Yes, this is a new chapter. No, you haven't had one to many and started seeing things. Plus, I've sorted out my plot. But sadly the exams loom nearer, so updates will be sporadic at best. So, no change really.
Missy
Lord Baxter-Lloyd looked around the room. Candles flickered on every available surface, shining on the sequined curtains and richly woven rugs. Chalked on the floor, surrounded in a circle by several mats, was a circle. In it sat the dreaded sign, the pentagram, and a large, black wax candle on each point. The melted black wax pooled about the candles on the floor, seeping into the cracks and binding itself with the wood.
A short, skinny man, in a long, strikingly coloured robe stood beside the pentagram, a leather-bound tome in his long spindly fingers. Despite his weak appearance, his steady hold on the book betrayed the strength he had. His face was at the moment hidden under the red, velvet hood that matched his robe, but Lloyd had seen it once before.
It was a not a face to be forgotten easily.
Small, dark squinty eyes, made short-sighted through too many nights spent peering at books by candlelight. Raven dark hair was sparse atop the domed head, but a thin, precise moustache and beard covered his upper lip and chin. His nose was long and sharp, the overall effect being of an inquisitive, pernickety middle aged man. If seen in the street, many would have seen his chemical stained fingers and singed eyebrows and marked him as a scientist. In a way he was, but not in the conventional areas that science typically explored.
He believed, not in science per se, but in magic.
His methods though, were a mixture of the two. He wanted to capture raw magic, store it, use it somehow. His projects were usually small, and ill funded. But not this time.
The bulgingly rich Lord who stood coughing at intervals behind him was the money provider. He was financing a scheme, which, unbeknownst to him, had a double application.
The officials of New York were offering a prize, to anyone who could figure out a way to operate the gas street lamps, without employing the many people to light them. James Carter believed magic could do it, and he now had his rich supporters, eager to indulge their pale dabbling in what they thought of as the occult. He strongly assumed that Lord Baxter-Lloyd had never even seen a pentagram.
Which was in many ways, a good thing. The lantern-lighting would no doubt bring in fame and fortune, but the offshoot project he was simultaneously conducting would be the one he wanted to be remembered for. It was not as 'helpful'. Except to those who would particularly want to use it.
It had very little to do with lamps, either. Which was why he was glad Lord Baxter-Lloyd's only experience of magic was watching cheap magicians in the street.
"I say, do you want me to help, Mr Carter?"
"No, no. I would not wish you to dirty your clothes, my lord."
Carter watched the candles intently. He began to read the gibberish from the book. Slowly, he raised one hand. Baxter-Lloyd peered closer at the pentagram, imagining what the mystic words could possibly mean.
Carter, hand poised, stared carefully at the candles. He waited. Then…
Click went his fingers.
The candles fizzed and sparked. The Lord leapt about a foot and crossed himself. Carter shut the book with a snap.
"Good. We are progressing."
The Lord nodded.
The door to the room opened silently, and a figure slid in, like a snake through greased grass. Carter fixed Lord Baxter-Lloyd with a steady gaze.
"Goodbye, my Lord."
"Oh, er yes. Good, good. Good day."
The bulbous man stumbled out, completely failing to notice the lithe figure that waited in the shadows. Carter turned, and replaced his fake book on the table. Licking his grimy fingers, he put out each of the candles. The second figure did not move.
"Well, woman?"
The second figure stepped forward. Carter lit a new, white candle, and as it flared, the long blue dress of his companion became visible. He smiled.
"What news is there, then?"
The woman stood silent. She folded her hands demurely in front of her, long blue gloves creasing slightly at her wrists.
"Come, come. You only see me when you have news."
The woman, and that was all Carter knew her as, seldom spoke. But when she did, her voice was smooth, and soft. But strong. Like lead in a velvet wrap.
"Knowledge has been removed."
Carter's face become more serious.
"That is good. May I ask how?"
The woman considered this.
"Your whore was easy. But we knew that already." Carter glowered at her.
"I threw a knife through her neck. After I threw one through her stomach. I bribed a man to put his fingers on the handle."
Carter, who was pouring himself a drink, looked at her quizzically.
"You wear gloves."
"But my supplier does not." Carter smiled. "And he makes good knives." The woman continued.
"The teacher. That was too easy. But I find fun in simple tasks occasionally. Too much knowledge is not good. One must not be greedy."
"Quite so. He was far too interested in my work, but far too poor to be helpful. It was unnecessary, perhaps. But like you, I am very careful."
The woman nodded. Carter paused, and took a sip of his wine. He looked worried.
"I understand there are many murders in this city."
The woman executed a small snort.
"They are not murders. They are a botched mess of wounding. Murder should be graceful. There is only beauty in death, if you are beautifully murdered."
Carter felt a slight chill down his spine. She was useful, undeniably. About as friendly as a bottle of arsenic with the similar after effects of getting too close. But useful.
Also highly unsettling. And Carter was not an easy man to unsettle.
"Quite. You are a master of your art. But perhaps you are too good. There may be, unnecessary interest in these murders…" Carter let it linger.
The woman was silent.
"I would like little attention to be drawn."
"Of course."
Carter, feeling as though he was getting no answer, faced her directly.
"Tell me. Is anyone on to us?"
The woman lifted her head just enough to allow light under the deep hood to illuminate bright red lips.
"No."