Page 20 of The Affair of the Mysterious Letter
“Oh no. The only joke we’re allowed to tell in Ey is: How manyunbelievers does it take to replace a gas lamp? None. They’re too busy wasting their time on frivolities.”
There was a long silence.
“We are also permitted,” I continued, not entirely certain what had come over me: “Your mother is so impious her immortal soul is in serious peril.”
At this, Second Augur Lawson laughed, a reaction from which I derived considerable satisfaction, for it was not one I was accustomed to engendering. “You’re a surprising fellow, Mr....”
“Wyndham, sir. John Wyndham.”
“Well then, John Wyndham.” He was still smiling faintly. “I should wish you a good night and a safe journey home.”
“I thank you for your concern, but I fear I must detain you a moment longer.”
“Must you, now?” I could not quite read his tone and hoped that I had not inadvertently made myself a suspect.
“I would like to know what has become of my housemate.”
After a slight pause, the Second Augur said rather warily, “You’re living with Shaharazad Haas?”
“Yes. For some weeks now.”
“Oh, dear me. She is going to eat you alive.”
“In my experience, she dines rather modestly.”
I was dismayed to observe that the Second Augur’s manner towards me had altered perceptively. “I’m serious, Mr. Wyndham. Chaos follows her around like orphans after a pie seller.”
“You seem to have pies rather on your mind, sir.”
“I’m hungry, but I’m trying to help you here.”
“What would help me,” I insisted, “is knowing how I might facilitate my companion’s release from custody.”
This made him laugh again, although in a far less pleasant way than he had the first time. “There’s nothing you can do and there’snothing you have to do. Shaharazad Haas never cleans up her own mess.” He did not say “mess.”
“Even so, I cannot countenance abandoning my friend in her hour of need.”
“She’s not your friend and she’s not in an hour of need. She’s in an hour of deciding to mess with the Myrmidons.” Once more, he did not say “mess.”
I thought it quite impossibly presumptuous that the Second Augur would believe he knew more about my relationship with Ms. Haas than I did myself. It was true she never did her own laundry or tidied away her own teacups, and that she left me to scrub suspicious bloodstains out of the floor of the kitchen, had once vomited in my hat, on a separate occasion prevailed upon me to move her hand from her waist to her forehead because she lacked the energy to lift it herself, and, on this very evening, had thrown a chandelier at my head, but I remained convinced that she was, deep down, a good and honourable person.
As I was opening my mouth to defend her, the Second Augur interrupted. “Look. Just go home. You’ll probably find she’s already there. She’s far too good at taking care of herself.”
Not wanting to seem obstreperous or ungrateful, and persuaded that I would be better able to aid Ms. Haas with the resources available to me at 221b Martyrs Walk, I followed the Second Augur’s advice. And, to my very mild chagrin, found that he had been entirely correct.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An Interlude
Ms. Haas wasstretched out on the chaise longue, still clad in her tattered and bloodstained silks. The air was filled with the now-familiar scent of Valentino’s Good Rough Shag.
“Ah. Wyndham.” She attempted to prop herself on her elbows and seemed to immediately regret it. “What kept you?”
“I was endeavouring to see if there were any means by which I could secure your release.”
“How very silly of you. Surely you recalled Mr. Donne’s assertion that the entire matter fell beneath the auspices of the Ossuary Bank? I may have hinted to the Myrmidons that the necromancers would, even as we spoke, be conjuring a phalanx of vengeful phantoms to destroy me and anything that stood in their way. After that, they were quite keen to let me go.”
“But was that true?”
