Seeing her now in the company of Coppelius, I pondered how divinely gorgeous her mother must have been to offset her father's hideousness in producing such a lovely daughter as Olimpia. I found it an intriguing puzzle, however much the idea of a wife to Coppelius repulsed me.
"My trousers," I said, with a little embarrassment at calling attention to my condition. "Where are they?"
"You needn't concern yourself with your trousers just now, Edgar," Coppelius said. "You must rest. I daresay, you are fortunate to still be among the living."
"That's what I've been saying." I rose up from my pillows again only to be forced back down.
Coppelius pointed his eye at me crossly. "What you have been saying makes no sense. Monsters ... Bah! You would be well-advised to speak a little less freely of monsters and dead men. As your doctor, Edgar, I understand your condition ... The challenges you face. Others might be less understanding."
"You think I imagined it." The thought came as a revelation to me. My words were more accusation than question.
"I think you were fortunate not to be killed in your own fire, Edgar."
My flesh began to creep. "My own fire?" It sounded too much like Gessler referring to 'my man Burton'. My man? My fire? By God, I was sleeping when Gessler ushered me into that foul dungeon! I struggled for words to express my outrage. "Are you saying ... What are you saying? That I set some fire? It was the dead man, Burton, who was burning! And even then, he continued to pursue me, engulfed in flames!"
Coppelius frowned. "You continue to speak of this dead man, this Burton—"
"But he lives, I tell you." How could I explain what I myself did not understand?
"Then let the living be!" Coppelius snapped. "For your own good. I'm telling you, no more talk of Burton. Or ghouls. Or ghosts."
"But I am only saying what happened."
Coppelius cocked his eye at me sharply. "And I am only saying, Edgar, that the firemen who rushed into that blazing basement, pulled you52 f "Times New Roman" s 12and you alone—from the flames."
The words struck me in the face with greater force than even the spray of spittle from his misshapen lips. He sat scowling at me, his spit-moistened mouth twisted into a baleful frown. I looked past him and saw Olimpia slide out of the doorway and disappear into the other room.
"Me alone?" I repeated in disbelief. "None other?"
Coppelius shook his head sadly.
I suddenly felt beset by enemies. I knew what Doctor Coppelius thought, that I had imagined the creature. Gessler believed even more—that I had killed the man to begin with. I knew only what my senses conveyed to me. Unfortunately, what my senses conveyed to me was madness.
Once my shock had subsided, however, I found the explanation actually rather quite simple. Of course!
"Obviously," I said with equal measures of hopefulness and certainty, "the fiend was consumed in the flames. He must have been consumed utterly. My God, man, he was half-consumed when I ... when I left him!"
"There was no fiend, Edgar."
"Then how do you explain what I saw? Are you calling me a liar, sir?"
"If I believed you lying, son, this matter could be easily put to rest. As it is, I’m afraid there is no simple solution."
"Then you think I'm mad." By God, it was true! I wanted to leap from my bed and run, but my clothes had been taken from me. I looked wildly around the room. Was I a prisoner?
"Not mad—" Coppelius began.
"Then what else can it be? Who but a madman would believe he was chased by a corpse when he was not?" I found myself laughing. "Is this a common enough delusion that a sufferer should just shrug his shoulders and say 'I must have been mistaken'? What trick of light produces corpses bent on murder?"
"Not a trick of the light," Coppelius said, "but a trick of the mind." The doctor gave his temple a few taps with a twisted forefinger and fixed me with a grave look. "A fever of the mind. A fever that produces not murderous corpses, but hallucinations and—"
"Somnambulism," I finished for him.
Coppelius nodded. "Somnambulism," he agreed. "Triggered by trauma. The death of your wife ... This business with the police ... I understand this condition of yours, Edgar. The police do not, and will not be as forgiving, in any case."
"I have done nothing that requires forgiveness," I said feebly. The drug was beginning to cloud my mind. "You think I boarded a train to the city in my sleep?"
"If asked, that is precisely what I intend to say." Coppelius took the vial I had drunk dry and replaced it in his black bag. When he was finished, he turned and patted my hand. The clammy feel of his leathery palm made my stomach turn. "For your own good."
"For my own good? You mean to tell the police that I am mad? And that is for my good?"
"The police think you intended to burn the entire building down."
"They think what?" The drug must have been affecting my hearing, making it sound as though the police suspected me now of arson. Perhaps there was more than laudanum in Coppelius' glass. "For what reason would I be suspected of intentionally starting a fire?"
Coppelius stood, bag in hand. "To destroy evidence," he said. "It is lucky for you that I managed to spirit you away before you started babbling to them about this ... this fiend of yours. This dead man you speak of—"
"Billy Burton."
"Yes." Coppelius thrust his top hat onto his head. His coarse gray hair jutted from under its brim like sheaves of dry wheat. "This dead man should remain our secret." He tapped the side of his great purple nose. He may have been winking, but I couldn't see his eye under his overgrown brow. His bulging vulture's eye merely stared.
"But—" I started to say, thinking to tell him that it was Burton who would now be my salvation. The dead one, who had started the fire, would exonerate me of arson. The living one would exonerate me of murder.
I would have attempted to explain this, but there came to my ear at that moment the familiar sound of tapping. I did my best to ignore it. It was coming from the sitting room, beyond the door. When Coppelius gave no indication of hearing, I smiled at him in my most casual manner. He smiled back. At the best of times, the tapping was maddeningly insistent. In the company of others, I found it was all but unbearable. A line of sweat broke out on my forehead.
Coppelius scrutinized me closely. "You look flushed, Edgar."
I waited to see if the tapping showed in his expression, that if by some twitch or prick of his ear he might reveal his awareness of the sound. But he gave no sign. I felt as though he was having me on, that we were locked in a contest to which neither of us could admit.
My eyes never wavered from his. "It is this business of the evidence that has me agitated," I said.
I looked around again for my trousers and finally found them hanging over the back of a chair within arm's reach of my bed. Grasping handfuls of the fabric at a time, I soon felt the shape of the laudanum vial concealed within the pocket. It was still there!
"Far from destroying evidence," I said with a burgeoning sense of triumph, "I have preserved some."
I was about to produce the vial when I suddenly8212 f "Times New Roman" s 12and without any solid reason known to me—thought better of it. I let my hand fall away and instead told him about the trowel. I concocted some nonsense on the spot about how it could be examined to ascertain ownership and usage. Coppelius was unimpressed.
"Found a trowel?" he asked in a mocking tone. "Retrieved a trowel is what the police will say. In any case, the city is full of trowels, most of them smeared with brick mortar. Unfortunately, the one you speak of is now burnt beyond any use."
"I see..."
I pretended to be impressed by his logic. In truth, I was just glad I had declined to show him my vial, that it remained safely concealed, unburned, in my trousers pocket. I again gave him my most casual smile. I tried to hold his gaze, but found my eye drawn to the window beyond. The tapping continued without ceasing.
I felt myself beginning to break. "Can you not�
�?"
Coppelius cocked his head. I saw victory flash in his vulture's eye. "Can I not what?" he urged.
"Can you not ... stay just a little longer?"
"Bah! There is nothing more I can do. It is rest you need. Do not fret about ... evidence. Try to get some sleep. Your fever is back." He turned and departed.
I waited until I heard the door close, and then flung aside my sheets. I had no sooner swung my feet to the floor than Olimpia appeared again in the doorway. Thinking she had departed with her father, her presence startled me. A cry escaped me and I pulled the sheets up once again to cover my near-nakedness.
"Miss Coppelius!"
She looked at me expressionlessly, without saying a word. We stared at each other with nothing but the tapping on the window pane to fill the silence between us. A slight smile played over her red lips.
"I think your bird wants in," she said.
I allowed a second to pass. "You hear him," I declared breathlessly.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
Ignoring the tapping, she crossed the space from door to bed with as much grace as I had ever witnessed in a human being. She seemed to glide to my bedside. I pulled the sheets close to my neck. I might have been shivering—Times New Roman" s 12from fear, or excitement, I knew not what. She leaned over me. I felt helpless to move. I could feel her lips when she whispered in my ear, her words so soft I strained to hear.
"I believe in your monster, Eddy," she said, and then kissed me on the cheek.
Chapter 7
"I knew I shouldn't have let you go out. Look at the trouble you got yourself into." Tap crawled in through the window and flapped to the chair. His weight caused it to rock slightly while he sidestepped across its back.
"What trouble can there be on a day like this?" I countered. "Just smell that fresh air!"
"Yeah, just beautiful, Eddy—if you're an animal living in a tree. If you prefer perching next to a warm fire ... I gotta tell ya straight up, Eddy, it sucks out there."
Sometimes his expressions puzzled me. "It what?"
"Oh, I keep forgetting." Tap seemed to roll his eyes, though I saw nothing more than shiny black orbs amid his feathers. It might have just been the way he tossed his head. "Sucks ... Less than ideal ... Shit-spattered ..."
"Okay, I get it."
"It's about time everybody cleared out. It's been like Grand Freakin' Central Station in here lately."
There was another one. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Tap shook his head hopelessly and sighed. His feathery bird breast heaved. "Grand Central Station ... Busiest place in the world ... Chatter-filled hellhole ..."
"Okay, okay ..." Tap had obviously had a bad night.
"Remember when it was just you and me, Eddy?"
"Ah, but no longer, my ghastly devil," said I.
"Oh, that's real nice. Thanks. Not grim and gaunt this time?"
"Not this time, my friend. If I wasn't afraid I might crush you, I'd throw my arms around you and we would dance across the floor together." I pirouetted through my sitting room. I felt as light as a bird myself. My toes did not even touch the floor as I twirled.
"Your reluctance to crush me is touching. I think I might cry, Eddy. Now, if we could just get Pluto to swear off trying to eat me, we'd be making some real progress."
"No one's eating anybody today. Did you see what she did?" I touched my cheek. I could still feel Olimpia's lips burning upon it.
"Oh, brother! You're a real piece of work, Eddy. A real piece of work."
"You're just jealous."
"What? Because some bling-blang girl licked your cheek? You could find a dog for that. I can see from here that Pluto got your other one. Whoop-de-doo."
"You are jealous!"
"Jealous," Tap scoffed. "You think the ladies aren't all over this? Whaddya suppose I do out there all night?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Oh, believe me, buddy, there's more to this bird than just sitting around on sculpture squawking."
"Can't you be happy for me, Tap?"
"I can, but I'm not. Did you get a good look at her old man? And you think your own stepfather was bad? All John Allan did was deny you a few bucks in your youth, and you're still having bad dreams about him. Now, this other guy, this Coppelius ... We’re talkin' nightmares here, Eddy."
"It was not Coppelius who kissed me, Tap. It was Olimpia!" Just saying her name sent shockwaves of excitement through me.
"Arrgh! Now I'm seein' that ugly vulture planting a wet one on you. Thanks for the mental image, Eddy. You wouldn't happen to have a gun anywhere around here, would you?"
"I feel as light as a feather!"
Tap shook his head. "Last night, you're dancing with a corpse. Today, you're dancing on air. I don't get you, Eddy."
"Last night I was not in love."
"Yeah, and last night you weren't wanted by the police either. You'll be dancing at the end of a rope if you don't watch out."
My feet hit the floor with a thud. If mention of John Allan had not brought me back to earth, mention of the police did.
"But certainly they don't suspect me. Not really." My words sounded stupid in my ears, but I could not believe it, not in the full light of day. And not with the feel of Olimpia's kiss still on my cheek.
"You heard what the old troll said. The police think you're a firebug. They think you snuck into that building when Gessler wasn't looking. They think you wanted to burn the place to the ground."
"Don't forget the woman in the lunchroom," I said aloud, without necessarily meaning to. I looked up suddenly as if my own voice had startled me from some reverie. "She saw me. With the dead man. Before he was dead. Me, Tap."
"She saw someone who looked like you. So what? People see lots of stuff. You yourself saw Billy Burton bricked up dead in a wall. And was it Burton?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don't know. By God, I don't know."
"Well, there you go, then."
I began to pace. "Oh, I don't know what to believe anymore. I saw Burton dead. Then I saw him alive. Then I saw him dead again, trying to kill me. I can't trust my own senses, Tap. What I believe to be true cannot be."
"Things used to be so much simpler before you got all tangled up with the police, Eddy. Now look at you. Melancholy and delirious half the time. Walking around in your sleep. You don't know if you're comin' or goin'."
"Coppelius was right about one thing," I said. "I cannot tell the police what I've seen."
"This Gessler fellow, the one who was here yesterday ... A slippery eel, if you ask me. I'd be careful with him, Eddy."
At the mention of Burton's name, my stomach always lurched. But Gessler's name produced in me a feeling of defiance. "Oh, I am pitted against him now," I said boldly, feeling the fire in my eyes. "Oh, yes. If I am to swing, it will not be by his hand, believe me."
"That's the spirit!" Tap cried.
"Ah! But wait!" I had just remembered the vial in my trousers pocket. I fished it out and produced it with a flourish. "I may have lost my trowel, but look at this!"
Tap leaned forward, seeming to squint. "Laudan," he said. "What is it? An empty bottle that used to have laudan in it? Or Laudan's empty bottle? Give me a clue here, Eddy. What am I looking at?"
"Laudanum, you stupid bird. Laudanum. An empty bottle that used to have laudanum in it."
"Well, how was I supposed to know that? It says 'Laudan'!"
"Yes, I know what it says."
I took it to my desk. I sat down and inspected the glass vial closely, holding it to the light between my thumb and forefinger. I turned it carefully.
"I found it in that basement," I said as I contemplated the glass and torn label. It was the first time I had seen it in daylight. "The killer used it to sedate his victim. I'm certain of that."
"How can you be certain?"
"It was the dust. Or the lack of it, I should say. I found it hidden among dust-covered items and yet the vial was clean as if it had just been used
. The victim must have been drugged. Must have been." I looked up at Tap, remembering anew the lady in the lunchroom. "And the woman, the cook! She bears that out. She supposed the man drunk, she said. But he was not drunk, I say, but sedated."
"With that stuff? The laudan?"
"The laudanum, yes. This coupled with the existence of a recently used sedative in such close proximity to the body cannot be coincidence. It is this that will save me, Tap. Somewhere on this vial is evidence that will link the killer to the basement. Then I can show that it was not me."
The very idea that I had to prove my innocence still seemed unbelievable to me. But if what Coppelius said was true, then I had not only to prove my innocence of murder but of arson as well. Feeling myself more victim than suspect, the reality of my situation had become almost incomprehensible to me.
"Hate to disappoint you, Eddy, but all I see is an empty bottle. Maybe, now, if it had something in it—"
"But something is in it!" Turning it in the light, I saw something I had not noticed before. A shallow crescent of crystallized liquid was wedged in the bottom of the bottle. The hardened substance caught the sunlight streaming in through the window and made a rainbow of colors. "Yes... Now this is interesting..."
I sniffed it again as I had the previous evening and with the same result. Then I dipped my pinky through the open mouth of the bottle. The substance was slick and unyielding. I withdrew my finger, moistened it, and tried again. Applying my fingertip to my tongue, I could taste the extreme bitterness of the substance. I winced. It was as bitter as the dose Dr. Coppelius had given me just a short time ago. Here, the opium had been mixed with some flavorless liquid. Perhaps a grain alcohol of some sort.
I had no idea what Coppelius mixed his with, but I realized that the small amount given me had probably accounted for my good mood—not discounting Olimpia's kiss, of course. At least until Tap had started in on me.
"Hmmm..." I had to think for a moment. "It occurs to me that it might be advantageous to investigate the nature of this compound. Don't you think, Tap?"
"Mm-hmm..."
"Do you suppose that's something a chemist could do?"
My Clockwork Muse Page 7