The Daemon Device Read online

  “I’ll see if my men have done so.” He stomped heavily out of the room and when he was gone, Leopold closed the door carefully and replaced the glasses onto his nose.

  The raspy voice sniggered from its place on top of the wardrobe. “I see you, Leopold of Kazsmer. I see you.”

  Leopold whipped around and glared. “And I see you, you rotter. What happened here?”

  “Cannot tell, cannot say. But it is delicious, is it not?” It licked its flat lips with a barbed tongue.

  Leopold inspected the tiny webbed feet of the daemon, swinging over the edge of the wardrobe and concluded the prints were not made by the imp.

  “I can make you tell me.”

  The imp sniggered again. He put his hand between his legs and rubbed salaciously, licking his lips all the while.

  Leopold sneered. He always found the insolent gestures of the Otherworld’s denizens to be particularly vulgar, which, of course, was the point.

  “Perhaps I shall call upon Eurynomos to make you tell me.”

  The imp stopped in mid-gesture. He winced and covered his head with his spindly arms. “No call him, no call him.”

  “Then talk, you disgusting carbuncle.”

  Shaking his head, the imp shut his eyes, as if not looking at Leopold would help the situation. “Foolish, stubborn Flesh Man. I cannot say…I may not.”

  “May not? I know your associate is a Cloven-hoofed One.”

  The imp snapped open his eyes. They were suddenly filled with terror. Leopold knew Eurynomos frightened most imps, caps, demons—the evil kind—as well as daemons, the helpful kind. He was not called Prince of Death for nothing. But what else would scare an arse-kisser like this fellow?

  “Perhaps you’d best tell me his name,” said Leopold slyly. “I would never say it came from you.”

  The imp’s eyes grew redder, the black pupils shrunken to pin pricks. “LIAR! Do you think you frighten me? Bigger, scarier than you awaits. I know. I know.”

  “Then tell me, dammit!”

  “Ha! Flesh Man does not frighten.”

  “Then why do you remain here? Why did you not leave with…with your master?”

  “Told to stay. Watch.”

  “Well you’ve seen. Now get out.”

  “Will wait, I think.”

  Leopold pushed back the sleeve of his shirt and thrust the marked arm toward the imp. The imp cowered back upon seeing it. “I command you…BEGONE!”

  The creature panted and shook a finger. “You wait, Flesh Man. You wait. The eye will not save you like you were told. The eye…marks you. Makes you prey.” The barbed tongue whipped over its lips again, and without another utterance, the imp shrank until he was a mere dot before winking out of existence with a small pop.

  Leopold raised his arm. He stared at the mark on his wrist, at the eye looking back. Makes you prey. He certainly didn’t like the sound of that.

  Thacker opened the door and poked his head in. “Eh? What’s that you say?”

  He slid his sleeve back over his wrist, securing the cufflink. “Nothing. I was merely expressing my frustration at the situation.”

  “Aye, it’s horrible, that’s what it is. If it’s the Ripper again, they’ll be terror all over London.”

  “Is this the only one? The only murder?” His mind was suddenly beset by his uncle’s visit.

  “That’s all we know of.”

  “There…may be another. I heard of a Gypsy girl gone missing.”

  “A Gypsy? But you can never tell with that lot, coming and going as they do. Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I have it on good authority.”

  “Well then, I’ll see to it.

  Leopold put on his spectacles again and looked through them at the remaining room, flipping different colored lenses into place. There was a faint glow on the far wall but nothing else. And the feeling of skin prickling was dispersing. Perhaps it had been the imp. Blast it. He should have at least demanded his name.

  He removed the spectacles, and Thacker stared at them as he always did. Thacker never asked, but enquiry was etched plainly on his brow. Leopold slipped them back into his inside coat pocket without a word.

  He followed the inspector out and down the steps. They both stood before the building and looked back at it. “I should tell you something, Inspector. Rose…was a twin. Her sister also worked for me. She was with me tonight and will likely soon return.”

  “Blimey. Is that another one of them magician’s secrets I shouldn’t spill?”

  “Yes, it is. And it will be awkward should it make the papers.”

  “I’ll manage it. Will you remain, awaiting the sister? She shouldn’t see that in there.”

  “I quite agree.” He pulled out his watch and flipped it open. He’d send her to another boarding house. “Yes. I will remain.”

  “That’s gratifying, Leo. Nothing worse than an hysterical woman. And I don’t mind saying, we can use your help. You seem to have a knack for these kinds of cases. A pity you weren’t around the first time when the Ripper was doing his worst.”

  “Yes.” For if the murders were much the same, Leopold realized that there was no human murderer involved in those earlier cases either. He hoped Eurynomos was still at the theatre. He didn’t fancy cutting his arm again so soon.

  * * *

  AFTER RUBY ARRIVED, he refused to permit her inside, explaining it in the simplest of terms. He allowed her to sob loudly on his shoulder for a good quarter of an hour at the news, before he allowed Thacker to ask his questions. Then Leopold gave her several pound notes and told a policeman to escort her to the nearest boarding house. “She may stay as long as she likes,” he told him. “Let me know where.”

  She sobbed her thanks and leaned on the policeman, and they both disappeared into the fog.

  “And now,” he said, turning to Thacker. “Give me two hours, and I will meet you at Scotland Yard. I should like to have a look at the files from the Ripper case.”

  He hailed a cab and after a hurried gallop through the streets, the cabby deposited him in front of the King’s Garden Theatre. The place was dark and he noticed a hastily scrawled sign that read “Show Closed Until Further Notice” posted across the front entrance.

  “Dash it!”

  Adjusting his coat, he hurried out of the sooty fog and down the wide alley to the stage door.

  Removing his key from his waistcoat he turned the lock. “Halloo! Anyone here?”

  A distinctive horned shadow arose from the stage’s back wall. “Leo, old man? Is that you?”

  “You should hope so,” he muttered. “If it were the archbishop of Canterbury, we’d all be in trouble.”

  “Oh, not at all, not at all. I am well acquainted with his grace. And with quite a few from other varied denominations.”

  “How ecumenical of you.”

  He grinned. “Ra-ther!”

  “Listen, Eurynomos, I don’t have much time. Tonight, our Rose was found dead. Eviscerated.”

  “No!”

  Raj wheeled up. “Did I hear you, aright, Leo? Our Rose—”

  “Met a very sticky end.” His stomach squirmed, remembering the sight of her. “She was carved quite competently and certain organs were removed. While she was alive, I might add, though there were no signs of struggle.”

  “Organs, you say.” The daemon scratched his square chin. It would have been a handsome chin, Leopold thought idly, if it didn’t happen to belong to a daemon.

  “Yes. I am quite confounded. Though I discovered footprints. From a Cloven-hoofed One.”

  Eurynomos walked slowly back to a table where he had, apparently, made tea for himself. “You don’t say.” He took up the cracked china saucer and clasped the cup’s handle with two huge fingers, the other three thrust outward as would any polite vicar. He sipped, licking his lips with a forked tongue. The sight was disturbing.

  “And there was an imp left behind to ‘watch,’ so he said.”

  “An imp. Who was it? Did you catch
his name?”

  “No, dash it, I did not.”

  “Well, don’t fret, old man. I’m certain you were out of sorts having just seen your assistant hollowed out.”

  “Poppycock! I was perfectly rational about the entire affair. He was only a mindless, vulgar servant.”

  “Sometimes those are the best kind, old man.” He took another delicate sip. With the daemon’s wide face, he could very well have devoured the whole tea cup if he desired. “Pity you didn’t get his name, though. I shall have to make enquiries. In the meantime, what will you do?”

  “This is not an isolated case. I think a Romani girl was similarly ravaged, but of that I have no proof. I’ll work with Scotland Yard to investigate, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  Leopold strode toward the table with the tea things. Raj looked on concerned and somewhat envious. He could not partake of tea. Not only did he not possess a reservoir to contain it, but the tea would inevitably rust his interior. Leopold poured himself a cup, added three spoons of sugar, and poured the milk. He lifted the saucer, then the cup, and drank the hot-sweet liquid, soothing nerves he hadn’t realized needed soothing.

  “Have you heard of this before, Eurynomos? This killing and taking of organs?”

  “Perhaps,” he said softly. “But it’s been centuries. Let me think on it.” He glanced at the clock. “Dear me, look at the time. I must away. I’ve been here much too long. Your brassy friend here is too charming a host.”

  There was a creak as Raj bowed his head. He gave a metallic chuckle. “You are too kind, my friend.”

  The daemon replaced the cup and saucer beside the teapot and rose to full height. He seemed to have grown again quite suddenly. He smiled his sharpened teeth at Leopold. “I shall see to it, old man. Looks like there is mischief afoot in Gehenna. And we can’t have that.” The smile faded and he rested a giant taloned hand on Leopold’s shoulder. Leopold could feel the weight of it, but he was also aware that the daemon was holding back, preventing that hand from crushing his mortal shoulder. “Have a care, old friend. There are portents. Signs. I do not like the look of the sky tonight. You would be wise to get out your tefillin and say a few prayers.”

  “You know I do not truck with such Jewish superstitions.”

  “Oh, indeed! And yet to call upon Gehenna’s daemons is more to your liking? You and your father were certainly odd fellows.” He lowered his eyes. “I miss him.”

  “As do I.” He lowered his face, changing the subject. “I must be off to Scotland Yard. Raj,” he said, turning to his automaton. “The show is closed. And without Ruby and Rose… No matter. The point is you are free to do as you please without fear of being disturbed.”

  He bowed his head. A piston hissed with the movement. “As you wish.”

  He glanced at the daemon over his shoulder. “I will see you soon.”

  “Perhaps,” he said enigmatically. He took a step back, the nails of his toes scraping across the stage floor. A line of white-hot light shot up from the floorboards and opened into a doorway. Eurynomos stepped backwards into it. He and the light vanished with the merest of breaths, the same sound the wind made through the branches of dead, gnarled trees.

  Chapter Four

  ALL THROUGH THE carriage ride, Leopold contemplated Rose and Jaelle. Was his childhood friend in peril? Would she be found in the same state as his erstwhile assistant?

  Once Leopold met Thacker at Scotland Yard, he convinced the inspector to ride out with him to the outskirts of London instead of tracking through files.

  The carriage bumped over rough roads and tracks. The journey seemed longer, and the more it went on the greater his anxiety grew. If this monstrosity could touch someone like Rose it could come for anyone. Jaelle. He couldn’t stand the thought of it. He clutched at the door molding until his muscles were raw. Finally, they arrived outside London proper, in Battersea.

  Thacker tumbled out of the carriage and righted himself, tugging at the hem of his coat. “I’m here, then, Kazsmer, in the middle of the bloody night in the middle of a bloody bog, no less. What did you want to show me?”

  Leopold aimed his lamp up a rise, the paraffin light sweeping through the mist. “It’s not a bog. It’s near the Gypsy encampment. I thought it best to talk about the missing Gypsy girl as soon as possible.”

  “It couldn’t have waited for the morning?”

  Leopold shook his head and strode forward, his trouser legs dampening from the wet foliage. Thacker followed him, grumbling under his breath.

  When they made the rise, Leopold looked down on the encampment. He hadn’t been there in many a year but the sight suddenly brought to mind old memories, both pleasant and unpleasant. The smell of the campfires, the sounds of the horses muttering in the dark, the creak of the caravans, and the flapping of the banners. He paused on the rise before descending, his lamp sweeping ahead of him and lighting a narrow path.

  When he reached the bottom of the hill with Thacker stumbling behind him, two men rounded the closest caravan. Their silhouettes showed cudgels in their hands. They stood feet apart, their wild hair blowing.

  Leopold raised his free hand. “Béke, a barátok!”

  The men’s taut stance loosened, and they looked at one another before raising a hand to their brows, squinting at him through the hand lamp’s glow.

  “It’s Leopold Kazsmer,” he said to the men, who dropped their clubs to their sides.

  “Leopold?” said one, scratching his cap-covered head. “It’s been many a day since you graced us with your presence.”

  The deep voice resonated and Leopold found the memory. “Ferka? Is that you?”

  “Aye. Wotcher, Leo?” The man Ferka walked forward and slapped Leopold on the shoulder. In the lamp light, Leopold noted the other man, whom he thought was called Georgios.

  With wary smiles they turned their attention to Thacker. He touched the brim of his bowler. “Gents. I’m Inspector Thacker from Scotland Yard.”

  Both men tensed, looking as if they were ready to bolt.

  “He’s here about Jaelle,” said Leopold softly.

  Ferka and Georgis subtly relaxed but Leopold noticed they never really let their guard down.

  “We should go to Yanko,” said Georgis.

  With a weary sigh, Leopold nodded.

  The men led the way through the caravans, past wet laundry hanging on lines between them, past sleepy dogs raising their heads. Snoring croaked from open windows and Leopold stiffened upon seeing the caravan near the back of the gathering. Smoke rose from the little chimney and there was a yellow glow from behind the curtains that said Yanko was still awake. Discomfort crawled over Leopold’s skin, making his wrist tattoo itch, but he did not hesitate to launch himself up the short stairs ahead of the men and knock.

  He heard a shuffling and his uncle’s gravelly voice mutter, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” A bolt was thrown and the door opened. The man’s dented hat and muddy frock coat were elsewhere. Yanko stood in the doorway, waistcoat opened revealing tattered braces. His gray hair frizzed about his head in a mocking halo and his yellowed eyes opened in surprise. His pipe hung from the edge of his lips and white stubble covered his chin. “Bless me, it’s a miracle.” He looked Leopold up and down. “Your need must be very great to come to me, Leopold.”

  “I came about Jaelle.”

  His brows rose and he took a puff on his pipe, blowing the acrid smoke out of the other side of his mouth. By then he’d noticed Thacker and the two men. “And you’ve brought a friend. A rozzer, no doubt. Well, you’d both best come in.”

  Leopold moved into the familiar caravan and Thacker entered warily, looking around. Yanko stood in the doorway and blocked Georgis and Ferka. “Thank you, gentlemen. I can take it from here.”

  They looked sour in their disappointment, but they touched the brims of their beaten hats and backed down the steps. Yanko closed the door on them and turned to face Leopold.

  Leopold stood before the small wood
stove, warming himself. He switched off his lamp and clutched it in his hand. The room smelled familiar, with the heavy scent of cabbage, burnt coarse tobacco, a sweet hint of incense, and sweat. It was decorated like most drawing rooms, with swags and fringe and heavy carpeting, but the colors were considerably more garish; crimsons instead of muted maroons, bright verdant spring shoots instead of a proper Lincoln green. The materials were smoke-tinged and shopworn. Threads and fringe dangled. The arms of the chair Leopold sat in were worn through the velvet to the backing. It added to his level of discomfort. The memories of poverty, living hand to mouth, gave him a shudder. He found himself absently wiping imaginary dust from his trousers. He stopped when he noticed and looked up to his uncle’s inquisitive countenance.

  Thacker sat in a wooden chair beside Leopold and Yanko lowered to a stool. He took a dingy handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and used it to cover his hand while he leaned over and opened the wood stove’s door. He thrust in a straw, withdrew the burning stick, and relit his pipe, puffing the smoke purposefully toward Leopold.

  “So you come to me at last,” rumbled Yanko, his Hungarian accent thickening. His accent always thickened in front of gadjo. He liked how uncomfortable it made them, and Thacker was no exception.

  “This is Inspector Despenser Thacker of Scotland Yard, Uncle.”

  Thacker shot him a look. “Uncle?”

  “Yes.” He coughed. “This is my Uncle Yanko. I…used to live here.”

  Thacker pushed back his bowler and stared. Leopold felt his cheeks warm under his scrutiny.

  “I’ll be blowed,” he muttered. “Right, then.” He shook himself and squared on Yanko. “Mr. Yanko—”

  “Péntek. My name. Yanko Péntek.”

  “Right. I understand you fear that a young lady is missing from your… your… er…. troupe,” he finished uncomfortably.

  “Jaelle, yes. She did not return tonight as expected. Her parents are worried.”

  “Return from where, sir?”

  “We were working at the Dirigible Exhibition. She was selling trinkets and she never returned. But this was found.” He rose and ambled toward a shelf. Throwing a cover aside, he returned holding what looked to be a broken tray. Leopold recognized it well. It was the sort of tray with shoulder straps one used to walk about fairs or on the streets selling one’s goods. They usually had a secret drawer for stashing the coins from the sales. Or hiding stolen watches and wallets. This one was smashed and twisted, and spattered across it was…