The Purple Emperor

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

Brimstone found the narrow stairway between a Buddhist souvenir shop and a tiny store that specialised in selling pickled eggs. The flathead on the first landing was seated on a wooden chair reading the National Inquirer, his jacket open to show the shoulder holster.

He recognised Brimstone at once. 'Ho?' he sniffed.

'Yo,' said Brimstone, using one of the dreadful colloquialisms he'd picked up on an earlier visit to Spanish Harlem. Nobody here knew where he really came from and he preferred to keep it that way.

The flathead jerked his thumb towards the next flight and went back to his National Inquirer.

Two sweet little girls ushered him into Mr Ho's offices on the first floor, giggling behind their hands. Mr Ho was seated in a cracked leather armchair, smoking something resinous in a long, clay pipe. He had the eye folds of a Faerie of the Night, but not the slitted pupils. He took the pipe from his mouth and favoured Brimstone with a benign smile.

'Mr Brimstone,' he acknowledged.

'Mr Ho,' said Brimstone, nodding. He glanced around the room, pleased to see Mr Ho's shelves were still well-stocked with both books and supplies.

'Excuse it that I do not rise in deference to your hugely advanced ancientness,' Ho said. The benign smile again. 'I am unable to revere you on account of extreme intoxication.'

'Think nothing of it, Mr Ho.'

'Tea, Mr Brimstone? Or a pipe?'

'Neither, thank you, Mr Ho. May I enquire about the health of your granddaughters?'

Mr Ho beamed. 'Excellent, I can report. I note from the ring on your finger that you have recently married, Mr Brimstone. May I, in turn, enquire after the health of your illustrious new wife?'

'Dead,' said Brimstone.

'Ah,' Ho said, nodding. 'Her legacy?'

'Substantial,' Brimstone told him.

Ho took another puff of his pipe and smiled. 'Supplies then, is it, Mr Brimstone? Some items on which to spend your fortuitous substantial legacy?'

'A grimoire, Mr Ho.'

Ho's eyes widened a little. 'The Lemegeton, Mr Brimstone? Or the full Clavicle} Or perhaps the Grimoire Verum? Or shall I have my ladies find you the Boke of the Mervayles of the World?

They both laughed heartily. Mervayles of the World was a book of white magic. Brimstone shook his head. 'No, no, Mr Ho. I need the Grimoire of Honorius the Great.'

Mr Ho stopped laughing at once. 'Are you serious, Mr Brimstone?'

'Deadly, Mr Ho.'

'I do not have it.'

'But can you get it?'

'The cost would be astronomical,' Ho said bluntly.

Brimstone smiled. 'I have American Express platinum.'

Ho's eyes widened again. 'May I see it, Mr Brimstone?'

Brimstone rummaged in his bag and produced the card Beleth had given him. Ho took it, examined the magnetic strip on the back, then bit it carefully.

'This seems to be in order, Mr Brimstone.'

'So you can get the book?'

Mr Ho held up a single finger. 'One hour, Mr Brimstone. Permit me one hour.'