The Two Devils (19 page)

"Mrs. Wilson thinks your neighbor is responsible,” she added.

"Mrs. Wilson? When did she tell you that?"

"Just before I came in here. I'm going door-to-door, asking people if they've seen anything.” She opened up a small notebook. “So, have you seen anything?"

"I see. Look, I really don't know anything.” A bowl on a sill that might, or might not, be blood did not justify ruining some man's life, in my book. “I hardly know the know the man. He just moved in."

She soon departed to disturb the other people in the neighborhood, and I soon sat down to supper.

I suppose, being human nature, I found myself gazing out my window at the house next door far more than usual the rest of the day.

As the night wore on, I found my horse, again, standing in the neighbor's yard. As I put my drawers on, I wondered if he'd been listening to Mrs. Wilson. I'd always thought they ignored each other, but I was at work all day. “Paul, you've got to stay out of this man's yard,” I whispered. As I was trying to coax my horse back home, I realized he wasn't really watching the house. It was a large bush in the yard that he was gazing at. “What the...?” My horse and I moved over to the bush. “May I help you?"

Molly Madison stood up. “I do not require assistance."

"What are you doing here?” I demanded.

"People are dying, and that man inside that house is involved, somehow. I intend to find out how.” She again sat down behind the bush.

"Madam, lurking about in people's yards is beneath the dignity of a reporter for the
Examiner
. However, I am not your editor. I am a tired person and am going home to bed."

I had just gotten my horse back home, when one heck of a ruckus started up next door. Even though I would've preferred a saddle, I jumped up on Paul we were back in the other yard in seconds.

Molly Madison was struggling with someone on her back. “Unhand that woman,” I declared.

This fellow did just that. He came after me and knocked me off my horse. He was certainly strong. He had me pinned to the ground in seconds. His teeth looked more like the fangs of a canine, only bigger. I got the impression he was going to use them on my neck. Then, things changed again.

There was a small explosion, somewhat like illuminations on Independence Day, and we were surrounded by an odd green gas. I lost all control of my limbs and quickly faded to unconsciousness.

My next recollection was that we were indoors. I was tied up, as was Miss Madison. There was also that thing that sort of passed for a man, though he had these horrible fangs extending from his teeth. A hideous individual would be the best way I could describe him. He was inside a small cage, probably the sort of cage normally used to confine or transport zoo animals.

The room we were in was cluttered with various potions and a myriad assortment of bottles and bowls for them. My neighbor—dressed in black—as always, was grinding some sort of powder with a mortar and pestle. “Oh, you are awake."

"Afraid so,” I admitted.

"The effects of the gas are only temporary,” he explained.

Miss Madison seemed to be coming around. “Whu?"

"We shall give her a few moments to more fully awaken.” He picked up a gold coin and brought it over to me. It had an eagle on one side. “I made this."

As I was tied up, I could not fully examine it. “So? People have made coins for centuries."

"Not just the coin, the gold in it.” He placed the coin inside my pocket. “A souvenir."

"You are saying you made gold?” Molly said, still a little groggy.

"Absolutely. I am a master alchemist. I can turn base metals such as lead into gold,” he boasted.

"Well, if that gets out, gold could become worthless,” I said.

"Precisely my dilemma. However, that is of little consequence. I only manufacture small quantities to provide for myself and my research."

"What kind of research?” Molly asked.

He seated himself on a stool. “Alchemic science stems from the late period of the Roman Empire. While most everyone knows of our quest to make gold, few seem aware we have other, even grander, ambitions. Our Holy Grail—as you might call it—is to develop the Philosopher's Stone."

"Immortality,” Molly said.

"Yes, madam, immortality. You are obviously well educated. The stone leads to immortality,” our captor admitted. He gazed at the creature in the cage. “I injected him with more drugs. These vampires can be quite dangerous. The two murders you are investigating—there are actually four—were his doing. He sucks the blood of his victims to sustain himself."

"Had he not attacked me, I would think you mad,” Molly said.

He shrugged. “Your opinion is irrelevant. I am the greatest scientist who ever lived. I will be spoken of on the same breath with Galileo and Da Vinci, at least some day."

It seemed time to change the subject. “What are you going to do with us?” I asked.

"That remains to be seen. First, I must finish my work."

"Why the bowl of blood?” I asked.

"The vampire will not likely drink it, but the smell was an irresistible lure, just as blood in water always brings sharks.” Having said that, he grabbed a long sword, opened the door to the cage, and sliced off the head of the vampire. He hoisted the rest of him onto a rack over a vat, then proceeded to drain the vampire of bodily fluids, much as the vampire had, no doubt, been doing to his victims. “Vampires are as vulnerable as you or I to modern chemicals."

I didn't know what to make of this spectacle. It was hard to object to killing something as ferocious as this vampire, but to lob off his head so this fellow can play at immortality, that did not set right, either.

"I will synthesize the vampire's blood.” He lighted an alcohol lamp. “This will take a few hours. Their blood contains special properties. I believe it to contain some sort of symbiotic parasite which gives them their powers as well as their blood lust. It also creates a chemical. This chemical, when processed, will give me what I seek."

It seemed this man wanted witnesses to his greatness, yet he did not likely intend for us to live much longer than our blood-sucking acquaintance. If word got out he could make gold—assuming he really could—his operation would be ruined. He certainly could not allow that.

I whispered to Molly. “I can't tell if he's nuts or brilliant, but, either way, I don't like the way this is going to turn out for us."

"Perhaps he's both,” she whispered back, “but how do we get out of here?"

That, unfortunately, was something I had no idea about. I'd found, to my benefit, I'd come too often to rely on my horse to miraculously rescue me. As we were simply sitting inside a home, I was not sure if Paul even knew the danger we were in. I didn't know if the gas had affected him or where he was.

"What became of my horse?” I asked.

The fellow seemed to like boasting of his accomplishments. “He ran off somewhere. A horse is too big for the dosage of the gas canister."

So, we sat there, tied up, for two hours as my neighbor boiled and stirred then ground his concoction. Finally, he poured some congealed goo out into a bowl. “It will have to cure for a day.” He washed his hands, then looked at us. “Now, what to do with the two of you."

He looked at Molly. “I have not had a woman in some time, yet your odd hair, I find rather unappealing. I suppose, the thing to do, is inject the both of you with poison. It will not hurt. You will simply nod off to sleep, then die. Yes, that shall do. I must maintain my secrets."

He stood over me, leaning against the back door of the house. “This is nothing personal. I assure you, I take no pleasure in this."

At that moment, the door exploded as a horse hoof tore through the wood, turning it to splinters. The impact sent the alchemist flying into the table with the alcohol lamp. The lamp fell over and ignited some of the chemicals. The whole place filled with various colors of smoke and flames rather quickly.

With the door open, I hit upon an idea. My chains prevented me from standing, but I managed to roll along and make it outside. Molly rolled out right after me. My horse was standing in the backyard, watching us roll along. In minutes, there was all sorts of commotion.

Neighbors poured out of their houses. We could hear the San Francisco Fire Brigade coming with their new horse-drawn, steam powered pumper wagon. As this went on, we rolled behind the bush where Molly had been hiding before.

While people fought the fire, I realized Mrs. Wilson was standing near the bush that concealed us. “Mrs. Wilson,” I whispered.

"Good lord,” she exclaimed when she realized our predicament. She looked us over. We were well chained. “Wait here,” she said.

In no time at all, she returned with a small hacksaw. She cut the lock off each of us like a pro. While she was cutting my lock, she said, “My Arnold left me with plenty of tools. We thought ourselves progressive, Mr. O'Malley, yet never would we have tried bondage, especially out in public. I take it you read those French novels, too. Of course, I doubt you two expected a fire to break out in that house. Did you lose your key in your excitement? Nothing else need be said of it."

"Yes,” Molly said, surprising me. “We had not counted on such an event."

The next morning, I was served a heaping plate of flapjacks. After I'd finished, Mrs. Wilson took my plate away and I ventured off to work, passing the completely destroyed shell of a house on the way.

The Captain was already there, reading the
Examiner
. “Mornin’ Miles."

"Morning,” I replied.

"Looks like you had a little excitement last night. Your lady friend wrote up a story on it."

I didn't know what to think as I took the paper. It was on the front page. I read all about a tragic loss of one of our citizens and a heroic effort on the account of our fire brigade to rescue him, to no avail.

A real tragic story that said nothing of vampires or alchemy. I took a quick glance at my gold coin. “Mighty sad,” I said to the Captain. “Hate to see stuff like that happen."

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My next day off, I decided to see about coming up with some new clothes, as my gallivanting about the land had taken a toll on what was passing for a wardrobe. There were a number of establishments in the city, though I found most of their prices were at odds with my funds. I noticed, as I ventured from store to store, that I kept seeing the same man nearby, reading the same issue of the
Examiner,
every time I departed an establishment.

He wore a nondescript gray suit with a round gray hat. Either he was the slowest reader on earth, or this man was following me.

As it was approaching midday, I entered a small café I'd been curious about. I was seated near the front window by a pretty waitress with curly brown hair.

A few minutes later, my shadow entered and was placed at a table near the rear of the building. I ordered ham and greens, then gazed out the window at passers-by until my food was brought out. The fellow watching me labored hard to watch me without being obvious about it. I was more than slightly tempted to flee the restaurant, but that would entail leaving a very nice lunch. They even included cornbread, which was hot and fresh. I opted to remain. The food was delicious and I left a very clean plate. I passed on desert.

After lunch, my luck improved a little. I found a small shop near the café and was soon the proud owner of two new shirts. I made it back home without seeing the man with the newspaper, though I was confident he was lingering around somewhere. I checked on Paul, who was actually where he was supposed to be in the little barn, then I relaxed on the back porch for a few minutes.

My relaxation was short lived. I soon heard footsteps coming around the side of the house. Someone familiar emerged around the corner. “I see you finally got your paper read,” I announced.

"I do not know what you are referring to,” the gentleman replied.

It was pointless to argue with him. “Are you looking for me or trying to find the privy?"

"Yes, Judge Hastings sent me to fetch you. I have a coach out front,” he informed me.

I followed him around to the coach. I was somewhat pleased I wasn't being arrested this time. It's nice to be asked.

We rode downtown. I was taken to a very nice home. The man knocked on a door that was just off the main foyer. Someone yelled to come in. I then went into an office that was nicely furnished and had two large windows, one with an impressive view of the San Francisco Bay.

Judge Hastings shook my hand, then gestured for me to sit in a rather nice leather chair. I think I liked his household office better than his courthouse one.

"Mr. O'Malley,” the judge said as he opened up a folder that had been on top of his immaculate, shiny desk. “There are those in the Secret Service who have grown very suspicious of your activities."

"Suspicious?"

"Suspicious.” He looked at a few documents for a moment. “You have had an awful lot of run-ins with General Creed, far more than mere coincidence should allow for. And you're still alive. No one else has been so fortunate."

I was amazed at what I was hearing. “It's my fault they stole my horse? It's my fault they sent people to try and kill me?” I was really taking offense.

He held up a hand for a second. “Now, no one's accusing you of anything, Mr. O'Malley. I simply said that some operatives find it unlikely that a barber should keep getting involved in such affairs. Then, there's all the different places you have lived, Nevada, Arizona, numerous towns in California. Most people in this country never travel more than a hundred miles in their entire lives."

"I think the railroads and stage lines may change that,” I said.

"They probably will, over time. I brought you here because, as I said, there are those in the Secret Service who find you a bit ... unusual.” He closed the folder and put it in a drawer. “Some have even recommended you be placed under surveillance."

"That seems like a waste of time,” I protested. “I'm really not that interesting."

"I agree.” The judge tapped his fingers on his desk. “I agree completely. This General Creed business has a lot of people in government worked up. A lot of people. Miles, have you ever heard of a Gatling gun?"