“I know of her so-called Dutch uncle, one Wade Bruenhausen, who is a flesh peddler with foul habits and more than a casual share of nature’s cruelty. He is possessed of formidable hypocrisy.”
“Sounds darlin’, he does.”
“Prior to sending forth the children to steal and whore, Mr. Bruenhausen stirs their tiny hearts with a reading from the bible and occasionally, a hymn into the bargain.”
“Right peculiar sort, ain’t he.”
“Paracelsus, Miles Standish, Bruenhausen and now Hugh Larney. Such men make me ill. They use women and I find such men despicable.”
Figg watched Poe’s thin mouth quiver under the writer’s mustache. Lord high protector, thought the boxer. Never got the chance to protect his mum and ’e can’t protect his wife now’ cause she’s in the ground, so he’s got to find some lady what needs him. Or he thinks needs him.
“You best face facts, Mr. Poe-”
“Facts!” Poe threw both hands up in the air.
Over by the fireplace, Rachel Coltman flinched at the sudden loudness of his voice. She’s stayed away from their conversation at the window. Somehow she’d sensed that Poe and Figg were talking about the child Dearborn in a manner that no nineteenth-century lady should overhear. Modesty was much in fashion and there were things between men that the ears of no self-respecting woman should encounter.
She watched an angry Eddy stalk away from Mr. Figg. In the center of the book-lined study, Poe stopped, his glittering eyes boring first into Rachel then into Figg. It was times like these that he frightened and attracted her. She found herself breathing faster, drawn to him despite a tiny voice of caution within her.
“Facts?” snapped Poe again. “Heed me now, sir. You think me a buffoon around women?”
Figg sat down on the leather couch. “I minds me manners in front of a lady. I do not recall sayin’-”
“I am about to demonstrate a clarity of mind which you surmise I lack. I shall prove to you now, sir.”
Figg reached for a cup half filled with cold tea, dwarfing it between his huge hands. He mumbled, his wide mouth hidden by the cup. “Mr. Dickens says you have the cravin’ to prove your superiority over one and all.”
“Speak up, sir! We are all of us here fluent in the mother tongue.”
Rachel walked over to Poe, placing an arm around his shoulders. “Dear Eddy, calm yourself.”
Poe patted the back of her hand. “Thank you, beloved friend, but be at ease. I am not the maniacal and dangerous fellow my enemies have created from their own ignorance. Sit and listen, for I shall now say more of this business of Paracelsus, of Jonathan and the grave robbers. Both you and Mr. Figg shall listen and observe that my intelligence functions most incisively. Yes, the sorrow of my existence has forced me to live in constant disappointment and discomfort. Mine has been a life of poverty and depression, but-”
He aimed a forefinger at Figg. “But sir, I never guess at anything. I analyze most intelligently. Facts, you say. Well hear me. Let me tell you of the original Dr. Paracelsus, the original-”
Figg, with a two-handed grip on the fragile tea cup, paused in his drinking. “You sayin’ there is two of ’em?”
“The original Paracelsus was Swiss, born in the fifteenth century to a poor nobleman. Christened Theopharastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, the son studied medicine and became a doctor while also possessing psychic skills. These talents allowed him to perform unusual cures which soon brought him fame as well as appointment as professor of medicine at the University of Basel. Von Hohenheim took the name of Celsus, that famed physician of ancient Rome, adding Para which means beyond in Greek. It follows from all of this that von Hohenheim ranked himself as greater than Celsus.”
Ain’t got a patch on you, mate, thought Figg. You and him both thinks you can walk on water.
“As Paracelsus,” Poe continued, “our fifteenth-century man of medicine was also a sorcerer, magician, a sensitive believed to have the power to read the future as well as the minds of men. He became egocentric, a man of extraordinary vanity. He began to drink too much and he developed a violent temper, as well as a strong belief in his self-created legend. He ordered his students to burn the books of those men who disagreed with him and he made numerous enemies. He imagined many plots against him and in truth there were plots against him. When his enemies grew larger in numbers, Paracelsus was forced to flee the university, thereafter wandering Europe for fourteen years, becoming even more violent and abusive. He saw a world filled with enemies and he was both correct and in error in his thinking. Some were his foes, some were not. The death of Paracelsus only increased the mystery of the man.”
Poe walked over to the fireplace, extending the palms of his hands towards the warmth of the flames. “Some say he was poisoned, others say he became drunk, rolled down a hill and died as a result of injuries. In death, he gained even more fame. Today those who follow the dark sciences consider Paracelsus a patron saint, an icon to be worshipped and imitated. It is safe to call the man both an adept and a charlatan, for in truth he did possess the power of healing as well as a talent for deception. On occasion, yes, he could call up from deep within himself those strange powers which have eternally baffled man. But Paracelsus was boastful, proud and often dangerous.”
Poe turned to face Rachel and Figg. “As is the Paracelsus now within our midst. I have given you the history of one man so that you might understand the history of the other. Mark them as one, except that there is more evil in that Paracelsus who walks among us. I am referring to the manner in which the grave robbers were killed.”
Rachel said, “Eddy, you did not tell me-”
“I tell you now, dear Rachel, for it is my opinion that Jonathan is no human agency. Yes, he is a man of flesh and blood but he is a terrifying force in servitude to demons. The grave robbers who took Justin’s body had their hearts and livers removed, then the organs were burned. This is a sacrifice to Asmodeus, king of demons, who in Hebrew mythology was forced by Solomon to build the Temple in Jerusalem. The smoke from the burning heart and liver is said to drive Asmodeus away.”
Rachel shook her head. “Eddy, Dr. Paracelsus would never do such a thing. He is helping me-”
“By promising to bring your husband back from the dead.” Poe held up his left hand, the slashed palm towards Rachel, who winced when she saw it.
He said, “This is the result of a visit yesterday to the home of Miles Standish, where a brief, violent tableau was staged for my benefit.”
Rachel’s hand was in front of her mouth. “Miles did that?”
“He had it done. A painting supposedly came to life and attacked me.”
Once more, Figg stopped sipping cold tea. “It what?”
“Attacked me. I first had to be drugged, which was accomplished by gas through the jets, gas mixed with incense.”
Figg frowned. “You didn’t tell me any of this, squire.”
“I said to you, Mr. Figg, that I do deal in facts, that my mind is occupied with more than the welfare of the female portion of mankind. My intelligence functions in its own manner; it is a process that has baffled, amused, tormented and upset various segments of the American public, not to mention critics, of whom the less said the better. Because I do not choose to tell you all that I am concerned with, Mr. Figg, does not in any way indicate I am concerned with nothing at all.”
Figg sneered. “You are a delight, you are.”
“Eddy, are you saying that Miles-”
“He is involved in this attempt to obtain ransom, as well as the body of your husband. He is in league with Jonathan, or if you will, in league with Paracelsus.”
Rachel shook her head no. Eddy was once again off on a flight of fancy. He had to be. Miles would never harm her. Never.