The Daemon Device

by Jeri Westerson

  He put in a call to Scotland Yard to summon Inspector Zhao.

  He paced, waiting for her. What mocking thing would she say to him? Would she call him a naïve fool? He’d deserve it, that much was clear. But he needed her help. There was no getting around it. She knew more about all of this than she let on, but she had also confided in him more than he ever expected or deserved. He owed her his trust. Even if he turned out to be a damned fool to give it.

  And what’s more he wanted to give her his trust. He wanted to trust her. Was it because of her seductiveness? Well, he admitted with a definite stirring below, that was certainly part of it. He wanted to trace that tattoo of hers, wanted to see it in its entirety. Wanted to leave his inexperience behind…with her. And she would be experienced, wouldn’t she? He mulled those thoughts in his mind. He should have dismissed her as used goods, soiled. But he only found outrage on her behalf and a desire to protect her. Oh, he was a fool right enough. As foolish as the punters he engaged with when he was a dirty-faced Gypsy plying his trade on London’s streets, swindling them out of their coins and laughing about them later with the other chaps around the camp fire.

  Still, Eurynomos had found out something about her and had been trying to tell him when Leopold sent him away for good. If it turned out that she was also on Waldhar’s payroll then he would give up entirely. Give up this new life he made and maybe move to America. He could find some other profession that didn’t involve Romani or daemons or magic. Some honest labor…like making shoes.

  It suddenly sounded very appealing.

  “Leo,” said Thacker softly. “I know what you must be feeling.”

  “I really don’t think you do.”

  “Maybe not. But best not to let it all cloud your judgment. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re smart. Even for a Gypsy.” He offered a lop-sided grin before it faded away. “And you’ve got your…your friends here to help you. This Raj, that Mingli, me your ghost, and even that daemon who don’t wear enough clothes for decency.”

  “Please, Spense…”

  “Now, now. I said you mustn’t let emotions cloud your judgment. That’s what me serjeant used to tell me when I was a copper on the beat. Oh, we liked to bash a few heads, mind. But as soon as I listened more than bashed, well, that was when I went from copper to inspector. There’s more here than meets the eye is all I’m saying.”

  “The inspector may be right, Leopold,” said Raj thoughtfully.

  “So noted, Raj…and Inspector.”

  A knock sounded on the door and he rushed to open it. “Miss Zhao. How good it is to see you.”

  She raised her brow at that and sauntered into the room, using her umbrella like a walking stick. She seemed to immediately notice a difference in Raj and stepped quickly toward him. “You managed to repair him!”

  “How the devil did you know that?”

  “I can see a faint glow beneath his shirt…and in his eyes. May I…will he…talk to me?”

  But before he could offer an explanation, the telltale whir and click of Raj’s motors and armature filled the quiet mew and he turned his mechanical head toward Mingli…and bowed. “Miss Zhao,” he said in his hollow voice.

  She raised her hand to her mouth and gasped. “I wouldn’t have believed it,” she said breathlessly. She turned toward Leopold, eyes shining. “If he hadn’t been connected to you, I would not have believed it, not a bit of it.” Facing Raj, she offered a curtsey. “Sir.”

  With a bow to his head, Raj gave his semblance of a smile. “Madam. I am the Amazing Raj, the Automated Man. At your service.”

  Her broad smile was genuine and had the effect of thumping Leopold’s heart that much faster. He had no idea what effect it might have on Raj.

  “I am Mingli Zhao, Special Inspector to Scotland Yard. But I expect you know that already if you have been allowed to eavesdrop all this time.”

  “A curse of my species, I am afraid, Miss Zhao. I am naturally wary of strangers.”

  “And are you feeling quite well now?”

  “Oh indeed, quite well, thanks to Mr. Kazsmer’s kind attention.”

  “Miss Zhao,” Leopold interjected. “I hate to interrupt this charming tête-à-tête, but there is much to do.”

  She straightened her jacket and nodded. “Of course, Mr. Kazsmer. Do forgive me. But it isn’t every day I meet a living mechanical man.”

  “I quite understand.”

  “I believe you were about to suggest,” offered Raj, “that you and Miss Zhao confront Manfried Waldhar at his home.”

  “I was?”

  “You were,” Raj muttered and then made a sound very much like the clearing of a throat.

  “I…suppose I was,” said Leopold, catching on. He faced Mingli. “If von Spiegel is indeed still working for Waldhar we must know what he is up to. We know what Waldhar is planning and he knows we know it. It’s time to get the constabulary involved, don’t you agree, Miss Zhao?”

  “I do. It is high time I make use of my official capacity as Special Inspector. Shall we? It was a delight to meet you, Mr. Raj. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Zhao. Do come back. It gets so dull amongst the books and magical accouterments. We shall take tea.”

  “Oh. Do you…?” She gestured vaguely to his seated form.

  “Ah, no. It is a mere conceit of mine. I do enjoy others taking tea, though I cannot partake myself. My enjoyment is purely by proxy.”

  She smiled and offered her hand. Raj took it and shook it gently. She turned on her heel, slapped Leopold in the chest, and said smartly, “Come, Mr. Kazsmer!”

  “What about me?” said Thacker.

  Poor Spense, thought Leopold. He didn’t quite know where he belonged.

  “I should like to take the inspector under my wing,” said Raj. “I can teach him much about being a phantom.”

  Leopold looked to Thacker to see if he were amenable. “If you don’t need me,” he said. He seemed torn between helping Leopold and all the mysteries that Raj could impart.

  “I leave it entirely up to you, old man. I’m sure the invaluable Miss Zhao has enough tricks up her sleeve to keep us safe.”

  His conflict turned to a twinkle in Thacker’s eye. “I’m sure she does,” muttered the ghost.

  “Are you coming, Mr. Kazsmer?” she repeated.

  Right then. Leopold could do little but obey her summons and reddened under the dry chuckles coming from Raj’s direction.

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED TO the Georgian house, now fitted with a mooring mast on its roof. A small airship attached to the mast bobbed with the wind. Waldhar was certainly at home. Carriages also lined the parkway and by the sound of it there was a party at the Waldhar estate.

  Leopold hesitated, but Mingli had no such reluctance. She trotted quickly up the steps, but before she could ring the bell, he cautiously laid a hand to her arm.

  “I know you don’t like to be touched and I apologize,” he began.

  “I’m…warming to it,” she said, eyes hooded.

  He cleared his throat. “You see, Raj told me that von Spiegel seemed…agitated, different. And he used a Chinese phrase to one of his imps.”

  “Oh? Which phrase?”

  “Something like…Beshwer Sie…”

  “Beschwöre Sie?”

  “That’s right. ‘Summon them’ he said. Why would he say it?”

  Mingli stared off into the middle distance, pondering. “That is interesting,” was all she would say. “We must know more. The only way is to go forward.”

  She seemed to be waiting for his permission. He gave a little nod and she stepped forward to ring the bell. Straightening her hat and jacket, she waited with head held high. Leopold adopted a similar posture, gloved hand on his suit jacket, and they stood like any other couple paying a call on a friend.

  The condescending butler answered the door, said nothing, and merely looked them both over.

  Mingli produced a ba
dge from somewhere. She seemed as good at sleight of hand as Leopold. “Guten Tag. Ich bin Mingli Zhao, Sonderinspektor von Scotland Yard. Wir sind hier, um zu sprechen, Herr Waldhar.”

  The butler glanced quickly over her proffered badge and just as quickly dismissed it. “Herr Waldhar nicht verfügbar.”

  “Nonsense, man. I can hear for myself that there is a party.” She pushed him aside and strode through the doorway.

  The butler glared, and Leopold tipped his hat. “Sorry, old man. I always do as the lady says. If you will excuse me…” He shouldered by the butler and entered the foyer, with its checkerboard floor and enormous spray of flowers displayed on the center table. Mingli didn’t stop and proceeded on to the open double doors to what appeared to be a ballroom.

  A string quartet bravely played amid the buzz of conversation. Leopold heard snatches of German as well as English as they moved through the crowd. The afternoon reception seemed to be in celebration of something and Leopold feared what exactly that might be. He scanned the crowd, as did Mingli, but he wasn’t quite sure whom he was looking for.

  He snatched a glass of champagne as a waiter walked passed with a tray and sipped. Mingli looked at him askance but he merely shrugged. “I’m thirsty,” he said in explanation, finished it quickly, and set down the empty glass on the nearest surface. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his pocket, just as the butler came up behind him and unceremoniously tugged off his top coat. Startled, Leopold jerked back but had the presence of mind to remove his hat and handed it to the scowling butler. The man’s eyes darted briefly to the left, and Leopold looked in that direction.

  “I say,” he said to Mingli. “I haven’t yet made the acquaintance of Herr Waldhar, but is that him?”

  Mingli turned.

  A straight-backed tall foreign gentleman sporting a monocle with shaggy gray hair and pronounced brows was looking at them intently.

  “Yes,” she said. But before they could begin to approach him, the butler was at his master’s side, whispering in his ear, and looking straight at Mingli and him.

  “We’ve been spotted,” he whispered back to her.

  Waldhar strode toward them. An Iron Cross hung from a red ribbon at his throat against his starched white shirt. He was clean-shaven with a sharp nose and small gray eyes.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said in a cultured German accent. “I am given to understand that you are the special inspector from Scotland Yard.” He eyed Mingli with suspicion.

  “That is correct, Herr Waldhar. I am Mingli Zhao.” She presented her hand. He hesitated a moment before he took it and pressed his lips quickly to the back of it.

  “An Oriental woman in such a position of power?” He chuckled. “Only the English would have the audacity.”

  “Or the intelligence,” she offered with a smile.

  He gave a slight smile in return. “Perhaps.” He then turned his attention to Leopold. “And you, sir. I did not catch your name.”

  “I don’t believe I dropped it.” Leopold bowed. “Leopold Kazsmer.”

  “Also with Scotland Yard?”

  “I am occasionally called upon to help.”

  Waldhar stared but when nothing more was forthcoming he blinked and sighed. “Kazsmer. That is a Hungarian name?”

  Leopold stiffened. The way he said “Hungarian” was very like Uncle Yanko’s mention of his Jewish father, and he suddenly didn’t like it from this man. “Yes.”

  “Such interesting and simple people,” said Waldhar, casually dropping his monocle in his hand and slowly and methodically polishing it with his handkerchief. “Simple people full of music and dance.”

  “I find that to make casual and demeaning pronouncements on any particular people or race is only to expose one’s own shortcomings.”

  Waldhar fixed the monocle back in place and scrutinized Leopold’s face. “Shortcomings? I have no shortcomings.”

  Leopold blinked at the monocle. “Shortsightedness, then.”

  A brow rose, a corner of the man’s mouth curled unnaturally into a smirk and then his face stiffened. “What is it the London constabulary wish to speak to me about?” Waldhar continued. “Is it to tell me about the culprits who ruined my dirigible?”

  Mingli shook her head. “Sadly, that investigation has not yet proved conclusive.”

  “No. I thought not.” He gauged them both again and Leopold thought that perhaps the jig was up. Waldhar could not have failed to be told that there was a couple who disappeared for most of that dirigible tour, and one was a dark-haired gentleman and his ladyfriend, an Oriental woman.

  Instead, Waldhar toyed with a silver fob chain at his waistcoat and waited.

  Mingli squared her shoulders. “Have you ever heard of daemons and golems?”

  Leopold coughed into his hand. He supposed she didn’t believe in holding her cards close to her vest.

  Waldhar didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash. “How extraordinary. Pray, what would I be doing with Jewish creatures of lore?”

  And there it was, saying Jewish in that dismissive way that Yanko always used. It stiffened Leopold’s shoulders.

  “Oh please, Herr Waldhar,” said Mingli. “Don’t let’s insult each other’s intelligence. I know that you have heard of them. I know that you study them.”

  There was a pause before Waldhar laughed. “Inspector, you are a delight! I never knew Chinese women to have such a sense of humor. So diminutive. So attentive to the needs of others. Of their masters.”

  Leopold shot her a glance but Mingli’s expression never changed.

  “You have been studying daemons for quite some time and are in the preparation of a device to enslave nations not descended from Germanic peoples, to corrupt and connive, and to sequester funds to promote your campaign of world domination. Your Order of the Valkyrie.”

  Leopold gawped, mouth open. She had done her research ahead of him, apparently.

  “What an imagination you have!” said Waldhar. “And you, Mr. Kazsmer, do you subscribe to this fantastical notion?”

  He smoothed his expression. “Subscribe to it? Why, sir! I am a witness to it.”

  Leopold detected the merest tick in Waldhar’s cheek. Perhaps this had struck home.

  He blinked slowly. “Interesting. That is quite an accusation.” He readjusted his monocle. “Then what would you have of me, Inspector?” Reaching into his coat he pulled out a gold cigar case, selected one, and put it in his mouth. He offered the case to Leopold, but Leopold politely declined. Waldhar next retrieved a pen knife from his pocket to slice off the cigar’s end and turned the knife around. It was also a lighter. “Would you see my papers, then? Talk to my servants?”

  “That would be a good start. I should like to know more about your Daemon Device. I’m certain the Prince Consort would never approve of that.”

  He slowed his puffing but finished the job until the cigar was well lit and his gold items had disappeared back into pockets. He puffed a few times and spewed smoke from the side of his mouth in near perfect rings.

  Turning his blank expression on Leopold, Waldhar said, “And you, Mr. Kazsmer. Do you also wish to be told of this…what did you call it? Daemon Device?”

  “Most assuredly, sir. For I should like nothing better than to…lock…it up.”

  Mingli stepped closer. “I’m particularly intrigued by the murders of the eviscerated women and why you need their organs. It is to somehow feed that diabolical machine of yours, or perhaps to feed your daemonic servants?”

  “Murder. Evisceration. Daemons. I must be quite the threat indeed.” Waldhar stared and puffed for a few seconds more. He didn’t look away as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Two strapping men in morning clothes approached and clicked their heels with a bow.

  “This man and this woman have overstayed their welcome,” said Waldhar to them. “Please see that they are escorted out. And make certain it is far enough away that they cannot easily find their way back here.” Waldhar puffed
on his cigar, tilted his head toward Mingli and Leopold each. “Good-bye, Miss Zhao, Mr. Kazsmer. I cannot in all truth say it was a pleasure.” He turned abruptly on his heel and strode back into the thick of his gathering.

  Leopold grabbed Mingli’s arm and pulled her away from the two men bearing down on them. He looked behind him for an escape, but two more men were approaching. There was no way out of this…until it sparked an idea.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried at the top of his lungs. People turned to look. “Meinen Damen und Herren! Today, you will be privy to a most amazing exhibition of prestidigitation! Please gather and observe!”

  “What are you doing?” Mingli rasped.

  Out of the side of his mouth he replied, “I’m getting us out of a tight fix.”

  He felt about for the tingle of magic. There was some present, but it was strange and foreign. He wasn’t sure of its nature and didn’t know if he could trust it enough for any spectacular escape. A good old-fashioned distraction would be in order instead.

  “Your gracious host has engaged me, Leopold Kazsmer the Great Enchanter, to entertain, to amuse, and to amaze you!”

  Delighted faces accompanied their applause and they moved closer, surrounding Mingli and Leopold. Leopold scanned over their heads and saw Waldhar’s goons drift back into the crowd. Waldhar was making his way to the back as well. Damn! He mustn’t get away!

  He took Mingli’s hand and found it trembling. It was the first time he had ever seen her discomfited. Strangely, it gave him confidence.

  He led her to where the quartet was staged and the crowd parted to accommodate them. “I will need a broom,” he said, looking about. “Can anyone acquire one?” There was some shuffling and calling upon servants, but one arrived in little time.

  “My lovely and exotic assistant will step forward,” he said, brandishing the broom. He caught just the edge of her narrowed glare before Mingli complied with a cautious smile. “We will place the broom so,” he said, putting it handle down and bristles upward. He usually performed this trick with carefully placed wires so that the art of the trick would not be detected. But he knew he had just enough magic to truly make it work. “And now, if the beautiful Mingli will stand here…” He positioned her so that the broom bristles were tucked under one arm.