Page 17 of The Affair of the Mysterious Letter
“You know the Charter of Sepulchres gives me the right to strike you dead on the spot for that.”
“And”—my companion gave a broad and frankly worrying smile—“you are most welcome to make the attempt.”
In all candour, the gentleman did not seem wholly enamoured of the idea of engaging Ms. Haas in direct magical confrontation. However, as the only representative of the Ossuary Bank in the vicinity, it fell to him to demonstrate that his employers were not lightly crossed. “Right. Well. Then. I’ll be doing... that.”
“Oh, do get on with it. Or I shall have expired from boredom before I have the opportunity to show you what a titanic error you’re making.”
Mr. Donne looked down, pressed his fingertips together, and began to speak in the language of ancient Khel. The room grew at oncedarker and colder. Indistinct figures began to appear amongst the guests and, to my distress, I felt a ghostly presence at my shoulder. Hesitant to look but sensible of the dangers of ignorance, I glanced behind me. The apparition took the form of my younger brother Thomas, named for Thomas Latimer, now Lord Protector; a boy of about seventeen in whom I saw a little of myself and much of my father. He had died of some sudden and virulent illness while I was away at university, and I had not been invited to the funeral. I reached a hand towards him, but if the spirit saw me at all he paid me no mind.
With a certain awful fascination I took note of who amongst the assembly had their own spectral attendant. Most, it seemed, had somebody, although there was no pattern or uniformity to them. Some were old, some young, some bore the marks of violent death, many were children. Miss Beck was flanked by a man and a woman, both of advanced years. They had the look of family about them although they seemed no more sensible of her presence than my brother was of mine. By contrast, Miss Viola stood quite alone, a distinction she shared with the flame-eyed skinner who had asked me to dance earlier in the evening. Ms. Haas, however, was surrounded by a veritable throng, who swirled around her so thickly that it was impossible to discern individuals amongst them.
The hall had gone, for want of a less obvious term, deathly still. Some of the guests were weeping softly and there came the occasional stifled shriek. Then the necromancer spoke a word of command and every spectre in the room descended upon my companion with a terrible keening. Chaos broke loose as members in good standing of the Ubiquitous Companies fled for the exits, overturning chairs and scattering immodestly expensive tableware as they did so. Miss Viola, I noted, caught her fiancée quickly by the hand and led her swiftly but calmly towards the least occupied part of the room with the air of one who had decided upon an optimally efficient escape route well ahead of its being required.
This did, at least, obviate the necessity of my continuing in the persona of an Eyan wool merchant, but I was not certain of the means by which I could be of most assistance to Ms. Haas. Moving against the flow of the crowd, it took me some moments to reach Mr. Donne and, even when I had, I was not wholly willing to strike the man down without warning. In my time beyond the Unending Gate I had, on occasion, been required to resort to ambush in order to preserve my life and the lives of my fellows, but this was not some fathomless agent of the Empress of Nothing. He was a man whose name I knew, and who had asked me for coffee not half an hour before.
I raised my cane, which the earlier twinges in my rib cage had inspired me to bring along, in a threatening attitude.
“Sir,” I said, “cease this at once.”
Mr. Donne twisted partially around, his expression fading from imperiousness to mild discomfort. “Oh, it’s you. Um, look. I really do have to do this. It’s forbidden for outsiders to interfere with the business of the order. And, anyway, I’m not entirely sure I can stop it.”
The spot where my companion had been was still a maelstrom of ectoplasmic fury. “What do you mean you can’t stop it? What kind of necromancer are you?”
“I’ll thank you not to question my professionalism. If you’d bothered reading my card”—he sounded a little hurt—“you’d know that I’m a sin eater. I work primarily with spiritual burdens and I’m afraid the lady is, in a very real sense, doing this to herself.”
“That,” I retorted, “is abhorrent.”
He looked bemused and adjusted his glasses. “Really? I always found it had a pleasing equipoise. It’s so much better when things add up. And hitting me with that cane won’t change anything.”
“Nonetheless, I feel I would be justified in striking you very soundly indeed.”
“I have the laws of this city on my side and you”—Mr. Donnepulled himself to his full height, which was not, in honesty, all that high—“are a very rude man.”
At this, the storm of spirits collapsed inwards, revealing Ms. Haas, her clothing torn open and a symbol that I recognised as the same marking that bound the poltergeist within our hatstand carved bloodily into her chest.
“Boys, boys, boys.” She sighed. “If you’ve finished flirting, I have to show this little bean counter what real witchcraft looks like.”
Mr. Donne was staring agape at my companion’s décolletage, although I’m certain his interest was academic rather than inappropriate. “What have you done?”
“You know very well what I’ve done. I’ve trapped a hundred and forty-seven angry ghosts in my heart.”
“You’re insane.”
“No, my dear. I just really like to win.” She gave a twisted smile and a chill wind swept through the hall, slamming the doors and windows firmly closed. Then came a rasp of tortured metal and the incongruously jaunty jangling of glass as one of the chandeliers tore itself free from the ceiling and hurtled towards Mr. Donne with malicious precision.
While I was not best pleased with the gentleman, I wished for neither of us to be crushed. So, catching the necromancer about the waist, I pulled him aside and threw us both to the ground, covering him on pure instinct with my body.
He gazed up at me, his eyes very wide. “I, um. Gosh.”
“Mr. Wyndham,” drawled my companion, advancing on us as the shattered remains of the light fitting rose once more into the air and arranged themselves into a deadly array of sharp points, “we must really have a conversation about your rescuing my mortal enemies.”
A piece of twisted iron shot past me and embedded itself in thefloor inches from Mr. Donne’s head. “Ms. Haas, I am concerned that you have not fully considered the consequences of your actions.”
“On the contrary. I have considered them in depth. I simply don’t care.”
I strongly suspected that Ms. Haas’s behaviour at this juncture was at least partly caused by the malign influence of the hundred or so wrathful spirits currently inhabiting her body. Although, in truth, it was not so very out of character for her. Rising, I helped Mr. Donne to his feet and placed myself between him and my companion. “I’m afraid I cannot be party to the murder of a”—I paused—“more or less innocent person.”
“He started it.” Ms. Haas crossed her arms in a manner I personally thought rather huffy.
