The Daemon Device

by Jeri Westerson

  So, she didn’t know all. He held up his arm and angrily pushed back the sleeve revealing the tattoo. Thacker stuck his head back in the carriage and stared, whistling.

  “This involves me!” said Leopold. “I cannot avoid it. If the denizens of the Otherworld are allowed to crossover into this one, I shall be a very visible target. And believe me, having been so once before is quite enough for one lifetime.”

  She seemed to have dropped her defenses and looked at him anew. “I…do not pretend to know your history, Mr. Kazsmer. Oh, I know that you were raised as a Gypsy—” He gritted his teeth at this so casually cast-off revelation. “—but I do not know the circumstances under which you received…that. Perhaps someday you will trust me enough to tell me.”

  He cast a dark gaze toward the window watching London speed past. “I don’t know anyone that well.”

  She remained a silent shadow within the cab, and that’s as he would have it. He didn’t know why he had agreed to go with her. He didn’t know what purpose it would serve. But now he was even more anxious to build that Lock. And as long as von Spiegel was willing to put in the time, he would let him. But who stole the plans? Was it Waldhar’s men? Of course it was. Never mind how they found that address. He supposed he had his many minions to find it. Someone might have followed him at any time, as Mingli had, though he was usually careful, watching to make certain no one did. She made him careless. He must not allow that again.

  Although it all seemed moot now. Even Mingli knew where it was. There was nowhere that was safe. He’d have to make the best of it. As long as he avoided allowing her female charms to seduce him, he could investigate her at the same time. Maybe Thacker could be useful in that. He could go through walls. Perhaps even go through the files at the Yard.

  And von Spiegel had heard of her. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find out about her with Thacker’s help. It would take more than a letter from his highness the Prince for him to be convinced of her innocence.

  He studied her profile as she surveyed their surroundings. He couldn’t deny that she intrigued him. If she were working for Waldhar she was doing a poor job of it. Had she left Leopold to his own devices back at the warehouse…well, he might not have been able to save the girl. He was outnumbered and out gunned. But dammit, he would have made a good show of it!

  But what more was here? Bringing Thacker back—and he glanced at his half a torso penetrating through the carriage wall—was only part of her trickeries. That old Chinese woman. Who knew what she had really said. And that scroll. It might all be mere show and might be more spellwork to flout him and his plans. Well, the only way to discover it was to go along with her. And he didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter at any rate. She was a singularly headstrong and forceful woman.

  Lost in his thoughts, Thacker’s voice suddenly startled him.

  “Here now! Wh-what’s happening?”

  Thacker’s spirit hands tried to hold on to the carriage but of course they passed right through. He glanced desperately at Leopold before he seemed to be sucked through the carriage and was gone.

  “What—?”

  Mingli knocked on the carriage roof with her umbrella. The driver opened the trap door and looked down. “Yes, miss?”

  “Stop the carriage and turn around.”

  “Turn around? In this traffic?”

  “I said turn around and head back the way we came.”

  He screwed up his mouth, touched the brim of his hat, and let fall the trap door with a bit more force than Leopold thought was necessary. He held on to his topper as the hansom skidded with a turn. The whip cracked and a few other cabbies offered choice words, but they were turning.

  “What happened to Thacker?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment,” said Mingli, her face a stone.

  Presently, Thacker popped back in, looking perplexed.

  Mingli tapped on the roof again. “Stop here, driver.”

  “Aye, miss,” he said and the carriage slowed. He closed the trap door more carefully this time.

  “What the bloody hell happened to me?” cried Thacker, before he touched his bowler’s brim. “Pardon, miss.”

  “I was afraid of this,” said Mingli. “We have discovered the border of your wanderings, Inspector. Do forgive me.”

  “Eh? The ‘border of my wanderings’?”

  “Yes. A spirit can only go so far. The place you first materialized—Scotland Yard—is now the center of your universe. With a varying and arbitrary border encircling it. I have studied this for quite some time, and I have yet to figure out the nature of the border. But it seems to be approximately three miles…as the crow flies.”

  “But…I’m a ghost. Can’t I go anywhere?”

  “There are limits, apparently, Inspector. I’m sorry. You won’t be able to go on with us to the fair.”

  “But it’s only in Battersea. That’s well within three miles.”

  She shook her head. “As I said, sir, it is beyond my capabilities to understand the nuances. I intend to make a study of it someday.”

  “Well that’s dashed brilliant,” said Leopold with a scowl. “What is he supposed to do? Haunt Whitechapel?”

  “Forgive us, Inspector, but we must go on to the fair. In the meantime, I suggest you find your border within the city. It’s not a perfect circle, mind, but at least you will know your limitations.”

  Clearly, Thacker was disappointed. “Cheer up, old man,” said Leopold. “You’ll be able to help in other ways. It’s probably a good idea to do as she says.” He offered a tentative smile.

  Thacker wore an expression that seemed to say how sorry he was he couldn’t drink. “Right then,” he said dejectedly. “I’ll just…go…shall I?”

  “Sorry, Spence. We’ll meet back at the lockup.”

  Thacker saluted, gave Mingli a scowl, and disappeared through the wall.

  Leopold spun on her. “You could have told him before!”

  “He was able to get to Whitechapel easily. I assumed Battersea would be within his sphere. Spiritualism is not a defined science, Mr. Kazsmer.” She knocked on the roof with her umbrella once more. “On to the fair, if you please.”

  The driver nodded, and they were off once more.

  Leopold brooded. He could have used Thacker’s help. Now he had to be alone with…her.

  The road ahead was dark, but he could easily see the lights from the fair slide off the large dirigibles above the treetops ahead. The fair had reopened at the request of the Prince Consort. Leopold wasn’t best pleased by this news but perhaps with the fair-goers surrounding them as cover, their task would be made easier.

  They left the sheltering trees behind revealing the bright array of electric lights shining in a welcoming arch over the entrance.

  The cabby stopped. Leopold’s watch read 8:55. They’d been delayed with Thacker’s problem, but the fair was still going on. Perhaps they kept later hours now to make up for the lost days that it had been closed.

  Mingli surged ahead and he trotted to keep up. He always seemed to be just barely keeping up with her.

  He tipped his hat low over his head and leaned in toward her as they approached the ticket booth. “I’m afraid you will have to pay. That chap in the booth has met me before.”

  She gave him barely a nod and surged forward, her small bag in her hand.

  Once she had obtained the tickets, they rejoined her at the gate.

  “Have you any idea where to start looking?” she asked.

  He allowed a wave of nostalgia to sweep over him. The smell of the roasted nuts, burnt sugar, and sawdust reminded him of the times he was sent by his Romani cousins into similar fairs and circuses to pick the pockets of strangers. He remembered sneaking into one of the tents with Jaelle to watch two men swinging from the trapeze high above his head. How their costumes intrigued! How their act amazed!

  It was at such a carnival that he had seen his first magician and when his Romani band had ventured into London, he had see
n more of them and had liked the elegance of their morning clothes, the way they moved their hands, the posh accents they had cultivated, and he had wanted it too. But would he have persevered if it hadn’t been for his father? For Eurynomos?

  It didn’t help to remember those days. Yet the smell of the fair was an undeniable window to a more innocent time.

  He inhaled it, savored it for a moment more, and then left it in the sawdust.

  “When I was here last, it was the large tent that I felt…what I felt.”

  “You can talk to me about it, you know,” she said, gaze steady.

  “No. I really can’t.”

  Her lips twitched but she said nothing.

  “It’s just this way,” said Leopold, gesturing.

  The main tent was closed, with guards posted at its canvas entrance. Mingli grabbed Leopold’s arm and threaded hers through it, walking close to him like any other couple.

  The contact made him gulp loudly and he pulled his stiff collar away from his throat. He thought he saw a smile curl the edge of her mouth before she ducked her face into the shadows.

  All at once she stopped with a little shriek of protest and began searching the ground, right in front of the guards. “My locket!” she cried in the most simpering tone he had yet heard from her.

  “Darling,” she said, tugging on Leopold’s sleeve. “Help me find it.”

  It suddenly struck him what she was doing and he played along. “Oh my dear!”

  He crouched down, giving a surreptitious glance toward the guards, who stretched their necks trying to observe the proceedings.

  Mingli appealed to them. “My locket,” she said beseechingly. “I’ve lost it. Can you help?”

  One guard looked at the other, shrugged, and approached, searching amid the sawdust on his hands and knees.

  The other, however, stayed at his post by the entrance. Leopold sighed dramatically and sidled up to him. “Women,” he said conspiratorially, rolling his eyes. The guard grunted his agreement. “I say, why all the guards? What’s in this tent, anyway? It isn’t Prince Albert is it, what?” He peered over the guard’s shoulder through a gap in the tent flap.

  The guard frowned and Mingli piped up with, “Are you looking for my locket, darling?”

  “Of course, my precious.” He elbowed the guard and whispered to his ear, “I’ll wager she left it in the hotel. She’s always forgetting things.” The guard merely looked at him. Leopold wore the silly-ass expression for the guard’s benefit for a moment more.

  Leopold strode up to Mingli and cautiously took her elbow. “My dear, I’ve no doubt at all that you weren’t even wearing the dashed thing.”

  Her mouth formed a charming “O” of surprise. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We, er, don’t need to trouble these gentlemen any further.”

  “But my locket—”

  “Is more than likely on your dressing table. Come, my dear.” He tugged and she rose, pouting most prettily until he led her around the corner where her expression smoothed out again.

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  “Men in oilskin coats and goggles,” said Leopold. “And some sort of iron structure, like a bank vault.”

  “Do you think...”

  “I do. Should we slip inside at some other point?” asked Leopold. “Like here?”

  She nodded. He knelt, bemoaning the sawdust grinding into his good trousers, and lifted the canvas just enough to peer in. They were in luck. This portion of the tent was used for stacking packing crates and would effectively hide them. He lifted it as high as he dared and motioned her forward. He suddenly doubted that she with her feathered hat tipping over a cascade of curls and her dress with its layers of ruffles would be able to maneuver beneath the lifted tent without some female objection, but she said nothing, fixed her face in determination, and slid almost balletically beneath the canvas. He suddenly doubted his own efforts and lost his hat in the transition. He snatched it from the floor and placed it back upon his head.

  Mingli had already finished brushing the sawdust from her gown and was hoisting up her skirts to reach for her gun.

  “Surely there is a more modest place to stow that,” Leopold grumbled.

  She smirked in his direction before turning her attention to the middle of the enormous tent, gun held to her chest.

  “What sort of gun is that anyway?” asked Leopold, looking it over.

  She raised her brow. “The sort that shoots demons.”

  Before he could ask further, she tilted her head toward the middle of the tent.

  Leopold followed her gaze. In the space where a dirigible surely should have been was instead a large iron structure, a box, with rivets holding each corner—the “bank vault” Leopold had spied. The thing climbed to the heights of the tent’s sweeping canopy and was surrounded by metal scaffolding, with men in oilskin coats and black vulcanized gauntlets reaching to their elbows, milling about on the framework’s many levels. Some had clipboards onto which they were taking notes, while others were examining the switches and gauges that were set into a box on the side of the gargantuan structure. Parts of the thing glowed, particularly at its seams, and smoke emanated from what appeared to be a door, shut up tight with no door handle or lock visible.

  There was a distinct and nauseatingly familiar odor in the air, one Leopold was unhappy with smelling.

  She caught his eye. Her normally cool exterior wore a stark and solemn expression, and he detected the merest hint of fear in her eyes.

  God knew what she saw in his.

  “What shall we do now?” she whispered.

  His gaze traveled over the impossible thing, at all the men wandering about it. The Lock had been an intellectual exercise, a challenge. But looking at the thing now and standing in its throbbing presence, Leopold felt a little disheartened and overwhelmed. He had never done anything like this, never dealt with such a task. What if he could not achieve it? What if this golem army was allowed to reach this plane? It was already a very bad sign that these human skins had been created. Who had done it? And why? And damn! After all that had happened, he’d completely forgotten to keep track of Waldhar’s butler. What had he done for the sake of these skins? Did Waldhar know about them? And what was this “Order of the Valkyrie” that he saw at that dreadful warehouse?

  “We can do nothing at the moment,” he said, urging her back to the canvas wall.

  “Can’t you do your magic?”

  “No, I can’t. It is not an ability that I can access at will. Especially after I drained myself with that last encounter.” And why the hell was he telling her his secrets? She could still be working for Waldhar. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. How a charming face could make him lose himself!

  “Where to now?” asked Leopold.

  Mingli holstered her unusual gun and straightened her hat. “I want a closer look at one of those dirigibles.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “WHY ARE YOU so determined to ride in those dreadful things? Surely you can go to any airship terminal in London. The city is lousy with them.”

  “I want to examine those particular Waldhar dirigibles. His newest. I want to see how they work.”

  He grabbed her arm and tugged her back, nearly slamming her into a wooden sign on one of the dimmer walkways. “You really do have to explain yourself. I am tired of being dragged around by you.”

  “I warned you about touching me when I didn’t give permission.”

  “And what are you going to do about it? Kiss me? I…I-I mean shoot me? I meant to say…shoot…me…”

  It was too late. Her lips curled into a smile and opened to show her teeth. She leaned her head back and lounged against the sign. “You want me to kiss you, Mister…Leopold?”

  “N-no! I…I never meant that. It was a slip of the tongue.”

  Her smile turned into a smirk. “A slip…of the tongue?”

  He gasped and shut his mouth. Worse and worse. The woman confounded him. “
Look,” he said, gasping. “It is plain that I am out of sorts. But it is also true that I don’t trust you—”

  “But you’d still like to kiss me.”

  “Dammit, woman! Are you listening to anything I have to say?”

  “Yes, Leopold.” She patted his chest patronizingly and pushed away from the sign. And why was she suddenly calling him by his given name?

  “Look here,” he said, rushing to keep up with her energetic strides. “I am a perfect gentleman. And your insinuations are insulting. I have no intentions of forcing myself upon you.”

  She stopped abruptly and Leopold nearly ran into her. “Will you stop doing that!” he said, fumbling with his tilted hat.

  “Mr. Kazsmer, I can assure you. I am well aware that you are a gentleman. And when I kiss you—and I will—you will know that the advance was entirely permissible.” She smiled, winked, and hurried onward.

  Leopold breathed. What did she…? Why the brazen…! The lilac scent she left behind filled his senses but also awakened him. She had moved far ahead. He gathered his wits and trotted after her again.

  When they reached the ticket booth they were among the last few to get tickets for the final dirigible ride of the evening.

  Men in smart German naval uniforms helped the passengers embark up a wooden staircase. The gondola was larger than Leopold anticipated and expanded into a comfortable lounge area, with green velvet-covered chairs to which an older officer with shiny silver buttons glinting from his uniform, with epilates on his shoulders, was directing their group to sit. Leopold himself had never partaken of dirigible transport in the city. He found it distasteful and a terrible smelly thing. And he didn’t fancy being up that high. For a moment, he envied Thacker.

  “Wilkommen,” boomed the officer, and bowed. “Welcome,” he continued in heavily accented English. “This is the largest dirigible made by the Luftschiffbau Waldhar, though you may know it, my English friends, as the Waldhar Airship Company. We are standing in the deck lounge of the Brunhild, Valkyrie class.”

  “Valkyrie,” muttered Leopold. He leaned toward Mingli. “Order of the Valkyrie,” he whispered. She looked back at him and nodded.