Yet Jonathan saw no reason to kill Poe. Poe could still serve as a contact for Hamlet Sproul, the momentary possessor of Justin Coltman’s decaying flesh. And because Poe was an extreme romantic in matters of women, he would make it his business to do as Rachel Coltman demanded regarding her dead husband. No, Jonathan would allow Poe to live for a while longer, until Jonathan had Justin Coltman’s body in his possession. After that, it would be time enough to dispose of the sad and sickly poet.
Meanwhile, Jonathan would toy with Poe, tilt the balance of the poet’s sanity, play a game with this man who was so proud of his intelligence, so puffed with the sense of his own ego. He was an unusual man, dear Eddy, and undoubtedly history would be kinder to him than America had been up until now. Jonathan sensed that Poe was a man in advance of his time, far ahead of thought around him, but acceptance for Poe’s achievements would come to him only long after he was dead.
And that is why Jonathan found it a challenge to manipulate Poe now. For if Poe was to eventually achieve greatness, was not Jonathan in using him, even greater? Did not the power and intelligence of the magician surpass that of anyone born of woman?
Jonathan said, “Men deny the existence of those things they are unable to comprehend. All earthly intelligence is limited, for man and all he touches is bound down by time, space and causation. I offer that the mind of man is unstable; the world reveals this to be so. It is public knowledge that the mind of Mr. Poe has long been unstable, a fact perhaps owing to his lifelong mourning for his mother, his stepmother, his wife. I would advise against your reliance upon Mr. Poe’s judgment.”
“Yes, it is true that he has endured the pain of bereavement longer than most.”
“More intensely than most as well. Had he believed in a life hereafter, he would have been spared continual suffering. There would have been comfort in the knowledge that his loved ones now live on another plane of existence.”
“Dr. Paracelsus, I–I do not mean to doubt you but I see nothing except the life around me. How can there possibly be another plane of existence?”
“Mrs. Coltman, the stars come out at night and shine most brightly. During the day they are unseen, but where have they gone? Nowhere, Mrs. Coltman. Nowhere at all. They are still present but we cannot see them. Would you say the stars and moon have disappeared merely because they go unseen at high noon?”
“I–I, no, Dr. Paracelsus, I–I understand. But Eddy is a most brilliant man. Surely he has his reasons for believing as he does.”
Jonathan lifted a hand from the table. The music stopped. After long seconds of silence, he again placed his hand down on the table and the flute was heard once more.
“Reason. Mrs. Coltman, I shall tell you of reason. The oldest civilization on earth is to be found in Sumer, where 6,500 years ago animals were sacrificed and buried with dead men and women to continue serving them in a world beyond this one. The dead kings of Egypt were buried in elaborate pyramids with servants, chariots and jewels to please them in the afterlife. The Shang Dynasty of China buried its rulers with the bodies of wives, servants, concubines killed for similar reasons as did the Viking warriors. Christian, Jew, Mohammedan, all preach of a heaven awaiting the faithful.”
Jonathan again lifted a hand from the table, stopping the music. “Reason. Mrs. Coltman this is reason and I tell you only what is known by all of humanity. There is life after death, there is an existence invisible to our eyes and your husband is there. I can call him back to this plane, but I shall need his body. Will you pay the ransom?”
“If-if you say I must.”
“You must.”
She is beautiful, thought Jonathan. Long auburn hair flowing down her back and the pale complexion of one who by suffering always draws men to her. How correct the French are in saying that when God creates a beautiful woman, he also provides a fool to keep her. Rachel Coltman will always have her share of fools.
“Dr. Paracelsus, I–I-”
“Speak.”
“Eddy, Mr. Poe, says you are someone else. He says-”
“That I am Jonathan, a sorcerer and killer.”
“Yes.”
Jonathan thrust both hands up the sleeves of his flowing white robe. “Did he also tell you that a painting came to life and tried to kill him?”
She nodded.
He smiled with a corner of his mouth. “One seems as likely as the other, wouldn’t you say?”
Her smile was quick, disappearing the instant it flashed across her lips.
Suddenly, the flute hit an extraordinarily high note directly overhead and Rachel Coltman quickly looked up at the ceiling. When she looked back at Jonathan, he was pointing to-”
She saw it and inhaled sharply.
“Justin’s snuff box.” She picked up the tiny silver box in both hands, handling it as though it were fragile porcelain.
“Open it, Mrs. Coltman.”
She did and her jaw dropped.
“Where-”
“A most lovely ring, Mrs. Coltman. Your husband had it made for you on your first trip to England together. It is modelled after the ring Queen Elizabeth gave to Lord Essex, is it not?”
Rachel could only nod her head. Her eyes shimmered behind tears. “I thought I had lost them both forever.”
Stolen and kept until needed, thought Jonathan. They are needed now. His hands were still in his sleeves. The hands of a master magician. From his sleeve and across the table in a infinitesimal fraction of a second. And she believed it was a miracle.
“A miracle,” she whispered. “A miracle. How did you-”
“Mrs. Coltman, do you believe in me?”
“Yes, oh yes.”
“I want you to tell me more about Jonathan.” This is a most enjoyable game, he thought.
Tears slid down her pale cheeks. Jonathan found her one of the few women who could weep and still remain beautiful. He watched her squeeze the snuff box in a hand covered by a blue velvet glove. She still wanted to believe.
“A miracle,” she whispered, looking around the room and seeing no one but the magician.
“There are indeed other worlds, Mrs. Coltman, other planes.” And servants who steal.
“My deepest gratitude, Dr. Paracelsus.”
“Do you believe me to be who I say I am?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“Tell me more about this Jonathan.”
“Eddy and his friend, Mr. Figg, are searching for him. Mr. Figg intends to kill Jonathan, but first the two of them are going to a boarding house on Ann Street to seek a group of travelling actors.”
Jonathan’s hands slowly clenched and unclenched. Figg. A primitive force capable of destroying him. An ordinary man made extraordinary by the intensity of the revenge he craved. If there was one thing Jonathan understood it was the power of revenge. Figg was definitely dangerous and not one to toy with as was Poe; the boxer stalked Jonathan with the intention of spilling his blood, nothing less. Figg would have to be dealt with immediately.
But first-
“The Renaissance Players,” said Rachel Coltman. “Mr. Figg claims two of their members are somehow involved in the death of his wife.”
She looked across the table. “Joseph Barian and Bernard Leddy. They-”
Jonathan interrupted. “You are about to say they have acted as go-betweens for you and myself. This is true. But they are no longer associated with me. On the day you spoke to Mr. Barian and Mr. Leddy in front of Barnum’s American Museum, you may tell Mr. Poe and Mr. Figg, I released them from my employ. Barian and Leddy misused my kindness by keeping hidden from me the account of their criminal pastimes which I was just informed is on file at New York Police Headquarters. They sought my aid in contacting departed loved ones and even though both men lacked funds, I gave of myself and my services for my heart does ache at the sight of another’s pain. Instead of money, each man begged me to allow him to serve me as best he could and I agreed. But as you have learned tonight, you can now contact me through Miss Sarah Clannon.”