Poe must die

TWENTY-NINE

Jonathan’sfingers trembled with excitement, making it difficult for him to strap the scalpel to his left wrist. The Throne of Solomon. Within days, it could be his. Days.

“Sproul has Mrs. Coltman in the Old Brewery. Yes it is a fortress against the outside world, but Sproul is not secure from me. I shall enter the Old Brewery and kill him.”

He held out his right wrist so that Laertes could strap a second scalpel there. Laertes said, “And you believe the body of Justin Coltman is there?”

Jonathan’s eyes were bright. “Yes. Sproul is where he feels totally safe. He is grief-stricken and his thinking has become more accessible to me, more predictable, though I did not foresee him revenging himself upon Poe, particularly in this manner. And note Poe’s penchant for survival. In tandem he and Figg removed the crosseyed Johnnie Bill Baker from this vale of tears. Our Sproul is making a final stand of sorts, therefore all that he considers dear or valuable must be near him. The body of Justin Coltman is not far from Hamlet Sproul. I shall have Sproul and he shall tell me the location of Mr. Coltman’s current resting place.”

Laertes said, “It is a shame about Mrs. Coltman. Even the police cannot help her.”

Jonathan sat down, extending a leg so that Laertes could pull a boot on it. The hunt was almost over and all that he had ever dreamed of was almost within his grasp. First Sproul, then the corpse of Justin Coltman. And the Throne of Solomon. He closed his eyes, dizzy with the thought of it all.

“Servants have described the Irish looters to the police and it is a dolt who does not know where Irish thugs run to ground. The constabulary has detected her whereabouts as being in Five Points, but it has not pinpointed her as being in the Old Brewery. The police, as usual, will refuse to enter that building under any circumstances, preferring to live as cowards rather than die as underpaid heroes.”

Boots on, Jonathan stood up. He felt strong, invincible. Asmodeus would be pacified. One way or another, Jonathan would hold the demon at bay until he could complete the ritual. Just get the body from Sproul. That’s all. And he now knew where Sproul was.

“Be grateful for the vices of men, Laertes. In Five Points, the looters of Rachel Coltman’s richly furnished Fifth Avenue mansion are selling their ill-gotten gains to buy the swill that passes for alcohol.”

Jonathan reached for his cloak. “And drunken men talk, Laertes. They talk of a beautiful woman with long red hair, who is held prisoner in the Old Brewery. And those I pay talk to me. Yes, Laertes, one must drink a toast to vice.”

He paused. “Sarah is overdue. Should she return while I am gone, tell her to remain here. She is to forget about Lorenzo Ballou until I come back, for if I have the body of Justin Coltman, then the ritual must begin at once. I will need help.”

Laertes nodded.

Jonathan sneered. “I look forward to hearing of Sarah’s visit to Poe cottage, where our indigent poet shares quarters with his aged mother-in-law. Did you know, Laertes, that scandalmongers are busy with the tale of a romantic liaison between our Poe and his dear Muddy?”

Laertes snorted.

Jonathan said, “Mr. Poe avoids pleasures of the flesh, showing a discipline in this area that is missing in other parts of his life. I suspect, Laertes, that our poet is, forgive me, untouched. I suspect he is as virginal as new fallen snow, for his history indicates a lack of interest in carnal matters.” Jonathan chuckled. “He is ill, after all and where would he find the strength.”

He threw back his head and laughed. The laughter was the sound of Jonathan’s triumph, for he would conquer, he would survive, he would get the Throne of Solomon.

First Sproul. Then Justin Coltman. Leave one dead body behind in exchange for another.

And suddenly Laertes was alone in the room, never having heard or seen Jonathan leave.