My Clockwork Muse (11 page)

"I killed a man, Tap." I let my hands fall
from my face. I could feel the moisture of tears on my fingers. "By
God, it was me, Tap! I killed him! There can no longer be any
doubt."

"Eddy! Eddy! Get a hold of yourself,
man!"

"I will confess it. I must!"

I felt a rustle of wings brush my cheek. I
looked up to see Tap alighting in a flurry of black feathers on my
desktop. He took a couple of jerky steps to the vial and inspected
it closely. Then he turned and cocked his head at the sheet on
which I had written "Laudanum".

"Look at the
a
's, Eddy." He cocked his
head from the sheet to the vial and back again. "And the
d
.
No, not the
d
... Look at the a, Eddy. And the
u
."

"What of the
d
?" I asked. My matching
L
had given me such a fright that I had not even looked at
the other letters. I felt a wellspring of hope burst forth within
me. Perhaps they did not match.

"Forget the
d
. You don't close off the
top of your
a
's, Eddy. But Mr. Laudan does. Look at that.
Both of 'em. Closed up tight."

Forgetting the
d
for a moment, I
looked from my
a
's to the others and saw that it was true.
The
a
's were obviously written by two distinct hands. I
wanted to cry with relief.

"And the
u
, also," I said, feeling
better by the moment. "But the
d
, now. Look at this." I
leaned over the desktop to examine the label closely. Presently,
Tap joined me and we examined the label side by side, my nose and
his beak nearly touching the glass. We compared one
d
to the
other, moving our nose and beak from vial to paper. "See how the
vertical is a solid line rather than a loop? Same on both." I could
feel my hope slipping away.

Tap straightened angrily. "So what, Eddy? Who
doesn't make a
d
like that? If I could write, that's how I'd
make
my
d
's! The
a
's and the
u
—those
are the letters to look at. As you can see, the two hands are
nothing alike. A chance similarity on the
L
's, and that's
it. For cryin' out loud, Eddy! You're ready to confess to murder
just because of the way you write an
L
? My God, man, I'm
tempted to go perch on somebody else's bust of Pallas. You're
starting to creep me out."

I wasn't sure what it meant to be "creeped
out", but I couldn't help but laugh. Tap himself seemed to smile,
even though his beak was incapable of it and his black eyes were as
expressionless as ever.

He was right, though. Only my
L
seemed
to bear a significant similarity to the murderer's hand. The rest,
including the
d
, could have been written by anyone—anyone
who wrote similarly to me, granted, but not
necessarily
me.
That was the important point. In the end, the handwriting proved
nothing.

Still chuckling, I leaned over and righted my
fallen chair. "Well, I guess we've had a little scare today."

Tap flapped back to his rocker. "This is how
you pit your intellect against Gessler's? You crack on day one,
confessing to a murder you didn't commit? Hoo, boy! Dupin would
roll over in his grave!"

"Dupin's not dead."

"Remember this for future detective stories.
You can save yourself a lot of writing by just having the inspector
confess to every murder he's investigating. No more orangutans. I
always thought that was a reach, by the way—"

"Okay, okay, Tap." I felt he was about to
launch into some diatribe or other. It was important to nip it
before it got rolling. I was amazed at how quickly things could
return to normal. A moment ago, I had been standing at the edge of
the abyss. Now, I was merely standing at the onset of one of Tap's
meandering rants. While both were unpleasant, one, I thought with a
smile, was infinitely better than the other.

~ * * * ~

"I'm going to try to do some writing now,
Tap, so please be quiet." I sat down and arranged my desk, clearing
a space for my unfinished story 'Berenice'. Briggs wanted an
original story. Well, I would give him one. It took me some time to
get back into the proper frame of mind, and after reviewing what I
had written up to the point I had left off, I penned the words:

'I found myself sitting in the library, and
again sitting there alone.'

I sat back in thought. The words had the ring
of poetry, which I attributed to Tap's influence with his incessant
allusions to 'The Raven'. Seldom did we converse for any length of
time that he did not refer to it in some manner or other.

Whatever their inspiration, though—and, the
more I thought of it, it was more likely Olimpia's kiss than Tap's
boasting—the words told me that my mind was inclined to verse. So I
decided to write the preface to the story that I had been mulling
since I had first conceived of it.
'Misery is manifold'
, I
wrote, focusing on a subject that was only too familiar to me and
that was sure to chase the music of language from my mind.

Once I had finished the task, I found myself
in a more prosaic mood and I was able to complete the story without
the annoying cadences of my opening line. Even though I found the
phrase
'they were muddy and clotted with gore'
perhaps a
little more melodious than the subject matter deserved, I soon
found that I was pleased overall with the tale and hoped to show it
to Briggs on the morrow.

I concluded by titling the first page.
'Berenice', I wrote, underlining the word.

"Lame!"

Tap's voice. I turned, puzzled.

"Your title," Tap explained. "It has about as
much get-up-and-go as a three-legged horse. It's lame. It's as
exciting as the title of your epic non-poem 'To Blank-Underline'.
Lame as all get-out."

"What would you have me call it, then?"

"How should I know, Eddy? You’re the writer.
That's what you keep telling me, anyway—though I have my doubts
when I see stuff like this." He considered for a moment. "How about
'The Tell-Tale Teeth'? Nice alliteration there, if you ask me.
That's right, I said it: alliteration. See? I've been paying
attention to all your poetry talk. I may be a raven, but I'm not
stupid.
'Thou art sure no craven'
. You said it yourself,
Eddy, though hell if I know what it means."

"'Berenice' is good enough," I said.

"How about the 'Cask of Something'? Is there
a cask in this one? Or is it just teeth? 'The Cask of ... Teeth'.
Ooh! 'The Cask of Tell-Tale Teeth'! Better yet!"

"'Berenice'," I insisted, setting my pen
down.

A shadow fell across my desk. Startled, I
looked up and caught a glimpse of a blue-coated arm just as it
disappeared past the edge of the window frame. In the next moment,
I heard a heavy tread on my front porch. I jumped up and leaned
close to the glass, attempting to peer past the edges of the window
frame to see who was there. The crest of my sloping front yard
blocked my view of the street and I saw no one either in the yard
or on the porch. Another shadow crossed Tap's window. I craned my
neck in that direction and when I turned back to my own window, I
just about fell over backwards when I found Gessler's face pressed
against the pane. He was gazing in through cupped hands. When he
saw me, he smiled and disappeared from the window, reappearing an
instant later at the front door.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to find
you up and about, Mr. Poe," Gessler blustered when I let him in.
"After last night's ordeal, I am delighted to find you well." He
looked past me into the house. "Your doctor, this..." He quickly
consulted a piece of paper he was holding in one hand. "This man
Coppelius, he is still here?"

I tried to bar his way, but Gessler calmly
stepped around me, letting himself in. I found it ominous that he
knew Coppelius had been here at all. "The doctor has gone," I said
at his back, hoping this news might compel him to leave, but
knowing it would not.

He turned to me. "Gone? Ah, that surprises
me. I only say that because—\s 12 Well, you will forgive me, Mr.
Poe, but I couldn't help but overhear you while I was on your
porch. I distinctly heard you conversing with someone."

I cast an eye to Tap, but so furtively that
Gessler would not have noticed. "My conversations are my own
affair, Inspector."

"Indeed," Gessler said. He calmly removed his
bowler. Apparently, he meant to stay. "That is why I at first went
away without knocking. I heard plainly that you had company.
Rather, I should say, I heard you speaking, and quite clearly, I
might add. I didn't want to disturb you, you see."

I licked my lips. "Of course."

"But now here I am and I find you quite
alone." He brazenly looked into all corners of the house, straining
even to see into my bedroom. "I had assumed, of course, that you
were engaged with your doctor. This is the reason I didn't knock,
not wanting to interrupt what was no doubt a very intimate
conversation over very private matters indeed, not intended,
certainly, for
my
ears—"

"I was talking to my bird," I blurted out all
at once.

Gessler raised his eyebrows.

"Behind you," I said. He turned and saw Tap
perched on the back of my rocking chair.

"Ah! I did not see him there." He took a step
towards Tap and Tap cocked his head at him. I bit my lip, wondering
if Tap would hold his tongue. Gessler laughed. "He is real!" the
inspector exclaimed, looking back at me over his shoulder with a
bemused expression. "I had no idea you kept a bird, Mr. Poe. And a
raven, no less!"

"Yes, I, uh, sometimes ... talk to him. Read
to him, I should say ... when I am laboring over some ... puzzling
literary construction. It helps to, uh, solidify ideas, in my own
mind. Of course," I added quickly, "the bird offers little help in
any other regard—or even much in that one, to be honest." I
immediately felt my face redden as I feared I was rambling. Not
knowing what to say next, I was actually relieved when Gessler cut
me off with a laugh.

"I should hope not, Mr. Poe! But loneliness
being what it is, what with you living out here all by yourself, I
can see why you would take on a pet. I believe I would myself. And
no doubt I would talk to it, too. Now, if it started talking
back..." Gessler gave me a broad wink. "That might force me to
reconsider my situation!"

I tried to laugh along with him as best I
could. I opened my mouth and the laughter I forced out of it was
feeble and tremulous. "One would doubt his sanity," I said amiably,
as though I were playing along with his jest.

"Indeed he would!" Gessler said, giving a
final laugh before stopping cold. "So you have been working,
then?"

His question took me by surprise and I
stammered, not understanding his meaning. He nodded toward my
desk.

"Oh! Yes," I chuckled. "My story, yes, I see.
I had just finished when you knocked."

"You have concluded the story I saw
yesterday? Oh, lucky me! May I see it? I am dying to know how it
ends. I don't mind telling you, the opening of the tale has been in
my mind ever since."

"You will have to wait and read it in the
Journal
, just like everyone else." I snatched my story from
the desk and rolled the sheets tightly and stuffed them into my
coat pocket. I felt myself beginning to grow angry. "Now, look
here, Inspector—"

"You will at least tell me the title, so I
will know what to look for?"

"'Berenice'," I said, which brought a sudden
"Caw-caw!"
from Tap. He strained forward on his perch, his
feathers bristling. Gessler laughed uproariously.

"Your raven disapproves, Mr. Poe."

"Oh, no." Even knowing I was about to spew
nonsense, I felt obligated to speak, to draw Gessler's attention
away from Tap. "He is merely squawking. He does that from time to
time. It is no indication of disapproval. Or anything else, that I
can tell." My face grew hot.

"Well, since that is all a raven
can
say, it will have to suffice for disapproval, won't it? Unless,
perhaps, you have trained him to say 'Nevermore!'"

Gessler again laughed uproariously and I
joined him.

"Yes, yes, of course. Splendid, Inspector!
No, in his world, a squawk would have to suffice for everything, I
suppose. In the world of birds, that is—"

"Ha-ha! Who would have thought you'd have a
domesticated raven? Very good, Mr. Poe." He wiped a tear of
laughter from his eye and glanced at my desk. "Have you been
practicing your handwriting, sir?"

He again took me off guard and I stammered
for a moment. He nodded gravely at my desktop. I looked and found
my sheet of
L
's staring back at me like an accusation, my
madness laid bare. I made to grab it, but Gessler got to it before
I could. He lifted the sheet from the desk and scrutinized the page
without comment. I snatched it from his fingers. In the next
instant, his attention was drawn to the laudanum vial. He reached
for it and I snatched that away also.

"Prescribed by your doctor?" he asked. "This
Doctor Coppelius of yours?"

It was anger that now reddened my cheeks. I
pushed him aside and sat down briskly in my desk chair, turning my
back to him.

"Really, Inspector! My affairs are my own!" I
flung open the drawer and shoved the offending items inside where
they would be out of his sight. "I must ask that you state your
business—"

Before I could finish, something inside the
drawer caught my eye: a little bit of torn paper. I had never seen
it before, though some feeling of familiarity drew my eye to it.
With a sidelong glance over my shoulder to ensure that Gessler
could not see, I brought it out and, sitting hunched over the open
drawer, inspected it closely.