Magic Lantern (Rogue Angel)

by Alex Archer

  “I wouldn’t say gifted.”

  “He has seven pieces hanging in various museums.”

  “Nine. Nine pieces, actually.” Paddy grimaced.

  “See? He does have an ego.”

  “Only when you’re around, love.” Paddy shifted his attention back to Annja. “Since you’re in Ms. Pioche’s company, I assume she is helping you find something.”

  “Someone, actually.”

  “Mr. Hyde?” Paddy shook his head. “I’ve been following the media and I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I apologize, but crime like that isn’t especially my field.”

  “What the old dear means is that he hasn’t yet found a way to make money from it.”

  Paddy slapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me, woman.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  Paddy nodded thoughtfully. “Who are you looking for, Ms. Creed?”

  “Edmund Beswick.”

  Cocking his head to one side, Paddy thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, either. I’m not acquainted with Edmund Beswick. Never heard of him.”

  “He’s a friend. He was kidnapped last night by a man named Jean-Baptiste Laframboise.”

  Sipping his tea, Paddy appeared troubled. “Now, that’s a name I am familiar with. Laframboise is a horrid man. No appreciation for the finer things in life. He’s a ruffian and a scoundrel. Why would your friend be kidnapped by the likes of Laframboise?”

  “For a magic lantern that supposedly had its origins in China.”

  “Why would anyone want a magic lantern from China? Perhaps Laframboise doesn’t know that he needs a Middle Eastern lamp if he’s looking for a genie and three wishes.” Paddy smiled at his own wit.

  “Laframboise was supposed to turn over the lantern, if he found it, to a man named Puyi-Jin. Instead, Laframboise has double-crossed his employer.”

  Paddy trailed his fingers through his goatee absently. “The name Puyi-Jin is known to me, as well, and he is as much an animal as Laframboise. The thing I keep stumbling over, though, is that neither of these two men are collectors. Why would they be interested in this magic lantern?”

  “I don’t know. All I’ve managed to discover is that Edmund is being held on the Isle of Dogs.”

  Paddy brightened at once. “So he would have to have a base of operations.”

  Fiona nodded. “That is what we were thinking.”

  “Then that is something I can help you with.” Paddy took out a cell phone. “Ever since the construction and rebuilding began in that area, there have been many hiding places criminals have used for all sorts of purposes. Let me see what I can find out.”

  “That would be lovely, Paddy.” Fiona stood.

  “Leaving?” Paddy looked disappointed.

  “Yes. Ms. Creed and I have things to do. Policemen to upset. While you’re ferreting out Professor Beswick, we need to pursue what we can of the magic lantern. As much as I love to watch you work, you’ll be calling people I’d rather not know about. Until I have to.”

  “Right you are.” Paddy got to his feet and accepted the peck on his cheek that Fiona offered. “I have your mobile number. I’ll give you a ring as soon as I have anything to report.”

  Annja shook Paddy’s big hand. “Thank you.”

  “Before you leave London, I’d love to take you and Ms. Pioche to dinner. If you will allow me the privilege.”

  “When things are settled and Edmund is safe again, I’d like that.”

  “Then I shall endeavor to work harder and swifter.”

  Although she didn’t say it, Annja felt certain that news of Edmund wouldn’t come swiftly enough.

  14

  “Professor Beswick.”

  Edmund struggled against the heaviness that kept his eyelids closed. He wanted to see, but he just couldn’t open his eyes. In the distance, he heard boat motors and machinery that weren’t the normal morning noises around his flat.

  “Professor Beswick.”

  He tried to open his eyes again. This time he also moved his head slightly, but it felt as if someone had filled his skull to bursting with wet cement.

  The man cursed in French and it was so fast that Edmund couldn’t follow all of it.

  “Why isn’t he waking?”

  “The chloroform takes a while to wear off.” This second voice was cold and impersonal.

  Hearing that sent a charge of adrenaline through Edmund’s body. Frantic, he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The last thing he remembered was working in his flat.

  No, that wasn’t right. The last thing he remembered was walking into his flat. He’d been looking forward to working, and he’d especially been looking forward to seeing Annja Creed again.

  Except he hadn’t been alone in the flat. He vaguely remembered a shadow stepping away from his office area. Before he’d been able to react, someone had hit him. The left side of his jaw felt tender.

  “Then chloroform wasn’t the best idea, no?”

  “No, sir. At the time, we wanted to control him without having to hurt him.” The impersonal voice held a note of resentment.

  Edmund succeeded in lifting his head a little. A rough hand touched his face. A thumb pried open one of his eyelids. Someone shined a bright light into his eye. He tried to protest, but he couldn’t get his voice to work.

  The eyelid was released and the hand drew back. Edmund’s head dropped heavily to his chest. Then something slammed into the side of his face, he felt a searing blast of pain and everything went dark.

  * * *

  WAKING THIS TIME WAS EASIER. Edmund even managed to crack his eyes as he raised his head. His mouth was dry as a sock and he tasted salt, which he assumed was blood. His mouth was swollen and felt crooked. Harsh chemicals stung his nose.

  A quick glance revealed that he was sitting in a dilapidated warehouse. Piles of debris sat in corners of the big, wide-open space. The place had been gutted. Black and gray and white utility cables hung from the ceiling like dead snakes.

  “Professor Beswick.”

  The hard-voiced Frenchman lounged in an office chair in front of a battered desk that had only three legs and listed heavily to one side. The Frenchman had his boots on the desk.

  “I am Jean-Baptiste Laframboise.” The man obviously had a lot of ego. Self-satisfaction resonated in his voice and he smiled. He was lean and muscular, probably nearing forty, and had short black hair and a short matching beard that crowded his cheeks and eyes. The overall effect of all the hair made him look like an eight ball on a human body.

  He dropped his boots to the floor and faced Edmund. The man wore what looked like designer jeans and shirt—gray. With a dark pin-striped vest. A coat hung on the back of a nearby straight-backed chair. He held a very large stainless-steel revolver in his right hand.

  “Do you know me?”

  Not trusting his voice, Edmund shook his head. He instantly regretted the motion. Pain speared his skull and his stomach twisted.

  Laframboise’s mouth screwed up in irritation. He lifted the revolver and laid the long barrel over his shoulder. “You will come to know me. Have no fear of that.”

  Edmund didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t speak. He glimpsed two armed thugs standing slightly behind where he was sitting.

  “I have Anton Dutilleaux’s lantern.” Laframboise gestured with the revolver and pointed at the magic lantern sitting in a box beside the desk.

  “How did you find my storage locker?” Talking made Edmund’s left jaw ache and he knew it was swollen.

  Laframboise paced. “You told us where it was.”

  Edmund couldn’t remember doing that, but there was a lot he didn’t remember. Despite the plywood sheets that covered the warehouse windows, enough light leaked in that he could tell it was daylight outside. He wondered how long he’d slept.

  “Unfortunately, you haven’t told us much else.” Laframboise sat on the corner of the listing desk and laid the revolver across his thigh. “Y
ou’re going to—” he hesitated over his word choice “—amend that now, non?”

  “What do you want me to tell you?” Edmund shifted slightly and discovered he was bound to a steel folding chair. For the first time, he realized how much his body hurt from being restrained. Wide bands of green tape wrapped his ankles. His hands must’ve been trapped behind him with the same tape.

  “I want to know about the lantern.”

  Edmund sucked in a deep breath and felt blood clots inside his mouth shift. Sickened, he spat them out onto the cement floor. Bright red blood mixed with older stains. “It…reportedly belonged to a man named Anton Dutilleaux.”

  A few of his teeth felt loosened, but they all seemed to be there. The inside of his cheek was swollen and torn. In all his life, he’d never been hurt so badly. He just wanted to go home. Better yet, he wanted to go to the emergency room, then home.

  “Have you heard of a man named Puyi-Jin?”

  “No.”

  Laframboise tapped the revolver muzzle against his thigh irritably. “You’re certain of this?”

  “Yes.”

  “He is a Chinaman.”

  Seeing the man’s obvious frustration with him, Edmund grew more afraid. “I don’t know anyone named Puyi-Jin.”

  “A few days ago, Puyi-Jin came to me and asked me to acquire this object for him.” Laframboise tapped the box containing the lantern with his boot. “Why is he so interested in this thing?”

  Edmund hesitated only a moment, then realized that Laframboise at least knew part of the story concerning Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern. Sensing that his life was on the line, Edmund resolved to tell the truth.

  “You’re sure this man, Puyi-Jin, is Chinese?”

  “With a name like that, I should hope so.” Laframboise smiled at his own wit and his two thugs laughed.

  “Just because he has a Chinese name doesn’t mean he’s Chinese. There are many people of Chinese heritage born in London.”

  The Frenchman’s face hardened. He stood and walked over to Edmund. The big revolver rose to touch the end of Edmund’s nose. The cold steel felt alien. “Are you trying to be the wise mouth with me?”

  “No.” Edmund could scarcely speak for the fear that coursed through him. “It helps to know this man’s culture. To know where he would have picked up knowledge of the lantern.” He sipped his breath, his eyes crossed as he stared at the revolver muzzle. “The lantern has a lengthy history.”

  Laframboise considered that. “Keep talking.”

  Edmund licked his lips and tasted more blood. “I just don’t know what you’re looking for. Anton Dutilleaux’s lantern has inspired many rumors. The foremost is that it’s cursed and brings bad luck to anyone who owns it. That story rose predominantly after Dutilleaux’s murder in Paris, but I believe the lantern already held a malign aura about it from China before then.”

  One of the thugs shifted uneasily.

  Laframboise leaned in and the barrel of the revolver mashed Edmund’s nose hard enough to bring tears. “Men run from curses. They don’t chase them.”

  “There’s also the belief that the lantern actually opens a gateway to the dead. Or at least to another place.”

  “Now you’re trying my patience.”

  Edmund blinked the tears from his eyes and concentrated. He didn’t know what his captor wanted. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “It’s also rumored that the Nazis chased after the lantern.” Actually, he’d never confirmed that was a rumor, and he’d never particularly cared because his interest in the lantern was as a keepsake, nothing more.

  “Why would they do that?”

  “During World War II, Adolph Hitler organized special units to search for things related to Aryan history, and for things repudiated to have mystical properties.” Edmund’s jaw ached as he spoke, but he forced himself to go on. As long as he was talking, he was staying alive. “One of the sources I turned up about the lantern suggested it was on those lists, but I couldn’t confirm that.”

  Laframboise breathed out in exasperation. “I get the notion you are trifling with me. This is a very dangerous thing.”

  “I’m telling you everything I know.” Edmund felt desperate, caged and as though he were looking death in the eyes. And, in that moment, he knew that he was.

  “Then Puyi-Jin knows more than you do. Pity.” Laframboise didn’t seem happy about that.

  “I had only just acquired the lantern.” Edmund swallowed and tasted blood again. “I have not even been able to verify that the lantern I bought at the estate sale truly belonged to Anton Dutilleaux.”

  Laframboise tapped the pistol barrel against his thigh. “This is very upsetting. I have betrayed an employer in order to get you and the lantern.” He shrugged. “Not such a big thing, usually, but I always turn a profit. On this, I am not so sure I will profit.” He frowned. “Sadly, I have made a very powerful enemy.”

  Edmund forced himself to think. He was an escapologist. He’d trained himself to pay attention to an audience. One of the basic tenets in dealing with an audience was to always give them what they wanted. Obviously Laframboise wanted to believe the lantern had some secret. So Edmund had to manufacture one. But it had to be based on truth.

  “Has Puyi-Jin told you anything of the lantern?”

  Laframboise scratched his beard with his free hand. “No. The only reason he came to me was because I had people in London who could snatch you. He didn’t want to trust the young thugs he has access to. They tend to be messy and not so trustworthy.”

  And trusting you turned out so much better, Edmund thought, but didn’t say. Desperately, he focused on Laframboise, seeking some kind of leverage. All he needed was a hint of doubt. “But you have your reasons for betraying Puyi-Jin.”

  The Frenchman’s eyes slitted.

  “What I’m saying is that you have your suspicions about why Puyi-Jin wants the lantern. Tell me what you think and I’ll see if that information triggers something I may know.”

  “You said you know nothing more.”

  “But I might know and not be aware.” Edmund licked his split lips. “I read a lot of information about phantasmagoria and phantasmagorists. I’m not at my best at the moment. Not like this.” He strained against his bonds but didn’t get anywhere. “What you tell me may trigger something. So please, if you want answers, tell me.”

  “All right.” Laframboise rested the long muzzle of his pistol over his shoulder again. “The Chinaman is certain the lantern marks the location of a treasure.”

  “Whose treasure?”

  Laframboise looked displeased.

  Nervously, Edmund hesitated for just a moment. “There is a rumor, but it’s only a rumor, mind you, that Dutilleaux had hidden away a fortune in gold.”

  For a moment, Laframboise looked unmoved. Then interest flickered in his dark eyes. “Gold?”

  Edmund nodded. “I couldn’t confirm it, and I thought it was just a legend.”

  “You’re saying it isn’t?”

  “I’m telling you I don’t know.” Edmund gathered himself the way he would before he got ready to free himself from a trap and cleared his mind of fear. It was harder than during a performance. “But I do know that Anton Dutilleaux worked in Shanghai before he came to Paris.”

  Laframboise shrugged. “So? This means nothing to me.”

  “He worked as a stockbroker in the International Settlement. A lot of money flowed through that city after the Treaty of Nanking opened China to Western colonialism. A man in the right place at the right time, with a plan, could have made a fortune. Several men did.”

  For a moment, silence filled the large warehouse. Edmund sat strapped in the chair, and he thought he could hear his heartbeat echo throughout the emptiness, but that was just the blood rushing in his ears. He kept his expression calm. He was a showman.

  And he was certain he was about to die.

  “Interesting.” Laframboise smiled. “I’d like to hear more, mon a
mi.”

  Edmund didn’t know what he was going to do next. He was all out of rabbits. That little tidbit about Dutilleaux’s life prior to his arrival in France was all he had. He didn’t even know much about Shanghai.

  And then the double doors of the warehouse exploded inward and a van screeched to a halt a short distance inside the building. The doors flew open and armed Asian youths bolted from the vehicle and took up positions behind piles of debris and crates.

  Bullets filled the air and the world turned into a rolling crash of thunder.

  15

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?” Annja unbuckled her seat belt and stepped from the low-slung sports car. The gullwing door protected her from the misty fog rolling in from the river for just a moment, then the cold damp reached her. Fiona had parked the car in a narrow alley between two-story run-down warehouses being eaten away by rust.

  The Isle of Dogs wasn’t truly an island. It was a peninsula surrounded on three sides by the Thames. It wasn’t a home to dogs, either, though there were several stories to that effect.

  Canary Wharf Tower stood eight hundred feet tall and cast a long shadow over the area. Anyone looking at it would think the whole region was affluent, but Annja knew that wasn’t true. The Canary Wharf office complex tilted the odds on the per capita breakdown. Slums and poor neighborhoods stood shoulder to shoulder with the wharf area.

  They were in one of them now, parked in Blackwall not far from the condemned warehouse where Laframboise was supposed to be holding Edmund Beswick.

  Fiona slipped off her jacket and left it lying on the car seat. “Do you really want the police?”

  Annja hesitated. The police would complicate things, and there was no guarantee they could ensure Edmund’s safety. On the other hand, they weren’t even sure Laframboise and Edmund were there.

  “How certain of Paddy’s information are you?”

  “Very. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Annja gazed at the warehouses ahead of them, vaguely aware of the clang and chug noises of the nearby port. The one Paddy’s informants had fingered was three down and to the left. The news had come from a man also doing illicit contraband business in the warehouses.