The Daemon Device Page 8

  He opened his mouth to protest when the chief superintendent and a cadre of serjeants clambered into the room. “What in hell is this?” boomed the chief superintendent. “Who invited this Chinky in here?”

  Mingli narrowed her eyes. “Are you the chief superintendent?”

  “I am. And who the hell are you?”

  She said nothing. Merely pursed her lips and withdrew a folded paper from a small pocket in her jacket. She snapped the paper open and presented it to him.

  The chief superintendent made a show of reluctance to take it before he closed his beefy hands on the page, snatched it from her hand, and read. Almost immediately his eyes widened and he stood to attention. With his mouth hanging open, he slowly handed the paper back to her. She carefully folded it and replaced it into the miniature pocket in her jacket. “Are we clearer now, Chief Superintendent?” she asked.

  “Er…yes. Sorry, miss. I mean…Inspector Z-hay.”

  “It’s pronounced ‘jow’. I suggest you familiarize your men with it.”

  He touched his hat, face blushing furiously. “Will…will these accommodations be sufficient? Perhaps another office is better suited…”

  “These will do. Though I must have access to a laboratory as well. Is there something of a lab in the building?”

  He looked uncertainly back at his serjeants and they assured him that there was, in the basement.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Then if there are no further questions…”

  “Oh, right! Er...we’ll be…we’ll be going.”

  “Thank you, Chief Superintendent.”

  The man turned abruptly, running into his serjeants whom he shoved out of the way, his gruff manner returning in full force.

  Leopold looked after their retreating backs with some concern. What the bloody hell had been on that piece of paper? He looked at her anew.

  “Now then,” she said, a smug smile teasing her lips. She sat down in Thacker’s leather chair, mindful of her bustle, and steepled her fingers. “Tell me about these murders. These women with their bowels removed.”

  * * *

  LEOPOLD GAVE HER the bare facts. He had never told Thacker about his association with daemons and now he never would. He had known the man for a scant four years. Was that enough time before disclosing something so…well, unbelievable? Helping Thacker, especially when it was the mischief of the Otherworld, had never seemed so dire before. But the denizens of the Otherworld had never seemed more mischievous than they had of late.

  She listened attentively without interruption. Leopold skirted over the parts he couldn’t readily explain to her and a quirked brow was her only reply.

  “I should like to see the place where it happened. Thacker’s death, that is,” she said after a pause, and rose.

  “Just one moment.” Leopold sat back in his chair. “You have told me nothing of who you are and where you come from. That paper that you showed the chief superintendent. What was it?”

  She smiled. He noticed just the merest hint of rouge to her lips. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

  He shook his head. “No, I'm afraid that’s not good enough. You appear out of the blue and everyone kowtows to you suddenly. A woman. A special inspector. Just what is a ‘special’ inspector?”

  “Merely that. Special. Unusual. Above the bar.”

  “And who called you in if even the chief superintendent hadn’t heard of your coming? He’s the head of the metropolitan police in London. Shouldn’t he have called upon you?”

  “I don’t work for the metropolitan police.”

  “But then…”

  She walked toward the coat rack, retrieving her damp cloak and swirling it over her shoulders. “Your chief inspector was satisfied. I would think that that would be good enough for you.”

  Leopold rose and adjusted his beaver hat onto his head. “It certainly isn’t,” he muttered.

  He followed her out the door again, enduring the quiet stares of the policemen in the foyer, and took to the street to hail a cab. She put two gloved fingers to her lips and whistled as loud as any street vendor and he rushed up to her and pulled her hand away from her mouth. “Really! Please allow me.”

  When he turned to the kerb, she stopped him with a strong hand on his wrist. “If you ever touch me again without my permission,” she all but growled, “it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  “Oh, will it?” He postured, staring down at her. She was a mere few inches shorter, but he enjoyed that little advantage.

  “Yes. Most assuredly.”

  The cab arrived and she took the lead, climbing in first.

  “London docks,” she told the cabby, giving Leopold barely enough time to get in after her before the hansom lurched away from the kerb.

  He stared out the window away from her. What could she possibly find that would satisfy? He certainly couldn’t tell her what really happened. He had had to tell the constables on duty that he found Thacker in that state. The coroner had ruled it an unusual murder, that he had been stabbed by a multi-blade instrument and sustained further injuries by falling from a great height. All of which was true. But he could not supply the coroner with any other details.

  It wasn’t long until they arrived. The rain was still at a drizzle and he led the way out of the carriage, taking her hand without thinking.

  “You were there,” she said. “Show me.”

  He nodded. Opening his umbrella, he struck out away from the street and back to the docks bustling now at midday with dockworkers. They eyed her with predatory glares and Leopold felt obliged to walk close beside her, sweeping his vigilant gaze from left to right. He pointed ahead toward the berth where it had happened, and she moved smartly in that direction.

  It had been days since he had been there, but he felt the prickle of some activity. It seemed too long a time to be residual, so he dipped his hand past his top coat and into his waistcoat for his spectacles. Putting them on, he scanned the area.

  She turned her head and looked him over. “Interesting. Multi-dimensional spectacles.”

  He whipped them off and looked at her aghast. “What? How did you—”

  She peered over his arm as he tried to hide them. “Doesn’t the effect nauseate you?”

  “I…no…”

  “Hmm. Curious. I have never actually seen them in the flesh before. May I?” She held out her hand.

  He stuffed them primly away. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  She smirked. “You are very interesting, Leopold Kazsmer.”

  “I’m nothing of the kind.”

  She turned toward him. “You are a magician, working at King’s Garden Theatre until a few days ago when a most remarkable and some say obscene display of prestidigitation took place, whereupon the theatre manager sacked you. One of your twin assistants was murdered, much like the Gypsy girl—that you knew—and a few others found their demise. You are currently hiring new assistants, you need a new theatre, and you have ties to the Gypsy camp outside London. And you possess a very remarkable pair of spectacles. Have I left anything out?”

  His mouth had fallen open again. He trembled with barely contained rage. “Just what are you playing at?” he said quietly, hands clenched into fists at his side.

  “’Playing at’? I assure you, I am not playing at all.”

  “How do you know these things? How do you…”

  “All in good time, my dear Mr. Kazsmer. Shall we continue?” She gestured toward the berth.

  He found himself absently pulling his left sleeve down. Following her more slowly, he asked, “You said…you said you attended Oxford.”

  “Graduating with honors. Prior to that, I spent some time in Germany. I have a scientific bent, Mr. Kazsmer, and I found that the scientists there were open to discussing their theories and experiments with me. My father was a scientist.”

  “Mine was a teacher.”

  She blinked at him sadly. “Yes, I know.”

  “You kn
ow quite a bit,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “And it’s taken me years to find most of the answers I seek.”

  “About me?”

  “You…and others like you.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Listen, Miss Zhao—”

  He suddenly found himself thrown to the ground, with a rapier in her hand pointed at his throat. “I warned you it was unwise to touch me,” she said, blowing a loosened strand of hair from her eyes.

  He felt the tingle again, gathered the magic, and with a flick of his fingers, they had abruptly changed positions.

  She looked bewildered for only a moment as she lay on the ground, looking up at the blade at her throat, and then a most becoming smile broke out on her face.

  “Good gracious,” she said. “You have a definite talent. I wonder if Thacker was aware…”

  Leopold took a deep breath and then swished the blade away and to the side. He reached down a hand to pull her to her feet. She took it and stood beside him, eyes fixed on his face.

  He felt heat creep up his neck and he cleared his throat, handing her the blade, hilt first. “I don’t like being taken by surprise.”

  “Clearly not.” She brushed off her skirts, trying vainly to reach the ruffles of her bustle. Taking the blade, she slid it back into her umbrella and snapped it into its hiding place, looking for all the world as the umbrella’s handle.

  “And Thacker was not…quite…aware…”

  “I see. Perhaps you kept things from him for his own safety.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And will you keep them from me?”

  He gazed at her squarely. “Perhaps.”

  She laughed, a musical sound. “I hope to earn your confidence.”

  He snorted. He very much doubted it. Especially when she moved so purposefully within the berth. How did she know where exactly it had happened? And the time she spent in Germany greatly disturbed him. Now more than ever he wanted to see that paper she had showed to the chief superintendent. Did it by any chance have the Waldhar crest at its top?

  Crossing the threshold of the berth reawakened his unease. Yes, he felt the tingling starting from his marked wrist and traveling up his arm. Something was here. But it didn’t feel the same as when Ogiel was present. His gaze flicked from corner to corner. He wanted desperately to retrieve his spectacles but he didn’t want her studying them. His thoughts suddenly lighted on Professor von Spiegel. It was possible he had heard of her if she was in Germany. She would be a difficult woman to forget. Chinese, British accent, brash carriage. And the man might be able to link her to Waldhar. His growing anxiety about her coupled with the pins and needles of magic washing over his skin.

  To hell with her. He took out his spectacles anyway, placed them on his face, and moved lenses up and down. He swept the area with his eyes, walking backward, scanning.

  “What can you see?” she asked breathlessly, watching him wide-eyed with something like envy.

  “Nothing,” he answered truthfully. But he didn’t stop casting his gaze…until he remembered the ceiling. When he looked up, he almost expected it.

  He could just see the imp in the rafters. The creature was doing something with his hands. The imp looked down occasionally at Leopold, grinning, and licking his lips with that forked tongue, but saying nothing. It took another second for Leopold to finally recognize what he was doing.

  His sawing complete, the imp sat back, giggling. The heavy block and tackle swung for a moment before the thick rope bearing it up finally snapped. The missile headed for Mingli. Leopold leapt forward. At the same time, she whirled with her rapier and bore down on him.

  Something glanced his head. A white-hot pain cascaded around him and he dropped, sight going foggy. The last thing he saw was Mingli standing over him again and raising her blade before it all went dark.

  Chapter Ten

  COLD WATER HIT Leopold’s face and he choked on it. Snapping to a sitting position he was sorry he did. His head ached, and he looked up.

  Mingli, surrounded by dockmen, wore a worried expression. “Are you quite all right?”

  He touched his head. There was a bump forming under his hair. To the side, the block and tackle, nearly as big as he was, lay broken.

  “You’re a lucky son-of-a-bitch, guv’nor,” said one of the workers, scratching his head. “Missed you by a ‘hinch.”

  “Something knocked me out,” he complained, rubbing the bump and trying to blink away the stars from his eyes.

  A gray-haired sailor with ragged woolen trousers grimaced with what teeth he had. “Must have been the rope snapping at you.” Leopold looked again and noticed the rope, as thick as a man’s arm. “There’d be naught left of you if that block had landed true.”

  He rose with the help of the dockmen. “Yes, I can see that.” He glanced quickly at Mingli, but her rapier was neatly stashed again within the umbrella. Once the dock workers were satisfied that Leopold was upright and in his right mind again, they sauntered away, giving the block and tackle a last glance, and Mingli Zhao a lingering one.

  She handed him something. His spectacles. “They were knocked off your face. I grabbed them before the men arrived.”

  Remarkably, they were unbroken. He tucked them away and leaned over to recover his hat.

  She stared upward into the rafters. “I have a feeling that this was no accident.”

  He dusted off his beaver hat before setting it gingerly on his head. “You would be right.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “Why were you holding your sword on me?”

  She cocked her head in that damnably attractive way. “I wasn’t holding my sword on you.”

  “Look, I wasn’t that much out of my head. I saw you. You had your blade and you were bending over me. Trying to finish the job?”

  Her eyes widened. “How extraordinary. Why would you think that I was trying to attack you?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Certainly not! I was defending you. I knew this wasn’t an accident.” She cast her hand toward the block and tackle. Leopold glanced at it again. She could have dispatched him easily while he was down. But perhaps the dockmen arrived before she could do it. He would have to give her the benefit of the doubt…for now.

  He pulled on his lapels and straightened his cravat. “Just how much do you know of…of the worlds beyond our own?”

  Her eyes lowered. If he did not know her better, he might suspect her of coquetry, but Mingli Zhao was anything but. “There is much I don’t know. But I am aware of…some things. Your spectacles, for one.”

  “Have you seen the like before?”

  “Yes. Once. In Germany.”

  He gritted his teeth. Stepping forward, he pushed up his sleeve. “And this? Have you ever seen its like before?”

  She drew back. “My God.” She breathed for a few moments, staring at it before raising her gaze to his. “Only in books, sir. And certain…scrolls.”

  He flicked the sleeve back into place. “And so. Now you know how it lies.” He looked upward. The imp was long gone. “There was an imp. Just there,” he pointed. She followed his arm but, of course, there was nothing to see. “An imp is a small daemon. Usually harmless except for pranks; souring milk, tangling a sleeper’s hair, tripping, and the like. But this was not harmless. And…I’ve encountered that particular imp before.”

  “Did this imp kill Thacker?”

  She did not seem hysterical as he might have expected. Or even out of breath. But she was Oriental and perhaps used to mystical things. He brushed off his coat. “No. That was his counterpart. A Cloven-Hoofed One. His name is—”

  “Ogiel,” she whispered.

  He took a step toward her. “How the devil did you know that!”

  She touched her throat lightly. “I have no fancy spectacles, sir, but I needed none when faced with that particular specter.” Her gaze was glassy, far away…before she blinked, seeming to erase it from her thoughts. “It was long ago. Well then.
Now I know. I will have to cobble something for the report.”

  “Thacker did that frequently. I never explained to him, but he trusted me.”

  She spun the umbrella handle thoughtfully. “I suspected something of the kind. Was it calculated?”

  Was it? Was it by Waldhar’s orders? Or perhaps hers? He still didn’t know why she was called in or by whom. Not until he got a hold of that paper.

  “I don’t know. It appeared to be accidental. Thacker merely walked in at the wrong time…while I was confronting the demon.”

  “Your mark protected you.”

  “No. No, it was something else.” He shook his head, but it hurt to do that. He paused, collecting himself. “Have you seen enough? I wish to go home.”

  She made an irritated sound but gave him a curt nod. “Yes, you must attend to yourself, Mr. Kazsmer. That was a nasty wound you took.”

  “I have tinctures at home that will help.”

  “Do you need assistance?”

  He certainly didn’t want her to know where he lived, but with a snort he realized that she probably knew that already. “No. No, thank you.”

  “Let me at least help you hail a cab.” She grabbed his arm under his protests and dragged him outside to the street with remarkable strength. He wondered vaguely if it was her Oriental nature or something else that gave her such self-assurance.