments. There¡¯s a grinding sound like mortar and pestle that comes from the bones slipping in their sockets. There¡¯s a wet, sucking sound like--¡±


    ¡°We have action, my friends!¡± Matthew suddenly exclaimed.


    Mr. Carter was thankful that something stopped Joseph¡¯s speech--but his thankfulness was short lived.


    The Astral hand at the edge of Matthew¡¯s olprt radiance was darker and larger and stretched like seaweed through a sea of silver.


    There was a sound. At first, it was quiet and crackling like people whispering in church, or in court, but it quickly grew, like a tidal wave moving closer to shore, until it was like a roaring wind.


    Mr. Carter covered his ears. ¡°Good God! It¡¯s like being inside a tornado! They¡¯ve never been this loud!¡±


    Mr. Carter gasped. The olprt radiance was suddenly as black as a beetle¡¯s shell.


    ¡°Stay calm, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s just a gush of ectoplasm and Odic force, not uncommon, not a cause for alarm. We just need to adjust the strength of our olprt radiance to match.


    The manesologists turned the knobs on their gaeite candles and the deep, dark color of the olprt radiance faded to a light gray and then to the familiar silvery-white.


    Mr. Carter was happy to see the silvery light that had once frightened him return.


    Then he looked down and gasped again.


    ¡°The stake in my chest!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s gone!¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just invisible now.¡± Joseph explained. ¡°It¡¯s still in you. It¡¯s just that it¡¯s such a weak manifestation, and our olprt radiance is now so powerfully tuned, that your shard doesn¡¯t displace the olprt, and thus doesn¡¯t appear.¡±


    Mr. Carter looked beyond the olprt radiance and saw something that made him shout--the blue ghostlight  was surging.


    The ghostlight pulsed powerfully from the door. It did not seep through the door as it had nights before, it burst through the door and continued on its way until it glowed down the entirety of the hallway.


    ¡°Ah! Look! Ghostlight! Ghostlight everywhere!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t scream when you¡¯re this close to me¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°It goes all the way down the hallway! We¡¯re surrounded!¡±Mr. Carter screamed.


    ¡°So?¡± Joseph shrugged his massive shoulders. ¡°What, does the color of the ghostlight scare you or something? The ghost could light up all of Essex and we would still be safe inside our olprt radiance.¡±


    ¡°Are we truly safe here?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°I don¡¯t feel safe in here¡­¡±


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°Oh, please¡­¡±


    ¡°We are absolutely safe.¡± Matthew assured him. ¡°We have a system. Even as we speak, my friends and I are performing the appropriate Operations to protect us, silently, in our minds. The manes cannot hurt us, neither physically, nor psychically. Calm down, Mr. Carter. Trust to us. Trust to the science of the modern age and the secrets of the Dyeus age.¡±


    Mr. Carter nodded. ¡°Okay¡­I feel calmer now. It¡¯s not so bad if I don¡¯t look at anything but my hands¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°So, what do we do now?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°Do we wait for this to pass like a storm?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We¡¯re going to talk to the ghost and figure him out. First, we¡¯re going to see if he reacts to us the same way it reacts to you. We¡¯re going to leave you here with Dr. Morton while Dr. Glass and myself have a look inside the theater.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can switch with one of you?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°I really want to see what the haunting looks like, and I would be ever so grateful if one of you volunteered for babysitter duty in my place.¡±


    ¡°Babysitter duty?¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed indignantly.


    ¡°Stay with him, Joseph.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Your prodigious size might have a calming, subconscious effect on him.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°What?¡± Joseph exclaimed.


    ¡°Indeed, what?¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.


    ¡°You¡¯re tall. Mr. Carter likely sees you as a source of safety, subconsciously¡± Martin said. ¡°You were an alienist, Joseph, you should know this.¡±


    ¡°I do not see him as a source of safety!¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Oh! Well, in that case, I¡¯ll go in with Dr. Glass and Dr. Ernst, and you can stay out here¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°...I do not see him as a source of safety for his size.¡± Mr. Carter quickly corrected himself.


    ¡°Stay with him, Dr. Morton.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t take too long!¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I¡¯ll worry with you two out of sight! Are you sure there isn¡¯t some sort of Operation you could perform that would allow me to see you two through the wall while you work?¡±


    ¡°Sure, there¡¯s an Operation.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s the punch-a-hole-in-your-wall Operation. Want us to try it?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­I think not.¡±


    ¡°I thought so. Now sit close by me and I¡¯ll protect you from the dust bunnies, Mr. Carter.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 5, Act IV.

    Martin and Matthew pushed the blue door open and entered the theater.


    The sight was breathtaking.


    All was blue light and motion, like an electric, turbulent sea. After a few moments, their eyes adjusted to the motion of the figures, and they could pick out characters within the chaos like picking out shapes within a cloud. Macduff stood on the ceiling and gave orders for his troops to advance behind the cover of trees. King Henry V stood on the ground and gave his famous St. Crispin¡¯s Day speech. But neither spoke to troops. There were no bit parts in the theater. Every player was a lead.


    Martin attempted to say something, but found that he couldn¡¯t hear himself in the cacophony, and so used an Operation to place his thoughts upon the wind.


    A Dyeus king hailed every subject in his kingdom, from the mightiest baron to the lowest peasant, as he did every morning.


    The Ozongon Operation


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but I feel bad for Joseph.¡± Martin said through his mind. ¡°He would love to see this.¡±


    ¡°I think anyone would. This is incredible.¡± Matthew said. ¡°We¡¯re in a roiling cloud of ectoplasmic activity. I¡¯ve never seen anything quite like it.¡±


    ¡°Not anyone would love to see this--consider Mr. Carter.¡± Martin said. ¡°Say, I¡¯ve noticed something Matthew--I can¡¯t see all the characters, and though I can¡¯t make out what each of them are saying, I¡¯m reasonably certain there aren¡¯t any villains in this cloud.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t see Ricahrd III, or Caliban, or Shylock, and those should stand out.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Oh wait, there¡¯s Falstaff! See, the really plump one, right there!¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Falstaff isn¡¯t a villain.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°He stood in the way of young Hal¡¯s edification.¡± Martin said. ¡°He was an obstacle on his way to the throne.¡±


    ¡°He was antagonistic, certainly, but he still wasn¡¯t a villain. He was a clown.¡±


    ¡°He lived on stolen money.¡±


    ¡°We all have our faults. Look, you don¡¯t become so popular that the Queen asks for there to be another play with you in it by being a villain.¡±


    ¡°I will admit, it was a shame that he died before Henry V. I wanted him to see Hal one more time.¡±


    ¡°I did as well. I imagine quite a few people did.¡±


    ¡°Falstaff was incredibly entertaining.¡± Martin said. ¡°He¡¯s easily one of the Bard¡¯s best--but he was still a villain.¡±


    ¡°If you say so.¡± Matthew said. ¡°But I think the manes and I disagree with you. Another observation--everyone present seems to be a lead, or if not a lead, a character of great acclaim like Falstaff over there. I don¡¯t see Ariel. I don¡¯t see Julius Caesar. Maybe there is a villain or a secondary out there, who can rightfully tell who a man in hosiery is supposed to be, especially when you can¡¯t make out what they¡¯re saying, but I think our manes wants a certain kind of role. Oh look! A man with a dark cloak and a skull, that must be Hamlet!¡±


    ¡°Hamlet, or Titus Andronicus in the middle of cooking.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Matthew laughed. ¡°You know Martin, this has been a pretty fun haunting, so far. It¡¯s a shame Mr. Carter can¡¯t enjoy it.¡±


    ¡°Can you imagine how he would¡¯ve behaved if he was with us during the Octavius investigation?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can imagine, but I don¡¯t want to!¡± Matthew said. ¡°Another observation in favor of the hypothesis that he wants to be a heroic lead--no fallen heroes. Othello should stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd with his black face, but I don¡¯t see him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see him either.¡± Martin said. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think I share our manes¡¯ preference for roles. The villains always seem more fun to me. If I could play a Shakespeare character in front of an audience without embarrassing myself, I think I would want to be Iago. Who would you want to be, Matthew?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Caliban.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m curious how it would feel to have all that makeup and a big costume on.¡±


    ¡°It would probably feel like wearing a potato sack and dipping your face in mud.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t disenchant it..¡± Matthew said. ¡°Well, our manes is not responding to us at all. None of his bodies are looking at us. It''s clear he only has eyes for our director.¡±


    ¡°Clear for everyone but the director himself, that is.¡± Martin said. ¡°Should we get Mr. Carter and Joseph in here, now?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Martin ordered one of his dogs to knock on the door.


    There was a commotion on the other side. Mr. Carter wasn¡¯t sure whether it was the manesologists knocking or the ghosts and was making his concerns known to Joseph, and loudly.


    ¡°It¡¯s us, Mr. Carter!¡± Matthew shouted exasperatedly. ¡°Come on it, it¡¯s alright!¡±


    Joseph opened the door with one hand, after shouldering Mr. Carter out of the way, and escorted Mr. Carter into the theater with his other hand.


    Mr. Carter kept his eyes shut and lowered to the ground.


    The moment he crossed the threshold, the acting stopped.


    All the players stopped and turned their eyes to the director.


    ¡°See?¡± Joseph nudged Mr. Carter. ¡°It¡¯s just like we thought. They want to see you, not us. Come on, lift up your head, face them like a man.¡±


    Mr. Carter raised his head just enough to peek at the many-bodied ghost, and gasped. In the silence of the theater, his gasp was like a shout. He would have stumbled backwards if Joseph¡¯s massive frame wasn¡¯t behind him to stop him.


    ¡°Stay calm, Mr. Carter. See? The ghosts are calm. They, or rather he, just wants to talk. And we are here, with our gaeite candles, to protect you. Now say hello.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s so many!¡± Mr. Carter whispered. ¡°There¡¯s never been this many before! Good lord, some of them are hanging off the ceiling like bats!¡±


    ¡°I know.¡¯ Joseph sighed. ¡°I wish I was here before you were, so I could have seen them all in motion. It¡¯s so neat to watch ghosts walk on the ceiling and walls, like at the Linderhof Palace¡­Oh well. You know, Mr. Carter, perhaps there¡¯s so many right now because they keep trying to get your attention? They see the director run away with his tail between his legs and think, ¡°Darn it, we need to show him more and different roles. He didn¡¯t like what we showed him last time, so let''s show him even more!¡±¡±


    Mr. Carter made a series of weak, pathetic squeaks with his voice.


    Joseph sighed. ¡°Ah, God¡­Mr. Carter, you will have to talk to the ghosts, but maybe we can work something out so that you¡¯ll have to talk to them a little less. Would you like that?¡±


    Mr. Carter nodded so fast his head seemed ready to fly from his neck.


    ¡°Alright, then. All you need to do is tell them that I¡¯m the substitute director for the day. Or a guest director. Or something like that. I trust you get the idea?¡±


    Mr. Carter muttered something inaudible.


    Joseph sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going to assume that¡¯s a yes, so I¡¯ll go ahead and make the first move. AHEM!¡± Joseph cleared his throat and folded his arms behind his back. ¡°Attention! Attention! My name is Joseph Morton. Mr. Carter has invited me here to see what you can do. I¡¯m a guest director, from the Blackwall theater, and before you get any instruction from Mr. Carter, you have to perform to my satisfaction! Do you understand?¡±


    The many eyes of the ghost did not move from Mr. Carter. The many bodies of the ghost did not budge.


    Joseph leaned close to Mr. Carter. ¡°You better tell them something, Mr. Carter. Don¡¯t let them get confused.¡±


    ¡°Wha-What should I say?¡± Mr. Carter trembled. He knew interacting with the ghost was going to be horrible, but he didn¡¯t think it would be this horrible!


    Joseph rolled his eyes. ¡°At this point, anything.¡± he answered. ¡°Say anything.¡±


    ¡°Tell them we¡¯re doing Hamlet. So there should only be Hamlet on stage.¡± Mr. Carter whispered.


    ¡°Did you hear that, boys?¡± Joseph pulled Mr. Cater up by his shoulders. ¡°You probably couldn''t, he was talking so quietly. Say it again, Mr. Carter!¡±


    Mr. Carter saw the multitude of eyes waiting for him and gasped helplessly.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like the name of a character, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said, then turned to the many-bodied ghost. ¡°Mr. Carter wants to tell you the name of the character that we¡¯re looking for, the character that you will work with me to portray. And he¡¯s just about to do that, isn¡¯t that right, Mr. Carter?¡±


    Mr. Carter gulped. This was it, no way out of it now. It was him and the ghosts, as he had always feared¡­


    ¡°Mr. Morton will be your director for the day.¡± Mr. Carter said softly, very softly.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ve well and established that Mr. Carter, my old and true friend, but the boys want to know what character they¡¯re doing!¡±


    ¡°I need Hamlet. One Hamlet! Just one!¡±


    The ghost looked at himself. All the actors that he was turned and glanced at each other. Then, they began to dissolve into blue mist and flow into each other as if caught in a strong wind. A blue whirlwind swirled throughout the theater.


    ¡°What are they doing? What are they doing?¡± Mr. Carter shouted.


    ¡°Oh, stop being such a silly child.¡± Joseph said. ¡°What do you think they¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°But are they¡­supposed to do that?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°You did ask for one character, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Now please, don¡¯t complain that the number of ectoplasmic bodies on the stage is being drastically reduced before your very eyes, that should be something you want.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­yes, it is, actually.¡± Mr. Carter smiled. This meant that 99 percent of his problems were now solved. What was one more ghost? Things would probably get easier from here on out.


    ¡°Good. See, we¡¯ve barely started and already the haunting has been reduced significantly, Mr. Carter. This is why we communicate with ghosts, it produces results!¡±


    Soon, all the ectoplasm and ghostlight that flooded the theater became condensed into the form of a young man in a characteristically black cloak--or what would have been black if the ghost wasn¡¯t the color of an electric arc.


    ¡°You cut the figure of a fine Hamlet.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But it¡¯s one thing to be well-costumed for a character, it¡¯s entirely another to be well-versed in a character. Mr. Carter, what scene shall our prospective Hamlet perform?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­Act I, Scene II?¡±


    The ghost began to glow bright, brighter than Mr. Carter had ever seen any of them glow. Then, he began to melt into liquid light and expand. He became like a single pane of blue glass, like an electric sky without clouds.


    Then, like a wave, the accumulated mass of ghostlight, the totality of the haunting, surged forth.


    Mr. Carter gave a shout of fear and turned to run, but Joseph grabbed his shoulder tight and held him. ¡°Oh come now, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You don¡¯t want to run into all that ectoplasm now, do you?. This olprt radiance is your shield, remember?¡±


    But it didn¡¯t seem like a shield at all to Mr. Carter as the haunting engulfed the entire group.

 All the World. Chapter 6, Act V. 1/3

    Mr. Carter blinked.


    The floor was different. There was no texture or pattern to it. The ghostlight had made it smooth and blue and featureless.


    ¡°Am I alive?¡± he asked.


    He felt Dr. Morton squeeze his shoulder. ¡°Of course you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°What happened? What happened to the ghost?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°As you can see from the ghostlight suffusing the floor, he¡¯s still here, but you might want to look up to get a more comprehensive view of the situation.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I don''t want to.¡±Mr. Carter whined.


    ¡°And I don¡¯t want a cowardly man attached to me at the hip, making what should be a simple haunting take all night to resolve, yet here we are!¡± Joseph exclaimed.


    ¡°That¡¯s easy for you to say!¡± Mr. Carter snapped. ¡°You and Dr. Ernst and Dr. Glass, the three of you live this everyday! I don¡¯t! I¡¯m not used to ghosts swallowing up people like Jonah and the whale!¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t get cross with me, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s not me you should be upset with, anyway. It¡¯s the giant demon with three heads that¡¯s standing in front of us.¡±


    Mr. Carter suddenly did not want to stare at the floor.


    He jerked his face up and though he didn¡¯t find a demon, he found another object of his fear.


    His theater was gone.


    In its place was a blue throne room empty save for the black-cloaked hero who waited patiently for his audience to fall silent.


    ¡°What has the ghost done?¡± Mr. Carter grasped Joseph. ¡°What did you let him do?¡±


    ¡°If you keep acting like a hysterical woman, know that I¡¯ll hit you like one.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Stop scratching me, or I¡¯m going to slap you.¡±


    Mr. Carter let go. He was sure Joseph meant what he said.


    ¡°What you see before you is an example of what we manesologists term Odic induction.¡± Matthew explained. ¡°Powerful manes, such as the one in your theater, can take physical matter up into the Odic layer of the Astral.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying he¡¯s turned my theater into ectoplasm?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Matthew said. ¡°But isn¡¯t it a fine recreation of Elsinore castle? Imagine you putting on a production and your Claudius sits right on that throne. Imagine how regal he would look! Why, I wouldn¡¯t mind having a seat in it myself, it looks very comfortable!¡±


    ¡°Dr. Morton, I¡¯ll kill you for this.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°What? Just him?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°He''s the one that said we were making progress! He said we were making great progress in reducing the haunting and now my theater is a throne room!¡±


    ¡°Most people would consider that an improvement.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want me dead, my ghost would haunt you.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Then what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­good point, Morton.¡± Mr. Carter said.. ¡°But that does nothing to abate the rage I have towards you! My theater is gone!¡±


    ¡°Not gone, but transported and transformed.¡± Matthew said. ¡°It¡¯ll come back, just the way it was. What¡¯s taken up into the Astral can be brought down from the Astral.¡±


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    A shrill cry made Mr. Carter jump.


    The manesologists turned towards the sound and Mr. Carter away from the sound.


    ¡°Mr. Carter, it¡¯s a cat.¡± Martin said. ¡°And a flesh-and-blood one at that.¡±


    ¡°And it''s cute!¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a tabby, I think.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Oh, hello, precious little thing!¡± Joseph knelt down and extended his hand toward the cat.


    The cat trotted into Joseph¡¯s halo of olprt radiance. It nuzzled against Joseph¡¯s hand and playfully bit at his fingers.


    ¡°Look Mr. Carter, it isn¡¯t a manes.¡± Martin said. ¡°See? No silhouette.¡±


    ¡°Why did you think it was real before it entered the olprt radiance?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°Firstly, ¡°real¡± is not a synonym for ¡°physical.¡± Secondly, do you know any cats from Shakespeare?¡± Martin asked. ¡°The closest I can come is Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet being likened to the prince of cats from the Reynard stories.¡±


    ¡°I think one of the witches from Macbeth mentions owning a cat.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°The point being, Mr. Carter, that this isn¡¯t a manes.¡± Martin said. ¡°Instead, it¡¯s proof that our manes can show great consideration for living things. He is stuck in a phantasmagorical loop of activity, but he is not insane or violent.¡±


    ¡°How does a cat show that?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll call him Tybalt.¡± Joseph said as he stroked the cat¡¯s back.


    ¡°Think about it, Mr. Carter.¡± Martin said. ¡°Our manes has extended his ectoplasm to cover the theater, and likely a little bit more. Cats don¡¯t live in your theater, do they?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not!¡±


    ¡°So Tybalt must be a cat that lives in one of the adjacent alleys. That our manes didn¡¯t absorb him shows that he¡¯s very careful about what he scoops up with his ectoplasm. We could have turned off our gaeite candles and all of us would have been fine.¡±


    ¡°So what do we do now?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°Is there some sort of Operation you can perform to turn my theater back to normal?


    ¡°What we do now is very easy.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You¡¯ll like this part. We just stand here and give Hamlet our undivided attention.¡±


    Joseph stood up and held the cat in his arms.


    ¡°You look so cute.¡± Martin smirked. ¡°Like a big, fuzzy momma cat.¡±


    ¡°You think Esmee would like a cat?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Maybe. But I know Eva would. She¡¯s been begging for us to give her one for the longest.¡±


    ¡°As long as she understands not to show him to her other ¡°kitties,¡± it should be fine to give Tybalt to Eva.¡± Matthew said.


    Joseph handed Tybatl to Matthew. ¡°Here, Mercutio, your rival.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯m rather more Friar Laurence.¡± Matthew said.


    Substitute director Joseph Morton stood before Hamlet and brushed the cat hair off his sleeves.


    ¡°Excellent work on the stage, young man. What you have here is a quick and beautiful setup. And it came with a cat! You don¡¯t see many actors that come with their own stages, let aloe their own cats. However, before you do something like that again, please give us early warning. We don¡¯t mind, you understand, but the higher-ups and investors, well, they¡¯re rather particular about who moves what when where and why. Now that that¡¯s out of the way, please, go into your act.¡±


    Hamlet scowled in disapproval at the throne.


    ¡°A little more than kin, and less than kind.¡± he said.


    Then he paused.


    ¡°Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun.¡± Hamlet said.


    Then he paused again.


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Matthew whispered. ¡°Is he saying the right lines?¡±


    ¡°Those are the right lines.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Those are Hamlet¡¯s first lines. But¡­he¡¯s not giving a monologue. He¡¯s doing the lines with Claudius, but there¡¯s no Claudius. He¡¯s talking to an empty throne¡­like a madman!¡±


    ¡°Keep your voice down.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Oh, of course. I don¡¯t want to anger him¡­¡±


    ¡°No. You should keep your voice down to be polite.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Calling people madmen out of the blue, where are your manners?¡±


    Hamlet turned from the throne. ¡°Ay, madam, tis common.¡± he said.


    ¡°Now he¡¯s talking to Gertrude.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°Seems, madam, nay! I know not ¡°seems¡±.¡± Hamlet continued. ¡°Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forced breath, no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected havior of the visage, together with all moods, forms, shows of grief, that can denote me truly.¡±


    ¡°Oh good.¡± Mr. Carter whispered as Hamlet continued. ¡°Claudius has a lot of lines coming up.¡± he turned to the manesologists.  ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to be doing something to make him more lucid and less like he¡¯s stuck in an eternal daydream? Shouldn¡¯t you be doing some sort of Operation?¡±


    ¡°I really shouldn¡¯t have to tell you this again, but I¡¯ll tell you again anyway.¡± Joseph said. ¡°We talk first. Then we do gaeite candle magic. The Ror Raas didn¡¯t give these candles to us because they thought we¡¯d use their power at the drop of a hat.¡±


    ¡°But talking with the ghost doesn¡¯t seem to be doing a bit of good!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.


    ¡°One moment.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s not fair for us to keep talking over our actor.¡± Joseph turned to the ghost. ¡°Hamlet! Mr. Carter and I need to converse amongst ourselves about your performance.¡± Joseph said.


    But Hamlet continued to speak to a Gertrude that wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°Mr. Carter has told me to tell you that you can take a break now. You can stop and be silent.¡±


    But Hamlet continued to speak.


    Joseph nudged Mr. Carter with his elbow. ¡°Tell him to take a rest.¡±


    ¡°Take a break. Please.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    Hamlet finally paused, and resumed staring at Mr. Carter as he had done so many nights before.


    Mr. Carter shivered at the familiarity of the stare.


    ¡°Oh, find your manhood, already!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a man who can so utterly control a ghost and yet be so afraid of him at the same time! Anyway, to answer your complaints that nothing seems to be improving, not so! We are easing our ghost out of his phantasmagoria into lucidity. He started with many bodies chaotically moving around, none aware of anything. Then, we got him to take the form of a single body and listen to someone. He¡¯s now aware of someone other than himself. That¡¯s a good start. Now, we need to make him aware of several people and interact with them, and that shouldn¡¯t be too hard considering we¡¯re doing a play!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°We have Hamlet. I can be another role, and so can Dr. Glass, and so can Dr. Ernst. Good lord man, you''re a director! All we¡¯re asking you to do is direct!¡±

 All the World. Chapter 6, Act V. 2/3

    ¡°Unbelievable!¡± Mr. Carter grumbled. ¡°I have to come with you three to the haunting, I have to see the ghost, I have to talk to the ghost, I have to direct the ghost--and now I have to direct an entire play on top of all that!¡±


    ¡°Oh, the director complains about directing!¡± Joseph said. ¡°You don''t need to do the whole play, just a scene. It doesn¡¯t even need to involve all of us. We just need you to do a scene in which our ghost interacts with, and thus acknowledges, the presence of other people.¡±


    Suddenly, Hamlet broke from his stock-still silence.


    He took a step forward to the group.


    ¡°He¡¯s moving! Ah!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. ¡°He¡¯s moving! Why is he moving?¡±


    ¡°Why are you moving, Hamlet?¡± Joseph asked.


    Hamlet took another step forward. His eyes were set on Mr. Carter.


    Mr. Carter moved so that Joseph was in front of himself like a shield.


    ¡°Do you want Mr. Carter to direct you, is that it?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s probably it. You¡¯ve been waiting for him to direct you for so long that you just can¡¯t endure the burden of further waiting. You just won¡¯t have it. And neither should you.¡± Joseph turned to Mr. Carter. ¡°Give him directions. What part of Hamlet is he doing? Come on, something with two people at least¡­¡±


    ¡°Um¡­um¡­just give me a moment!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s not so easy to remember things under pressure, even easy things!¡±


    The ghost took another step toward Mr. Carter.


    ¡°You better tell him something and quick.¡± Joseph said. ¡°He¡¯s nearly close enough to touch you, Mr. Carter!¡±


    ¡°Ahhh!¡± Mr. Carter yelped. ¡°Act Five, the fencing portion!¡±


    Hamlet paused. He transformed into mist and floated away some distance. Then he reformed, and when he did so, his cloak was discarded and a rapier was held in his hand.


    He brought the rapier up to his face and gave a flourishing salute.


    The three manesologists turned and looked at Mr. Carter.


    ¡°The fencing portion? You cannot be serious! You simply cannot be serious!¡± Martin exclaimed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I panicked!¡± Mr. Carter exclaimed.  ¡°I¡¯m usually so hands-off when it comes to the fencing scenes, I let a man named Shaw handle the choreography of Hamlet and Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet and the rest!¡±


    ¡°So we tell you to direct a scene with us and Hamlet and you pick the one that has the least amount of directing in it, is that it?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s some directing to do here¡­a little.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    Hamlet moved his body so that he faced the group with his shoulder. His feet were perpendicular to each other.


    He bent his knees.


    ¡°Come on, sir.¡± he said.


    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s the line?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°The line is ¡°Come on, sir?¡±¡±


    ¡°You need to watch more Shakespeare plays.¡± Martin said. He reached out, and a portion of the throne room dulled until it was the blue of deep, sunless water. From this discoloration, Martin withdrew a thin rapier to match Hamlet¡¯s own.


    ¡°What Operation is that?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a manesological operation.¡± Martin explained. ¡°It¡¯s a result of my thaumaturgical training. I can shape ectoplasm by touch. The dogs were not the only things I gained from my time as a student of the invisible arts.¡±


    Martin leveled the rapier at Hamlet. ¡°I can be your Laertes.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t fence.¡± Joseph said. ¡°No way.¡±


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    A quick display of a pronated prime parry, a quick circle to parry six, a slash to parry four, and an agile lunge proved Joseph wrong.


    ¡°When the hell did you learn to do all that?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lived a long and storied life, Joseph Morton.¡± Martin answered. ¡°It¡¯s not as long and storied as your own, but still very long and very storied. I have developed several mundane skills to complement my metaphysical knowledge.¡±


    Martin crouched, ready to spring into a frenzy of thrusts and lunges. ¡°Do we begin, Mr. Carter? We don¡¯t begin until you say so, right?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­yes! Yes, that¡¯s correct.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Um¡­action!¡±


    ¡°Come on, sir.¡± Laertes returned Hamlet¡¯s words and the two sprang at each other in a blur of action.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned.¡± Joseph said as he watched the fencing match with Matthew and Mr. Carter. ¡°It seems that boy will be a mystery to us forever, Matthew. As soon as we think we know him, he springs another surprise on us.¡±


    ¡°Well, he is, like you say, a magic man.¡± Matthew said. ¡°And they are known for their secrets.¡±


    ¡°I wonder if he ever dueled anyone?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°Hopefully no one that¡¯ll be a client of ours in the future.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°That would make things very awkward.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s pretty handy with that rapier, isn¡¯t he? Does your man Mr. Shaw teach your players to fence this well, Mr. Carter?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°No.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen Mr. Shaw himself move like this.¡±


    Man and manes continued their bout. Thrusts led to parries led to ripostes. They were locked within the rhythmic pattern of a duel in which both sides knew exactly what they were doing.


    ¡°Was the ghost a swordsman in life?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡± Matthew answered. ¡°But then again, it¡¯s also possible he¡¯s getting by on supernatural quickness.¡±


    ¡°If so, then further praise to Dr. Glass for keeping up with the superhuman.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°I wonder if he¡¯s as good with firearms as he is with a blade?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°We need to find some rifles and go out in Epping Forest and find out.¡±


    ¡°So¡­how long do they fence?¡± Matthew asked Mr. Carter.


    Mr. Carter didn¡¯t answer. He was transfixed by the action.


    ¡°Mr. Carter?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Oh! Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I just got carried away watching the back-and-forth. It¡¯s not something you see everyday. Um...they fence until Hamlet scores a hit.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to happen until you say so.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Mr. Carter replied. ¡°I should go ahead and say something.¡±


    ¡°I say we let them keep going.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The boy is clearly enjoying himself.¡±


    ¡°No. He¡¯s getting tired.¡± Matthew said. ¡°Let¡¯s move this along.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Joseph laughed. ¡°Okay, Gertrude, our boy is fat and scant of breath. Mr. Carter, continue with the directions.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­Hamlet now scores a hit!¡± Mr. Carter announced.


    Martin dipped his rapier and allowed Hamlet to strike him. The ectoplasmic sword left a chalk-like mark on his clothes.


    ¡°Say, that¡¯s clever!¡± Martin said. He touched the luminescent steak on his clothing. ¡°It marks you just like a practice rapier!¡±


    ¡°Um, those aren¡¯t your lines.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Hamlet speaks next.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Sorry about that.¡± Martin said. ¡°I forgot I was in a play for a second and thought I was back at the fencing academy.¡±


    ¡°Fencing academy?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°A long story.¡± Martin said.


    Mr. Carter looked at Hamlet. The ghost said not a word and made not a motion.


    ¡°Look at that! He¡¯s actually waiting for directions now!¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°You know, I think he¡¯s changing a little. I mean, mentally, he¡¯s changing.¡±


    ¡°Trust to us and our expertise, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Hamlet is not the first ghost we¡¯ve broken out of a phantasmagoria.¡±


    Mr. Carter grinned. ¡°You know what? I think we really are on the right track here! Suddenly our Hamlet¡¯s antic disposition doesn¡¯t seem so¡­uncontrollable.¡±


    ¡°LIsten up everyone!¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Let¡¯s keep on going. Let¡¯s not lose our momentum. Hamlet has just scored a touch against Laertes. Hamlet, line?¡±


    ¡°One.¡± Hamlet said.


    ¡°Argh!¡± Martin bared his teeth and groaned.


    Joseph chuckled. ¡°What was that? Did you just growl?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m upset.¡± Martin explained. ¡°I got the blade envenomed, remember? I¡¯m trying to kill Hamlet under the cover of a fencing accident because I blame him for the deaths of Ophelia and Polonius.¡±


    ¡°No no no!¡± Mr. Carter snapped his fingers. ¡°Don¡¯t break role! We are here to act, not to talk about acting!¡±


    Hamlet looked at Martin.


    ¡°See?¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Even he knows what the problem is! Take your role seriously.¡± Mr. Carter turned to Joseph. ¡°And as for you, no further comments from the audience!¡±


    Joseph smiled. ¡°No complaints here, Mr. Carter. They go into their roles, you go into yours, and everything will work out.¡±


    ¡°Start at ¡°One.¡± Hamlet.¡± Mr. Carter directed.


    ¡°One.¡± Hamlet said.


    ¡°No.¡± Laertes protested.


    Hamlet turned to Mr. Carter. ¡°Judgment.¡±


    Mr. Carter pointed to Dr. Morton. ¡°He can be Osric.¡±


    ¡°Osric?¡± Joseph asked. ¡°Who¡¯s Osric?¡±


    ¡°Never seen Hamlet?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I have, but I don¡¯t remember Osric.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a courtier. A functionary. He¡¯s the judge of the fencing contest. It¡¯s a very simple role. You say ¡°A hit, a very palpable hit.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like something I can do.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Your character is that you''re an obsequious courtier. Hamlet called you a waterfly, a dainty little nuisance. You are on Laertes'' side. But the hit is palpable. You can¡¯t deny that Laertes has been hit.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I can see why you gave me this part.¡±  Joseph said. ¡°Do I say the line now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Action!¡± Mr. Carter directed.


    ¡°A hit, a very palpable hit.¡± Osric said.


    ¡°Well, again.¡± Laertes swished his rapier through the air. He was more than ready for another chance.


    ¡°Dr. Ernst, would you care to be Claudius?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I would love to.¡± Matthew replied. ¡°I¡¯ve always found the villains of Shakespeare¡¯s works to be fascinating. I¡¯m not sure of the lines, however.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s perfectly fine, I will tell them to you and all you¡¯ll need to do will be to repeat after me.¡±


    Matthew petted Tybalt. ¡°And I suppose you can be Gertrude. At least until we need Gertrude to speak.¡±


    Mr. Carter clapped his hands ¡°We need props!  We need Claudius¡¯ cup of wine and his poisoned pearl.¡±


    Hamlet let go of his rapier. The practice foil floated in the air next to him. He held out his hands to Mr. Carter. In one, a large, jeweled goblet appeared. In the other, a small, glassy pearl.


    ¡°That¡¯s a very handy ability.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°It is.¡± Mr. Carter agreed. ¡°He¡¯s an actor and a prop master. He doesn¡¯t just do the work of an entire  troupe of actors, he does the work of an entire theater company.¡±

 All the World. Chapter 6, Act V. 3/3

    Mr. Carter looked at Hamlet. ¡°That¡¯s some fine work with those props, Hamlet¡­but do you walk over to me, or do I walk over to you?¡±


    Joseph nudged Mr. Carter with one giant finger. ¡°Oh, walk over to him. He¡¯s not going to bite.¡±


    Mr. Carter began to walk--slowly. It wasn¡¯t so hard to talk to the ghost, now, but he didn¡¯t have to look directly at him to do that, and the distance that separated them felt like a protective shield. But when it came to approaching the ghost and getting close to that unnerving stare of his, Mr. Carter could not help but feel his skin crawl.


    Still, Mr. Carter walked, one foot in front of the other.


    He held out his hands and accepted the props, and though he didn¡¯t mean to, he got a good look at Hamlet¡¯s face.


    Their eyes met, and Mr. Carter saw that the ghost¡¯s expression was unlike any he had made previously. It was neither the expression of his character nor the cold, empty stare from the nights before.


    There was warmth in the ghost¡¯s eyes and a smile on his face.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Mr. Carter said as he accepted the props.


    The ghost nodded.


    He walked back to the others, stupefied.


    ¡°I think he¡¯s starting to come out of it!¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°I really do!¡±


    ¡°Hopefully he is.¡± Matthew said. ¡°But let¡¯s not stop here if he is making progress. Quick Mr. Carter, give me my props and my lines.¡±


    Mr. Carter gave him both, then Matthew was ready, after Tybalt moved to his shoulder.


    ¡°Stay.¡± Claudius instructed Laertes. ¡° Give me drink.¡± Claudius sipped from an empty goblet. There was no need to fill something the audience would never see.


    ¡°Hamlet.¡± Claudius slipped the poisoned pearl into the goblet. ¡°This pearl is for thee.¡± he muttered quietly.


    ¡°Oh, he says that so sinisterly!¡± Joseph whispered.


    Claudius raised the goblet. ¡°Here¡¯s to thy health. Give him the cup.¡±


    Suddenly, there was the sound of a rifle going off, and trumpets.


    ¡°What on Earth was that?¡± Joseph asked.


    ¡°The sound of Fortinbrass¡¯ army approaching.¡± Mr. Carter explained. ¡°It is in the playnotes. There¡¯s supposed to a shot and trumpets. Our ghost really cares for the details¡­incredible!¡±


    Laertes suddenly lunged at Hamlet and wiped a mark across his chest.


    A touch, a touch, I do confess.¡± Martin said with a smirk.


    ¡°Hey! Hamlet is supposed to score the second touch!¡± Mr. Carter shouted.


    ¡°I know.¡± Martin replied. ¡°But I think it¡¯s time to see if Hamlet knows that.¡± Martin turned to the ghost. ¡°Hamlet, was Laertes supposed to get that touch?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± the ghost said.


    It was the first thing he ever said that wasn¡¯t a character¡¯s line.


    ¡°Who was supposed to get that touch?¡± Martin asked.


    Hamlet pointed to himself.


    ¡°And who are you? Hamlet?¡±


    Hamlet nodded.


    ¡°Let me see if I understand this, Hamlet.¡± Martin said. ¡°For the second round, Hamlet is supposed to score the touch, and Laertes is supposed to get hit?¡±


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    Hamlet nodded again.


    ¡°Well, you see, in that case, I can''t be Laertes, because I got that touch, and Laertes didn¡¯t. So that means I have to be Martin Glass. That¡¯s who I am. And you can''t¡¯ be Hamlet, because Hamlet isn¡¯t supposed to be hit by the poisoned rapier until the third round. So who did I hit, just now? Who are you?¡±


    A somber look of realization flashed in Hamlet¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Way to go, Percival.¡± Joseph whispered.


    The ectoplasmic Elsinore began to flicker like a candle flame caught in the wind.


    Tybalt ran down Matthew¡¯s back and ducked behind Joseph¡¯s legs.


    Elsinore vanished. In its place came the darkness of the Gnome theater, illuminated only by the gaeite candles of the manesologists and a single blue figure on the stage.


    He was naked, or perhaps clothed from head to toe. Mr. Carter wasn¡¯t sure which way was correct. He was smoothly formed from blue ectoplasm. He didn¡¯t have toes, but he had fingers, and they were long like newt¡¯s. He didn¡¯t have eyes, or hair, but he did have a head, and it was as smooth as a bullet.


    ¡°He looks like¡­he looks like¡­¡± Mr. Carter couldn¡¯t think of the word.


    ¡°Like a doll.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°I am sane again.¡± The ghost touched his smooth face. ¡°Whole, again.¡±


    ¡°Are you aware of what has happened to you, sir?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°Yes. Yes, I died. I am a ghost now.¡± the ghost answered. ¡°And I am aware of what I have done. I¡­wanted to be an actor. And so I acted. I am sorry. All I thought about was my dream of gracing the stage. My mind was inside that dream and nowhere else.¡±


    ¡°You have nothing to apologize for, you couldn¡¯t help it.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Out of all the hauntings that have been in the world, yours was nothing, just a midnight nuisance, just a nightly chore. And it wasn¡¯t so awful, seeing you in all those bodies. Surely, there are grimmer sights in this world of ours.¡±


    Mr. Carter leaned close to Matthew and whispered in his ear. ¡°Is it alright that he looks like that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find out.¡± Matthew whispered back. He turned to the ghost. ¡°Is this how you want to look?¡± he asked.


    ¡°This is how I feel I should be.¡± the ghost replied. ¡°In life, I was a small, shriveled old man. I don¡¯t want to appear like that now that I am someone new. And every time I work to place details upon myself, I find that the details remind me of my costumes. I look at what I create upon the blank canvas of my form and I say to myself ¡°This is Hamlet¡¯s hand, this is Brutus¡¯ face.¡± But this blankness belongs to no character, and so, I feel it belongs to me. I feel as if this is me.¡±


    ¡°Then it is you.¡± Matthew said.


    The featureless face turned and regarded each member of the group before resting on Mr.


    Carter.


    ¡°Thank you all. But especially thank you,Mr. Carter.¡± the ghost said.


    ¡°How¡¯s that for misplaced gratitude?¡± Joseph mumbled under his breath.


    ¡° I am so happy to have been able to act on your stage." The ghost said.


    ¡°I¡¯m happy that you¡¯re happy.¡± Mr. Carter said, and he truly meant that.


    ¡°My name is Thomas Beckman. I¡¯m sorry if my appearance disturbs you. I see there is fear in your face.¡±


    Mr. Carter raised his hands. ¡°Fear? No! No, you misunderstand! I¡¯m simply anxious. Quite a lot has happened very quickly. I feel as if I have come to the end of a very long and tiring adventure.¡± Mr. Carter looked over at the manesologists. ¡°Is this how you three feel?¡±


    ¡°Every day, just about.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing you three aren¡¯t dead.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get there.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of time.¡±


    Mr. Carter turned back to the ghost. ¡°You say you¡¯re Thomas Beckman?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± the ghost answered.


    ¡°You can¡¯t see it in this olprt radiance, because it¡¯s a very faint manifestation and only shows up when their gaeite candles are set a certain way, but there¡¯s something like a piece of black glass stuck inside me. It¡¯s a part of you, and the manesologists tell me that it¡¯s inside me because there was something between us in life, but I don¡¯t know anyone namedThomas Beckman. Who were you to me?¡±


    ¡°An audience member, sir.¡± Thomas said. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have known me. But I saw all your works. I was here when the Gnome first opened. I was in the audience during the first play, the very first play, A Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream. I saw all the others until my passing. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m behind on my viewing. I¡¯ve been in that phantasmagoria so long, it seems, always in the theater, but only when it''s empty.¡±


    A look of recognition washed over Mr. Carter¡¯s face. ¡°Oh! Oh I do know you! You¡¯re the old man! Third row! Oh, I wondered what happened to you!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s usually how it is.¡± Joseph said. ¡°Our clients swear up and down that they don¡¯t know who the ghost is and then suddenly ¡°Oh! I¡¯ve always known you!¡±¡±


    ¡°You visited dutifully, Mr. Beckman.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Thank you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been a fan of plays, especially Shakespeare plays.¡± Thomas said. ¡°When I learned a new theater was being built, you became my favorite. The electric lamps, the fresh paint, the polish on every brass surface--it made me feel young, in my final days, to be among such new and fresh surroundings.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad my theater made your twilight comfortable, sir.¡± Mr. Carter said.


    ¡°I¡­am somewhat embarrassed to say this, sir, but I¡¯ve always had the dream of performing on stage as one of the Bard¡¯s great heroes.¡± Thomas said. ¡°Hamlet, or Romeo, or Prince Hal. I daydreamed of joining the actors on stage and being directed by you.¡±


    ¡°But why me, sir?¡± Mr. Carter asked. ¡°I take pride in performing my duties to the best of my abilities, but I¡¯m far from being the best director in the world. And I don¡¯t have any experience with ghosts¡­and¡­I was very rude, with how I treated you during your phantasmagoria. If I had known you were the kindly man who always attended my plays, I would have spoken to you the very first night you appeared.¡±


    ¡°It is you I should apologize to.¡± Thomas said. ¡°I remember what I was doing. I remember, night after night, mindlessly going through all the roles, all at once, and how you would tremble whenever I saw you.¡±


    ¡°No, you are blameless.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°Night after night, I could have spoken to you. I could have brought us here, to this point, weeks ago. But I was afraid of who you might have been. I imagined that you could have been the ghost of a madman with a Shakespeare fixation, or a perfectionist actor that would kill me as soon as I said a word he didn¡¯t like. I imagined you to be everything except what you actually were--a good man. And so the fault belongs with me. Mr. Beckman.¡±


    ¡°Please call me Thomas.¡±


    ¡°Thomas, there¡¯s a theater up in Scotland with an entire cast of ghosts. They would welcome you. They would know how to handle you best.¡±


    ¡°Was my performance not good enough for the Gnome?¡±


    ¡°No, Thomas, no! You were exceptional, the best Hamlet I¡¯ve ever seen grace my stage. But you deserve a far better director than myself.¡±


    ¡°No, Mr. Carter. I want you to direct me.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not worthy of such a talented actor. I would just hold you back.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, it was this theater in which I daydreamed of being an actor. It was your productions that I imagined myself joining. It is you that must be my director. It is you or no one.¡±


    Mr. Carter smiled. ¡°Very well, Thomas. Very well. I cannot in good conscience have you remove yourself from the acting world. If your choices are between no one and myself¡­¡± Mr. Carter extended his hand. ¡°...I pick myself.¡±


    Thomas shook Mr. Carter¡¯s hand. And though Thomas¡¯ hand was a hand of cold ectoplasm, Mr. Carter imagined that it was warm and did not complain.

 All the World. Chapter 7, Encore

    Mr. Carter, true to his word, gave Ernst, Morton, and Glass free passes to the Gnome theater for life, and the manesologists were never ones to turn away gifts from their clients, be it the promise of supernatural aid or the promise of a night of entertainment.


    Their unannounced arrival to a presentation of select scenes from Shakespeare caused a commotion in the attendance lined up outside the Gnome theater, especially when it was revealed they brought Nick and Esmee along.


    Joseph was in his element. The crowd surrounded him like children around a maypole asking him questions about the ghost performer they were about to see. Joseph talked up Thomas¡¯ skills and promised those in attendance that they were in for a real treat. Thomas was, in Joseph¡¯s words, ¡°Every hero, all at once,¡± and when Mr. Carter overheard the phrase, he made a mental note to print it on the new handbills.


    While Joseph worked the crowd, his friends were greeted by Mr. Carter at the door, who shook Matthew and Martin¡¯s hands, kissed Esmee¡¯s hand, awkwardly, as it was like kissing a cloud, and looked a little confused over what he should do with Nick but settled on saying ¡°Hello!¡±


    Nick took the form of a bright green rose in Esmee¡¯s hat. It was his form of dressing up, and it only looked like a ball of fire if one looked at it long enough to see the petals flare and shift.


    ¡°Welcome, welcome, my friends!¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°How¡¯s Tybalt?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s doing fine.¡± Joseph said. ¡°The little girl that lives in our walls adopted him as one of her pets.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t thank you all enough.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°We¡¯ve had so much success with Thomas, he¡¯s doing things human actors could never dream of doing. You know how in Julius Caesar there¡¯s the scene where Caesar¡¯s ghost confronts Brutus? Thomas plays them both--at the same time. He starts playing Brutus, and then he extends his ectoplasm like a curtain above himself and the curtain turns into the ghost of Julius Caesar. It¡¯s so artistic, and it so demonstrates what I feel the Bard intended. You¡¯ll see what I mean tonight when he gets to that part.¡±


    ¡°Looking forward to seeing it.¡± Matthew said. ¡°I hope your other actors aren¡¯t distressed by how much attention Thomas is getting?¡±


    ¡°Oh, some of them are.¡± Mr. Carter said. ¡°They¡¯re actors. They¡¯re emotional by nature. But it¡¯s not a major problem. I gave everyone a raise, and told them the money came from Thomas¡¯ success. More money, less work, what employee doesn¡¯t like that?¡±


    ¡°Have you given any thought to combining Thomas with human actors?¡± Esmee asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re trying to avoid doing that, actually. It¡¯s just economics. The Centennial theater up in Scotland does a lot of ¡°the ghost is real¡± plays, and Thomas¡¯ range is his greatest asset. The Centennial can¡¯t pull off Thomas¡¯ one-man plays, so that¡¯s what we¡¯re offering people.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the Centennial. So that¡¯s what the theater was called.¡± Joseph said. ¡°I never could place the name¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe you can try plays where Thomas plays everyone but the ghost?¡± Esmee suggested.


    ¡°I thought about that, but the Centennial already did that.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Those Scots are pretty crafty.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing how fast things like manes actors can go from being novel to struggling to be novel.¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s a good thing.¡± Esmee said. ¡°I¡¯d rather a world so full of strangeness that strangeness itself becomes common than a world where strangeness is rarely seen.¡±


    ¡°But if something strange becomes common doesn¡¯t it cease to be strange?¡± Mr. Carter asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Esmee replied. ¡°Because something that¡¯s strange can always become stranger.¡±


    ¡®Hm.¡¯ Mr. Carter pondered Esmee¡¯s response. ¡°I think you¡¯re right. I started with a strange theater haunted by a strange performance every night. Now, it¡¯s stranger. Now, I¡¯m stranger. I direct one man across several plays worth of roles. Has any director in all of history done that? I must wonder. And scores come to my theater to watch the fruits of my labor! I wonder, do they find it strange to come watch a ghost perform for them?¡±


    ¡°Well put, Mr. Carter.¡± Joseph said as he rejoined his friends. ¡°Well, let us to our seats. We shouldn¡¯t hog the people from Mr. Carter! I¡¯m sure there are things he wants to share with them about working with Thomas.¡±


    ¡°Indeed I do!¡± Mr. Carter shook Joseph¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s been an experience like no other.¡±


    ¡°Well don¡¯t tell me, tell the people!¡±


    ¡°I will, I will! You all enjoy the show, and here¡¯s to a world of increasing strangeness!¡±


    ¡°Here here!¡± Joseph cheered.


    As people took their seats, a band on stage played Medelssohn¡¯s overture for A Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream, which Martin identified and Joseph pretended to have identified.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll do a scene from Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream?¡± Esmee asked.


    ¡°I want to see him do the entire fairy train.¡± Joseph said as the group moved through the aisles of chairs. I want to see him do Oberon and Puck and as many other fairies as will fit on that stage and the sky above it!¡±


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    ¡°You would be focused on spectacle.¡± Martin said. ¡°But try and remember this isn¡¯t the Urizen theater back in Blackwall. This is a real theater, and we¡¯ll be watching real acting, not people throwing fake blood at each other like rice at a wedding.¡±


    ¡°I wish they¡¯d let us bring in snacks.¡± Joseph mumbled as he scrunched himself into his seat. ¡°You can bring snacks to the Urizen, so long as you buy them from the stalls outside.¡±


    ¡°The Urizen is a penny gaff.¡± Martin snapped. ¡°People throw their snacks at the actors.¡±


    ¡°Only when they¡¯re awful.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°Joseph, they perform Jack Sheppard four times every day. They¡¯re always awful.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you exaggerate. It¡¯s more like three. And I thought the man they got to portray Honest Jack was pretty good. He made a neat gurgling sound during the hanging scene, very true to life.¡±


    ¡°I still hold that the actress they got to play Edgeworth Bess was really a boy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just holding a grudge because that brandy ball didn¡¯t agree with you.¡±


    ¡°Well if the food was good, they wouldn¡¯t be throwing it at the actors now, would they?¡±


    Matthew nudged Joseph. ¡°Speaking of snacks¡­¡± he said.


    Joseph gave a knowing nod and produced a little tin of jellied eels from his pockets. Having a giant for a friend came with the benefit of the giant having large pockets.


    ¡°Dr. Ernst!¡± Martin gasped at his friends¡¯ flagrant disregard for the rules.


    Matthew smiled. ¡°You want one? Joseph brought enough for all of us.¡±


    ¡°You two are going to get eel bits on poor Mr. Carter¡¯s floors.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, but do you want a snack?¡± Matthew asked.


    Martin looked around. The audience didn¡¯t seem to be watching him. ¡°I¡¯ll have a tin¡­later.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Food.¡± Esmee smiled. ¡°I never realized how dirty it all was until I stopped eating and started watching others eat.¡±


    The band finished playing. The footlights came on while the lights on the walls dimmed. A hush fell over the audience.


    There were gasps as Thomas materialized out of thin air in the form of two slovenly dressed men. Their ectoplasmic shovels dug at the stage floor, pulling up clumps of blue dirt and depositing them in piles.


    ¡°Ah, Hamlet.¡± Joseph whispered.


    ¡°Is she to be buried in Christian burial, when she willfully seeks her own salvation?¡± Thomas asked himself.


    ¡°I tell thee she is, therefore, make her grave straight. The crowner has set on her and finds it Christian burial.¡± Thomas answered himself.


    Following the gravediggers¡¯ scene from Hamlet came the titular prince¡¯s famous soliloquy, because the audience expected and demanded the ¡°skull scene,¡± but Thomas added a twist--the skull floated from his hand and the body of Horatio slowly recomposed itself around the skull. Slowly, little by little, Horatio materialized, gaining substance with every word Hamlet spoke.


    This was followed by the scene from Julius Caesar as Mr. Carter had described, and that was followed by a fencing match between Tybalt and Mercutio, and that by a scene from The Tempest featuring Prospero and an Ariel that shared his face and rose from his body as if he were Prospero¡¯s very soul. And as Joseph wished, the grand finale featured Oberon¡¯s argument with Titania from A Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream, and the stage overflowed with all sorts of elves, goblins, bugbears, sprites, pixies, and faeries.


    There were little insectoid humanoids with wings like wasps that darted so fast from place to place they seemed to be in two places at once, long-bearded short-statured men wised with wrinkles who lounged on toadstools, regal attendants with faces like angels whose eyes were turned to Oberon and Titania like flowers to the sun, and squat, furry monsters with beady red eyes whose long claws dragged in the dirt.


    All were the same man.


    Joseph poked Martin when he saw him smiling while eating from a tin of jellied eels.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the real thing.¡± Martin whispered. ¡°And this comes very close for a man that¡¯s never seen it.¡±


    After the performance, and the standing ovation that followed, Ernst, Morton, and Glass were invited backstage to meet with Thomas. The ghost performer appeared to them in his featureless blue silhouette form, his ¡°doll¡± form as Joseph called it.


    ¡°Ah, my friends! Did you enjoy the show?¡± Thomas asked.


    ¡°Loved it!¡± Joseph said. ¡°It¡¯s brilliant what you¡¯re doing. You¡¯re showing people Shakespeare in a way they¡¯ve never seen before!¡±


    ¡°I owe it all to you. If not for you, I¡¯d still be nothing more than a band of incoherent performers.¡±


    ¡°The faeries were the best part.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°That was a good performance.¡± Martin said. ¡°But my favorite was your Ariel. Putting Prospero¡¯s face on Ariel, implying that Ariel was in some way Prospero himself. That adds an additional layer of meaning to the play. Did you intend to imply that Ariel was Prospero¡¯s soul?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Dr. Glass. I was hoping you¡¯d pick up on that. I felt like I could modernize Prospero a little. Nowadays, sorcerers achieve knowledge and power by awakening and communicating with their souls. It seemed natural to me that Ariel would be Prospero¡¯s soul, and the longing Ariel has for his freedom an impression of Prospero¡¯s subconscious desire to be done with his island and his magic.¡±


    ¡°It was a great choice.¡¯ Martin said.


    ¡°I just hope the critics don¡¯t savage me too brutally for adding a twist to the scene.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fools if they do. I learned a very important truth from my thaumaturgical teachers--true mastery of an art comes when one can innovate upon the art, and from what I¡¯ve just seen, you, my friend, are a master.¡±


    ¡°You flatter me, Dr. Glass!¡±


    Thomas turned his blank face to Esmee. ¡°One ghost to another, what did you think about my performance?¡±


    ¡°My favorite part of your performance is the part we haven¡¯t seen yet.¡± Esmee answered. ¡°It¡¯s the part that¡¯ll come in the future.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that you look upon my performance positively, Ms. Walker. But I¡¯m not quite sure what you mean.¡±


    ¡°One day, you¡¯ll teach your skills to other ghosts, and there will be a flourishing of ghost performers. That, I feel, will be your best performance--as a teacher.¡±


    ¡°You must be looking far into the future, Ms. Walker. Currently, I have no thoughts but for the stage.¡±


    ¡°Give it time. That¡¯s something we both have plenty of.¡±


    2025, Late August


    And with that, the curtain fell to thunderous applause.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Jack asked. ¡°That¡¯s how it ends?¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s just starting.¡± Clarence, Jack¡¯s senior partner and mentor at EMG, replied. ¡°That¡¯s why the curtain is coming down, Jack.¡±


    Jack looked up from his handheld noosphere terminal. He had been checking the public telepathic network off-and-on since the play started. ¡°Chill, Clarence. I know this is one of those things from your time, but man, it just didn¡¯t age well. They should have ended it right after Mr. Carter shook hands with Thomas.¡±


    Clarence was an old ghost, though to Jack, anyone over thirty was old. He died in the Victorian era, and so he was born in it, and always shared an affinity for it.


    ¡°The whole play-within-a-play thing, I guess that was kind of novel for its day, but man, you get that meta-stuff so often nowadays¡­¡± Jack said.


    ¡°Shakespeare did it first.¡± Clarence said. ¡°As with many things. Hamlet had The Mousetrap.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I still didn¡¯t like the ending. Rest was pretty okay, kind of dragged in a few places.¡±


    The curtain rose. It and the stage itself became like mist and flowed to a central point. The sole performer of the evening formed from the mist and took her bow.


    ¡°It¡¯s your generation that¡¯s the problem.¡± Clarence said. ¡°You want everything fast, everything instant.¡±


    ¡°Hey, time is money, Clarence, now as it¡¯s ever been, we¡¯ve just gotten really good at making time and making money!¡±


    ¡°The slowness is a feature, not a bug. In a play, action builds, and then it disperses--disperse, not end abruptly.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. I guess it was worth coming to see. The Ghost Of The Gnome has historical significance if nothing else, I read about it in my textbook. First play written by a ghost about a ghost, something like that, right? That¡¯s what¡¯s important about it, right?¡±


    Clarence sighed. ¡°Ah, you just don¡¯t get it.¡±

 Fairy Food. Chapter 1, Human Trickery. 1/2

    1867, Early August


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? You are in danger!¡±


    The big one, Dr. Joseph Morton, banged his fist on the table to accentuate his point. When he first came into the tavern Emma was intimidated. Alone, by himself, Joseph Morton would have been intimidating, massive as he was, but there were also his two colleagues Emma recognized from issues of Illustrated Phantom Stories. The one with short blonde hair and piercingly blue eyes had to be Dr. Martin Glass, the ex-student of thaumaturgy, and the nondescript one with the black hair and eyes had to be Dr. Matthew Ernst, who wrote some scientific article in some manesological journal about how one part of a ghost interacted with another part. It supposedly made him famous among manesologists, but Emma didn¡¯t really understand such things. She only knew enough about ghosts and hauntings to fake them.


    Ernst, Morton, and Glass had surrounded her at her table, and when they had first entered the tavern, Emma was afraid of them because there were rumors of manesologists punishing charlatans that made claims to metaphysical power by sicing their ghost friends on them. It was whispered in rumors that the great stage illusionist Jean-Eugene Robert-Houdin was punished by manesologists for his famous disappearing act. Supposedly, ghosts visited Robert-Houdin one night and performed his disappearing act with him as the subject, but they didn¡¯t perform the part where the subject reappeared. Robert-Houdin remained wherever things go to when they vanish, if such things even go anywhere.


    Emma was afraid at first, because she feared becoming a new Robert-Houdin, but she relaxed when the three manesologists assured her that they weren¡¯t here to punish her for claiming to see the dead claimed by Fairy. They weren¡¯t even going to report her to the authorities like what happened with Mary Doheny back in 1864. They were here to warn her about retaliation from a group she was certain had more important things to deal with than a little trickster like herself.


    Emma smiled at the large man and shook her head. ¡°Dr. Morton, I¡¯m not in any danger.¡±


    ¡°Damn it girl, you are!¡± Joseph shouted. ¡°Faeries are real, or haven¡¯t you heard?¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°Oh of course I¡¯ve heard! Everyone¡¯s heard! I saw the Seelie Court¡¯s procession through the early morning sky back in 1866, and then I saw the Unseelie Court march across the moon at midnight, same as everyone else. I read how the Courts met with the Queen, and the President of the United States, and all the other dignitaries that stand atop our little world. I know that faeries are real. But certainly they have better things to do than go after me for bringing a little comfort to grieving mothers in their name?¡±


    ¡°And to live quite comfortably off gifts from those grieving mothers.¡± Martin said. ¡°You forgot to mention that.¡±


    ¡°I am a lesser Mary Doheny.¡± Emma said. ¡°That¡¯s all that I am. I do what she did, but I don¡¯t ask nearly as much from my clients as she did. If the little people were content to let the law handle her and for her to live out the rest of her days hex and jinx free, I see no reason why they would want to ¡°fix my wagon¡± as you put it, Dr. Morton.¡±


    ¡°Mary Doheny practiced her trickery back in 1864.¡± Martin said. ¡°It was before the Great Procession. It was before the Fair Folk made it very clear to one and all that they were real. They are capable of mercy, Ms. Quinn, but they are also capable of terrible vengeance. They weighed Mary¡¯s transgressions against her ignorance and chose Mercy. But you, you¡¯ve  done your crime in an entirely new age of metaphysical enlightenment. Do not presume that you would be judged the same as Mrs. Doheny.¡±


    Emma sighed. They were so easy to figure out. ¡°Dr. Glass, I see what this is about, what this is really about. You want to shut me down, just as you¡¯ve shut down several ghost-callers and mediums around the country, but you don¡¯t want to deal with the messy legalities of filing a suit. I read in Illustrated Phantom Stories how annoyed the three of you were when you were subpoenaed to give testimony concerning the purported ghost ship Mary Celeste last year. You told the journalists all about how you hated having to make the time to go to court because it pulled you away from your work. Well, I¡¯m sorry gentlemen, but if you want to stop me, you¡¯re going to have to file the paperwork and do all that long, tedious, unpleasant business.¡±


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    ¡°You ungrateful little strumpet!¡± Joseph exclaimed. ¡°We¡¯re trying to save you from death, possibly something worse than death!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for such coarse language, Dr. Morton.¡± Emma said. ¡°You¡¯re a learned man, or so they say. You can act like one.¡±


    ¡°Emma Quinn, my friends and I have had many dealings with the Fair Folk over the years.¡± Martin said. ¡°One of them, the psychopomp John-a-Doors, is even something of a friend to us. We¡¯ve worked with and against faeries. We have even gone past the Archon Walls into the universe of Fairy. Please believe us when we say that they are not to be trifled with.¡±


    ¡°They can swirl the stars and toss the moon like a ball, is that it?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°They are all-powerful.¡± Martin replied. ¡°They are older than the Dyeus who ruled Pangea. When our sun was young and blue, they were holding court with the Four Dragons of Tiendi, the angels of Monad, the Kingspeaker of Nazarth¡­¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Emma smirked. ¡°Go on, sing their praises some more. Tell me all about how the four corners of the world are bound to the directions of their compass and how they¡¯re so much bigger than me, and England, and the whole world. You know what¡¯s also bigger than the world? The sun. They say it¡¯s thousands of times larger than the world.¡±


    ¡°Hundreds of thousands.¡± Martin corrected.


    ¡°Fine. Hundreds of thousands. Make it millions of thousands. The point is, the sun is up there, and I¡¯m down here. What does the sun care for a little spec in its wreath of rays? And what does Fairy care for a little scammer when they have the machinery of creation to play with? Do you really expect me to believe such all-powerful beings would concern themselves with a girl from Tipperary swindling some biscuits and jam from her neighbors? What, do they want to raid my larder? Do the all-mighty beings want my tea?¡±


    ¡°Listen and listen closely to me, Emma Quinn.¡± Martin said. ¡°They are powerful. They are so powerful that their primary concerns are abstractions. They do not fight over resources as men do, for they are beyond such physical concerns. They fight over honor. They fight over pride. They began fighting countless aeons ago over a philosophical debate and haven¡¯t stopped since. They are a fighting people, before they are anything else. They love to fight. And you, by claiming powers that you do not have, strike at what they care most about above all other things--their reputation.¡±


    ¡°If reputation is of such pressing concern to them, then why haven¡¯t they done anything to old Biddy Early?¡± Emma asked. ¡°Everyone called her a fairy woman. Everyone said that the ghost of her son Tom went to the faeries when he died and brought her back a little blue glass bottle. They said her could look inside that bottle of hers and see the solutions to problems and the future and who would marry who and what not. Now if that¡¯s not laying claim to fairy powers, I don¡¯t know what is!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t compare yourself to her.¡± Joseph said testily. ¡°Don¡¯t you even start.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I compare myself to Biddy Early? You talk about me besmirching the reputation of the little people because I claim to be able to see the dead in their custody, but I never went to trial for it! Biddy Early did. She became a national spectacle and don¡¯t you tell me it was before people started believing in faeries. Her trial was before the procession, I¡¯ll grant you that, but it was in 1865, the same year Samuel Mathers founded the Ror Raas. People knew magic was real even if they didn¡¯t know faeries were.¡±


    ¡°Thaumaturgy is as much magic as chemistry.¡± Martin corrected. He hated when people called thaumaturgy magic. ¡°It¡¯s philosophical principles are rooted in traditions that may be called occult, but the physical workings of the Operations are simply technological extrapolations of--¡±


    Joseph touched Martin on the shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s neither here nor there, Martin.¡± he said.


    ¡°Biddy Early was put on trial for witchcraft--of all things, witchcraft! And in 1865, everyone could see that magic or thaumaturgy or however you want to call it wasn¡¯t performed by old crones in league with Satan. Wasn¡¯t that embarrassing for you lot? I remember hearing about how the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas had to step in and give testimony to the courts that Biddy Early had no thaumaturgical power let alone power granted to her by the little people. Her little bottle was found to be made out of quartz or something like that.¡±


    ¡°Cobalt, actually.¡± Martin said.


    ¡°Oh, like that makes a difference! The whole thing was a circus! It was an embarrassment! It had to be embarrassing for all of you in the magic community, right?¡±


    Martin nearly said something, but decided against doing so at the very last moment.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 1, Human Trickery. 2/2

    ¡°There were embarrassing things about the trial, certainly.¡± Joseph said. ¡°It was embarrassing how a kindly old woman who only ever gave people herbal cures and advice was brought up on medieval charges. It was embarrassing how men who had much more important things to deal with had to give testimony to a jury full of yokels.¡±


    ¡°Then it must have been embarrassing for the little people. Biddy Early tied their name to a modern day witch hunt. But have the little people taken revenge against the old fraud? Have they raided her closet and pantry? No, of course not!¡±


    ¡°Bridget Early never claimed to have powers from the Fair Folk. People merely believed she did because of the effectiveness of her herbs and the usefulness of her advice.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°What difference does that make?¡±


    ¡°It makes all the difference. She didn¡¯t claim what was not hers. You, on the other hand, did. Intent matters both in human courts and inhuman courts.¡±


    ¡°Pfff! Ha! As if her intent wasn¡¯t to cultivate an image as a sagacious fairy woman! Don¡¯t be silly, she knew exactly what she was doing carrying around that blue bottle of hers!¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t.¡± Joseph said. ¡°She was a remarkably humble woman, and wise as well. Her sound advice and herbal remedies were confused for magic, but she never claimed that they were. And more importantly, she never once claimed to be able to bring back the dead from the domain of the faeries.¡±


    ¡°Ut ut ut!¡± Emma held up a protesting finger. ¡°I never claimed I could bring back the dead. All I claim is that I can show the living the dead and transport little gifts to them. Don¡¯t act like I¡¯m some sort of spiritualist swindling old women out of their wills. I trade peace of mind for little cakes and bottles of honey and homemade cider.¡±


    ¡°You are such a saint.¡± Joseph said sarcastically.


    ¡°Oh, my clients think I¡¯m wonderful.¡± Emma replied smugly. ¡°They don¡¯t think I¡¯m a saint, but I come just under one in their eyes.¡±


    ¡°You probably won¡¯t believe this, in fact, I know you want believe this given the kind of woman that you are, but the Fair Folk are actually quite fond of Mrs. Early, for she inadvertently gave them a good reputation among the common folk of Ireland. They believed the Fair Folk were good because she was good. You, on the other hand, call yourself a ¡°fairy woman¡± and use your false reputation to swindle people, not help them. You claim to speak for the dead who persist under fairy authority, and that is something they cannot and will not abide. They will not abide your actions, do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I understand that under the same logic that makes them fond of Biddy Early they should be fond of me.¡±


    ¡°They are not.¡±


    ¡°But shouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Why on Earth do you think that?¡± Joseph asked the question as if he was talking to a small, annoying child.


    ¡°Because I give the little people a good reputation through my actions, as good a reputation as any Biddy Early ever gave them.¡±


    ¡°That is not what you do.¡± Joseph said, firmly accentuating ¡°not.¡±


    ¡°What do I do, then? Really, what do I do?¡± Emma asked. ¡°I find a poor, grieving mother, a mother who you can¡¯t help, by the way, because of that policy of yours against summoning ghosts slumbering up in the Astral afterlives. I take her by hand, I take her into my house, I say ¡°Ah, mother so-and-so, it was a terrible thing that happened to your son or daughter, please tell me all about it.¡± The little people should commend me just for doing that, you know.¡±


    ¡°If that was all you did, you would be.¡± Joseph said. ¡°But that¡¯s not all that you do.¡±


    ¡°No. I go even further in the comfort I give to the common people. I take them out to certain fields when it''s twilight and my boyfriend and sister stand out in fields wearing cloaks and I say ¡±Look, mother so-and-so, there¡¯s your child. I have pulled back the veil between here and the land of Fairy and now you see that they are fine and whole and in no way the sad, decrepit thing you put in the coffin. They still believe, out here away from the cities, that a ghost is a person¡¯s mind. The academic distinction between soul and mind hasn¡¯t quite reached all the way out here to Ireland yet, so they think I am showing them their actual children, fresh and restored. Now tell me, could you, with all your gaeite candles and manesological Operations, bring mother so-and-so anything like the comfort I have given her?¡±


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    ¡°It says a lot about the kind of person you are that you would rush to paint a moral veneer over your actions.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You trade false hope for food. God, why did we even come here? You don¡¯t feel any shame for your actions. We should leave you to your fate.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t feel any shame.¡± Emma said. ¡°Why should I?¡±


    ¡°Because shame is a general human feeling, assumed of any general woman.¡±


    ¡°Oh, such venom in your tongue, Dr. Morton! But have you considered that you three are entirely unwanted here in my community? I see you three are alone. I don¡¯t see any of my clients with you. I don¡¯t suppose any of them asked you to come here?¡±


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t let you know one way or the other.¡±


    ¡°That means no.¡±


    ¡°You can assume whatever you like.¡±


    ¡°I assume only what¡¯s obvious. No one is with you three because no one will speak out against me. Do you know why? Because I do good work, and the commoners, if not the little people, recognize it. Do you happen to recall Mary Doheny?¡±


    ¡°We remember her.¡±


    ¡°Everything I¡¯m doing, she already did years ago. She was the one I actually got the idea from. Do you remember when the authorities took Mary Doheny to court and not a single person testified against her? Did you know that? Not a single one, Dr. Morton!¡±


    ¡°And the Crown still got their conviction.¡±


    ¡°Barely. They nearly didn¡¯t. Do you remember when they asked that policeman, Reeves I think his name was, whether Mary Doheny showed him his deceased father-in-law or not and he swore up and down that she did, in fact, show him his father-in-law. He wanted to see the old man, and so he did see the old man. I¡¯m just showing them what they want to see, Dr. Morton, if they didn¡¯t have that want gnawing away inside them, none of my tricks would work. I¡¯m just giving the people what they want, how can anyone fault me for that, be they human or fairy?¡±


    ¡°You show people what they want and fatten your larder in the process.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°They¡¯d think something was wrong if I didn¡¯t ask for food.¡± Emma said. ¡°They expect that I need food to give to their children. It¡¯s an old, old folk belief.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s older than you know.¡± Martin said. ¡°It¡¯s a tradition older than Ireland itself. It goes back to Persephone. If one does not eat of the food of the afterlife, one is not fully gone.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know about all that, but I do know they expect food to go to their loved ones. And well, one can only keep food for so long, you know.¡±


    ¡°Poor you, having your pick of victuals.¡± Joseph said.


    ¡°It¡¯s all just a simple transaction. Good feelings for good food. Why, you treat me like I¡¯m one of those Blackwall seance girls who rap on tables to swindle wealthy widows out of their insurance claims. It¡¯s just some eggs, butter, tea, albeit very good tea. I¡¯m shocked you three don¡¯t have anything more important to do than bothering me. Why--¡±


    Emma suddenly smiled. Then she raised her chin in a haughty manner. ¡°Oh, I see what this is all about now. Yes, I see. The little people actually approve of what I¡¯m doing, don¡¯t they? They like me better than they like you three, don¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Martin squinted sharply at Emma. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Ms. Quinn.¡± Joseph raised his voice sharply. ¡°Be wary of what you say. They have ears all around the world. They hear everything. They may very well be listening to you right now.¡±


    Emma chuckled. ¡°Oh, let them listen! I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I?¡± In fact, I¡¯m sure of it! It¡¯s why I¡¯ve gotten away with this swindle for so long. It¡¯s why you¡¯re here trying to intimidate me and instead of taking me to court. The little people like what I¡¯m doing, don¡¯t they? They can¡¯t go to people and show them the ghosts under their care because like you, they have rules about Earth and the afterlives interacting. For all their power, they can¡¯t do that even for the most humble shepherd who dutifully remembers every little fairy fort and fairy path. But I can. And while I get the food, they get the praise. They like what I¡¯m doing. Oh, I bet that makes you mad!¡±


    Martin¡¯s face turned pale. His mouth hung open. He slowly moved his head from side to side as if answering ¡°no¡± to some question. ¡°Oh, you poor woman.¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying¡­you simply do not know¡­¡±


    ¡°Ms. Quinn, Dr. Glass is right.¡± Joseph said. ¡°You have not the slightest idea of the size of the hole you are digging for yourself! It was bad enough that you attacked their honor through your charlatanry, but now you¡¯re claiming that they favor you. They don¡¯t like that, Ms. Quinn. They may actually make you one of their favorites because of what you just said.¡±


    Emma smiled. ¡°What would be so bad about that?¡±


    Martin grabbed Emma¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You have to take back what you said! Say that you take it back! Now!¡±


    ¡°Take your hands off me before I call the police.¡± Emma said coolly.


    ¡°You need to take back what you just said. You don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying, because if you did you wouldn¡¯t be saying it at all, but you are challenging them with your words and they always rise to a challenge.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you aren¡¯t hearing me well in your hysteria, Dr. Glass. I told you to take your hands off me. Now.¡±


    ¡°Martin.¡± Matthew Ernst said. It was the first thing he had said since sitting down. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    Martin took his hands away from Emma¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You poor girl.¡± he muttered. ¡°You don¡¯t know, you don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Matthew stood up. ¡°May God help you, Emma Quinn, because nothing on this Earth can now.¡±


    His friends stood up and followed Matthew to the door of the tavern.


    Joseph turned one final time before he was out the door.


    ¡°Do not come to us when they come for you, Ms. Quinn.¡± he said. ¡°For there will be nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do to help you.¡±

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 1/6

    Emma sipped her freshly brewed tea. It was adequate tea. She was sure that her client¡¯s daughter would have enjoyed it if she could have actually tasted it. It was probably her favorite in life, or something like that. But, tastes could always change, even for the dead. After a few months in the land of Fairy, her client¡¯s daughter probably developed a taste for the more sweeter varieties of tea.


    Yes, that would be how she would explain it to the client. That would be why the client needed to bring sweeter tea. Her daughter appreciated the reminder of home, it¡¯s just that the fairy food her hosts had given her had been so sweet that it shifted her preferences.


    Suddenly, there was a knock--not at Emma¡¯s door, but at her wall.


    Emma looked at the blank wall. Did she imagine it?


    She stood up. Maybe it was a knock at her door and she only misheard it as coming from the wall?


    She walked to her door and opened it.


    No one was outside.


    ¡°Hello?¡± she called.


    No one answered.


    She sighed as she closed the door. She hoped that this wasn¡¯t the start of the manesologist¡¯s retribution. She could see them ordering their ghost helpers to pretend to be the departed loved ones of her clients to frighten her out of her con. But if that¡¯s what this was, it wouldn¡¯t work on her. One couldn¡¯t trick a trickster.


    Emma went back inside and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary. She strained her ears to hear the slightest rattle of a chain or the quietest moan. If there were any other weird sounds tonight, it would prove that Ernst, Morton, and Glass were out to frighten her.


    Emma smiled to herself. She hoped that the three men would be dumb enough to try haunting her. She had just the plan for them. She¡¯d call up their old rivals Burke and Robins, to dispel their little haunting. She was sure Burke and Robins would love the opportunity to expose and shame Ernst, Morton, and Glass.


    Emma was so preoccupied with listening that she was quite startled when she found her eyes wandering over a bright green spot on her wall.


    The spot stretched from floor to ceiling, and as Emma recoiled, she saw what it was clearly--a door.


    It seemed to be made of wood but had the color of emerald. Its doorknob was gold--and it turned without a sound.


    The door opened.


    There was a man behind it, and behind the man was a tangled mass of flowers, grasses, and tree branches. These natural things were formed with unnatural colors, colors Emma had only ever seen in nature, but strangely, never in plants. The green was the green of a cat¡¯s eye. The yellow was the color of early morning sunlight. The blue was the color of the ocean. And all this color, all this matter, was arranged in a spiral. There was no up or down behind the door. Ground was sky and sky was ground. White clouds floated like ice flows on blue rivers. Rivers held the sun affixed in its course--if that was, indeed the sun. Emma saw several things that looked like the sun shimmering in vibrant pockets.


    And before all this stood someone Emma knew was not a man, though he had the proportions of a man.


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    He was not a ghost. Emma knew ghosts. She had seen them, flittering and fluttering about in the evening light when few were round to see them. They were, by their nature, furtive beings, though it was often said that the living had no defense against the dead. But this was not a cringinging, cowering wight. Emma knew, instinctively, that she was looking at a member of what her grandmother had called the Kindly Ones.


    She knew, instantly, how foolish she had been to call them ¡°little people.¡±


    She fell to her knees. ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt me!¡± she begged.


    The Kindly One stepped out of the door. He was tall, taller than even Joseph Morton, but thin like a reed. His clothes were of the modern fashion but were a light, lively green far from the somber hues worn by the men of today. His chin was prominent and pointy. His eyes were as green as evergreen leaves.


    Without a touch, the Kindly One closed the door behind himself.


    ¡°Please stand up, Emma Quinn.¡± the fairy said. His voice was far softer and pitched far higher than Emma would have guessed.


    Emma stood, but trembled.


    ¡°I am John-a-Doors.¡± the fairy said. ¡°And I am a being of many responsibilities and powers. Mostly, I lock and unlock doors, as my name suggests, but today, I come before you in my capacity as a messenger of the Dueling Courts.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to hurt me?¡± Emma asked.


    John-a-Doors shook his head pityingly. ¡°Of course not. I am a fairy, here on Fairy business. Violence is not our preferred method of conflict resolution, Ms. Quinn. We are not humans. We prefer methods of beauty over methods of ugliness, even when we act in anger.¡±


    ¡°Are you¡­angry at me?¡±


    ¡°Personally? No. I hold no ill will towards you. As a matter of fact, I pity you, just as those three manesologists did. Interesting how I share their sentiments and yet you tremble before me and laugh at them.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry! I am sorry for everything!¡±


    ¡°Emma Quinn, this is not a court of law, and neither I nor those that stand above me ask for your repentance. I am here to explain what they have done. Your compliance is not required, but your understanding is.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by that? What have they done to me?¡± Emma thought of every fairy curse her grandmother had ever warned her about. She thought of her skin peeling off and her hair turning into spider webs and being turned into inanimate but horrifyingly self-aware stone.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± she gasped, ¡°Oh no no no no no!¡±


    ¡°Calm yourself, woman.¡± John-a-Doors held out his hand. In it was a light the color of shallow, sunlit water. ¡°Here, look, in my hand I hold calm. And now, I will give it to you.¡±


    And John-a-Doors did just that.


    The light vanished, and the clam was in Emma Quinn.


    Emma grabbed her chest. Her heartbeat had slowed. Her anxiety had vanished as suddenly and as completely as the light in John-a-Doors¡¯ hand.


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± Emma asked


    ¡°I made you calm.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°The precise mechanisms of our powers are not understandable. I am. I do. That is the extent of what can be explained about faeries and fairy magic.¡±


    Emma nodded. This she could not understand, and could not hope to understand, but that fact, in and of itself, was strangely an easily understandable thing.


    ¡°You said the Courts sent you? The Dueling Courts? That¡¯s both of the Courts that rule Fairy?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°The Seelie and the Unseelie, yes.¡± John-a-Doors replied.


    ¡°They both want to punish me?¡±


    ¡°Firstly, Emma Quinn, those who stand above me are not punishing you. When the Courts punish a being, they punish without warning or explanation. They are acting upon you, and I am here to explain what their actions are. Secondly, though the rulers of Fairy are known for their bitter rivalry, there are some things in which they stand united. Ghosts, or as the previous owners of this planet called them, Gah Faonts, are one such point. What your ancestors intuited about ghosts living among faeries was very accurate, Ms. Quinn. Ghosts are very, very precious to my race.¡±


    ¡°I would have thought the Seelie would have stood for life and the Unseelie death.¡± Emma said. ¡°I¡¯ve always heard that the Seelie stand for warmth, and light, and Summer and the Unseelie cold, and dark, and death.¡±


    ¡°¡°Then you have thought wrong. Allow me to explain, as that is why I am here, and you know very little about Fairy for a ¡°fairy woman." The Great Division between Seelie and Unseelie began as a point of philosophical divergence between the first Anwen and the first Dagda. The first Dagda proclaimed that the ultimate reality was in ideas and intuition and that manifested material was but a lesser illusion. The first Anwen countered that ultimate reality was in manifestation and that the Dagda had the truth about the cosmos backwards. It¡¯s a point of controversy across many, many worlds, not just Fairy. It¡¯s the same point of controversy your philosophers Plato and Aristotle stumbled upon. But from that initial point of divergence, all of Fairy took sides. The first Dagda founded the Seelie Court and to his side came fire, light, summer, sky, future, and other things you have no name for. The first Anwen founded the Unseelie Court and to his side came water, darkness, winter, earth, past, and other things you have no name for.¡±


    ¡°Well, John-A-Doors, it sounds to me that the Unseelie would be very supportive of ghosts. Earth and water--that¡¯s where most of mankind rests, in the end.¡± Emma smiled and tried to be charming and conversational. John-a-Doors said that she wasn¡¯t facing punishment, and that made her feel a little at ease, but only a little as she sensed some ominous trap lurking behind his words.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 2/6

    The faeries had chosen to act upon her. That couldn¡¯t be a good thing. They might not consider whatever it was they were doing to her a punishment, but faeries were known to see things in a different light from humans.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Emma exclaimed. ¡°I just realized--ghosts are rather like air, aren¡¯t they? They¡¯re like clouds of vapor in human shape. Even the ones that look fully human from a distance break like a fog bank if you push them. Or maybe they¡¯re like fire, too? They glow like fire. So do corpses go to the Unseelie and ghosts to the Seelie?¡±


    ¡°You have stumbled upon an issue my people encountered when your stars were blue.¡±


    ¡°When our stars were what?¡±


    ¡°Blue.¡± John-a-Doors said matter-of-factly. ¡°All your stars used to be as blue as delphiniums. But that¡¯s neither here nor there. When my people constructed the fairy paths, which lead everywhere nowhere, and to all the places in-between the two, the Courts found that other worlds had ideas, beings, and substances that fit within the paradigm of the Great Division. The rulers of the 1001 Kingdoms, the children of the Marid rebels who left Heaven, known to you as genies, made an alliance with the Seelie Court, for not only were the genies beings of air and fire, but they were rationalists in their belief that will was the primary determinant of reality. The rulers of Tiendi, the children of the Yellow Emperor Huangdi, known to you as dragons, made an alliance with the Unseelie Court, for not only were the dragons beings of water and earth, but they were empiricists in their belief that their physical bodies, with their immaculate, invincible scales, were perfection made manifest.¡±


    ¡°Lord!¡± Emma exclaimed. ¡°I knew there were such places and creatures up in the Astral, the thaumaturgists report on what they see when they¡¯re up there all the time, but well¡­I guess it''s different hearing a fairy psychopomp talk about these things instead of a human thaumaturge. Very different. I feel as if I¡¯m half dreaming talking to you.¡±


    John-a-Doors gave a smirk that Emma found disturbing in a vague and hard to place sort of way. It was a sharp lift of a sharp and thin mouth that lasted but a moment, and yet it seemed, in some way, threatening.


    ¡°Oh, if you feel you are half dreaming now¡­but I digress. My point, Ms. Quinn, which those that stand above me have dictated must be made absolutely clear to you, is that you would be amazed at the multitude of beings that fit within the paradigm of the Great Division. Beings of smokeless fire and endless water fit in the paradigm. Beings you have no names for, no descriptions for, beings you cannot even imagine have taken one side of the Great Division, or the other. Even your race, as strange and as unique as you may seem in your own eyes, chose to ally itself with the Seelie Court during the grand experiment that was Camelot, and you were comfortably classed among the light against the dark. But, Ms. Quinn, the paradigm has no place for Death and her children, ghosts. There is no death in Fairy, you see. Faeries and fairy kin can be made to be very still and very quiet, but they cannot be robbed of animation forever. They can be made to forget things, but not all things. The great Lugh, mightiest among the Seelie courtiers, struck down the Unseelie general Balor aeons ago and guaranteed a slight imbalance in power favoring the Seelie which lasts to this day. But though Lugh did shatter and pluck out the great general¡¯s single eye, though he slung his bullet clean through Balor¡¯s skull, Balor did not die. He lives to this very day, shattered, broken, but alive. Because there is no death in Fairy, there are no ghosts.¡±


    ¡°But do you not guide, host, and shepherd ghosts?¡± Emma asked. ¡°People say that you yourself are a psychopomp, John-a-Doors.¡±


    ¡°I am a psychopomp, that is true,and I take no small amount of pride in being one.¡± John-a-Doors placed his long-fingered hand over his chest. ¡°Faeries that study and guide ghosts, such as myself, are without rank in either Court, though we hold distinctions and powers all our own. My necessary neutrality makes me a negotiator and messenger for the Courts whenever they act as one, and that is why I appear before you today. My people do guide, host, and shepherd ghosts just as you say--but what is more, my people cherish ghosts. Few things, extremely few things, are declared neutral within the paradigm of the Great Division, and thus such things are rare, perish, and jealously guarded.¡±


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    Emma felt herself gulp as if she were swallowing a stone.


    ¡°An old stalwart of the Seelie Court, the kind to carry around a lamp because Unseelie darkness offends him, say one of the pages that carried Lugh¡¯s bullets, and an old partisan of the Unseelie Court, the kind to carry around a cloak because Seelie light offends him, say one of the knights that pulled Balor¡¯s body away from the battlefield, will stand arm and arm together when it comes to ghosts. Thus, the Courts as one, take objection, strong objection, to you laying claim to their special relationship with mankind¡¯s ghosts.¡±


    ¡°So even the¡­¡± Emma struggled to find the most harmless-sounding word she could think of. ¡°...games I played on my clients were found objectionable by both Courts?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, Ms. Quinn. They found your false claims to fairy authority very, very interesting.¡±


    ¡°Interesting? But uh, not angering, I hope?¡± Emma began to tremble. ¡°Not¡­too angering?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Ms. Quinn. Those that stand above me are not angry with you whatsoever. Anger is a very ugly thing and ugliness is something neither Court claims. They are interested in you. They find you fascinating. They are fascinated with you, a woman of flesh and blood, laying claim to their great and noble enterprise of ghost guiding. If you had kicked over a circle of fairy stones, you would have been worth only a passing mention within the halls of the Courts. If you had driven a cow over a fairy fort, you would have warranted a single joke at the table of great ladies. But my race is known to the elder races of the cosmos, races older than any of your stars, for ghost guiding. It is our crowning glory. We are the ones who escort ghosts up through clouds and down through fires. We are the ones that ferry the boat and ask for a penny. Hermes was our student, as was Michael and the dour creature known to you as the Grim Reaper. You are, as you would say, the talk of the town up in Fairy.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything I can do to make myself right with the Courts?¡± Emma asked.


    Again, John-a-Doors made an unsettling smile. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I want to make amends! I laid claims to powers that were not my own and I shouldn¡¯t have. I am sorry!¡±


    John-a-Doors shook his head. ¡°Oh no no no, Ms. Quinn, when it comes to matters between men and fairies, faeries are the ones that always make amends, in the end. That¡¯s how it works when nature obeys your whim. What we will, is, and what is, is what we will. It is as your William Shakespeare wrote--Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but the reference escapes me.¡±


    ¡°A Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream, 1595. The Courts quite like the play, it vividly demonstrates why you humans are so interesting to interact with.¡±


    ¡°But I still don¡¯t understand--do you mean everything is square between me the Courts now? They¡¯ve made amends and there¡¯s no problem anymore? What amends did they make?¡±


    ¡°Those that stand above me liked that you were interesting, Ms. Quinn, and so they have acted upon you to keep you interesting.¡±


    ¡°Acted?¡± Emma gasped. ¡°You mean they¡¯ve already done¡­whatever it is they were going to do to me?¡±


    John-a-Doors nodded.


    ¡°But you said they were going to act upon me!¡±


    ¡°Then I apologize, for you misunderstand, and my purpose here is to make sure that you do in fact understand. I told you that they were acting upon you when we first started talking and now, further along in our conversation, they have acted upon you.¡±


    ¡°But¡­but when?¡± Emma looked herself over. She expected to see fur or scales or perhaps even stone grow across her skin any moment now. ¡°When did they act upon me?¡±


    ¡°Around the time I spoke about the dragons.¡±


    ¡°What have they done to me? I don¡¯t feel different! What have they done to me? Please, tell me! What have they done to me?¡±


    ¡°Calm down, Ms. Quinn. I don¡¯t want to have to pull a thought-form of calm from out of the Astral again. You¡¯re a proud trickster, remember? A trickster needing help in composing herself once is excusable, but twice speaks very ill of her self-control.¡±


    Emma took a deep breath. ¡°Just¡­tell me, please. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here, isn¡¯t it, to explain things to me?¡±


    ¡°That is indeed why I am here. Emma Quinn, you have been granted the power you always pretended to have.¡±


    Emma blinked. ¡°I don''t understand. I can see ghosts?¡±


    ¡°Ah, see? You do understand--a little.¡±

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 3/6

    ¡°I can see the ghosts that are in Fairy?¡±


    ¡°Yes. My people have a reputation for turning truth into lies, but we also like to do the reverse and turn lies into truth. You are now able to see the dead that rest in Fairy, just as you always lied that you could. But a caveat--you can only see ghosts that reside in Fairy under the authority of the Courts. Fairy is not the only afterlife and it would be improper to grant you the ability to see into other afterlives. If you happen to have told anyone that you can see the dead in Heaven or Summerland, I¡¯m afraid that those lies will have to remain lies.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t made any such claim. I have only ever claimed to see into Fairy.¡± Emma smiled. ¡°I wouldn''t settle for any lesser afterlife, you see!¡±


    ¡°Oh, Ms. Quinn please save your flattery. Flattery from your race is common. You called us the Kindly Ones back when Merlin rocked the infant Arthur in his crib. Flattering me is like throwing pennies at me.¡±


    ¡°Then I apologize!¡± Emma said quickly. ¡°I sincerely apologize!¡±


    ¡°No need, no need. But tell me, Ms. Quinn, what do you feel about your lies now being truths?¡±


    ¡°What do I feel about what, exactly?¡±


    There was that smile of his again. ¡°Why, being washed clean of your sins! You are a liar no more! What do you have to say about that?¡±


    There had to be some sort of catch here, Emma was sure of it. There had to be some sort of trap set for her. But for her life, she couldn¡¯t find the snare.


    So, uncertain of where her mouth was stepping, she was very careful with how she answered the psychopomp standing before her in her kitchen.


    She cleared her throat.


    ¡°Let me just say, first of all, that I am very, very thankful that the Courts have shown me mercy. This is a mercy, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°That implies you were ever in danger of being punished, but as I¡¯ve previously said, a punishment was never set aside for you. Mercy is very rarely shown by the Courts. It is considered a sign of poor judgment to rescind a judgment.¡±


    ¡°Be that as it may, I have heard¡­stories. Many, many stories about Fairy wrath, and I am very thankful, sincerely thankful, truly thankful, that instead of wrath the Courts have given me a gift.¡±


    John-a-Doors made a face. ¡°A gitt? Well, I suppose you could call it that. It is given to you, as a gift would be given. Yes¡­it would not be incorrect to call it a gift.¡±


    Emma bit her lip. She didn¡¯t like that she couldn¡¯t think of a name for what had been to her. It was not a punishment, not a mercy, and not a gift, not exactly.


    ¡°Excuse me, John-a-Doors, but you said you are here to explain things, yes?¡±


    ¡°That is indeed why I am here.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­what would be the best way to describe what has been done to me?¡±


    ¡°It can most accurately be described, in your vocabulary, as a ¡°consequence.¡± You have received a ¡°consequence,¡± just as water rolls down a hill as a consequence of gravity.¡±


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    Emma flinched. ¡°So it''s a consequence, is it? In my experience, ¡°consequence¡± carries punitive connotations.¡±


    ¡°In your experience. But you are rather beyond your experience here, are you not?¡±


    ¡°True. That¡¯s very true John-a-Doors. So by calling a consequence, do you mean that what has been done to me is a¡­neutral change? Neither good nor bad?¡±


    ¡°When you say good or bad, you deal with very subjective terms.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Emma gasped. ¡°I think I understand now! You¡¯ve given this power to me and it''s up to me to decide whether or not it¡¯s a good thing or a bad thing. This is a test of my character, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ve heard stories where faeries do that.¡±


    ¡°All our interactions with man are tests, Ms. Quinn. We act upon mankind because how mankind reacts is interesting. So has it been, so shall it ever be.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m expected to use this power? Is it alright with the Courts if I go on being a fairy woman and showing the common folk the ghosts of their loved ones? If I resume doing what I have been doing, the Courts won¡¯t be mad at me?¡±


    ¡°If by resuming what you have been doing you mean continuing to lay claim to powers you don¡¯t actually have, then the Courts will be rather crossed with you. If it¡¯s one thing the Courts cannot stand, it''s humans that ask for more after being given a boon. Ingratitude is very ugly, and the Courts cannot stand what is ugly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant at all! I promise, on the grave of my mother, that I will not lay claims to powers I do not have!¡±


    ¡°Then, if you mean continuing to show your clients the dead under Fairy authority, then that will certainly not be objectionable. Why would it be? You are now actually using fairy powers. Your lies are now truths.¡±


    A thought suddenly sprang to Emma¡¯s mind.


    Now that her con was real, they were fine with it. But what if there was some sort of catch to using the power itself--and what if she was now obliged to use the power and step into a waiting snare? It would be a very fairy sort of revenge if she was now expected to gaze into Fairy--and pay a portion of her life every time she did so.


    ¡°Uh, John-a-Doors, a question: how exactly do I use the power that has been so graciously granted to me?¡±


    John-a-Doors arched a sharp eyebrow. ¡°You really can¡¯t tell?¡±


    ¡°No, I really can¡¯t.¡± Emma looked at her hands. ¡°Do I point at something? Do I need to say some magic words?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come now, Ms. Quinn. A trickster like yourself should know that the power isn¡¯t in your hands, it¡¯s in your mind. Whim is the ultimate source and house of all our powers.¡±


    ¡°But I still don¡¯t understand. What do I have to do, exactly to make the powers work?¡±


    John-a-Doors sighed. ¡°Do you, or do you not, wish to see the dead who are now under Fairy authority?¡±


    ¡°I do wish--¡±


    Emma stopped.


    What was, was as she wished.


    She saw into Fairy.


    She beheld the skeletal remains of a castle overgrown with green moss and white flowers. Upon balconies were cushioned couches whose quilts held the golden patterns of griffins and dragons and creatures unknown to Emma. The ghosts of men lounged on these couches and looked out over the many wonders of a vibrant Fairy country. A giant walked with a forested hill on his back. A dragon perched on a mountain. Lights danced in the shadows of a deep and dark forest of oaks older than anything built by man oaks that never knew and would never know the bite of a saw.


    Then in an instant, Emma¡¯s vision snapped back to physical reality. She saw her kitchen and flailed as her mind settled back in her body. She nearly fell, but John-a-Doors pointed a long finger at her and suddenly she was back on her feet.


    ¡°Careful, Ms. Quinn. It would spoil the interests of everyone preset and involved if you dashed your brains out on your own floor.¡±


    Emma gasped. Her heart raced. ¡°What was it that I just saw?¡± she asked. She badly wished that John-a-Doors would create another little pile of calm in his hands but didn¡¯t dare ask for him to do so.


    ¡°Corbenic Castle.¡± John-a-Doors answered. ¡°It is a place given over to human ghosts. Long ago, it was the origin point to a great and spreading wasting that threatened to swallow all of Fairy. This wasting was countered by complicated magics rooted in blood and lineage. This humanity recorded, imperfectly, as the Arthurian legends, particularly the legends associated with the Holy Grail. Because Corbenic was saved, ultimately, by humans, it was given to human ghosts as a show of thanks.


    Emma chuckled. ¡°And to think, the dead are pitied. Great God, they live in castles. They live in gardens. They live in gardens covering a castle!¡±


    John-a-Doors shrugged. ¡°It is beautiful, yes, but so what? It is not such an interesting place. Every place in Fairy is beautiful.¡±


    Emma rubbed her eyes as if to shake the last grains of fairy dust from them. ¡°That¡­wasn¡¯t bad. It was shocking, but not bad. I think I can get used to it. So, all I have to do is to wish for--¡±


    Again, she saw Fairy.


    She saw the gardened walls of Corbenic and the content ghosts that sat along its walls and watched the eternal daydream that was Fairy. And again, she pulled herself away from the overwhelming fantastic sight, though not without difficulty. The sights invited lingering. Even as just an image, Fairy felt overpowering. Emma had the strangest feeling that if she looked hard enough and long enough at the wonders before her, she would be drawn into Fairy, as if she was not but a ghost herself.


    Maybe that was the snare--that if she used her power too often and too greedily, she would be pulled out of the Earth. But if that was the case, the snare wasn¡¯t so bad. She could live with glimpses of Fairy. She promised herself that she wouldn¡¯t be so foolish as to overindulge her gift.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 4/6

    Emma rubbed her eyes again.


    ¡°That¡¯s certainly¡­interesting.¡± she said. ¡°But I think I got the hang of it now. I just need to be careful about what I think. But tell me something, John-a-Doors, is this the only way my power works?¡±


    ¡°What precisely do you want to do with your power?¡± John-a-Doors asked.


    ¡°So far, I¡¯ve only seen random ghosts in Fairy. Is there a way I can be more precise in my viewing? Say that there¡¯s a specific ghost I want to find, the ghost of a girl named Alice Anderson.¡±


    ¡°That would be simple. As before, just will it, and it will be.¡±


    Emma closed her eyes. She thought the words of her wish so clearly and precisely they appeared as words within her mind. SHOW ME THE GHOST OF ALICE ANDERSON.


    Alice was the daughter of the woman who made the mediocre tea Emma wished was sweeter.


    Emma braced herself as her sight was again pulled across an infinite gulf to show her Corbenic, but this time her gaze was drawn to a young woman in a sundress, her dark hair long and wild. She napped beneath one of the oaks that grew on Corbenic¡¯s ramparts, bare arms and legs cushioned by soft, green moss.


    Emma found it easier going in and out of the vision. It wasn¡¯t so shocking when one was prepared for it.


    She smiled at John-a-Doors. ¡°She was in Corbenic!¡±


    ¡°It is a common place for ghosts.¡±


    ¡°She looked so comfortable and carefree. This is marvelous¡­simply marvelous!¡± Emma said, and she wasn¡¯t just referring to what she saw. Her parents would be overjoyed to know their child lived in a castle-garden, or was it more properly a garden-castle? Either way, it was paradise. Emma had only told them Alice was in a bright, warm place with beautiful flowers. The reality was so much better. This would be great news for them to hear. They would be thankful. Sweeter tea would be the least they would be convinced to part with in exchange for the news¡­


    ¡­Maybe she would go all in now that she was a real fairy woman? She wouldn¡¯t be like those Blackwall seance girls, no, they bilked their clients for everything they were worth, but if she was really showing the living the dead now, why shouldn¡¯t she ask for¡­say around twenty pounds? That would sure go some ways to helping her get that dress she always wanted¡­


    But wait! A crafty thought entered into her mind. If her clients couldn¡¯t see into Fairy along with her¡­then what was the point? The truth had just as much weight as a lie in that case, and Emma Quinn was not the type of woman to appreciate the truth for the sake of being true.


    ¡°John-a-Doors, I have another question.¡±


    ¡°I am here to answer all your questions. Please ask.¡±


    ¡°Is it possible for me to share my visions with others? Can others see what I see?¡±


    ¡°Ms. Quinn, you should be able to answer that question by now. Again, it is a matter of your will. Will it, and it will be done.¡±


    Emma looked down at the floor. DISPLAY SALLY MCNEIL, she thought.


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    The wood of the floor peeled back to reveal a forest of ancient, wise trees. Their branches intertwined together and formed a thick canopy of dark green leaves that hid the sun and shaded the ground below in cool, refreshing darkness. Their massive roots stretched into and out of the ground like stone serpents and sitting on one of these roots was a woman with long red hair clad in a simple, rustic tunic colored green. She slept peacefully, unafraid of the wilderness around her.


    ¡°What is this forest?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°It is Broceliande.¡± John-a-Doors explained. ¡°Merlin¡¯s forest.¡±


    ¡°Merlin, you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It was where he placed the tip of his tower.¡±


    ¡°The tip?¡±


    ¡°Most of it was buried deep beneath the ground. His father was an Unseelie courtier, you see, a great gnome, to be precise. It gave him a preference for dark, enclosed spaces. It also gave him a violent streak of madness, but that¡¯s neither here nor there.¡±


    ¡®I had always thought that Merlin was wise.¡±


    ¡°He was as wise as he was mad, though his wisdom was constant and his madness fleeting.¡±


    SHOW ME THE TOWER OF MERLIN, Emma thought.


    The imagery on the floor shifted to show a black stone obelisk standing stern above a grove of wildflowers.


    ¡°That¡¯s Merlin¡¯s tower?¡± Emma asked. ¡°It¡¯s so¡­plain.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not Merlin¡¯s tower because it¡¯s a tower. It¡¯s Merlin¡¯s tower because of what Merlin kept inside it.¡±


    ¡°How is one even supposed to enter it? There¡¯s no door, or even a window.¡±


    ¡°Was there a door in your wall before I came in?¡±


    ¡°Ah. I see your point.¡±


    SHOW ME THE UNDERGROUND PORTION OF MERLIN¡¯S TOWER, Emma thought.


    But this time, the image on the floor didn¡¯t change.


    John-a-Doors read the surprise on Emma¡¯s face.


    ¡°Remember propriety, Ms. Quinn. Just because you can see into Fairy doesn¡¯t mean that you can see into Fairy¡¯s guarded secrets.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Oh of course! I¡¯m sorry, did I just do something wrong in trying to look at the rest of the tower? You didn¡¯t tell me I couldn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°No. You would have done something wrong had you actually seen inside it, but there¡¯s no penalty for merely bumping into a telepathic wall. Rabbits are killed when they¡¯re found inside the garden wall, not outside.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­quite the metaphor, John-a-Doors. But tell me, why is Merlin¡¯s tower sealed from viewing? Does he still live there? Is he still mad?¡±


    ¡°No, he no longer lives in his tower and no, he is no longer mad. His madness was cured during the 17th century. So great was the enlightenment he gained with the extinguishing of his madness that it caused a great flourishing of ideas in Fairy--and perhaps in your own world, but that is a matter of dispute. What is beyond dispute, however, is that Merlin purged away his madness while inside his tree.¡±


    ¡°His¡­tree?¡±


    John-a-Doors shook his head. ¡°Lord, what fools these mortals be¡­¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°Don¡¯t they teach you the Arthurian histories in school?¡±


    ¡°I suppose in the finer ones they do along with Latin and what not, but I was the daughter of a coal miner, so I only learned a little grammar.¡±


    ¡°That is such a sadness.¡± John-a-Doors shook his head slowly. ¡°Arthur determined the future for not only my race, but your own. His stories should be told to every child. Oh, you humans, you forget so easily why you pass down your own stories¡­but I digress, Ms. Quinn. Long, long ago, towards the twilight of Camelot, Merlin began to fall into one of his mad fits. The kingdom was teetering on the brink. Mordred was raising an army to depose Arthur--you do know who Mordred was, do you not?¡±


    ¡°Of course I know who Mordred was!¡± Emma snapped. ¡°It¡¯s not as if I¡¯m entirely ignorant of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.


    Emma suddenly made an expression of surprise--and she just as quickly hid it. She was surprised that she had spoken to the fairy psychopomp as she did.


    ¡°Oh, I beg your pardon!¡± Emma exclaimed.


    ¡°No need, no need. You are correct, you are not entirely ignorant of Arthurian history. But allow me to elucidate the parts you are wholly ignorant of. When Merlin began to succumb to his madness his apprentice Vivian sealed him inside a tree, for his safety and the safety of others. But the mind of Merlin, however, was too great to be bound to a simple tree. It expanded, through the roots, through the grass, through nearby trees--and now Broceliande is Merlin, and Merlin Broceliande. When Arthur''s domain was taken up into Fairy, Broceliande went with it. They couldn¡¯t leave Merlin behind, after all. An insane forest is a dangerous forest. They called Broceliande the Forest Sauvage for a very good reason.¡±


    ¡°I can see that Merlin the man and Merlin the forest have come a long way. It looks so peaceful. I¡¯m envious of Sally McNeil. I¡¯m sure her parents will be overjoyed to know that their daughter lives in such a storied environment.¡±


    ¡°Broceliande is today known as the Forest Sagesse. Merlin was always a teacher at heart, and so he remains a teacher. Beings come from all throughout Fairy--and beyond--to sit in the shade of Broceliande and listen to the murmurs of wise Merlin blow through the leaves. I myself have been tutored by Merlin.¡±


    ¡°Oh! So Ms. McNeil is a scholar, now? That¡¯s wonderful, simply wonderful!¡±


    Emma clapped her hands. The power she had was so delightful.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 5/6

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to tell them all about this wonderful forest--but I¡¯ll leave out the part about Merlin being mad.¡±


    ¡°He is no longer mad and hasn¡¯t been for some time.¡±


    ¡°Still, there¡¯s no reason to give them even the slightest of reasons to be upset.¡±


    Once again, John-a-Doors gave a sharp smirk. ¡°Look at you, Ms. Quinn. You can see the truth of Fairy now but you still want to tell lies.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not lying.¡± Emma shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s simply withholding certain information that a sensitive, elderly couple might find upsetting. Why, John-a-Doors, Merlin¡¯s tower is withheld from me for good reason, is it not?¡±


    ¡°That is true. You are a clever woman.¡±


    ¡°Yes I am.¡± Emma said smugly. ¡°Your masters were wise in deciding to make me a true fairy woman.¡±


    The fear and uncertainty Emma held concerning her empowerment was gradually receding. Everything seemed to be going exactly Emma¡¯s way. She had a power that obeyed her whims and a fairy gentleman that answered all her questions.


    But that damned, sharp smirk that John-a-Doors kept flashing kept needling Emma.


    ¡°Yes. Those that stand above me are as wise as they are playful.¡± John-a-Doors said.


    ¡°I agree that they are playful.¡± Emma said. ¡°They are very playful. If I were them, I would have sent a letter before sending you--no offense, John-a-Doors, it just seems a letter would have given me time to mentally and emotionally prepare for such a strange event. I wish Ernst, Morton, and Glass would have sent a letter before ambushing me at my favorite pub¡­but that¡¯s neither here nor there. Tell me, John-a-Doors, why can I not see Merlin¡¯s tower in its entirety?¡±


    ¡°In truth, I do not know.¡±


    ¡°Even you do not know?¡± Emma found it hard to believe that a man who could walk through any door and summon a door anywhere had gaps in his knowledge.


    ¡°Even I do not know. There are exactly twelve beings who know, Merlin being one of them.¡±


    ¡°Who are the other eleven?¡±


    ¡°I do not know.¡±


    ¡°Surely you must know something!¡±


    ¡°The information would mean nothing to you.¡±


    ¡°Tell me anyway! I want to know! Oh, I bet Ernst, Morton and Glass don¡¯t know!¡±


    John-a-Doors smirked again, but this time Emma felt confident enough to ask about it.


    ¡°Just why are you smiling like that, John-a-Doors?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oh, my smile is nothing for you to be concerned with, Ms. Quinn. I¡¯m just thinking about something¡­disconnected from the topic at hand. I do apologize.¡±


    ¡°Ah, is that all? No offense, John-a-Doors, but you have a rather unnerving smirk.¡±


    ¡°I do apologize for that. It was not my intention to be unnerving to you. As you requested, I will tell you what I know of Merlin¡¯s tower, though as I warned, it will mean nothing to you. One of the twelve is an angel and his name is rumored to be Baspalo. None are women. One is a king. One knows a king. One hates philosophers. One is a philosopher. That is all.¡±


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    Emma made a face.


    ¡°I told you it would mean nothing to you.¡± John-a-Doors said.


    ¡°Yes, you did. Still, I¡¯m glad to know all that. It sounds like exclusive knowledge!¡±


    ¡°You care for the knowledge even if it means nothing to you?¡±


    ¡°Diamonds and gold mean nothing, save that others don¡¯t have them.¡±


    ¡°That is a very human idea--and a very fairy idea.¡±


    ¡°But John-a-Doors, you¡¯ve only told me about the people that know about the tower. What can you tell me about the tower itself?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely nothing?¡±


    ¡°No mortal and few immortals know what transpires in the tower of Merlin. You will neve know, and neither will your descendents. The race of man will pass away and their ghosts will still not know what transpires in the tower of Merlin or even what it looks like below the ground.¡±


    Emma shrugged. ¡°You could have just said no.¡±


    ¡°I wished to impress upon you the impossibility of your request.¡±


    ¡°Consider it firmly impressed, then. Well, as beautiful as this forest is, there is one more departed love one I need to check in on.¡±


    Emma raised out her hands.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± John-a-Doors asked.


    ¡°Practicing. I¡¯m not about to stand in front of my clients and just think my powers into acting. There¡¯s no performance there.¡±


    ¡°There doesn¡¯t need to be a performance.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes there does.¡± Emma cleared her throat, then began in a loud voice that echoed throughout her house. ¡°Hear me, O spirits! Show us the location of Duncan McBride!¡±


    The floor once again changed and showed Emma and John-a-Doors a gleaming white castle on the shores of a lake of the purest blue water. The castle¡¯s walls were as smooth and white as ivory. Its towers flared at their peaks like palm leaves or bird wings. Swans as white as the castle¡¯s walls floated on the water¡¯s surface and ghosts, or perhaps faeries, clad in armor as white as the swan¡¯s feathers and surcoats as blue as the water sparred with glowing swords that seemed like thorns plucked from the halo of the sun. The appearance of the weapons reminded Emma of the gaeite candles used by the manesologists when electricity ran through them and produced olprt radiance.


    ¡°What is this place? Who are those people? What are they doing?¡± Emma asked. She was brimming with questions about this new location. There seemed to be no end to the wondrous surprises of Fairy.


    ¡°You gaze now upon Joyous Gard, the castle of Lancelot, and the Lake of Vivian, in whose mystically cool waters she tempered the blazing weapon that is Excalibur until it was claimed by Arthur, greatest of the kings of men.¡± John-a-Doors explained. ¡°On the shore holding practice are the Swan Knights, who take after the famed Lohengrin, founder and leader of the Swan Knights.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Oh, wonderful!¡± Emma exclaimed. ¡°So little Duncan is now a knight?¡±


    ¡°It would seem that way.¡± John-a-Doors said.


    ¡°His parents will be thrilled! And he knows Lancelot! I can¡¯t wait to tell them that!¡±


    ¡°Lancelot no longer resides in Joyous Gard and hasn¡¯t for some time.¡¯ John-a-Doors said. ¡°He rests on the isle of Avalon, with Guienvere. But Vivian remains in her lake. She was entrusted at her birth, as a princess of the Seelie Court, to care for the lake and the power it contains.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, the Lady of the Lake is not the most celebrated figure of Athurian history, but it¡¯ll have to do. She sounds like a princess. Is she a princess? Can I tell them that she¡¯s a princess?¡±


    John-a-Doors looked at Emma as if she was an idiot, then sighed.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°Your ignorance surprises me.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not as if you and your kind gave people good reasons to learn all the minutia of your stories. Half the world didn¡¯t think your kind even existed before your Great Procession around the planet.¡±


    ¡°Vivian is not ¡°minutia,¡± as you put it.¡± John-a-Doors said sharply. ¡°She was the caretaker of Lancelot, through whose line came Percival, who achieved--¡±


    John-a-Doors sighed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°It was a minor episode, surely.¡±


    ¡°It was not, but as I said, it doesn¡¯t matter here. And to answer your question, Fairy titles of distinction do not translate exactly to what humans use, but I suppose she would be considered a¡­Duchess, under your system.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, it¡¯s not a princess, but it¡¯ll do! What are those swords made of that the knights in the fancy armor are swinging around?¡±


    ¡°Nothing you would understand.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s not going to help me much, John-a-Doors. Duncan¡¯s parents are going to ask me what those swords he and his friends are fighting with. I can¡¯t say they¡¯re like nothing they can understand! That makes it seem like I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m talking about!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be that way, John-a-Doors!¡± Emma said. ¡°Come now, what are they? Are they made of something like gaeite? They glow like gaeite. Come now, you told me what little you could about the tower, tell what you can about the swords! They¡¯re so pretty!¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t anything like gaeite. They¡¯re closer to the sun than gaeite.¡±


    ¡°So what are they?¡±


    ¡°They are claimh solais.¡±


    ¡°Ohhhh that sounds fancy! I can¡¯t wait to tell his parents!¡±


    ¡°They are weapons crafted from the shadows cast by Excalibur, the ultimate weapon.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon, John-a-Doors, but those swords seem too bright to be formed from shadows.¡±


    ¡°Excalibur, such as it is, casts shadows that are brighter than stars.¡±


    ¡°And Excalibur is a sword, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but keener than the swords used by angels, and angels use swords made out of fire.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Emma made a face. ¡°I think I¡¯ll leave all this stuff out when I talk to Duncan¡¯s parents--I dare say it sounds too complicated for me!¡±


    ¡°I told you that you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± John-a-Doors said.


    ¡°I understand enough, I think. They¡¯re related to Excalibur, as much as swords can be related to anything. That little detail would impress Duncan¡¯s parents, but it would leave them terribly confused.¡±

 Fairy Food. Chapter 2, Lies Into Truth. 6/6

    ¡°To be precise, neither claimh solais nor Excalibur are swords.¡± John-a-Doors said. ¡°They roughly correspond to what you think of as swords, but--¡±


    ¡°Moving on, what exactly do the Swan Knights do?¡± Emma interrupted. ¡°Are they a distinguished order?¡±


    ¡°Have you not heard of Lohengrin?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I have.¡±


    ¡°Ah. So your ignorance is not merely limited to the Knights of the Round Table, but all knights.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a Knight of the Round Table? Oh, that¡¯s slightly disappointing. I assumed that he was, given that his students gathered at Joyous Gard.¡±


    ¡°Lohengrin is not known to you, but rest assured he is known to all of Fairy.¡±


    Emma shrugged. ¡°Well, known to Fairy doesn¡¯t mean known to Earth. I was looking forward to telling his parents that he was a student of a Knight of the Round Table. It¡¯s such a pity that this Lohengrin isn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a pity at all, not when compared to his honors.¡±


    ¡°I mean a pity for me. Can I at least say that the Swan Knights are held in an esteem comparable to that of the Knights of the Round Table?¡±


    ¡°You can say that.¡±


    ¡°So, what do they do? Slay dragons? Fight ogres? Rescue maidens?¡±


    ¡°They follow the example of Lohengrin and travel to worlds and realms that do not have native defenders of their own.¡±


    ¡°Ah! That sounds wonderfully chivalrous!¡± Emma said. ¡°Duncan¡¯s parents will be so happy! It warms my heart that the departed loved ones of all my clients have made their way in Fairy!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it does.¡±


    ¡°I was afraid that at least one of them would have ended up a beggar.¡±


    ¡°There are no beggars in Fairy. There are servants, and slaves, but no beggars. Someone always has something to give, something someone always wants.¡±


    ¡°It seems to me that your people take excellent care of ghosts.¡±


    ¡° We¡¯ve always been the Middle Road, as Thomas the Rhymer described us. We have neither the delights of Heaven nor the punishments of Hell, nor do we judge ghosts on the actions of their living bodies. We simply grant the ability for men and women to be what they will be, without the constraints of physical reality.¡±


    ¡°Enough of Fairy for now.¡± Emma said. ¡°As beautiful as it is, the more I look at it, the funnier I feel inside.¡±


    ¡°That is a natural response.¡±


    Emma raised her hands. ¡°Show me no more, for now. Return to being a floor!¡± she commanded.


    ¡°Must you do that every time?¡± John-a-Doors asked.


    ¡°Yes, every time from now one!¡±


    The white castle of Joyous Gard rolled up with the blue waters of Vivian¡¯s lake until it was a single point of color and light on the wooden floor and then it vanished like an eye winking shut.


    Emma laughed. ¡°Why! This isn¡¯t so bad! In fact, it¡¯s not bad at all!¡±


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    ¡°What isn¡¯t bad?¡± John-a-Doors asked.


    ¡°This power.¡±


    ¡°You are quite unworthy of this honor, but then again, that¡¯s the point.¡±


    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it? I finally figured out what this is all about. No offense to you, John-of-Doors, but you have a way of describing things in a very mysterious, uncomfortable sort of way. Why, I thought this power of mine was going to end up a trap or a burden or something that could hurt me. I know you didn¡¯t mean to imply any of that, in fact, you told me outright that this power isn''t a punishment. But the way you danced around with the words and the way you smirked, well, it all made me a little nervous.¡±


    ¡°That is normal. It is normal for humans to be nervous around my kind. Aren''t birds naturally nervous in the presence of cats?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I would liken faeries to predators and humans to prey.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you have a point. Prey can sometimes harm predators. God and mortal is probably closer to the truth than predator and prey, but we don¡¯t like being called gods. We¡¯re as different from them as you are to them.¡±


    ¡°And here you go again, talking in that mysterious, uncomfortable way of yours. But I¡¯ve got this all figured out now. For a while, I couldn¡¯t put my finger on why the Courts had chosen to give me this ¡°consequence¡± as you call it. But now I got it. This is retraining. This is like when the baker finds his apprentice isn¡¯t doing so good on one task and so takes him aside and sets him to work at another task. My skills were being, um, misapplied through my actions, and now the Courts have seen it fit to bolster my skills and place me on a different path. I understand.¡±


    Emma chuckled to herself. ¡°To think, Ernst, Morton, and Glass gave me such grief about my harmless little swindles. They acted as if you were going to flay me alive, but I knew you little people wouldn¡¯t have taken it so badly. If anyone could appreciate a good swindle, it would be the little people, right? But in your case, John-a-Doors, it seems you¡¯re one of the big people!¡±


    Emma thought that was a very funny joke and had hoped to see a smile on John-a-Doors face. Finding none, she continued.


    ¡°So¡­is that it? Is there anything else, John-a-Doors?¡± Emma asked.


    ¡°Do you have any questions?¡± John-a-Doors asked.


    ¡°None that I think wouldn¡¯t be rather silly.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything that you would like to say?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Emma gasped.


    Of course, she thought, of course there was something she had to say, she was dealing with protocol-minded people who lived and died by manners. Good thing John-a-Doors gave her the hint! The faeries that stood above him, they seemed quite tyrannical, but John seemed an alright sort to Emma.


    Emma placed one hand solemnly over her heart. ¡°John-a-Doors, please tell those that stand above you that though, like you said, this is not a gift, I appreciate and treasure what they have given me. I will always credit the Kindly Ones with my powers. I will always keep them in my heart. I will always be thankful.¡±


    ¡°Your appreciation is noted. Is there anything further you would like to say?¡±


    Emma thought hard. She thought her little speech had nailed it, but apparently there was something more she was expected to say.


    She thought very hard and then opened her mouth. ¡°Um¡­just thank you. For believing in me, as I believed in them. Even before the Great Procession, I believed in you, you know. I believed in all of you.¡±


    ¡°Is that all that you would like to say?¡±


    Emma again pressed herself to try and think of something. It seemed to her that John-a-Doors was trying to get her to say something, but she was missing the mark.


    But she couldn¡¯t think of anything.


    Maybe he was just being thorough in his job? He did strike her as a consummate professional.


    ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything else.¡± Emma said.


    ¡°Then I go my life, and you to yours.¡± John-a-Doors turned and walked to the green door. His long fingered hand reached for the golden door knob.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Emma suddenly cried.


    John-a-Doors stopped, hand on the golden handle of his door.


    ¡°Yes?¡± he asked without turning around.


    Emma thought for a moment. What made her stop him? She really couldn¡¯t think of why she had done such a thing. Yet the words jumped from her mouth.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± she said, because she felt she had to say something.


    John-a-Doors shrugged his tall shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s a queer thing to say.¡±


    Emma couldn¡¯t see his face but she was certain that he was making that sharp smirk of his.


    He opened the door, walked into the strange fairy path where up was down and down was up, and closed the door behind him.


    The moment door met frame, the door vanished, leaving the wall as blank and ordinary as it had always been.


    Emma immediately felt ill at ease. With John-a-Doors present, her gift seemed completely known to her, completely under her control, but now that he was gone and there wasn¡¯t a helpful elf to explain things to her, she felt nervous.


    Did she even still have the power, she wondered?


    She thought of Fairy and jerked her thoughts back to Earth the instant she felt her vision being pulled to that magical realm.


    Yes, she still had the power.


    But the feeling that there was a trap laid for her in all this nagged at the back of her mind.


    But did she really have to worry? These faeries seemed like angels with the way they treated the three ghosts she witnessed. Perhaps all the stories of their pride and vengeful nature were simply a way to prevent people from taking advantage of their goodwill? There were stories of people being skinned alive because they herded cattle through a fairy fort, but weren¡¯t there also stories of faeries sending small brownies to cobble shoes and hem dresses and milk cows while people slept? Perhaps the softer stories held the truth of the Kindly Ones and the darker stories exaggerations?


    She supposed it was possible. In this age of ghosts and faeries, everything seemed possible.


    Emma decided to let the matter rest and to no longer question her good luck, lest her luck turn.


    She fixed herself some laudanum and brandy and went to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a very eventful day. She would call upon Alice¡¯s parents in the morning and inform them not only was Alice doing well, but that they could see her. They would be so happy. They wouldn¡¯t mind at all to fetch her better, sweeter tea.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 3, Fairy Gold.

    That night, Emma dreamed of Fairy. As her mind wandered on the cusp of sleep, so did her eyes wander the cosmos and show her vision of the far-flung reality of Fairy. Her mind was as active as it had ever been while she was awake, yet her body was locked in a deep and restful oblivion. She saw the blue waters of Joyous Gard again, and the brown trees of Broceliande, and the green towers of Corbenic, and more. She saw insects nestling in the green moss with shells like bright, gold coins. She saw birds stirring the clouds with their sun-colored wings.


    There was life everywhere--thriving, vibrant life.


    It was hard for her to wake up. The moment her eyes began to flutter open, she wanted to close them.


    But she knew she had things to do this morning. She was a woman who lived by constant effort. That she seemed to be a wastrel parasite that lived off the harvested goodwill of others was merely a testament to how disguised the effort. A life of easy living required hard work--hard work, and constant work.


    She shook her head. She slapped her cheek. She forced herself to rise.


    She groaned as she climbed out of bed. She didn¡¯t know that she would dream of Fairy. But did it matter? So her dreams were now vivid. So what? It would take some getting used to, sure, but hadn¡¯t she already done some adapting?


    And wasn¡¯t there a silver lining? If all her dreams were glimpses into Fairy, then she would never have nightmares.


    She smiled as she reflected on that point.


    She knew it would all work out for her. Things always did.


    ¡­.


    Emma had dressed in her finest clothes for the occasion. They would have been her Church clothes, if she ever bothered to go to Church. She wore a light green dress with a prominent bustle, as was the fashion of the time. It trailed out from behind her like a broad tail and beneath the fabric the wood work reminded her of some poor creature¡¯s rib cage.


    When she entered the tavern, her boyfriend Sam McDougal groaned. ¡°Oh, Emmy, you didn¡¯t tell me we were doing the thing today! I¡¯m not ready!¡±


    He was, of course, referring to their usual con where he would dress up in a little valley while she stood on a hill with the grieving parents and explain his miming as a ghostly representation of thanks for their gifts. He could look like anyone over the distance and in the right clothes. And to think, Emma¡¯s mother told her that nothing good would come from marrying a short man!


    ¡°That isn¡¯t today, Sam. In fact. You won¡¯t need to play ghost anymore.¡± It took Emma a few moments to take her seat. The bustle kept getting in her way. She wished other women didn¡¯t wear them, because then she wouldn¡¯t have to wear them.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I mean I¡¯ve been talking with the faeries, Sam. For real. And they liked me enough to turn all my lies into truths!¡±


    Emma explained yesterday¡¯s events. Sam didn¡¯t believe her. He nodded and went ¡°Yes, yes, ah, yes.¡± but Emma could tell that he didn¡¯t really believe her.


    It wasn¡¯t as if he didn¡¯t have good reason not to believe her. She was a career liar. But it still bothered Emma. Couldn¡¯t the idiot tell when she was telling the truth or not?


    Sam saw how she was lookin at him.


    ¡°Emmy, why are you making that face at me?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m telling you the truth.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so you are, so you are.¡±


    ¡°No, idiot, I mean I really am telling you the truth. John-a-Doors visited me yesterday and gave me the power to actually see the dead who are in Fairy, and I can show what I see to others as well.¡±


    Sam smirked. ¡°Oh, really, Emmy? Then why don¡¯t you show me?¡±


    Emma glared hard at him. Her meeting with John-a-Doors had given her a disgust for smirking.


    ¡°I told you, the images took up my entire floor. I don¡¯t want everyone here to see.¡±


    ¡°Why not? If you¡¯re a real fairy woman now, then why not show your powers off?¡±


    ¡°Never do anything for free, idiot, especially if it''s something only you can do. Have you ever heard about Ernst, Morton, and Glass showing people the afterlife?¡±


    ¡°No. But I bet they could do it if they wanted to.¡±


    ¡°No they couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How do you know? They can do all kinds of things with their gaeite candles. They can make ghosts appear disappear, change, all kinds of things so why wouldn¡¯t they be able to show people the afterlife?¡±


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    ¡°Did you not hear a thing I told you? They tried to lean on me because they knew ahead of time that I was about to become a real fairy woman.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said that was what you thought they were trying to do.¡±


    ¡°I might have said that was what I thought, but I meant that I know. Why else would they have done it? They¡¯re jealous of a connection with Fairy that I have that they don¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Sounds like your story has a couple of holes in it, Emmy. You might want to do a little¡­revision, I think they call it.¡±


    Emmy wanted to throw her glass of water in his face.


    But then she had an idea.


    John-a-Doors never said her displayed visions had to be such-and-such a size¡­


    ¡°Sam, look down into your glass.¡±


    ¡°Why should I? Is this some sort of trick?¡±


    ¡°Just do it!¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright, but if this is some kind of trick where you splash beer on me, I¡¯m warning you right now that I¡¯m going to slap you, Emmy.¡±


    Sam looked into the bottom of his glass. He saw beer.


    ¡°So, when¡¯s the magic supposed to happen?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Are you looking?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m looking! What, are the ripples in the beer supposed to be some--¡±


    Sam gasped.


    There, in his bottle, was Corbenic castle.


    His spine hit the back of his chair.


    Emma chuckles. ¡°Oh, control yourself Sam, don¡¯t cause a scene. This is quite good, actually, I wasn¡¯t sure whether or not I could make images that small. And here I thought I covered all the angles with John-a-Doors.¡±


    ¡°How did you do that, Emmy?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°How do you think? It¡¯s like I told you, idiot. I have real fairy powers now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Fairy? Right there in my beer glass?¡±


    ¡°A vision of Fairy. Like a reflection in a mirror.¡±


    Sam exhaled. ¡°Good. For a moment, I was afraid you drowned a bunch of faeries.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry. They can¡¯t actually drown, can they? There wouldn¡¯t be kelpies and selkies and all the rest of the watery group if faeries could drown.Still, I suppose dunking a castle of faeries in a beer bottle would have made them right crossed.¡±


    She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Maybe her mother did have a point about little men?


    ¡®Say, don¡¯t look at me that way, Emmy!¡±


    ¡°Do you really think they would have let me move one of their castles into your drink?¡±


    ¡°Well, I figured that if they gave you real powers in exchange for you lying about them then they must not be very smart. And they could fit, certainly, my mother told me faeries were about the size of your finger. They wouldn¡¯t have to be much smaller than that to fit. People call them the little people for a reason.¡±


    ¡°You should really call them the Kindly Ones. That¡¯s the respectable term.¡±


    ¡°You never called them the Kindly Ones.¡±


    ¡°Shhhh!¡± Emma hissed. ¡°Keep your voice down! Didn¡¯t your mother ever teach you that the Kindly Ones are always listening?¡±


    ¡°If they can hear us all the way from Fairy then they can hear us whether we¡¯re whispering or not, right?¡±


    Emma fell quiet for a moment.


    Sam actually had a good point, but she wasn¡¯t about to admit it.


    ¡°Regardless, Sam, as the Kindly Ones are now officially my patrons--my good and just patrons--you will refer to them only as the Kindly Ones, is that clear?¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure, if that¡¯s all we got to do to keep your powers. But Emmy, what¡¯s the next step, here? What do I do now that you can put these visions everywhere?¡± Sam asked, a little concerned at his prospects. ¡°If you can make real ghosts appear, what do you need me dressing up as ghosts for?¡±


    Emma touched his shoulder. ¡°Aw, Sam, I¡¯ll always have a use for my little man. I just haven¡¯t thought of one, yet. But you sit tight, I will. John-a-Doors told me that the Kindly Ones and myself are square. They don¡¯t mind me doing my usual fairy woman act now that it isn¡¯t an act. So Ernst, Morton, and Glass will just have to sit and cry as I bring home the jam, and biscuits, and those wonderful little cookies Mrs. McBride makes. So I¡¯ll do that. I¡¯ll show the clients how wonderful their children have it in Fairy, at least for a little while.¡±


    Emma smiled, and Sam returned the smile. It was the same smile she gave him when she told him about their original con.


    ¡°But you know, Sam, since I¡¯m technically offering the clients more with these powers, I don¡¯t think it would be any sort of impropriety to ask them for a little more, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Sam nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Uh huh, uh huh! You should start charging for money, like those mediums in Blackwall do!¡±


    Emma nearly slapped him. ¡°No! You fool! You want us to press our luck? Did your mother not read to you a single fairy story? Taking advantage of their gift like that will have them turn us all into pumpkins!¡±


    ¡°B-But Emmy!¡± Sam stammered. ¡°Aren¡¯t we already taking advantage of the gift?¡±


    ¡°No. And let me be very clear to everyone that might be listening--there is no harm in suggesting that gratitude be proportional to services rendered. If I do a little more for my clients, and they find that they are a little more relieved to see their loved ones in their true environments, and they decide to show a little increased gratitude for my actions, well, it would be rude not to accept their gratitude, wouldn¡¯t it? I¡¯m not saying what form that increased gratitude may take, but if it happens to be in the form of a check, well, that¡¯s just justice, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Fairy lords and ladies!¡± Sam said. ¡°If you all happen to be listening to us please know that Emmy and I think you¡¯re all a bunch of very keen Kindly Ones!¡±


    Emma gripped his shoulder. ¡°Leave the talking to me, dear.¡± she suggested sharply.


    Emma stood up. Her bustle crinkled as she left her chair. ¡°Sam, I¡¯m off to show the Andersons their girl. Tell my sister what I¡¯ve told you when you get the chance. Tell her that she won¡¯t need to buy that dress she¡¯s been eyeing--I¡¯m going to buy her the one she really wants.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going to show them? Are you taking them to the valley?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I figured I could make the display cover the entire valley! Wouldn¡¯t that be grand and awe-inspiring?¡±


    ¡°Can you actually do that?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done it before?¡±


    ¡°Well, no. I¡¯ve only put a display on my kitchen floor and in your cup, but if I can do that, surely I can put it on the valley ground?¡±


    Sam crossed his arms. ¡°Hmmm¡­are you sure you¡¯re okay, Emmy?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean, are you sure you''re okay with all these fairy things?¡±


    Emmy chuckled. ¡°Oh Sam, why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡±


    ¡°It just seems to me you haven¡¯t covered all your bases, Emmy. If you don¡¯t know for sure whether or not you can stretch your display across the valley, why, there might be other things you¡¯re overlooking.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. And that¡¯s what¡¯s bothering me. The only ones that I know have all the angles covered are the Kindly Ones, and you know how tricky they¡¯re supposed to be going by all the old stories.¡±


    Suddenly, Emma thought of John-a-Doors¡¯ smile, but she quickly thought down the idea.


    She turned away quickly so that Sam wouldn¡¯t be able to read the worry on her face and started for the door.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be fine, Sam. I know what¡¯s going on. You just do what I say like always and everything will work out.¡±


    But Emma was speaking to herself as much as she was speaking to Sam.


    Outside the tavern, Emma took a deep breath.


    This was going to work, she was sure of it. Things always worked out for her.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 4, Alice Anderson

    Emma helped Mr. and Mrs. Anderson up the hill. The two had become rickety and fragile in their old age and needed canes to hobble around. Emma thought that seeing their daughter restored to the prime of her life and flushed with health would do their old bones a world of good.


    And they would be very, very thankful, of course.


    The wind blew cool over the crest of the mountain, but Emma was able to block some of the air from the Andersons with her body. The bustle helped out immensely in this regard.


    Down in the valley were the remains of ancient stoneworks. Once, they might have been Roman fortifications. Perhaps they were once towers that loomed over the hills Perhaps they were once roads that stretched to the very sea. But now they were stone outlines, mere suggestions of what once stood on these lands. The rustics called them ¡°fairy forts¡± for who else would claim ruins but the lords of the dead?


    The valley was filled with such fairy forts. Their stones broke through the grass like mushrooms. What better place for fairy magic, real or otherwise?


    Emma helped the Andersons sit down at their usual spots on the hill and politely took their walking sticks. Then, she took their hands up in her own as if they were little children and spoke to them with all the softness and sweetness she could muster.


    ¡°Tom, Janet, now has come the time to show you what I promised you. Now, because the Kindly Ones have saw fit to increase my power, you shall see Alice not as a vague image pulled from Fairy to the valley below, but as she truly is. You shall see Alice, and Fairy, fully and completely. You will see that she is well, and young, and beautiful, and not at all like that broken, ugly body in the casket.¡±


    Their wrinkled hands trembled in her grasp. Their eyes watered.


    ¡°Will we really see her as she was?¡±Janet Anderson asked. ¡°Will we really see our daughter as she should be?¡±


    Emma smiled. ¡°Yes, Janet, you will.¡±


    Moments like this made Emma feel like a good person and she cherished them. She could never be a good person, she figured that out long ago, but she was happy to settle for feeling like what she would never be. Pretending had always felt very real to her.


    ¡°Now, it shall begin!¡± Emma squeezed the Anderson¡¯s hands then turned to face the valley. She stretched her arms out wide. She spread her fingers.


    ¡°Heed my call! Display the location of the dearly departed! Show us¡­Alice Anderson!¡±


    Emma stood in stunned silence.


    Before, with the kitchen floor and the glass of beer, summoning her visions had been like making paintings--vivid, life-like paintings, but still things that seemed contained by the borders of their frame.


    Not so here.


    Corbenic loomed over the valley, over the hills even. A vertical garden towered over Emma and stretched from horizon to horizon like a verdant wall. The ghosts reclined in marble alcovers on richly embroidered couches and if they noticed Emma and the Andersons they gave no indication that they did.


    That they either couldn¡¯t see or ignored Emma gave her confidence. If they had stopped to stare at her, she wasn¡¯t sure what she would have done. But their inattention reminded Emma that this was nothing more than a vision.


    Once she had calmed down, she turned her attention to the trembling parents behind her. She turned and smiled down at them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid! This is just like I told you it would be.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all so beautiful!¡± Janet gasped. ¡°Are they angels?¡±


    ¡°Some are kin to angels.¡± and if Emma cared more about truth than appearing wise, she would have added ¡°I think, but I¡¯m not quite sure how that works, actually.¡±


    ¡°Which one is our Alice?¡± Tom asked.


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    ¡°She is there!¡± Emma pointed with a flourish. ¡°Do you see her? With the long, blonde hair?¡±


    ¡°Oh! That¡¯s her! That¡¯s our Alice!¡± Janet cried and clung to her husband. ¡°Oh, Tom! If only she could see us!¡±


    ¡®It¡¯s good enough to know that she is well and that the Kindly Ones take care of her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you two so happy¡­¡± Emma said, preparing to plant the suggestion that tea, bread, and sweetmeats might not be the appropriate payment for summoning a fairy castle.


    Then a strapping young man, perhaps a ghost, perhaps a fairy, walked up to Alice and sat next to her on the couch. He put his arm around her in a very familiar way.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Janet asked.


    Emma didn¡¯t have a clue.


    Then, the man kissed Alice, full on the lips.


    The Andersons gasped.


    Janet pulled on Emma¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Please, Ms. Quinn, who is that man? We don¡¯t know that man!¡±


    ¡°Are you¡­sure?¡± Emma asked. If they could provide an answer, she wouldn¡¯t have to provide one.


    ¡°That¡¯s not her David! He doesn¡¯t look a thing like David!¡± Tom exclaimed.


    Emma stifled a sigh.


    So she had ¡°a David,¡± a boyfriend or a husband. She didn¡¯t bother to


    And whoever Alice was kissing in Corbenic wasn¡¯t David.


    Or was it?


    ¡°Tom, Janet, sometimes ghosts adopt a different form than they had in life.¡± Emma said consolingly to the parents, who couldn¡¯t take their eyes off their daughter as she locked lips with a stranger. ¡°Their hair may change colors, for instance.¡±


    ¡°David is still alive!¡± Tom exclaimed.


    Well damn, there went her luck.


    Emma wanted to tell them that wedding vows were ¡°Til¡¯ death do you part¡± for a reason, but she doubted the Andersons wanted to hear it.


    ¡®Ms. Quinn?¡± Janet asked, ¡°Are you¡­absolutely sure that we are looking at Alice? Our Alice?¡±


    Emma¡¯s mind raced.


    This was a bad turn.


    They never questioned her before.


    They never questioned her when she was lying to them and showing them Sam walking around in the misty morning in a dress and wig. But now that she was showing them the truth, now that she was actually showing them Alice and Fairy, they questioned her.


    She could not help but see John-a-Door¡¯s knife-like smile in her mind.


    ¡°Um¡­Vision disperse!¡± Emma made a perfunctory little wave with her hand and the vision of Corbenic evaporated like mists.


    She grabbed her head and played up the slight headache she genuinely had. ¡°Ohhhhh¡­this level of power, it is strange and new to me.¡±


    The Andersons placed their hands supportingly on her. Emma deliberately swayed back and forth.


    ¡°Oh, Tom, Janet, please do not worry for me. It is more the chill of the morning than the recoil from my powers,¡± she pushed their hands away. ¡°...but I must rest now! Perhaps, in my inexperience with these powers, I created images that were misleading.¡±


    Janet smiled weakly and nodded. ¡°Oh, yes. Yes. that does make sense.¡±


    But Emma could tell that doubt was dawning behind the veneer of faith.


    ¡°We shall discuss this later.¡± Emma said as she headed down the hill. ¡°Much has happened and much will be said, but I must rest now. Farewell.¡±


    She needed to get away, she needed to think.


    On the carriage ride home, Emma was concerned for the future.


    ¡°Okay, Emma girl, you¡¯ve managed to stave off disaster--for today. But what about the next day?¡± she thought. ¡°You can¡¯t just drop them as clients. If you told them that you couldn¡¯t show them Alice anymore, they¡¯d tell the other clients about it. And worse still, the Kindly Ones might get upset. If you declined to use their gift, that would be a very rude and very ugly thing, and you know how they feel about ugly things¡­¡±


    Then she had a chilling thought.


    They might already be mad at her.


    She pushed the thought deep down inside her mind. She refused to entertain a no-win scenario.


    ¡°Perhaps the Anderson will decline my services on their own.¡± she thought. ¡°They didn¡¯t seem to fully believe my lies. They might be too ashamed to ask to see their daughter again. That works for me.¡±


    Then she had a crafty idea.


    John-a-Doors said that the faeries were fine with her using her powers to show the living the dead in Fairy, and the unspoken blade hidden in that statement was that it was a gift and it would be rude not to use a gift.


    But they never said she had to match the right ghost to the right people.


    She could show them a ghost. Any ghost, so long as it looked like Alice.


    Emma smiled. She was safe, again. The rabbit had jumped the snare.


    These faeries weren¡¯t any harder than people to get an advantage over.


    After she got home, got out of her dress, and detached the bustle and placed it against the wall like a basket, she finally allowed her emotions to overtake her. She collapsed on a chair in her kitchen and poured herself a stout mixture of laudanum and whiskey. It successfully dulled her anxiety, but she couldn¡¯t help but wish that John-a-Doors was by her side with a ball of living calmness in his hands to give her.


    She looked at the spot on her wall were a door had once been.


    There always was a catch, wasn¡¯t there? And damn her for being fool enough to think she had seen all the possible snares.


    ¡°So there was a trap,¡± she thought to herself, ¡°and I¡¯ve fallen into it.¡±


    She quickly dismissed the thought from her head. ¡°No,¡± she thought to herself, ¡°I¡¯m overthinking this. This was just some bad luck. After all the good luck I¡¯ve been having, the universe owes me a little bad luck, doesn¡¯t it? This has nothing to do with me or the faeries, not really. This is due to them, to the Andersons. They¡¯re rustics, and old rustics at that. The nuance that ghosts were not minds was lost on them, so why wouldn¡¯t the nuance that ghosts could change over time just like humans also be lost on them?


    One can never account for fools, she decided.


    As Emma got ready for bed and prepared for her mind to once again drift through the wonders of Fairy, she reassured herself that even if the Andersons were lost to her, and she doubted that they truly were, she still had two other families.


    She would miss that tea, though¡­

 Fairy Food. Chapter 5, Sally McNeil 1/3

    That night, Emma once again dreamed of Fairy, but it was an unfamiliar region of Fairy that she found her thoughts drawn to. In her mind¡¯s eye, she beheld a forest of reed-thin trees whose bark was the color of blood and whose leaves were the color of rust. Blue creatures with white eyes walked between the bar-like tree trunks. They seemed like humans, in that they walked on two legs, but their proportions suggested apes to Emma. Their arms were long like broom handles and their legs short like the legs of children. They did not wear clothes. Emma could not say whether or not they were as intelligent as men. They didn¡¯t have to have any sort of buildings. But perhaps they didn¡¯t need to live in houses? Weren¡¯t angels in Heaven supposed to be naked? Naked and without property because they were beyond such earthly concerns? Who told her that? She was sure that she didn¡¯t get the idea all on her own. Did she hear it from a preacher? Or maybe she read it from a reformer¡¯s pamphlet? She wasn¡¯t sure.


    She wished John-a-Doors was with her in her dreams. He would know what the blue creatures were called. He would know the name of the wiry forest they inhabited. He would know everything, and then she would know everything from him, and the whole strange tableau before her would make sense.


    Emma was glad when morning came and she rose with the sun. Her dreams weren¡¯t horrible. She was not frightened by what she witnessed. But they were strange, and she did not care for the strangeness of Fairy. The strangeness, she realized, hid snares.


    She quickly put all thoughts of blue people and red forests out of her mind. There was work to be done today. She was to show the McNeils their daughter Sally, and she was sure this would be an easy session. What happened the other day with Alice was unfortunate, but today was a new day, and the McNeils had once told her that they always wanted their daughter to be educated. They wanted an educated daughter and her ghost was in Merlin¡¯s forest. There was no way the session could go wrong.


    Emma followed behind Lucy McNeil as she raced up the hill. She was, as usual, excited about her session. She was a woman that was heavily into Illustrated Phantom Stories. She read every issue and she assumed that her reading gave her a manesologist¡¯s understanding of spirits. She was the kind of woman Emma loved.


    Behind Emma followed Roger McNeil. Roger hated Emma. He didn¡¯t believe in her powers, but because Lucy fervently believed in Emma, he kept his criticism of Emma to silent glares and sly comments whose true meaning went unnoticed by his wife--but not by Emma.


    Emma paused before the crest of the hill and allowed Roger to pass her. ¡°Looking forward to seeing how my powers have expanded?¡¯ she asked.


    ¡°Hm. I suppose it will be interesting to see.¡± Roger said. ¡°But you know, I¡¯ve seen several stage magicians in my life. They don¡¯t have any of the real power manesologists or thaumaturgists have--and of course what you have, Ms. Quinn--but the illusions they produce are so convincing that I¡¯ve found I have trouble telling fake magic from real magic.¡±


    ¡°Real thaumaturgy.¡± Emma corrected.¡±That¡¯s the proper term for these powers.¡±


    ¡°Oh, is it?¡±


    ¡°Yes it is dear!¡± Lucy called from the top of the hill. ¡°Only yokels call thaumaturgy magic! Now hurry up, you¡¯re holding up Ms. Quinn!¡±


    Roger sighed and shuffled his way up the rest of the hill.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him.¡± Lucy whispered to Emma. ¡°He calls it magic on purpose to be frustrating, but I¡¯ve told him time and time again that it¡¯s properly called thaumaturgy!¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s alright.¡± Emma whispered back. ¡°Some people are just set in their ways.¡±


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    Lucy nudged her husband. ¡°Really, Roger? Calling it thaumaturgy? And on today of all days! Ms. Quinn is about to show us Alice in full detail!¡±


    ¡°Good. I was tired of her looking like a nondescript figure in a coat.¡±


    Lucy rolled her eyes. ¡°The vagueness of the form is due to imperfections in the physical-Astral border. Honestly Roger, its like you don¡¯t listen to a thing I tell you!¡±


    Roger looked at Emma. ¡°What does she look like?¡± he asked.


    ¡°She is youthful and perfectly healthy. No marks remain from the sickness that took her--¡±


    ¡°I mean specifically. What color is her hair?¡±


    Emma shrugged. ¡°Why, red of course, the same color as your hair. It was red all the previous times.¡±


    ¡°And is her hair still long?¡±


    ¡°Longer, in fact, and somewhat unkempt, likely due to the comfort of her surroundings. When one wants for nothing, one can afford to skip brushing their hair in the morning.¡±


    Roger raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh, really? Alice was always very fastidious with her appearance. She never liked having so much as a hair out of place.¡±


    ¡°Ghosts change just as people do.¡± Sally said. ¡°Really, Roger. You¡¯re acting like such a country bumpkin! Everyone these days knows that ghosts aren¡¯t just like, paintings of people that hang on the wall and ever change.¡±


    ¡°It just seems a very sudden change compared to how she appeared previously.¡±


    ¡°Oh Roger, Ms. Quinn told us that the previous images were muddled by the Astral. These new ones will be much clearer, won¡¯t they, Ms. Quinn?¡±


    Emma nodded proudly. ¡°Clearer than they¡¯ve ever been!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m looking forward to seeing how our daughter is after all these years!¡± Lucy exclaimed. ¡°It feels like I¡¯ve missed out on so much not being able to see her. I know some people say that ghosts aren¡¯t people, or are only fractions of people, but I consider Sally¡¯s ghost to be, if not Sally, then Sally¡¯s sister.¡±


    Lucy looked Emma straight in the eye. ¡°Ms. Quinn, I know I¡¯ve said this to you more than a few times already, but thank you. Sincerely, thank you. I wish I could talk to her again¡­but it¡¯s still so nice to be able to make food for my little Sally.¡±


    Tears welled in Lucy¡¯s eyes.


    Emma squeezed her hands. ¡°Oh, Lucy, there¡¯s no reason to thank me. I am but a humble servant of the Kindly Ones.¡±


    Emma smiled, and not just for Lucy but for herself. Lucy knew enough to help her, but not enough to help herself. She was the perfect mark. This was going to be an easy session, and after yesterday, Emma needed it to be easy.


    ¡°It is enough for me that you¡¯re able to give Sally tokens of your affection through my powers.¡± Emma said. She wanted to hold off on implying that Lucy should give her more until after she had seen her daughter.


    ¡° Roger thanks you as well.¡± Lucy said. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Roger?¡±


    ¡°I thank you for bringing some happiness to my family, Ms. Quinn.¡± Roger was very careful with his words. Emma couldn¡¯t help but wonder how careful he would be with his words once he saw Broceliande.


    Emma took a deep breath as she overlooked the valley and its rocky ruins. Then she spread her arms out wide and began.


    ¡°Hear me, spirits!¡± Emma proclaimed. ¡°Show us the forests of¡­Broceliande!¡±


    Blue sky gave way to a green canopy. The stone circles joined together to form brown roots that seemed hardier and older than the stones. Sunlight filtered down through tree branches yet the entire valley seemed to brighten.


    The suddenness with which the stone-strewn valley was filled with vitality startled Emma, and she was prepared for it. Lucy could not help but gasp.


    ¡°Oh!¡± the old woman cupped her hands to her mouth. ¡°Oh! Ms. Quinn! It¡¯s incredible!¡±


    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ Emma answered Lucy, but her eyes were fixed on Roger.


    The old man just looked, but Emma could tell no small amount of effort went into holding his impassive expression.


    ¡°It is impressive, isn¡¯t it, Roger?¡± Emma asked.


    Roger said nothing.


    ¡°Is it like any of those stage magicians you¡¯ve seen? Hm? Have you ever seen one do something like this with mirrors?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Roger said.


    Emma chuckled. She supposed it took someone as stubborn as Roger a little time to get over their pride.


    Emma dramatically pointed a finger at Sally napping against a tall tree just like the first time she saw her with John-a-Doors. ¡°There. That is your Sally. Do you see her? In the tunic next to the tree trunk?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I do!¡± Lucy exclaimed as she pointed to the ghost of her daughter. ¡°Oh, is that her! Is that our Sally?¡±


    Emma nodded proudly. ¡°Yes. Lucy McNeil, gaze upon Sally McNeil. Gaze upon your daughter!¡±


    Lucy grabbed Roger¡¯s arm. ¡°Oh look! She¡¯s like a little Robin Hood! A Maid Marion! My, how she¡¯s changed--but that¡¯s our daughter Roger, that¡¯s our girl!¡±


    Roger said nothing.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 5, Sally McNeil. 2/3

    Does she have a bed and a roof over her head?¡± Lucy asked Emma. ¡°Oh wait, I¡¯m being silly. That tree trunk is probably more comfortable than any kind of pillow and It probably never rains in this¡­you said it was called the Forest Sadducee?¡±


    ¡°Forest Sagesse, Lucy. It is the forest of Merlin. Scholars come from all around Fairy and even from realms beyond Fairy to sit and listen to his gentle guidance carried in the wind-rustled tree branches.¡±


    ¡°Ah. That explains why Sally isn¡¯t holding a book. She loved reading. You let her alone and she¡¯d pick up anything and read it. But if the great Merlin is whispering in her ear, I can understand her not having a book and sitting against that tree with her eyes closed. It¡¯s fitting, actually. Sally used to do a lot of reading and her poor eyesight suffered for it. We had to buy the poor girl glasses. So now in her time of rest, instead of reading she¡¯s read to. That¡¯s nice. That¡¯s fitting.¡±


    Suddenly, a four legged creature with red fur, built a little like a small horse or a large dog, trotted out from beneath the cover of a large, winding root.


    ¡°Oh! What¡¯s that?¡± Lucy asked.


    Emma had not the slightest idea. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­merga.¡± she lied. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­fairy creature, as you can see, native to forests and possessing a red coat.¡±


    Emma learned long ago that in doubt, state the obvious as if it wasn¡¯t. It never failed to make one seem more knowledgeable than they really were.


    ¡°What a pretty name!¡±Lucy exclaimed. ¡°And it has a pretty pelt as well! I wouldn¡¯t mind wearing a coat like that!¡±


    Suddenly,Sally¡¯s eyes opened.


    ¡°Oh look! She has the same brown eyes! Even from where we¡¯re standing I can tell those are the same brown eyes!¡±


    Sally stood up and stretched herself. She looked at the red creature with an interested expression. Then, she crouched down and pulled something hidden by a tangle of roots next to her.


    Lucy squinted. ¡°Now, what is that? Is that a harp?¡±


    Emma wasn¡¯t sure what it was either. ¡°It¡¯s¡­her¡¯s, obviously, since she was keeping it out of sight beneath those roots.¡±


    The object was U shaped and seemed to be made out of wood. Between the two ends a thin string was drawn.


    ¡°That can¡¯t be a harp.¡± Lucy said. ¡°It¡¯s only got one string and harps have several. What instrument has one string? Oh, wait, I know! Lyres have only one string, right Emma?¡±


    ¡°They¡­can have one string,¡± Emma said. She was certain that any instrument could, theoretically, have only one string.


    ¡°Our Sally used to play the piano.¡± Lucy said. ¡°But I suppose a piano would be no good out in a forest, even in a forest of wizards and scholars. Oh! Do you think Sally is going to play a song for the merga? Could that merga be her pet? Do people keep mergas as pets? Or are all animals within the Forest Sagesse pets held in common?¡±


    Sally reached behind her back.


    Emma¡¯s blood ran cold as she watched Sally produce a long object from a container on her back and place it against the strings.


    ¡°Oh! Is that a bow?¡± Lucy asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t know lyres were played with bows!¡±


    In a single motion, Sally notched her bow and let it fly right into the heart of the strange beast.


    Lucy¡¯s face went white with shock. Then she looked like she was about to cry.


    Emma suddenly realized her mistake and wanted to slap herself.


    A forest of wisemen was still a forest. Why wouldn¡¯t a forest have hunters?


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    Emma believed that the beast wasn¡¯t dead, not truly dead anyway, for John-a-Doors told her that nothing of Fairy could know of death, and for a moment planned to explain this fact to Lucy but quickly decided against it. So her scholarly, book loving daughter that loved animals had become a Diana of the forest? What then did it matter if her quarry only partly, only ¡°became still¡± as John-a-Doors described it? The offense was in her being too far from her mother¡¯s preconceptions.


    Emma quickly clapped her hands and dismissed the image.


    ¡°I apologize, Lucy.¡± Emma scooped up her hands. ¡°I sincerely, truly apologize. You were right to begin with. That is not your Sally. I have made an error, you see. That is someone else.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Oh of course you made a mistake, dear.¡± Lucy gave a sigh of relief. ¡°I mean, ghosts are known to change, but¡­that couldn¡¯t possibly be my Sally, not even if she spent a thousand years in Fairy! Why, Sally used to feel bad for the tigers at the zoo.¡± Lucy turned to her husband. ¡°Didn¡¯t she feel bad, Roger? Don¡¯t you remember how she felt bad even for those vicious striped killers?¡±


    Roger nodded.


    Lucy turned to Emma. ¡°These powers are new to you, aren¡¯t they? I mean, you¡¯ve always had powers, but now their potency has been increased, and it¡¯ll take you some time to adjust to them. Isn¡¯t that right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is right, Lucy. I¡­¡± Emma brought a hand to her head in an exaggerated fashion. ¡°I feel faint¡­I am sorry, Lucy, but my new powers have proven to be more taxing than I anticipated. Alas! I wanted to show you Sally and have instead shown you this huntress. She¡¯s probably not even a ghost but a fairy. I have failed in my mission as a medium!¡±


    ¡°Oh no no! Don¡¯t say that dear!¡± Lucy squeezed Emma¡¯s hands consolingly. ¡°Rest now. Take as much time as you need to recuperate from the strain of your ordeal.¡± Lucy flashed her husband a look, daring him to say something, but Roger remained as quiet as he had been since gazing upon Broceliande. ¡°I know that some people are ignorant of the demands of mediumship, but I¡¯ve read all about how physically and mentally taxing spiritual work can be. Why, Illustrated Phantom Stories once reported that Dr. Martin Glass was pierced by a ghost all around his body after working a manesological Operation. You couldn¡¯t see the ectoplasmic shards sticking in his body, but they were there, and I bet they hurt.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Lucy exclaimed. ¡°You¡¯re not like that, are you, Emma? Did pieces of ectoplasm stab you? Are you all in one piece physically and metaphysically?¡±


    Emma smiled. She knew that she could definitely salvage this failure. With someone as trusting as Lucy, a great deal of the con was done for her.


    ¡°No, I am fine, Lucy. My corpus and spirit are both intact--but they are exhausted by my failure.¡±


    ¡°I imagine you¡¯re very, very tired, dear--but don¡¯t call what happened here a failure, please don¡¯t! If anything, it¡¯s a success! You can now do more than we ever thought possible! I¡¯m sure that in time, you¡¯ll be able to find my Sally out there in those wizard woods, if she¡¯s even in them. I think you should try looking for her in a library, or an art gallery, some place civilized like that. She was always such a gentle thing. She liked reading about animals and the outdoors but oh, her weak constitution. She wouldn¡¯t last a second in this savage place, even as a ghost, would she, Roger?¡±


    Roger nodded. His eyes had yet to leave the valley below.


    ¡°Forgive me for speaking about things I¡¯ve only read about, Emma, but I think you¡¯ve made a tiny mistake with this whole ¡°Forest Sagesse¡± thing. Maybe Merlin¡¯s forest borders that forest of hunters you showed us?¡±


    ¡°That is quite possible.¡± Emma said.


    ¡°You¡¯re just off the map a little dear, I¡¯m sure of it. But please don¡¯t be discouraged by this. I still believe in you And I know this husband of mind doesn¡¯t want to show it, but he believes in you now more than ever, don¡¯t you, Roger?¡±


    Roger answered only with a quick nod of his head.


    ¡°Go and rest, dear.¡± Lucy said. ¡°Take all the time you need. I¡¯m sure that when you¡¯re ready you¡¯ll be able to bring us our Sally with just a snap of your fingers and we¡¯ll find her hard at work reading through another book. Oh, I wonder what kinds of books they read in faeries? They must read a lot of fairy tales, right Emma? Since that would be to them what history is to us?¡±


    ¡°They have many wonderful books in Fairy and I¡¯m sure that Sally is reading through the most wonderful books of all. I sense that to be true. Even as exhausted as I am, I am picking up signals from the beyond that tell me that this is true.¡± Plans were already forming in Emma¡¯s mind. She would locate some book loving ghost somewhere in some presentable corner of airy and watch her very closely for a week or two. If she didn¡¯t suddenly kill something, or half-kill something, or however it was that John-a-Doors described the way Fairy beings died-without-dieing, she would present her to the McNeils as Sally and all would be well.


    ¡°I must go now and rest.¡± Emma said. She wanted to start finding ¡°Sally¡± as soon as she had a nap and a drink of laudanum.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let us keep you, dear!¡± Lucy exclaimed. ¡°We¡¯ll hold our anticipation until you are well and ready!¡±


    Emma departed the hill with a smile on her face that said ¡°thank you¡± to Lucy and God only knew what to Roger. Emma wondered about Roger as she left. She usually had so much trouble with him. In their past sessions, he had been exhausting. He was the reason she would reschedule sessions with the McNeils more than any other. Sometimes, she just couldn¡¯t stand his eye rolling and thinly veiled expressions of disbelief. But he barely said a word this time. Emma supposed that sufficient displays of power awed even the most caustic of critics to silence.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 5, Sally McNeil. 3/3

    On the carriage ride home, Emma was in high spirits, but instinct drove her to wipe the smile off her face as soon as she entered her kitchen. Her instinct told her that all was not well.


    ¡°Stupid girl.¡± she mumbled to herself. ¡°Why are you happy? You have nothing to be happy about. That was smooth, in the end, but only in the end, and it should have been smooth from the start.¡±


    Emma opened her cabinet and withdrew her trusty bottle of laudanum and brought it level to her eye. The line was lower than she anticipated. Had she really been drinking that much? She could hardly believe it. She knew she was drinking more than her usual amount, which was fully understandable give current circumstances, but she would have noticed if she drank that much, certainly. But who else would be drinking out of her bottle but herself? Her drinks were simply getting away from her notice, that was the only explanation¡­


    Unless a brownie was drinking it when she wasn¡¯t looking.


    And that was certainly a possibility. There were supposed to be, according to her mother and grandmother, little faeries inside every house that would either help with the cleaning if they liked the owners of the house or make things vanish if they didn¡¯t. If the faeries were against her, and she was growing more and more confident that they were,then why wouldn¡¯t they send their little brownies to sip from the one thing that made her increasingly miserable life slightly more tolerable?


    Emma was beginning to suspect that the faeries had meddled with her in other ways. Maybe they were the reason Sally McNeil turned out to be a huntress instead of a scholar?


    Emma didn¡¯t bother with bringing out a glass. She poured the laudenum down her throat straight from the bottle as she reflected on today¡¯s events. She could see the Kindly Ones plotting in her head, whispering to one another how they would influence each ghost just enough to cause her clients distress and herself mortification.


    But perhaps, she thought, the problem wasn¡¯t that it was a trap? Perhaps the problem was simply her inexperience with spiritual matters? She always knew that ghosts changed over time as people did. Understanding that, like understanding that souls and minds were two separate, albeit interrelated, things allowed her to exercise power over the yokels around her, but she had proven that she had underestimated how much and how fast ghosts could change. She had proven to be more like the yokels than she would ever admit to another person.


    Maybe her inexperience and the trap were one and the same? What was the expression? Giving someone enough rope to hang themselves? Maybe that¡¯s what the Kindly Ones had done with her¡­


    No, she decided. No, this was not any fault of her own. This was a trap, but it had nothing to do with herself. She had done nothing wrong. She knew these yokels. She had studied them like a huntress studied her prey. They were easy to figure out. They were honest, simple people without complexity.


    If her mistake had been limited to Alice, Emma could have believed it was her fault, because she only ever believed little mistakes were her fault. But for Alice and Sally to have gone this badly? The Kindly Ones must have set her up. That was the only explanation. They had used their vast and incomprehensible powers to change things behind the scenes so that she would be humiliated. Maybe the ghosts weren¡¯t actually ghosts? For all she knew she was looking at changelings. What was her guarantee that her power were showing her real ghosts? The faeries? Emma trusted John-a-Doors, he seemed a simple being merely doing his job. But those that stood above him? The nameless, faceless faeries that bossed him around? She didn¡¯t trust them one bit, and her power came from them, not John-a-Doors.


    Tomorrow would prove things either one way or the other. One setback was misfortune, two was coincidence, but three was without a doubt a conspiracy. Tomorrow, she would show Duncan McBride to his parents, and he was a sure-fire win unlike the two girls. He was a knight of Galahad or whatever it was they were all called, not a knight of the Round Table, but close to one. What could be objectionable there? Even if he was but a page, even if he cleaned the stables of the knights, he would still be honored. He was, in life, a young man of rather disagreeable character. He was often in trouble with the law. Having any sort of honor in Fairy was a huge improvement over his lot in life.


    Tomorrow would be a win for her, Emma was sure of it.


    Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.


    ¡°John-a-Doors?¡± Emma exclaimed.


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    But she realized that the knock came from her front door and not her wall.


    Disappointed, she stood up and went to the front door. She opened it to find Roger McNeil.


    ¡°Oh, Roger. It¡¯s you.¡± Emma did her best to stretch her neck and look over Roger¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Where¡¯s Lucy?¡±


    ¡°Lucy isn¡¯t with me tonight. Lucy doesn¡¯t even know I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Well, come inside, Roger.¡±


    Roger shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m going to stay long, Ms. Quinn. I only have a few things I want to say to you. First of all, I want you to know that I believe you. For the first time since I¡¯ve met you, I believe that you have fairy powers.¡±


    Emma smiled. ¡°Oh Roger, I¡¯ve always had--¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you were able to get real fairy powers.¡± Roger suddenly said. ¡°I don¡¯t care how a conwoman like yourself pulled it off. I suppose the world is unjust enough for anything to happen. But I believe that what you showed me and Lucy tonight was a real vision of Fairy. I believe that the huntress you showed us was Sally.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Roger, but that wasn¡¯t Sally. I made a mistake. I¡¯m glad you finally believe in my powers but--¡±


    ¡°That was Sally.¡± Roger said sharply. ¡°Ghosts change. Ghosts change dramatically, sometimes more dramatically than the change between childhood and adulthood. It¡¯s a bitter truth that many people overlook, because it¡¯s a painful truth. Even people obsessed with ghosts like my wife overlook it. But it''s the truth. I always thought you were a fraud because the Sally you previously showed us was just an image of her physical descriptions, like a painting come to life. I always thought it was a person in a wig. But that was Sally you showed us this evening, that was her.¡±


    ¡°Roger, that wasn¡¯t your daughter honest! I made a mistake!¡±


    ¡°Yes I believe you did. You wouldn¡¯t have summoned up Sally if you knew she had changed so much. You wouldn¡¯t have summoned up Sally if you knew she was going to make Lucy uncomfortable. That¡¯s how I know she was Sally.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense, Roger! You know she was Sally because I made a mistake with my powers?¡±


    ¡°I know she was Sally because you gained nothing by summoning her as she was. It¡¯s not hard figuring out what¡¯s true and what¡¯s not with you around. The truth is what you dispose of because it inconveniences you. Falsehood is what you cultivate.¡±


    Roger slammed his fist on the door.


    Emma jumped back.


    ¡°It was Sally. Wasn¡¯t it?¡± Roger asked.


    ¡°Roger, I¡¯m sorry if today¡¯s session distressed you! It was not my intention to--¡±


    ¡°It was Sally!¡± Roger roared. ¡°Say it!¡±


    Emma was nodding before the words reached her mouth. ¡°Y-Yes. It was Sally¡­¡± Emma gulped. ¡°But you do realize, Roger, that some contest the conflating of a woman¡¯s mind with a woman¡¯s soul?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not one of those. Cal Sally¡¯s ghost Sally, or a part of Sally, or Sally transformed. She is Sally to me, and Sally to Lucy. But you told Lucy that it wasn¡¯t Sally¡¯s ghost. You said it could have been a fairy for all you knew.¡±


    ¡°Was I not supposed to? You saw how upset she got when Sally shot that creature!¡±


    ¡°The anulk, right? Isn¡¯t that what you called it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the anulk!¡±


    Roger glared at her ¡°I believe you called it a merga.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter what it¡¯s called?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you quite understand your powers. I don¡¯t know how you got your powers, Emma Quinn, but if you got them like how you got everything in your life, you did it with dishonesty. And if you were dishonest with the Fair Folk, they will repay your dishonesty with pure misery. That¡¯s what my mother always told me.¡±


    ¡°I promise you that these powers were given to me by the Kindly Ones themselves. I did not cheat them. I am not so much a fool as to cheat them of all beings!¡±


    ¡°Then perhaps they¡¯ve cheated you? Looking at you now, you remind me of a young boy picking up his father¡¯s ax--and cutting himself because it¡¯s too heavy for him to use the right way.¡±


    ¡°Why are you here, Roger?¡± Emma was more than a little frightened of him. He had never seen him this cold, this angry. He had always been a funny little prop in the background of her comedy with Lucy until this moment. ¡°Why are you here in the middle of the night banging on my door? Do you want me to tell you that the ghost was Sally? I already told you that it was, and I¡¯ll tell you as many times as I need to!¡±


    ¡°I want you to end your association with my wife. I was fine with you showing her whoever it was before tonight. I was fine with you doing so because it wasn¡¯t real and it made her smile. But I love my daughter just as much as my wife. You will not look upon my daughter anymore, Emma Quinn.¡±


    ¡°I promise you that I don¡¯t actually speak to the ghosts. I don¡¯t meet with them. I don¡¯t actually give them food.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you did. God, I almost can¡¯t hate you.¡± Roge sneered. ¡°Taking gifts meant for the dead. That¡¯s so craven.¡±


    ¡°Call me what you will, Roger, but all I do, all I¡¯ve ever done, is look at ghosts. I¡¯ve never spoken a word to your daughter. To be completely honest, this was only the second time I¡¯ve ever seen her.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t want you to have anything to do with my daughter. I don¡¯t want you to so much as think about my daughter. You will leave Sally to do what she will in peace. Is that clear?¡±


    ¡°But what will I tell your wife?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re the one that¡¯s good at making up stories. Tell her that there was a fluctuation in the Astral fabric. Tell her your fairy patrons got sacked in a fairy war. Tell her the truth, tell her nothing, it doesn¡¯t matter so long as you make it clear that you and her will never interact again. Do you understand?¡±


    Emma gave a rather helpless nod.


    ¡°Good. Break ties with her, and then go away. Go away forever. If you bother my wife or my daughter ever again, I will send you to the faeries the traditional away. Understand?¡±


    Emma nodded again.


    ¡°Good night, Emma Quinn, and goodbye.¡±


    Roger shut the door in Emma¡¯s face leaving her alone with her mounting anxiety.

 Fairy Food. Chapter 6, Duncan McBride. 1/4

    That night, Emma had her first nightmare of Fairy.


    Her thoughts had wandered to a very dark place. She could not tell where the ground or sky were, or even if there was a ground or a sky. She might have been underwater, but there was a sound like a whimpering wind that made her think that she was perhaps in the middle of the air. She thought of a stormcloud, but there was no thunder or rain. It was like the dark, sooty clouds that used to hang over London before the fireball had reduced it to haunted ruins.


    There were eyes in the darkness, whatever the darkness was. They were bright like the eyes of a cat. Emma¡¯s mind wondered if they could have perhaps been stars or maybe candles, but some deep instinct inside her heart overruled her brain and told her that without a doubt what she was looking at were eyes--and they were looking back at her.


    Emma felt each gaze like a needle of anxiety stabbed through the core of her being. She wished very badly that the eyes would blink, but they never did. She was the trapped object of their gaze. John-a-Doors had told her that faeries were creatures that abhorred ugliness, yet if this wasn¡¯t ugliness, it was a vicious, terrible sort of beauty, like the beauty of a tiger¡¯s fangs. There was certainly something predatory about the eyes. Emma couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that they were somehow consuming her, taking her apart piece by piece.


    There were many, many eyes in the darkness, and the way they were arranged about her there couldn¡¯t have been two eyes for every face. There had to be cyclops out in the darkness or things with several eyes.


    Or, perhaps, they were all the eyes of a singular creature¡­


    Emma awoke with a start and had to make some effort to recall her hand from the bottle of laudanum by her bedside. She wished that she had been woken up in the middle of the night, for she longed to go back to sleep. She had woken up in a cold sweat and was as tired as if her body had been running down the street while her mind was in that dark, nameless place. She was cheated out of her nightly rest and as she looked out her window she hoped to see darkness sos he could go back to sleep--but there was sunlight, and worse still, sunlight with birdsong. Part of her wished Sally McNeil was with her so that she could shoot them.


    She could find no rest in either the dark or the light, she observed, and didn¡¯t that sound like a fairy curse? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale.¡±The story of the wicked woman who couldn¡¯t rest in the dark or in the light.¡± It was good enough to print.


    Emma forced herself to rise and get dressed. Today¡¯s session with the McBrides would be the one to prove if her previous troubles had all been simple bad luck or if there was a deeper, more sinister aspect in place.


    And a more just aspect, she observed. If the Kindly Ones really were working against her as part of some kind of revenge she really did have it coming. Hadn¡¯t she been warned about the Kindly Ones since she was a little girl? Hadn¡¯t she been warned about their esoteric rules? ¡°Mind the stones, Emmy, those are fairy forts. If you kick one of the stones, the Kindly Ones may turn you into a stone!¡±


    And as John-a-Doors said, she had none much more than kick over a stone.


    Still, there was hope, even if it was a dim hope. Emma couldn¡¯t see how this time would turn out wrong. One could expect a huntress to be in a forest, but who would be at the training ground for knights but a knight, or a squire? Duncan could be the stableboy, that would be alright, he was a horrible young man in life, his ghost being anywhere that wasn¡¯t a barred cell or a wooden stockade was something for his parents to celebrate.


    Even if the Kindly Ones wanted to botch this session, how would they be able to do it?


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡­.


    As Emma ascended the hill, Mrs. Betty McBride called out to her.


    ¡°Are you alright, Emma?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oh! Oh, I¡¯m so sorry Betty,I should have given you my hand, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking.¡±


    Emma realized that she didn¡¯t help the old couple up the hill. The McBrides weren¡¯t as frail as the Andersons, but they were still rather rickety and wiry. Emma thought they looked like scarecrows, their flesh just hung off their withered bones, and she usually helped them up the hill--but not today. Today, her mind was wandering, and Betty could tell.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean that girl, I mean you¡¯re acting like your head¡¯s in the clouds.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Emma said. ¡°I suppose my head is in the clouds in a way. I¡¯m thinking about Fairy right now.¡±


    It was the truest thing she had ever told the McBrides.


    ¡°Making preparations in your head?¡± Betty asked.


    ¡°To the best of my abilities. Showing the dead like this, showing them as more than just vague suggestions, it¡¯s more demanding¡­but more rewarding at the same time. I like that I can do more for you and Horace. That is its own reward.¡± Emma remembered that the goal of this, if everything went smoothly, was to gently coax a larger payment out of the McBrides.


    ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you to say, girl, but you can expect something a little more uh, tangible in the way of rewards from me and Horace.¡± Betty jostled Emma with her bony elbow. ¡°After all, I¡¯m sure the other families have started putting a little extra in with the care packages, a little more than what you can send over to the ghosts, right?¡±


    Emma smiled. Betty McBride understood her a little more than the others. She wasn¡¯t fully a mark. She did believe in the power, but she didn¡¯t buy the altruism act for a moment. Betty McBride came the closest of all the clients to understanding Emma. Emma appreciated that about Betty. It meant that she didn¡¯t have to pretend as much around Betty. She could relax her guard--a little.


    ¡°You just be sure you have your head on straight before you go into your magic. Don¡¯t go calling up someone else¡¯s Duncan. Hell, I¡¯m halfway convinced you have done that. Duncan in the company of knights¡­I could have believed outlaws, even chivalrous outlaws like Robin Hood, but knights? Ha! I guess it¡¯s true what they say about ghosts being different from people!¡±


    ¡°They can be very different from who they were in life.¡± Emma said. ¡°Sometimes they''re different in a bad way, but I think you¡¯ll find that Duncan¡¯s ghost is different in a very good way.¡±


    ¡°You just focus your magic or tel-e-path-y or whatever it¡¯s properly called and don¡¯t you worry a bit about Horace and I. We used to trample over these hills together when we were your age. Growing old hasn¡¯t beaten us down so that we can¡¯t lick a single hill.¡±


    Betty cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted down the hill. ¡°Horace, old man, come on! We¡¯re going to finally get a good look at our son!¡±


    ¡°Ah, he can wait!¡± Horace McBride replied with a swipe of his cane which made him stumble until he stabbed the end of it into the earth. ¡°He¡¯s dead, isn¡¯t he? What¡¯s time to the dead? They got all the time in the world!¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have all the time!¡± Betty got behind her husband and pushed him to the top of the hill, nearly causing him to lose his balance again. ¡°We can finally see what he¡¯s been up to all these years! You want to leave that to your ghost to find out, huh?¡±


    ¡°I doubt my ghost would care a lick.¡± Horace said. ¡°I bet my ghost is going to be one of those wisp types, one of those that doesn¡¯t have much of a body or much of a brain. Like that ball of green fire Ernst, Morton and Glass use as a servant. That¡¯ll be me, and I¡¯ll just float around like a soap bubble for all eternity. That¡¯s my kind of luck.¡±


    ¡°Well, who cares about your ghost, old man!¡± Betty exclaimed. ¡°We¡¯re not here about your ghost, we¡¯re here about our son¡¯s ghost!¡±


    ¡°And let me guess, he¡¯s going to be very hungry again like last time?¡±


    Betty slapped her husband on the back of his head. ¡°Horace! How dare you?¡± Then she whispered so that Emma could only barely hear ¡°You know good and well we¡¯re getting good rates from her! The mediums in Blackwall would have cost our inheritance!¡±


    Horace rubbed the back of his head as he looked at Emma. ¡°Well? I¡¯m here now. Come on, I want to see the knights. Let¡¯s see if ol¡¯ Demon Duncan left behind a Galahad ghost!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush her, you fool! This isn¡¯t something you can just wish to happen! It takes focus!¡±


    Emma smiled, more to herself than to Betty. ¡°Would you believe that both are true?¡±


    ¡°You said Duncan¡¯s with ¡°Swan Knights,¡± yes?¡± Horace asked.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right.¡± Emma answered.


    ¡°Hmph. Doesn¡¯t that sound very fairy? Swans. The Little People would like those birds, wouldn¡¯t they? Weird little devils with their long, snakey necks!¡±

 Fairy Food. Chapter 6, Duncan McBride. 2/4

    ¡°You mustn¡¯t call them the Little People, Mr. McBride, they¡¯re the Kindly Ones.¡± Emma was surprised that she said it. The words came out of her mouth quite suddenly.


    ¡°But Emma, you¡¯ve always called them the Little People.¡± Horace said.


    ¡°Yes¡­yes, I suppose I have.¡±


    ¡°You dumb old man!¡± Betty exclaimed. ¡°Stop bombarding the poor girl with questions! She¡¯s never going to be able to get her thoughts together if you keep bothering her!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Betty, I can do it now.¡±


    Emma extended her hand and held it over the valley.


    This time, she made no dramatic gestures or stirring speeches. She just wanted to get it over with.


    There, suddenly, in the valley was the Lake of Vivian, blue and sparkling, and the white walls of Joyous Gard rose high above the hill, so high that they reached up to the clouds above. For the first time, Emma became aware of the possibility that someone besides her clients might be able to see her images.


    Was that allowed? She honestly didn¡¯t know. She never had to think about it before.


    Oh, and she was hoping for a smooth and uncomplicated session today¡­


    Emma quickly dismissed the top portion of her image. The white spires of Joyous Gard vanished below the crest of the hill so that the entire image of the training grounds of the Swan Knights was contained within the valley.


    The change had not gone unnoticed by the McBrides.


    ¡°Emma? What happened to the tops of that castle?¡± Betty asked.


    ¡°I changed the image¡±


    ¡°Why, girl? Glory be, that¡¯s the most incredible building I¡¯ve seen! It¡¯s like if someone white washed one of those French cathedrals and then stretched it out so that it was as big as a Blackwall steam beast! I want to see how high it goes! I¡¯ve neer seen something so tall!¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Horace said. ¡°It¡¯s like the Great Wall of China set on its end! Bring it back, girl!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can.¡±


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s stopping you?¡± Betty asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m allowed to let others see these images, and if the castle peaks over the valley, someone besides us might see it.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t know if you¡¯re allowed?¡° Betty asked. Didn¡¯t the Little People tell you what you can and can¡¯t do with your powers?¡±


    ¡°Betty, please, call them the Kindly Ones. It¡¯s to be¡­¡± Emma almost said ¡°safe.¡± ¡°...polite.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Betty smirked. ¡°So all those times you called them Little People, you were being rude?¡±


    ¡°Betty please!¡± Emma snapped. ¡°What I said before I said before but, please, Kindly Ones is how they should be addressed.¡±


    ¡°Did they get on to you about you calling them that or something?¡± Betty asked.


    ¡°No. But¡­¡± Emma looked up at the portion of the sky that once contained a white tower. It was nice to look at a blank, blue space free of fairy influence. She considered what she wanted to say for a few seconds. ¡°...My expanded powers have caused me to have questions I didn¡¯t before, like whether or not I can show these images to people that aren¡¯t my clients, and I want to as polite as possible so in case I stumble into any breach of etiquette, the Kindly Ones understand that I meant no offense.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    Horace whistled. ¡°Sounds to me like you should have talked to your fairy friends a little more.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Emma admitted. ¡°I should have. And if I ever see them again I¡¯ll be sure to ask if I can show these images to non-clients¡­¡±


    ¡°If?¡± Betty asked. ¡°What do you mean, ¡°if?¡± I thought a fairy woman like yourself spent as much time talking with the Kindly Ones as humans?¡±


    ¡°I mean, when I see them again.¡± Emma quickly corrected herself. She was a fairy woman. She had claimed contact with Fairy, a consistent, cordial contact. She would not allow anyone to think twice about that claim. What if her clients started a rumor that she stole this power of hers, that she picked up some spiritual bauble from a sleeping leprechaun or tricked a gnome into blessing her?


    And what if that rumor reached the ears of Fairy?


    She was their reputation. She had claimed so even back when she didn¡¯t have real power.


    ¡°If you ask me, Emma, you should try and see if they¡¯ll let you put your images up in the sky!¡± Betty said. ¡°Why, think about it! Think of how grand it would be if you transformed the clouds into windows showing sights like this!! Think of the money you could make!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the Kindly Ones would appreciate me doing that. You know that sometimes I¡­taste the little offerings my clients give me to pass on to the ghosts. But I don¡¯t think they would see sky pictures as appropriate.¡±


    ¡°Well, have you ever asked them?¡±


    ¡°No. And I don¡¯t think I will, not about that.¡±


    ¡°That surprises me, Emma. You always seemed to me like the kind of girl who had all the angles covered, if you get my meaning.¡±


    ¡°I did seem to be that kind of girl, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t sound so glum, girl. Maybe it''s just that I¡¯m still in the wise part of age and not yet in the doddering part.¡± Betty flashed a smile containing all her remaining teeth. ¡°I ran some games when I was young, didn¡¯t I Horace?¡±


    ¡°Aye, you did. And they usually ended in me hitting fellows upside the head.¡±


    Emma slapped him on the back of his head again, perhaps demonstrating what Horace meant without meaning to. ¡°Oh, you stupid old man! Only a few of them ended like that!¡±


    ¡°Only a few, she says¡­¡± Horace rubbed the back of his head while he scanned the valley below. ¡°My, those knights live up to the name. They¡¯re as white as swans, and just look at those¡­are those swords in their hands?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Emma answered. ¡°Well, they¡¯re like swords. They¡¯re called¡­I can¡¯t quite recall, but they¡¯re related to Excalibur in some way.¡±


    ¡°How is something related to a sword?¡± Horace chuckled. ¡°What? Is ol¡¯ Excalibur they¡¯re daddy?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how a sword can be related to another sword, but they are.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you could rightfully call those things swords.¡± Betty said. ¡°They¡¯re like rolled up bolts of lightning.¡±


    ¡°They remind me a little of ghosts in how they glow.¡± Horace said. ¡°The wisps.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re much too bright to be wisps.¡± Betty said. ¡°It¡¯s like comparing fireflies to the sun.¡±


    ¡°There was something about the sun!¡± Emma snapped her fingers. ¡°Something about the sun¡­or a sun. Those swords have something to do with the sun.¡±


    ¡°I can believe that.¡± Betty said. ¡°They look like the Kindly Ones plucked a ray from the halo of the sun.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty phrase.¡± Horace said.


    ¡°Yes, and it does sound like something the Kindly Ones would do, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Betty replied.


    ¡°No¡­No, I was wrong.¡± Emma said. ¡°They don¡¯t have anything to do with the sun, though they¡¯re as bright as the sun. It was their name. I heard they were called something solais, and solais has something to do with the sun doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Does that really matter?¡± Betty asked. ¡°It sounds like you¡¯re splitting hairs, dear.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it does matter!¡± Emma snapped. ¡°Everything about the Kindly Ones matters!"


    ¡°Hmm¡­I see. Some fairy must have given you a talking to.¡±


    ¡°Honestly? Something like that happened, yes. I know I¡¯ve talked up my power, but this power comes with strings attached. It¡¯s like taking out money on credit. I have it, I can use it, but there are strings attached, and I only really figured that out now.¡±


    Betty gave Emma a long and appraising look. ¡°They offered you the ability to do more and you said yes, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re wondering if this new and improved power of yours isn¡¯t more like a burden than a privilege?¡±


    ¡°What? No, of course not!¡± Emma lied just in case the Kindly Ones were listening. ¡°My improved power is a gift, and it''s a  good gift, and I am very thankful that I¡¯ve been given this gift!¡±


    Betty sighed. A young conwoman couldn¡¯t fool an old one, not completely. ¡°Oh, girl, didn¡¯t your grandmother tell you about fairy gold? Did she ever tell you the story of fairy gold?¡±


    ¡°Of course she told me the story of fairy gold.¡±


    ¡°And what happened in the story of fairy gold?¡±


    ¡®Some men steal what they think is gold from a dwarf, but after they get away from the dwarf and have a good look at it they discover the fairy gold is nothing but a bunch of leaves.


    ¡°And do you see how that applies to your situation, girl?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. My powers are real. They¡¯re very real, as you can see. Otherwise, what is that, down in the valley?¡±


    Betty sighed and shook her head. ¡°Oh, Emma, if they can make gold into fairy gold, they can make fairy gold into anything. Promises, powers, anything, everything.¡±