All The World. Chapter 3, Act II.
Matthew Ernst heard the screw rattling in its drawer and took it out. He held it to his ear so that he could hear Teddy speak to him about their new client.
This wasn’t spying, Matthew reminded himself, this was vetting. They couldn’t be too careful after the last assassination attempt.
Teddy was just one of the many, many ghosts who repaid Ernst, Morton, and Glass with favors. Joseph Morton was fond of joking that the three of them were modern Necromancer kings collecting an army of ghosts to one day siege Parliament with. Martin Glass hated that joke, as it reminded him that people feared that the Ror Raas really would one day lead an army of spirits to overthrow the government, but his hatred of the joke made Joseph want to repeat it all the more.
The screw, though seemingly nothing more than a rusty, bent piece of scrap, was tied to the spiritual components of Theodore “Teddy” Boseman. It was once part of the mechanical buggy he operated as a cavalryman under general J.E.B Stuart, but when an artillery shell blew the vehicle and its operator apart in 1863, what was left in the wreckage was a ghost.
The scrapped buggy became like the ghost’s body. He could make it move, even with a shattered engine, and when Federal salvagers took the field and tried to take the buggy apart for parts, they found that it wouldn’t stay still. The parts jerked from their hands. One soldier described it as trying to skin an animal that wasn’t all the way dead yet.
The American Manesological Society, better known as the Poeists, was called upon by the Federal government to investigate, but various factors prevented them from conducting a proper investigation. The Ror Raas put an end to the American Civil War in 1863 (poor Teddy had nearly survived the war) by placing baleful fires in the sky over the Battle of Shiloh, but tensions between the Union and Confederacy persisted. Skirmishes still broke out along the Federal-Confederate border drawn out by the Treaty of Shiloh. Whether the scrap belonged to the Confederate or Federal government was a matter of dispute, and the Poeists were afraid of appearing as favoring the Union over the Confederacy if they took the case. And so in late October of 1865, the call was made to England, to Blackwall, to Ernst, Morton, and Glass, and the three thaumaturgists quickly responded, crossing the Atlantic in moments with the aid of one of the many ghosts they befriended over their adventures.
It wasn’t the first time Ernst, Morton, and Glass visited America–that had been in late September of 1865, when they were called by Mexican statesman Miguel Lerdo de Tejada to investigate a haunting at Mission San Castulus. A powerful ghost in the form of a black fox had manifested to attack tax collectors and bankers spearheading the dissolution of communal property owned by the Catholic church and Indigenos. The manesologists were able to resolve the haunting, though not in a form Miguel Lerdo de Tejada expected.
Ernst, Morton, and Glass were sure they would return again and again to the continent to “pick up the Yanks’ slack,” in the words of Joseph Morton. America was a large continent, but even it didn’t seem to have enough room for its many, many ghosts. But Ernst, Morton, and Glass wondered if they would ever take anything home from the American continent quite as useful–or as colorful–as their haunted Confederate mechanical buggy, complete with operator.
The buggy was certainly the largest thing they had ever transported, and would have given them no end of trouble getting it through customs…if they had transported it through conventional channels. But they had not, and the government of Blackwall knew better than to raise a fuss with Ernst. Morton, and Glass over the legal minutia of shipping laws.
Teddy’s ghost, like many ghosts, had no legal property to his name due to the Manes Charter, which was adopted by the United States shortly after it was penned in England in April of 1865. To repay Ernst, Morton, and Glass for their help (and they did have to go through a good deal of trouble helping him, as the Union claimed him as a POW and demanded he reveal to them the secrets of Confederate battle buggies under pain of being buried un-alive), he became their informant, and was quite a good informant. A driver could hear quite a bit from his passengers, after all.
Parts of Teddy’s buggy were incorporated into a new civilian version of the mechanical buggy built by Hermes Transportation, who didn’t charge Ernst, Morton, and Glass for the service. Ernst, Morton, and Glass had performed more than a few favors for Hermes Transportation’s parent company, National Reclamation, the largest company involved in the ongoing construction of Blackwall and the reconstruction of London, and National Reclamation was glad to be able to balance the books, though the company knew very well nothing they could do could possibly balance Ernst, Morton, and Glass resolving the Gog and Magog haunting.
Gog and Magog were powerful ghosts who manifested shortly after the London fireball. They helped many of the lost souls created by the fireball find peace, and together they created a small community of ghosts amid the ruins. But just as the human survivors of the London fireball eventually settled in Blackwall, so too did the ghosts of London start to drift to the new city, leaving the ruins of London, and Gog and Magog, behind.
The two ghosts, lonely and hurt, lashed out at National Reconstruction operations around London. At first, they knocked down a steam beast named Longneck John, but when Longneck John righted itself, to the surprise of not only Gog and Magog but National Reclamation, Gog and Magog beat the steam beast until it stopped moving. The lights that burned through the seams of the steam beat faded, but try as they might, Gog and Magog couldn’t so much as dent the Longbeck John’s plates. They hammered on the steam beast day and night without success. Angered that they could only break, but not destroy, Longneck John, Gog and Magog began to hurl large stones all the way from London to Blackwall. The craters created by these missiles were unlike anything modern artillery could make.But though their power was great and their tempers ferocious, Gog and Magog were pacified by Ernst, Morton, and Glass. And so, Hermes Transportation didn’t think anything of it when Ernst, Morton, and Glass asked that they stick parts from an old war vehicle into one of their new civilian models.
A few Hermes Transportation mechanics said a couple of things to management after a man showed up in the buggy they were assembling and began driving it around the garage floor, but their fears quickly abated. Teddy was quite personable for a ghost. He was an excellent storyteller, and the mechanics quickly came to appreciate his company–and management quickly came to appreciate his inability to tire.
Teddy was a ghost, and ghosts made people nervous, but he could also work his shifts without rest. So long as Teddy’s vehicle was moving, Teddy was happy, and Hermes Transportation could certainly keep him moving as their newest mechanical buggy operator.
Ernst, Morton, and Glass allowed Hermes Transportation to employ Teddy on one condition–that Hermes Transportation kept Teddy assigned to jobs transporting people to Blackwall, which wasn’t a hard thing to ask of Hermes Transportations since traffic into Blackwall had been ceaseless and enormous since it opened to the public in early August of 1865.
Teddy proved to be a loyal employee of Hermes Transportation and a loyal informant for Ernst, Morton, and Glass. Through the screw kept in Matthew’s desk, Teddy kept the manesologists informed on all incoming clients that rode in his buddy.
As he had done many times before. Matthew held the screw to his ear and heard Teddy’s voice clear in his mind.
His colleagues Martin Glass and Joseph Morton watched anxiously, but held their questions until he put the screw back in its drawer.
“Please tell me it’s a client coming.” Martin Glass said. “And not another assassin.”
“It’s a client.” Matthew answered. “His name is Mr. Carter.”
“Oh, thank God.” Martin shut his eyes and gave a sigh of relief. “I like it so much more when we have guests that bring paychecks instead of bullets.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” Joseph said. “Personally, I was rather looking forward to another spot of gunplay.”
Joseph cupped his large wrinkled hands to his mouth. “Esmee! Nick! Come hear about the new client!”
Nick was the first to appear.
There was the smell of woodsmoke. Then the three men felt a warm, comforting presence fill the room. Then there was Nick, floating above them, crackling and glowing.
He was fire, for fire had ended his life and birthed his ghost. A weakness in his spiritual components prevented Nick from being anything other than a ball of fire. He could not form a body. He could not even form a face. He was, and could only be, a ball of fire, and when he first met Matthew and Joseph in the wilderness of the Thames settlement, he couldn’t even do that. Without the aid of gaeite candles, which revealed ghosts no matter how invisible they might be, he couldn’t be seen.
But though the spiritual component that controlled Nick’s physical appearance was weak, the spiritual components that controlled a ghost’s externalized power were strong in him. Nick’s fires were as hot as he willed them to be. They could be colder than a winter pond or hotter than a blast furnace. They could burn any physical material to ashes, and they could do the same to any Astral material. He didn’t like to do it, but he could reduce a ghost to a pile of charred ectoplasm–still living, of course, for the dead cannot die again, but living as ashes.
Nick was one of the most dangerous ghosts Matthew and Joseph encountered during their early manesological career in the Thames settlement, easily as dangerous as the Brute or the Sky Witch. He manifested before the survivors of the London fireball in phases. First, he manifested as a distant scream and a sudden, sharp rise in temperature, as if the sun suddenly came out from behind some clouds. As the scream got louder and louder, the temperature began to rise in tandem until things started to catch fire. When the screams reached their loudest, they competed with the crackling of a raging inferno. The frightened inhabitants of the Thames settlement called Nick the Hellbound Screamer.
From Nick’s perspective, he was trapped within a prison of fire. He could see the world, but the world couldn’t see him. Nick thought he was in Hell and being punished for what sin he couldn’t imagine, for he always thought he was a good man, and in truth, he was a good man. In his despair, he screamed, and sobbed, and cried out for God. He threw his emotions at the walls of his prison, for his emotions were all he had in his bodiless existence. These emotions manifested in physical space as smokeless fire that devoured all it touched.
That he was a dangerous ghost worked to Nick’s benefit, however, as it brought him to the attention of Joseph and Matthew. The two manesologists used the occult Operations of the Dyeus culture to restore Nick’s lucidity. Through their efforts, he became aware that he was not trapped by the fire, but was in fact, the fire itself.
But Joseph and Matthew were unable to make Nick look like a person. The spiritual component that controlled his appearance was very, very, weak, and while Dyeus Operations could weaken the spiritual components of any ghost to next-to-nothing, there was a limit to how much they could increase the strength of each component. The most they could do for Nick was to turn him from an invisible fireball into a visible one.
Nick was determined to repay them for their kindness, and so became an employee of Ernst, Morton, and Glass in Blackwall.
Nick was a very helpful employee. He kept the offices warm and lit. He cooked their food and warmed their coffee. And if they needed a little extra strength against a ghost, he could be summoned to their side in an instant through the Zacare Operation.
Nick appeared before Joseph, Martin, and Matthew in the form of a green fireball the shade of emerald. Nick could be any color he wished, that was one of the few things about his manifested body that he could control, but he chose to be green because he believed that there was no such thing as natural green flames. He believed his emerald color marked him as a living spirit instead of a living flame. But in truth, his flames were the color of burning copper sulfate, and Joseph threatened to give Martin the beating of his life if he ever, in his know-it-all sort of way, brought Nick’s attention to that fact.
Shortly after Nick appeared, Esmee pulled herself piece-by-piece out of thin air. First an arm, then a portion of her dress, then her face, and then she filled in the gaps until she was all there. It was one of Esmee’s tricks. She had quite a few.
While her khet and sekhem were not as powerful as Nick’s, she was capable of using her ghostly powers with greater skill and precision. Nick was a strong hammer, but Esmee was a sharp knife. Most of Esmee’s tricks involved making things disappear and reappear by temporarily taking them into the Astral through a process Matthew Ernst termed “Odic induction.” These tricks made Esmee very useful to Ernst. Morton, and Glass, and she was glad she was a big help to them, for they saved her from her own madness just as they had Nick.
Unlike Nick, Esmee was very fortunate to have a spiritual component strong enough to grant her a human form. While no one would confuse Esmee for a human, she was human-looking enough for people to feel comfortable speaking to her. She was like a painting of a woman instead of a woman, but that was better than being a fireball without a face or a voice. What was more, she was very pretty. Some ghosts looked like they came out of nightmares. Esmee looked like she came out of a dream. All the slight imperfections Esmee Walker’s body had in life were made smooth and flawless in death. She looked like she was made of blue glass. She left no shadow. Light passed through her like water passing through water.
Light recognized her as a child of its substance. There was a faint glow to her body, nowhere near as bright as the glow Mr. Carter saw with his own ghosts, but in a dark room, she could easily be seen. It was as if something in her rejected the dominance of darkness.
Nick had a crush on Esmee, and everyone could tell.
Esmee and Nick were not the only ghosts that aided Ernst, Morton and Glass. There was, of course, Teddy, but there also were others, mostly kept in the basement and in the caverns dug beneath the basement.
These ghosts were not as sociable as Esmee and Nick. There was Edward Piers, who Joseph called “Peers” on account of his intense stare, who Illustrated Phantom Stories called Jack Frost. Piers was a homeless derelict who perished on a bench in early December. He rose from his body and was confused by what had happened to him, but he was confused by most things around him. He was a man born with low intelligence, who found his way onto the streets of Blackwall because of his inability to care for himself. He continued to do what he had done in life–look for warmth and food, but this time the chill of his death followed him. He would snuff out any fires he came across, crusting them over with frost, before moving on to another, not understanding why the fires kept going away. He was kept in the basement next to the boiler, and because the boiler’s fires were lit by Nick’s powers, they were hot enough to warm Jack Frost even through his ever-present chill. Piers was kept warm day-and-night, and so Piers was a content ghost. A warm place to sleep was all he ever wanted, in life and after-life.
There was Eva, a mischievous little sprite of shadows and whispers, who died too young to appreciate the sadness of her brief life. She saw the world as a great big playground. Walls were just doors to her that were always opened. If unsupervised, her childish attitude combined with her supernatural power could make her a potential danger to others, and so she was kept confined to the basement and the caverns with the power of the Nothoa Operation. She didn’t mind. She liked the dark far more than the light, and the caverns gave her plenty of room to explore. She also kept Blackwall’s sizable rodent population under control, though not underpopulated. She took good care of her numerous “kitties” and taught them that the caverns were their home, not the world above.
There was John Kale, an orange light who lived in books. He would suffuse one book with his light, read it, and move on to another. He was an avid reader in life, who regretted that there was more to be read than any man could read in one lifetime. Now, as a ghost, he really could read all there was to read. John was kept in a room in the back filled with books, which Joseph called the library and Martin called the book storage, because, as he argued, a library had books that were organized on shelves for optimal perusal instead of stacked from floor to roof for maximum storage. Matthew just called it John’s room.
Joseph called John their “great luminescent brain.” He glowed, and he read, and he remembered. He had gone through all the books that were originally in the room and was now working his way through a new batch purchased from Gaskell’s Occult Books down the street. There was little that John couldn’t tell Ernst, Morton, and Glass when it came to history or the occult. When they needed to ask John a question, all they had to do was ask him to jump into a blank book kept in Matthew’s desk. John would burn letters into the blank pages and in this way communicate with his friends.
And there were many other ghosts in the nooks and crannies of the offices. The lives of Ernst, Morton, and Glass were filled with ghosts. “When we finally meet our destiny, we’ll be in good company.” Matthew once told his friends that had pulses.
Though Nick and Esmee were only two out of a ghostly multitude that assisted Ernst, Morton, and Glass, they were the only ghosts who worked regular hours for the manesologists and thus made regular paychecks. Nick liked to spend his paychecks on various edible oddities he would ask others, usually Joseph, to eat in his place and describe the flavor to him. Because of Nick, Joseph had consumed most of what could be found in a zoo.
Esmee liked to spend hers on artwork. Her house on Curant Street was filled with paintings, mostly portraits by pre-Raphalites. She loved how they used color, especially when it came to flesh. The women they painted were no more human than she was, but they looked more human, and so she was in awe of them. They looked warm in their red and yellow skin, and when she looked at them she could almost feel her ectoplasmic caul sweat, or tickle, or itch with the memory of blood and pores. Her current favorite painting was Elaine by Emma Sandys. It depicted Lancelot’s wife from Arthurian myth. Her eyes were wide and youthful and her skin had a warm, golden hue.
Nick hovered by Esmee’s hand. She stroked his flames and he sat on her forearm like a loyal hawk.
“It’s so nice to hear that people are still coming to the office.” Esmee said. “I was worried with how many electrograms we’ve been getting that people would stop visiting altogether.”
“Our client is named Mr. Carter.” Matthew said. “He’s a gentleman from Essex and his haunting is that a group of manes leer silently at him every night.”
“Has he asked what they want?” Joseph asked.
“He has not. And he doesn’t believe he should. He’s rather shy about manes.”
“Oh. Another one.” Joseph rolled his eyes.
“It’s alright.” Esmee said. “We’ll be in the back, like that time we had the chef over.”
“Mr. Carter sees manes as fundamentally unpredictable, random entities.” Matthew said. “He doesn’t want anything to do with his manes. He simply wants his manes gone. Because he hasn’t so much as attempted communication, we’re going to need to illuminate him.”
Illumination was what manesologists termed exposing a person or object to olprt radiance to uncover the influence of ghosts.
“And if the illumination reveals that he’s as haunted as his property, we’re going to have to convince him to work with us on the investigation.” Matthew said.
“That shouldn’t be a problem, assuming the illumination reveals something.” Joseph said. “No matter how ghost-shy a man is, he’ll do what you ask him to do if you show him a shadow sticking to his body. But how long exactly do we have before Mr. Carter arrives?”
“Probably not long.” Matthew answered. “They were entering the city when Teddy started making the screw vibrate. Mr. Carter should be here any minute now.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Joseph stood up, took his coat from a coat rack, put it on, and took up his walking cane. “He’s probably walking up to the door right now!’
“What does it matter?” Matthew asked.
“I like to meet the shy types outside. It helps to thaw them out and convince them to come into our haunted house. Remember what that lady I didn’t meet outside did once she came inside and saw Nick floating?”
“And I bet you want to do your cheap fortune teller gag as well.” Martin said.”You know, the whole “How did you know my name, Dr. Morton?” “Oh, I have my ways.” bit.”
“I do find that very fun..” Joseph said.
“Just don’t scare the poor man.” Matthew said.
“I’ll be nice to him.” Joseph walked to the front door.
“Oh, and Joseph–” Matthew stopped Joseph right before he opened the door. “Don’t bother the watchers outside. They seemed to be in a very foul mood today, I don’t know why. Several of them were staring daggers at me when I came into the office this morning.”
“Hm…I wonder what’s gotten them so angry?”
“Don’t ask, don’t find out.” Matthew said. “Just ignore them for today.”
“I will.” Joseph said. And he was determined to make an earnest attempt for Matthew, though he doubted its success.
“I mean it, Joseph. Don’t start anything with them, not with a client on his way.” Matthew said.
“I shall not initiate hostilities.” Joseph said.
“But what if they initiate hostilities?” Martin asked.
Joseph didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the door and stepped outside to meet the watchers.
The watchers, as they were called, had watched the doors of the offices of Ernst, Morton, and Glass ever since they moved into the building.
A few of them were journalists hungry to report on Ernst, Morton, and Glass’ latest cases. In the beginning, a few of them worked for Illustrated Phantom Stories, but they left after Matthew made an arrangement with the publishers: Matthew would share with them his reports on (almost) every Ernst, Morton, and Glass case, and in exchange, they would not only remove themselves from the street but publish a little educational section in the back of every issue titled From the Desk of Matthew Ernst. In this way, Matthew hoped that Illustrated Phantom Stories’ readership would get a little manesological education with their lurid ghost stories.
The vast majority of the watchers were private investigators in the employment of various insurance companies who wanted to know who had hauntings, because haunted people, or even just regular people with haunted property, called for higher premiums.
It was a simple matter of mathematics. Those that associated with ghosts, in any capacity, ran the risk of supernatural danger, and those that didn’t associate with ghosts, didn’t. Ernst, Morton, and Glass paid a small fortune every month for their insurance, but they saw no reason to place such a burden onto their clients.
Ernst, Morton, and Glass protected their clients through surreptitious means. The watchers stood as close to the building as the law would let them, taking notes on whoever walked in and out of the front door, but those that arranged to meet with Ernst, Morton, and Glass through mail or by electrogram found that there were secret ways to enter the offices, and even those that walked through the front door learned that there were ways to leave the building unseen, which protected them from the watchers following them back to their haunted home or property and relating the matter to their insurance company handlers.
Joseph found the watchers to be in just as foul a mood as Matthew had warned. Some of them squatted, or sat on the ground. Some of them brought chairs. Some leaned against the wall of Peckham’s Caskets And Funeral Arrangements next door, though they had been told time and time again not to do so. Joseph considered reminding them not to touch the building, but he remembered what Matthew had told him, and so walked on.
The watchers glared at Joseph.
Joseph smiled back.
“Morton.” a watcher with long, mop-like black hair said.
Joseph stopped.
He wasn’t going to start anything, but he wasn’t going to slink away when his name was called, either.
“Where are you going, Morton?” the watcher asked.
“I’m off to investigate a haunting at the jellied eel stand down the street. Something keeps rolling around in the tins, so they tell me.”
“Going to the tunnels, are you?” another watcher leaning against Peckham’s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements asked. “I bet you’re going to your secret ghost tunnels.”
“You lot can follow along, if you like. I’ll even buy each of you a tin. It’s the least I can do. You blokes are the reason there’s such a wide assortment of vendors on the street in the first place.”
The plan was, of course, to lead them down the street and then vanish into what seemed to be a normal wall on the side of Gilbert’s Antiques and Curios. It was, like many walls around the city, empowered to permit passage to those that knew the right way to knock on it, and then appear as nothing more than a normal wall. Joseph hoped that would give the watchers something to fuss over while he circled back to meet with Mr. Carter.
“Is that a dig at our poverty, Morton?” the first watcher asked. “Are you making fun of us, you giant ape?”
“I bet he is!” a young watcher with a grubby face said as he stood up from a trash bin serving as his seat. “That would be just like him, to put on airs, the big gorilla!”
“He’s the reason times are hard!” the watcher on the wall of Peckham’s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements thumped his heel against the wall. “Criminal. Outlaw. He’s just a big rat crawling underneath Blackwall in those ghost tunnels.”
The watchers murmured their approval.
“Lads, lads!” Joseph held up a hand, palm out. “My friends told me that you were in a foul mood today, now let’s talk about that, what’s the problem here, exactly?”
Joseph turned to the watcher that first spoke his name. “I don’t recall your face. Are you a new member of the group?”
“I am new. I’m new because you got some of the old guys fired.” he gestured to his mates. “No results, no work, they said. Or didn’t you notice a couple of faces missing today?”
Joseph calmly surveyed the leering faces whose eyes warned of violence. “Now that I’ve taken a good look at you all, I see what you mean. I don’t see Mickey. I don’t see Cotton. And you, young man, by the bin, I’m not sure who you are, either.”
“Joby.” the grubby faced watcher said.
The mop headed watcher turned and glared at Joby, who cringed beneath his gaze.
“You don’t need to know our names. Morton.” the mop headed watcher said. “You’d probably tell your failed wizard to put a spell on our names.”
“See, lads, the problem we got here is that neither of us know much about the other.” Joseph locked eyes with the mop headed watcher. “I don’t know your name, and you don’t know much about Dr. Martin Glass. He can’t put a spell on peoples’ names. That’s not how thaumaturgy works. And he is not a failure by any means.”
The mop headed watcher grinned. “He seems that way to us. After all, he’s down here in Blackwall, with you, and not up in the wizard’s heaven.”
That got Joseph’s blood to boil, but he remembered Matthew and decided to try and change the course of his conversation, though he knew it would be like righting a boat in a hurricane.
“So your bosses have been kicking you around? ” Joseph asked. “We’ve got some common ground there, mates. You don’t’ like your bosses, I don’t like your bosses.”
“Our bosses are good.” the mop headed watcher said. “It’s our work that’s the problem. Specifically, you’e the problem, Morton.”
There was a great rumbling of affirmed discontent among the watchers.
One of the watchers stood up, spoke up, and shook his fist at Joseph. “One day, Morton, we’re going to find out how you keep getting in and out without anyone seeing you. And when we do, you and your spooky friends are going to jail, because you are using an underground passage, everyone knows it! And one day, it’s going to be proven. Yeah…it’s going to be proven, in a court of law!”
The man turned to other watchers. “Isn’t that right, boys!”
The watchers gave a roar of approval.
The mop headed watcher smirked at Joseph.
“Everyone knows it, Morton!” he said. “People have seen you, the doc, and the failed wizard, climbing out of the ground like rats from the sewer!”
It was exactly what the watchers suspected. There were, in fact, a series of tunnels dug under Blackwall by their old friend the Knocker which converged beneath the offices of Ernest, Morton, and Glass. The tunnel system was in violation of several municipal zoning laws which forbid “manes-associated businesses,” like Ernst, Morton, and Glass, from building any sort of structure near other businesses, even if those structures were deep underground. The tunnels also violated ordinances which guaranteed that the right to upturn earth in Blackwall belonged only to National Reclamation.
The tunnel system was an open secret among the members of the city council, and they kept it under their hats either because Ernst, Morton, and Glass showed them the tunnels personally when they helped them with their own ghost problems, because they feared getting on the bad side of a group of men who had magic and ghosts on their side, or because they believed that the tunnels might one day be used to create a copy of the London Underground transport system without the city having to spend a single penny.
But though the city council was secretly on the side of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, as were most of the clients they showed the tunnels to, a few were willing to sell them out to the watchers. But the watchers had a problem when it came to producing evidence of the tunnels outside witness testimony. They would be told that an opening was at such-and-such a place, go to investigate, and find nothing but solid ground filled by the Knocker’s power. And so, the watchers were stuck trying to prove a fact with only hearsay and rumor to substantiate it–and the insurance companies were growing tired of hearing about secret tunnels underneath Blackwall that the private detectives on their payroll couldn’t show.
“Hmm…” Joseph tapped his cane against the ground. “You lot have been frustrated in your quest to find our supposed ghost tunnels for a long time, yet you’ve never been this outraged before”
“Seeing your friends lose their jobs and go to the workhouse because they say we “don’t produce results” will do that.” the mop headed watcher said.
Joseph understood. The replacement hires were acting up to win over the established watchers. They wanted to prove that they were part of the group, lest they be attacked for taking a job that used to be held by three.
“But you take your frustrations out on us, not the big wigs that terminated the employment of your friends.”
“Of course we take it out on the outlaw.” the mop headed watcher said. “We don’t break the law, Morton. But you people do. There’s nothing that gives you the right to dig holes underneath Blackwall. We looked into it. You’re going to jail as soon as we prove it.”
“Do you boys realize that without us protecting the privacy of our clients, none of you would have a job? Absolutely none of you?” Joseph asked. “Say I wrote a list tonight of everyone that’s ever visited our offices, where they lived, and how they were haunted, and then I announced to your masters that it was for sell. Before sunset the next day, I’d be richer than John Ellerman and you would back to doing whatever it was you were doing before you decided to bother people for living. And yet, not once have you thanked us for your jobs!”
“Don’t try and take a moral stance, Morton” the mop headed watcher said. “No one’s got a right to hide who and what is haunted. Every man should know if they’re living next to a ghost or not. In fact, France and Germany already have manes registries. England won’t be far behind!”
Joseph sighed. “See, boy, I’m afraid that’s always going to be the chief sticking point between you lot and us. We value the privacy of others, even at our own expense. You sell the privacy of others, to the betterment of yourselves. I’m afraid we aren’t ever going to see eye-to-eye, boys.”
“And then you take that tone, like some sort of school master! Did you come out of your haunted house just to mock us, is that it, Morton?” the man asked.
“Well, no. I’m not out here only to mock you.”
“Cruel old man! Honest men are going hungry because you’re too good at hiding your crimes!”
“Don’t expect me to feel bad for men that profit off human suffering.” Joseph said. “Tell your friends to go find themselves decent jobs.”
The mop headed watcher’s face grew scarlet beneath his greasy locks. “Oh. Ohhhhh!” he fumed “You can say that Morton, you can say that, but it’s not because you’re a strong man, Morton. Big as you are, you are as old as the hills, you withered bastard, and if you didn’t have your failed wizard watching your back with his magic dogs, I bet you wouldn’t talk to us like you are!”
Three times the dirty haired man had called Martin a failed wizard.
The first time, Joseph let it pass for his own sense of personal honor, because he was aware of his temper, and the problems it caused. The second time, Joseph let it pass for Matthew, for he had warned him not to cause trouble. But the third time was for Martin, and for Martin alone.
Joseph brought his cane up to his shoulder and tightened his grip on the handle. ““There’s no magic out here, boys. Only me.”
The watchers mumbled nervously amongst themselves. Then, as one, they fell silent as their red-faced, black haired leader approached Joseph.
“You think you’re a real big man, don’t you, Morton?” the mop headed watcher asked. “You think you’re such a really big man?”
“My tailor thinks so, otherwise I’ve been paying him extra for nothing.”
Suddenly, an eerie sound exploded above their heads. It was so loud and so piercing that even Joseph was startled, and he knew insantly what the sound was from.
Martin’s dogs were howling like Cerberus unbound.
The thought-form beasts exhaled, and a great wind blew through the street. The watchers bolted, some screaming, some cursing, some vowing retaliation.
The dogs then fell completely silent as their master stomped up down the street towards Joseph.
“God, that’s an unearthly sound.” Joseph said, tugging at his still-ringing ear.
“What the hell were you doing?” Martin asked.
“Trying to go down the street.”
“Oh, that’s why your feet were rooted in place? You were trying to go down the street? Are you going senile, old man? Is your brain finally becoming as rotten as your teeth?”
“They started it.”
“Oh, they always start it, so you say!”
“I doubt they’ll try picking a fight with me again, though. It was a couple of new watchers egging on the rest, one in particular with greasy, long hair like a girl. The insurance companies fired a couple of watchers and hired a handful of new ones to take their place, so they were squaring up to me to try and prove they belonged.”
“Madness.”
“I know, but when you give people money to stand around and watch, you’re not going to attract scholars.”
“I mean you. Picking fights like you’re some kind of French apache! Why don’t you act your age? Why don’t you act your profession? Why don’t you act human?”
Joseph shrugged. “In my defense, it did not come to blows.”
“Because I showed up and rescued you! Honestly Joseph, what did you expect to do against a group of men a third your age?”
“Win.”
“Madness! Senile old fool, you know Matthew is furious with you? He told you not to do anything, he told you!”
“I’ll have a talk with him later.”
“I hope he lays into you when you do.” Martin gazed down the street. “Huh. They’re still running to beat the devil.”
Joseph put a hand over his eyes and joined Martin in looking. “That they are! Good. I hope they run all the way home.”
Martin sighed. “We’re going to have to do something about the watchers, aren’t we?”
“No, they’re just barking dogs.”
“Oh, ha ha.”
“I mean it. On some level, they realize they can’t hurt us. Our little game puts food on their table.”
“Well, if we’re going to leave this thing alone, we need to make sure the Ror Raas doesn’t hear about it.” Martin said.
“I never thought I would hear you say that.”
“I trust Dr. Lumen. But Violet somehow discovered we were threatened by the Putnamites, and she nearly set Silas Putnam on fire in front of a crowd and martyred him.”
“Poor Bob has an ear around him, somewhere. And I hope he finds it.”
“But maybe one of us should go visit Manifold Financial.” Martin said. “Just to be safe.”
“We aren’t in any danger.”
“But just to be safe–and besides, if Violet was able to find out about the assassination attempt, she might be able to find out about this. I doubt they’re going to keep their mouths shut about this altercation.”
“We’ll let Matthew decide.”
“Why is it we have so much trouble with humans?” Martin asked. “You’d expect trouble from manes. We’ve been trained to deal with manes, we’ve been given special equipment to handle manes, and yet it’s the human problems we face that don’t have a resolution.”
“They say the nature of humans is directed towards conflict and the nature of ghosts is directed towards rest.” Joseph squinted into the distance. “Say…my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, but do you think that’s Mr. Carter at the end of the street?”
“Where?” Martin asked. “I can’t see through the watchers. Which one do you think he is?”
“The one that doesn’t have his back turned to us, obviously.”
“Oh! I think I see him…yes, that might be him.”
“Good. Then I’ll go and greet him.”
“You mean you’ll do what you were supposed to have done instead of picking a fight with the rabble?” Martin asked.
Joseph waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked down the street. “If it gets done, it gets done, doesn’t it?”
…..
Mr. Carter was awestruck as Joseph led him through Harwood street. The giant of Ernst, Morton, and Glass wasn’t as big as Illustrated Phantom Stories depicted, but he was big. Mr. Carter felt like a child, following along in Joseph’s shadow and having to look up at him to talk.
Mr. Carter suddenly looked down as he heard something crunch beneath his feet. He saw that he had crushed a half-consumed tin of jellied eels.
“Ah, what a waste.” Joseph said. “We have such good jellied eels around these parts, too. Sorry about that, one never walks barefoot in Blackwall for a good reason.”
“Did those men leave this?” Mr. Carter asked.
“And likely more. But it’ll be cleaned before sunset.”
They would ask little Eva to send her “kitties” out to clean. They could pick a street clean in minutes under her command.
“What were those men doing?” Mr. Carter asked. “It’s like they had a picnic out here.”
“That’s not too far from the truth.” Joseph said. “We call them watchers, because they do a lot of watching. They’re private investigators, most of them. Like Pinkertons. They work for insurance companies. The companies like to raise the premiums of people with hauntings, and the watchers are out here to find people with hauntings.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad they were too busy running away to see me, but they’d know who I was even if they did. My theater has enough to worry about without our premiums going through the roof.”
“You own a theater?” Joseph asked.
“I’m a shareholder, but only a small one. I’m also the director of the Gnome theater.” Mr. Carter kicked a crumbling Chelsea roll. “You have my sympathies, Dr. Morton, we’ve banned snacks from the Gnome, but we still find all sorts of disgusting crumbs on our floors after a show. I suppose these watchers are like an audience for your adventures–a very misbehaved audience.”
“True, very true. And when the show’s over, it’s so hard to get them to leave.”
As they approached the offices, Mr. Carter saw white flowers in the window. They grew in long, vertical clusters. Parts of the plant were like segmented rods and looked a little like thin pinecones, but other parts flowered into pointed, star-like flowers.
“Oh. You keep flowers?” Mr. Carter asked.
“Asphodels, to be specific. They’re hard to care for in this climate, but I appreciate the challenge. I started growing things back in the Thames settlement so I could eat something that wasn’t the gruel the soldiers handed out. I liked growing things, so I keep doing it.”
“They’re very pretty flowers.” Mr. Carter said.
“Thank you. Homer said the afterlife was filled with white asphodels.”
“Well, mankind knows better now.”
“Homer was wrong, but not completely so. When you look at the afterlife, it does look like a field of white stars.”
“Truly?” Mr. Carter asked.
“To me, that’s what the afterlife looks like. And I imagine Homer saw it similarly. The Ror Raas say that the greatest minds of the ancient world could intuit what they now explore with gaeite.”
Joseph pushed the door open.
“You don’t lock your doors?” Mr. Carter asked.
Joseph grinned. “Why would we?”
“Good point.”
Mr. Carter was glad to find that it was very warm inside the offices. He unbuttoned his coat and placed it on a nearby coat rack. “It’s so warm!” he exclaimed.
“Apologies if it’s too warm.” Joseph said. “It’s hard to balance the heating for a building this large.”
“Oh no, it’s not a problem, not even close to a problem. After the cold and damp outside, this is like heaven!”
“The man that does our heating does great work. He’s an expert when it comes to boilers, and boiling.”
Mr. Carter saw that the desk by the flowers in the window belonged to Dr. Morton. Even without the presence of the flowers, he could tell by the great accumulation of bottles and food containers. A giant would have a giant appetite. But if that was not enough, beneath the squalor was a tiny sign, immaculate and free of dust even on the hard to reach spots around the raised bronze letters which spelled out DR. JOSEPH MICHAEL MORTON. MANESOLOGIST.
Mr. Carter smiled. These men were supposed to be ghosts, according to the rumors? They were far too animated to be the living dead.
Joseph motioned towards a door. “This way, Mr. Carter. This is where we have our meetings.”
“Dr. Glass and Dr. Ernst are waiting for us?” Mr. Carter asked.
“Yes. We’re all ready for you.” Joseph replied.
“I’ll admit, it’s somewhat unnerving that you’re ready for me, but I think it’s better than what I was expecting. I was afraid this would be like visiting the dentist and I would have to sit in a lobby and wait and wait and wait. But how much exactly do you already know about my case?”
“Very little.” Joseph said. “We’d like for you to fill in the blanks. The spirits only told us who you are and that you’re in distress. It’s not like we spy on our clients, Mr. Carter.”
Inside the meeting room, Mr. Carter saw that Dr. Matthew Ernst was as plain and nondescript as Illustrated Phantom Stories depicted. And Dr. Martin Glass, while still striking, lost something without two floating dog heads flanking him.
Mr. Carter took a seat at the table, which took up most of the room. It could easily have accommodated more than four men, and Mr. Carter imagined that for some cases, like the one involving the lost crew of the HMS Glider, the entire room was filled with clients,
‘Thank you for coming, Mr. Carter.” Matthew said.”We appreciate having guests, but if you ever have need of us in the future, please send us an electrogram. We recently installed an electrograph in the offices. It can, and has, received electrograms from any point on the planet. They arrive near-instantly, and we can respond just as quickly. Electrography allows us to better arrange face-to-face meetings with our clients.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mr. Carter said. “Wow…I’m a little overwhelmed, I admit, seeing you three together. I’m so used to seeing you in drawings!”
“You read Illustrated Phantom Stories?” Joseph asked.
“Well…it’s not something I read often. It’s fairly…common literature, and Nesbit’s Manesology is much more comprehensive, though the broadsheets do inform about recent hauntings.”
“Oh, don’t be coy about it.” Joseph said. “Everyone reads Illustrated Phantom Stories. They say even the Queen has skimmed through a few issues. And what you will about the prose, but I think the pictures are quite nice. I keep a few of the really nice ones pinned up around my desk.”
Mr. Carter couldn’t recall seeing any, but he was very distracted by the clutter.
“Tell us about your haunting, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “Because from very little we’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like much of a problem.”
“Oh, it is a problem, Dr. Morton. And it’s getting worse by the night.” Mr. Carter said.
He told the manesologists all about his haunting. He told them about the players on the stage and how they would prance about without any awareness of their surroundings and how they would suddenly turn stock-still and leer at him if they detected him. He told them how they had appeared on the stage night after night and had recently overflowed the stage like water bursting through a broken dam. He told them how he feared that the ghosts would make it out into the street soon and ruin the reputation of the theater. He told them how he would be eternally grateful to Ernst, Morton, and Glass if they could just get the ghosts to go away.
“A small, quiet haunting, like what passes through rumors and only rumors, can be good for business.” Mr. Carter said. “It gets people talking. It gets people to come to the theater to see if they can “find the ghost’ and if they see a shadow change they feel like they’ve had an adventure. My actors, naturally, told everyone in their social circles about the ghosts, but not that they only come out at midnight after we lock up. So the portion of the population attracted to hauntings comes to have a little adventure while the sensible portion of the population that wants nothing to do with ghosts dismisses it all as an unfounded rumor. Yes, a small and quiet haunting can be good for business, our uptick in attendance proves that. But a large, loud haunting? That is very, very bad for business! I understand that there being several ghosts involved might run up the bill, but I’ll see that you’re paid in full. I know that you waive your fee for impoverished clients, but I assure you, I am not that kind of client! We’re a new theater backed by investors newly rich off reconstruction money.You will be paid in full, and what’s more, I’ll give lifetime passes to each of you.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Matthew said.
“Now, um, how long do you estimate the removal of the ghosts will take?” Mr. Carter asked. “And will you be able to do it without disrupting daytime operations?”
The three manesologists looked at each other. Mr. Carter instantly realized that he had missed a step, but for his life he couldn’t imagine that step was.
“We have a few questions.” Matthew said.
“Oh. Oh, certainly, go right ahead. Ask me anything.”
“First of all, could you throw in two to three more passes, please?” Joseph asked with a sly grin.
“Certainly, certainly!” Mr. Carter smiled back, feeling disarmed. “All your friends and family members can come as often as they like! Bring all of Blackwall if you want, just get those ghosts out of my theater.”
“Second question–what exactly are your intentions concerning the ghosts?”Joseph asked.
Mr. Carter shrugged. “I thought I made that clear. I want them gone, I want them removed from the property. Take them to one of those common houses for ghosts, like Morning Manor, it doesn’t matter so long as they’re gone.”
“Do you truly have no interest in learning about these ghosts?” Joseph asked. “You truly have no care for who they are or what they want?”
“Dr. Morton, I’m not a historian and I am certainly not a manesologist. I am a theater director. The ghosts could be the ghosts of old Globe actors, or the ghosts of Atlantean Necromancer Kings, it doesn’t matter to me, they can go on being what they want to be out of my theater and out of my life.”
“Well, before we discuss removing the ghosts, we should discuss whether they should be removed in the first place.” Matthew said.
Mr. Carter flinched. “Should? I’m well within my rights to request their removal! I guarantee that none of the ghosts are the ghosts of investors. I know the investors. None of them have perished since the Gnome was built. Even if by some miracle one was the ghost of an investor, the Manes Charter says that, excluding explicit instructions within a legal will, ghosts are not entitled to the property owned by their previously inhabited bodies. The law is on my side here. I am well within my rights to request their removal!”
“You are correct in that you are within your rights.” Matthew replied. “But as manesologists, we must consider what manes want as well as humans. I know Illustrated Phantom Stories likes to call us ghost hunters, but we are not hunters of any kind. We are negotiators. There are two parties here, you and the ghosts on stage. We’ve heard your side, but we need to hear their side. We’ve heard nothing of what they want.”
“I want them gone. There’s no reason you can’t attend to their needs after they’re gone from the property.”
“You say that now, but you might not want them gone once they start talking.” Joseph said. “The way you described the ghosts, it seems they’re in what we call a phantasmagoria. They only notice you, and when you aren’t present, they’re so caught up in their own acting they don’t even notice the other ghosts around them. I know that right now, they seem like things from out of a dream, things without a lot of sense, but we have ways to increase the awareness of ghosts, to bring them out of their fog, as it were.”
“Dr. Morton. I am aware that you have, through gaeite Operations, increased the lucidity of certain ghosts and made them communicable and sociable. Your two helper ghosts, odd as they are, represent that fact. But you could turn this troupe of night-time goblins into the most articulate, well-behaved ghosts imaginable, and I would still want them out of my theater.”
“I think you’re being hasty. What if all they want is a job?” Joseph asked. “What if this is all just an audition filtered through a phantasmagoric fog? Would you really say no to them? I heard a theater up in Scotland has had great success with ghost performers.
“The Gnome theater gets along fine without ghosts. Dr. Morton, I don’t want to give them a job. I don’t want to talk with them. I don’t want to deal with their histories or their mysteries. I don’t want to deal with them.”
“Another question, Mr, Carter, if we were able to stop and reverse the ghosts’ expansion throughout the theater and confine them to the state, would that suffice?” Joseph asked. “If we reduced what’s quickly becoming a large and loud haunting back to a small, quiet haunting, nothing more than a few ghosts occupying the stage in the dead of the night, would you be satisfied with that?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What if we could guarantee that the ghosts would never again overflow the stage?” Joseph asked.
“I don’t see why you need to keep asking these questions.” Mr. Carter said. “My position is clear. I want the ghosts gone, and I’m in my right to request that they be removed.”
“As Dr. Ernst said, we must consider the feelings of the ghosts.” Joseph said. “Removal can be distressing. For all we know, these ghosts only want to perform on an empty stage.”
“I understand that removal can be distressing, but I’m not saying that you should, I don’t know, affix them to a stone and toss them into the sea. There is nothing, absolutely nothing those ghosts can get from my theater that they can’t get somewhere else. If there’s some sort of hidden locket buried below the theater, dig up and give it to the ghosts. If they’re old performers, find them another stage. Direct them to that theater up in Scotland. Dr. Morton, are you suggesting that you can’t remove the ghosts from my theater?”
“Mr. Carter, all we’re saying is that there are steps we need to take before removal. Very important steps. We’re not like Burke and Robins, Mr. Carter. We take steps before affixing a ghost, and sometimes those steps make it so that we don’t have to affix a ghost at all.”
“I think I prefer their approach better.” Mr. Carter said.
“Then you may leave and seek their assistance in Bristol.” Matthew said.
“No. While I don’t like all these extra steps you place before affixing ghosts, your reputation, diluted as it is through the lurid contents of broadsheet publications, speaks for itself. And, well, Burke and Robins have the incident of the Rot Umhang hanging over their reputation.”
“Yes. That was such a dreadful incident.” Matthew said.
“And entirely avoidable, if Burke and Robins had even the slightest bit of consideration for the poor ghost.” Joseph said. “But another question, Mr. Carter–is it true that you never talked to them? Not even once?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even wave or mutter a “hello?””
“Never. Night after night, I’ve watched them, and on nights in which I am not very fortunate, they watch me. That has been the extent of our interactions.”
“Mr. Carter, why haven’t you talked to them?” Joseph asked in a tone of voice that reminded Mr. Carter of when his old schoolmaster would ask him why he didn’t finish his letters.
Oh no.
Not this again.
Mr. Carter couldn’t help but remember the face of the treasurer, and of Teddy.
Why were so many people asking him to talk to ghosts–as if that was something sensible to do?
It wasn’t as insulting, however, coming from Dr. Morton. Unlike the treasurer, Dr. Morton wasn’t afraid to face ghosts. He had faced some truly horrific nightmares according to Illustrated Phantom Stories. Mr. Carter remembered reading about the Brute of Epping Forest–that was a ghost that could frighten even other ghosts. It was so powerful it snapped trees in half for fun. Of course Dr. Morton wouldn’t see what the big deal was with interacting with ghosts. The Blackwall dog catcher probably didn’t understand why sensible people were so nervous about dogs, either.
“Whenever they see you, they give you their undivided attention like good little schoolboys.” Joseph said. “It seems they want to hear from you. You’re a director. Maybe they want you to direct them?”
“But Dr. Morton, I can’t be sure of that.” Mr. Carter said “Maybe they do want me to direct them–and then they’ll dislike my directions, turn on me, and kill me!”
“That seems very unlikely. Remember, ghosts are the children of humanity, as they say. They are as unpredictable–and predictable–as humans are. If all your ghosts ever did was stare at you, it is extremely unlikely that they ever meant you harm.”
Mr. Carter raised a finger. “Unlikely, but not impossible! Manes have done odder things than suddenly turn on a man and rip his throat out!”
“So have men!” Joseph replied. “But if you found that strange men, night after night, were using your stage, and then looked blankly at you while you looked fearfully back, what would you do?”
“I would speak to them.”
“Well, there you go, Mr. Carter!”
“But those would be men, not ghosts!”
Joseph sighed. “Ah, Mr. Carter, you aren’t getting it. It is wise to be afraid of ghosts. It is wise to be afraid of anything that can kill a man just by looking at him. But it is unwise to be incurious about ghosts. I say that to your benefit, sir. Because more and more ghosts are walking the Earth every day. Those Archon walls that separate our physical universe from the Astral have been thinning since the Dyeus, since before the Dyeus even, and they’re going to keep on thinning. We’re going to resolve your haunting, Mr. Carter, but I don’t want to see you back here one day telling us how night after night you watched another set of ghosts look at you while you said nothing.”
“Well, most nights they don’t see me.” Mr. Carter said. I hide behind the chairs.”
“We have had cases similar to yours where men and women have encountered silent ghosts that stare at them. Those men and women said something to their ghosts because, as with humans, their behaviors are dominated by patterns. If someone knocked on your door every night, you would think they wanted something from you. Those men and women spoke to their ghosts, and how their ghosts responded told them a lot about their motives. It made their cases so much easier to approach . You wonder what people in Essex would do if they saw your ghost actors on the street outside the Gnome? Well, they’d probably ask them why they were there! Have you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King, Mr. Carter?”
“I’m afraid in my cursory reading of Illustrated Phantom Stories that I have not come across that ghost.”
Joseph smiled. “The Fisher King isn’t a ghost, Mr. Carter. He’s a figure from Arthurian folklore. You know, King Arthur and Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table?”
“Oh.”
“His story is that he had a magical connection to his kingdom. So long as he was healthy, his kingdom was prosperous. But one day, he was wounded, and his kingdom began to fall to ruins. Crops withered and died. His kingdom was friendly to Camelot, and so King Arthur sent his knight Percival to aid him. Percival comes across the king, but he doesn’t look like a king. He’s lamed because of his wound, and all he does all day is fish, hence his name. Percival wants to help, he’s on this quest to save the king and his lands, but he’s a child of the Camelot court. He was taught never to ask unnecessary questions, and could this lamed fisherman really be the king? He thinks not, and so goes on his way, failing his quest when all he had to do was ask the fisherman who he was. All he had to do to begin the healing of the Fisher King and his lands, was to ask a question–who are you?’
“That’s a very nice story, Mr. Carter, but I am not a knight, nor a manesologist, nor any sort of man who deals with adventurous sorts of scenarios.” Mr. Carter said. “I am a theater director. You are the knight.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to knight you, in this case, Mr. Carter.” Matthew said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Carter, so that we can work in both your best interest and the best interest of the manes, we have to ask you to accompany us on our investigation.”
Mr. Carter was speechless for a moment. Then he gasped out “What?” and in the silence of the room his gasp fell like a thunderbolt.
“I shall explain.” Matthew said.
“Please do!”
“Perhaps Illustrated Phantom Stories doesn’t make it very clear, because they like to depict us as near-superhuman ghost fighters who jump into a haunted house and clear out all the manes inside, but we believe in a heterogeneous approach to resolving hauntings.” Matthew explained.
“I don’t understand.”
“You are involved in this haunting. When the manes see you, they stop, and they look at you. There is clearly something about you that the manes see as special. We would like for you to be involved in the investigation because of this.”
“What exactly do you expect me to do? You don’t expect me to actually be in the theater with you while you’re interacting with the ghosts, do you?”
“We do expect you to be physically present.”
Mr. Carter bit his lip.
How could they ask him this? How could they not understand how unnatural, how off-putting, it was to so much as look at a ghost let alone speak to one?
If these manesologists couldn’t understand his anxiety…then maybe they really were ghosts?
No.
No, they couldn’t be.
He pushed the thought deep down into the bedrock his mind.
What was he supposed to do if they were, in fact, ghosts inhabiting dead bodies? Get up and walk away? And go where? To other manesologists? If Ernst, Morton, and Glass were ghosts inside human bodies, then all manesologists were ghosts in human bodies.
He had to trust that they were human.
Mr. Carter straightened up. He took a deep breath in through his nose. He carefully considered what he had to say–he was in front of celebrities, after all.
And, perhaps, ghosts in the bodies of dead men…
“Dr. Morton, Dr. Ernst, and Dr. Glass, I do not agree with your heterogeneous approach to haunting resolution.” Mr. Carter said. “I cannot speak to the ghost side of this approach, as I am neither ghost nor manesologist, but it seems very burdensome and troublesome from the perspective of the human side.”
“There may also be another reason for you to accompany us on our investigation.” Matthew said. “Mr. Carter, are you familiar with the Ogdoad Quad?”
“Yes I am. The “Eight that is Four,” it’s like a ghost’s anatomy, it’s all their spiritual components.”
“Correct. Eight spiritual components, called papnors, divided into four pairs, called salmon. There’s a salmon called the sema, and it contains the rn papnor and the ib papnor.”
“I’ve heard of the sema, but I’m not very knowledgeable. Nesbit’s Manesology described the sema in rather poetic, hard-to-follow terms.”
“The sema is the trickiest salmon to discuss.” Matthew said. “It’s the most difficult salmon to observe in a scientific context and thus the least understood. In truth, no one, be they layman, manesologists, or thaumaturgist, is very knowledgeable on the sema. The sema is commonly called the part of a manes that doesn’t truly belong to a manes. It’s a system distributed across the Astral, across the entire metaphysical sphere of human thought.”
Mr. Carter shook his head. “It’s when metaphysical spheres get discussed that I lose the trail.”
“The ib component of the sema unites a manes with those that were close to him or her in life–friends, family, even beloved pets. When a manes looks at a painting of how he looked in life, and miles away his daughter starts to cry and doesn’t understand why, that is the working of the ib. The rn unites the manes with the a wider, more generalized portion of humanity When a manes feels drawn to churchyards and pacified by crucifixes, it is because these objects are commonly understood by Englishmen to have spiritual power, and so they exert power over the manes through the rn. The rn is why, when we have to affix ghosts, we like to affix them to crosses. It makes them feel comfortable compared to being affixed to, so say, a rock.”
Matthew pulled out a small wooden cross from his pocket. ”We keep several of these in our pockets.”
He placed the cross on the table. “You may keep it, if you like, Mr. Carter. Think of it as a Blackwall souvenir.”
“I respectfully decline.” Mr. Carter said.
“Very. Well. As I was saying,all other spiritual systems and components of a manes are localized.” Matthew continued. “They exist close to each other. But the rn and ib function irrespective of all physical distance. The manes of a Chinese Buddhist feels nothing when he hears the name of Christ, not even if he’s standing inside Salisbury Cathedral. But he trembles at the mention of Zhong Kui, a legendary figure from his culture noted for quelling demons, ghosts, and spirits. And if the manes of a man’s wife binds her ib to his soul, then that man can climb the tallest mountain or dive to the bottom of the sea, it will make no difference–when the manes cries, he will also cry.
“Dr. Ernst, are you implying that a ghost’s ib has bound itself to me?” Mr. Carter asked.
“It is a possibility.” Matthew replied.
Mr. Carter sighed and clutched at his head.
They were going to want to illuminate him, he was sure of that. Illuminating was when they shined their gaeite candles on people to see if a ghost had done anything to them, and it was something he dreaded.
To be bathed in the same light that burned London to the ground, that was something he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stand.
“No, I contest the possibility of an ib being bound to me.” Mr. Carter said. “I do not know these ghosts. I am certain I do not know these ghosts. I am certain I have not experienced any of the symptoms of ib bonding. I have not experienced any out-of-place thoughts, feelings, or emotions. I have not had strange dreams. I have not had strange visions. The last person who could have possibly produced a ghost that could bind its ib to my soul was my uncle, and not only did he die before the Gnome was constructed, well before I had even started my directing career, he disliked the theater and strongly encouraged me to become a scrivener instead. There is no way Uncle Henry would be on a stage!”
“Mr. Carter, we’ve had several cases where clients were very surprised to learn that they were ib bonded.” Matthew said. “Like you, they protested how impossible it was, but illumination revealed proof to the contrary. They went on and on about how they didn’t know the manes, how they didn’t know anyone even remotely like the manes. Yet illumination revealed the truth, and after we conducted our investigation and brought every little detail to light, they looked at the facts we had uncovered and went “Ah! The manes was so-and-so! I remember them now!” Sometimes, Mr. Carter, we’re not aware of all the connections we’ve made in life.”
“I actually live a very organized life with a very small circle of friends and acquaintances. It’s impossible for there to be a connection I am unaware of.” Mr. Carter said.
“We would like to test that, Mr. Carter.” Matthew said. “May we have your permission to illuminate you?”
“All we do is shine our gaeite candles on you.” Joseph said. “It’s simple, quick, and easy.”
“But…there’s no need!” Mr. Carter protested. “I couldn’t possibly have be bound to an ib!!”
“We would just like to make sure.” Matthew said.
“It is a completely painless procedure, I promise you.” Matthew said. “The light is neither blinding nor burning.”
Mr. Carter knew, rationally, that he had nothing to fear from gaeite candles. He knew that the London fireball was caused by a careless, nameless manesologist doing the unthinkable–putting his gaeite candle down in the middle of a haunting. A ghost got a hold of the candle, and as the candle was lit and radiating olprt energy, it was an active gate into the higher, energized realms of the Astral. An Astral hand touched an Astral gate, and a power that could have drowned the world in fire swept across London, stopping only because the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas worked a miracle within a fraction of a second.
Mr. Carter knew this. Everyone knew this. Not a soul in all the world, save perhaps some tribesmen beyond the colonial reach of the Empire, was ignorant of the fate of the world’s largest city and how it came about. But he also knew that the Ror Raas had taken steps to ensure that what happened to London would never happen again. The candles had been altered and fixed in such a way so that they turned themselves off when not held by a manesologists, and could not be turned back on unless touched by the same manesologists that placed them down.
Mr. Carter knew gaeite candles were safe. And yet…he could not forget London.
An entire city. On fire.
And the photographs…ruins as far as the eye could see…
“Can this be done later?” Mr. Carter whined. “Can this be done after the ghosts are removed?”
“What we reveal may help us in resolving this haunting.” Matthew said.
“Is there no way to…I don’t know…not do this?”
“I would think a man would want to know for sure if he’s been affected by a ghost or not.” Joseph said.
“I don’t.” Mr. Carter said. “Not now. Not with everything happening so fast…” Mr. Carter sighed.
Then he relented. “Very well then, bring out the candles.”
Martin stood up. “I’ll go get them. We keep them in a very secure place.” Martin opened the door and vanished into the hallway.
A few moments of silence passed.
Awkwardness lingered in the room
And then, suddenly, there was a loud thumping sound that echoed throughout the building.
Mr. Carter nearly jumped out of his skin. “What was that?” he shouted.
Joseph stood up. “Oh, that’s just Eva.” Joseph walked to the door and rapt his large knuckles on the wall. “Hey! Keep it down, girl, we got company over!”
“Who is Eva?” Mr. Carter asked.
“She’s the little girl that lives in our walls and floors.” Joseph said.
“Oh. I see.” Mr. Carter said.
“Are you sure you’ve never heard of her? I believe they printed her story in Illustrated Phantom Stories a couple of times.”
“Well, uh, now that you mention her, I think I do remember her.”
“Do you, now?”
“Oh, yes Dr. Morton, I remember Eva! I’m surprised I even forgot her! She’s…interesting.”
“Oh, very!”
“But she’s a good girl, all things considered.”
Mr. Carter never read a thing about Eva, and didn’t want to know a thing about Eva.
“Ha ha!” Joseph chuckled. “She has her moments! But on the whole, yes, she’s a good girl!”
Martin returned with a metal chest, not unlike what people used on sea voyages, and placed it on the table. The three manesologists reached into the chest and withdrew their gaeite candles.
“My word!” Mr. Carter gasped. “They’re sharp!”
“The gaeite columns are very sharp.” Joseph said. He brought his finger close to the edges of the amber colored column. “You can cut your finger on them if you aren’t careful.”
“He should know.” Martin smiled. “He’s done it a few times.”
“They’re such small things.” Mr. Carter said. “They really are the size of a simple wax candle, just a little bit thicker, and yet London happened…”
“But never again.” Matthew said. He pressed a knob built into the side of the candle’s metal base and the amber column began to glow a soft, silvery-white. The other manesologists followed suit.
Mr. Carter gulped. He could feel himself sweat.
“We can tell the candles make you nervous.” Matthew said.
‘What? Did you say something, Dr. Ernst?” Mr. Carter asked.
“There’s no need for your fear. Fearing this ancient power is understandable, but you need to trust the hands that hold such power.”
“Of course I trust you all…” Mr. Carter could not take his eyes off the candles. They were the color of square moons yet glowed like little stars.
“We started on a low setting to ease you into this.” Matthew said. “We will expand the olprt radiance in a moment and uncover what, if anything, ties you to the ghosts of your theater. You may see a dark spot around you. It may look like a shadow stuck to your skin or a cloak hanging off your shoulders. It may look like soot on your clothes or a piece of black fabric tied to your arm. It may look like none of these things. Do you understand?”
“Hope and pray that nothing black is on me. Yes, I understand.” Mr. Carter said.
“If anything is on you, Mr. Carter, be not alarmed.” Matthew said. “All it means is that an ib is bound to you. It was considered a great shame not to be bound to an ib back in aeon of the Dyeus culture.”
“My, how times have changed…”
“We will begin now. Are you ready, Mr. Carter?”
“Just do it…” Mr. Carter whimpered.
“Very well.” The manesologists increased the strength of their olprt radiance. Silvery-white light filled the room. Mr. Carter shut his eyes, anticipating a blinding flash, but found the light was serene and painless.
The manesologists then summoned images to their mind which had been passed down through aeons, through the dreams of Abramelin.
Mental images combined with silvery-white light and suffused the room.
A Dyeus king felt a chill run down his spine and in one motion, drew his gaeite blade and turned to face who he knew would be behind him. His brother had come to avenge his death.
The Pehuson Operation
Mr. Carter blinked.
He was expecting something black to appear on his arms or hands, and so his attention was originally upon his extremities. But a flash of darkness against the light made him adjust his field of vision and he saw it.
There was a thorn, like a jagged piece of black glass, sticking out of his chest.
Some impulse within Mr. Carter brought his fingers to curl around the thorn, but another impulse prevented him from touching it.
Mr. Carter screamed.
Martin gave an exasperated sigh.
Joseph smirked.
Matthew gave a pitying shake of his head.
Mr. Carter continued to scream.
Matthew tried to say something, but he could not be heard over the screaming.
“Good lord, Mr. Carter, find your nerve.” Martin said. “It’s intangible. There’s nothing sticking in you.”
“Get it out!” Mr. Carter shrieked. “Get it out! Get it out of me!” the poor theater director grabbed at the thorn and felt only his fingers closing into his palm again and again.
Joseph grabbed one of Mr. Carter’s hands. “Look. Look at your hand!” he shouted.
Mr. Carter obeyed and sat sniffling as he watched Joseph lead his hand into and out of the black thorn.
“It’s just light and shadow. See? It doesn’t even feel like anything, does it?” Joseph asked.
“No…” Mr. Carter replied.
“You’re okay.” Joseph said. “Do you see that now?”
“Yes…” Mr. Carter panted. “I’m okay…I’m okay…”
Joseph patted his shoulders. “Good man. Now, let’s get you some water.
Joseph opened the door and called out. “Esmee! Could you bring a glass of water?”
In a moment, a glass was placed in Joseph’s hand, and Joseph brought the glass to Mr. Carter.
“Drink this, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “You’ll feel better.”
Mr. Carter drank, and he did feel better–a little.
“Do you understand now, Mr. Carter?” Matthew asked. “This shadow, this thorn, means that you were part of the haunting from the beginning. Somehow, the ghosts have a connection with you, and if you are absent while we investigate, we won’t be able to figure out that connection. We won’t be able to help you. We won’t be able to get the thorn out.”
In a moment, Mr. Carter calmed down.
He considered what he should say to Ernst, Morton, and Glass. There were a lot of nasty things he wanted to say to them. He came here to get help, to alleviate his fears, but instead they had added to them. They drug him deeper and deeper into this infernal haunting business, and Mr. Carter wanted to tell them off for it.
But he didn’t.
They had a point about the thorn. It meant he had been part of this whole mess from the very beginning. He could argue about their heterogeneous approach all he liked, but he couldn’t deny that the thorn bound him to this haunting.
He would be polite. He would even be grateful, because they would certainly start making things better. They could not possibly make things worse.
He took a deep breath.
“Well, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed that I’ll have to tag along for the investigation, but I understand, and I trust you.” Mr. Carter touched the spot on his chest where the thorn had been. “If you can’t get this thorn out of my chest and those ghosts out of my theater, well, I doubt anyone can.”
“We’ll resolve the situation to the best of our abilities.” Matthew said.
“Please just say that you’ll make the ghosts go away.” Mr. Carter begged. “I know you have to look at both sides, but please just say it, I need to hear the words.”
“If the removal of the ghosts is the best outcome for this situation, then we will remove the ghosts.”
“Close enough, I guess.” Mr. Carter stood up. “Well, gentlemen, thank you for your time, it pleases me greatly to see that your reputations were not unwarranted. If all goes well, my troubles will be over before tomorrow evening. Do you know of any good lodgings nearby? Preferably with locks on the doors?”
“There’s no need to wait.” Matthew said.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Carter asked.
“We have ways of traveling quickly. Very quickly.” Matthew explained. “The means by which may be disturbing to you, however.”
“Don’t say that, Matthew.” Joseph said. “Trust the man to have more courage than that!” Joseph looked at Mr. Carter. “It’s not anything, believe you me.”
“What is it? It’s almost sundown. How can we get from Blackwall to Essex before the ghosts come out?”
“By utilizing the services of a ghost.” Matthew explained.
“Oh.” Mr. Carter squeezed the arms of his chair tightly. “So, like the ghost of a carriage driver?”
“No. It’s not like that at all.” Joseph said.
“Good, because I couldn’t stand being that close to a ghost. I’m sorry, Dr. Morton, but I simply couldn’t. I’d scream. I’d run. And having to be that close through an entire trip, well, that would be like torture!”
Joseph smirked. If Mr. Carter only knew…
“What will it be like?” Mr. Carter asked.
“We’ll have the Sky Witch transport us through the air.” Joseph explained. “She’ll lift us up high into the air, you’ll feel cold and wet for a moment as if you walked right through an early morning fog, and then you’ll be back on solid ground.”
Mr. Carter opened his mouth. It hung open for a moment as he slowly formed what he wanted to say in his head.
He gathered his thoughts. “One moment…the Sky Witch? As in the ghost that dropped hailstones that couldn’t melt over the Thames settlement in mid-July?”
“She goes by Matilda now. Mattie.” Joseph said. “She’s very happy with the isolated chain of islands in the Atlantic we purchased for her. She’s like a happy child in a bathtub, she gets to play Juno all day long creating any kind of weather you can imagine and some you can’t, and in return, she comes when we call her and does us favors.”
“And you want her to lift me up, carry me through the air, and place me back down in Essex?”
“We can put a blanket over your head. I’m told that helps a great deal.” Joseph said.
“This was supposed to be better than the carriage driver?” Mr. Carter asked.
“We do have one that owes us favors, but he’s far slower. With Mattie, it’s up and down. It’s very quick, very simple, and it’s over before you know it.” Joseph said.
Mr. Carter couldn’t believe it. How were these men able to treat being hurled through the air on ghostly winds conjured up by a woman best known as the Sky Witch as a trifle? They were treating him like a child that didn’t want to eat his vegetables, but wasn’t it reasonable not to want to be tossed up into the air?
Maybe these men really were ghosts. They seemed as strangely dispositioned as ghosts…
“No. No, no no.” Mr. Carter said. “It’s bad enough that I have to tag along, and have this Astral thorn stuck inside me, but now I can’t even get a good night’s sleep before we start? Frankly, gentlemen, I feel as if you three should be paying me for all this!”
“Mr. Carter, time is of the essence.” Matthew said. “Your ghosts are expanding at a rapid rate. There is a real possibility that they will be out on the streets this very evening.”
“I’m prepared to take that risk.” Mr. Carter said.
“Are you? You said it yourself–you’re fine with your theater having the reputation of a quiet haunting, but not a loud one.”
“But it is not a certainty that they will overflow the theater. Even if they doubled, or tripled their range, they’d only get…about to the lobby, I think.”
“It may be more than triple. It may be much more.” Matthew said. “At any rate, we’re going to head on over to see your haunting for ourselves. But if you’re not present, we will be limited in what we’ll be able to do. It will be like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces.”
“Will you be at least able to keep them confined to the theater, if they are overflowing it? Or at the very least can you turn them invisible if they’re out in the streets?”
“We will try. But I can promise nothing without your presence. That is why I implore you to come with us.” Matthew said.
Joseph stood up. “Mr. Carter, you’ve got a choice between two unpleasantries. The first is that you get a hotel for the night, and if you do I recommend the Eternity Inn down on Waterfront Street, it has a strict no-ghosts, no-haunted humans policy.”
“That sounds reasonable to me.”
“I thought a gentleman such as yourself would like it. But that comes with the unpleasantness of risking the loud haunting that you fear.”
“As I said, that is a risk I am willing to take.”
“I know it is. But when you wake up, regardless of what happens tonight, you will have to deal with it. You will have to deal with something that could have been resolved before your head touched a pillow. And on the drive back to Essex, you’ll be thinking how comfortable you would be if only you got it all out of the way while you had the chance.”
Joseph believed he made his point and walked to a trunk resting against the wall and opened it. He took out a large white quilt. “Now, these are not just for covering your eyes. We all use them, because it’s very cold and wet up there.”
“Where did you say the Eternity Inn was located, again?”
Joseph rolled his massive shoulders. “Very well then, Mr. Carter. Hermes Transportation doesn’t normally send out mechanical buggies this late in the evening, but we have a special arrangement with them. There’s one driver they keep ready for us around the clock. He barely sleeps, he’s a real lively chap. We’ll call him up right now through the electrograph and he’ll be here in minutes.”
“A lively chap you say…”
“Oh yes, very lively. He’s always talking.”
“What is the name of this mechanical buggy driver?”
“His name is Teddy. He’s an American, the Confederate kind, not the Federal kind.”
….
Mr. Carter kept his whimpering deep in his throat as they put the blanket over his head. He hoped the process would be as quick as Ernst, Morton, and Glass had promised.
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