Read Online The Constantine Affliction by T. Aaron Payton - Free Book Online
Authors: T. Aaron Payton
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corridors made of stacked crates, some of them ancient and furred with dust. While this combined house was in truth one great open space punctuated by pillars, someone had created the illusion of rooms and corridors by artfully stacking boxes, hanging tapestries, and erecting tents beneath the high dark ceilings. Soon Adams halted at a seemingly arbitrary point, a narrow cul-de-sac made of stacked crates—those on one side bore markings like Egyptian hieroglyphics, and on the other each crate bore the single, rather ambiguous, word “Materiel.” Pimm glanced around the narrow space, and realized where they were going next.
The towering figure crouched—even bent down, his head was level with Pimm’s chest—and drew back the corner of a faded Oriental rug, revealing a trap door with an iron ring set on one end.
“I’m afraid your trap door isn’t very well hidden,” Pimm said apologetically. “The corner of the rug you lifted is more worn than the rest, and the outline of the door is visible if one takes the time to look. If this place should ever be raided by officers of the law, I fear they might discover this door.”
Adams nodded. “I suppose so. But the police will never trouble us here—Mr. Value pays well to see I am undisturbed. And while there are certain unsavory elements who might break in and attempt to discover my secrets…” He gestured at the ring. “Try to lift it, Lord Pembroke.”
Pimm crouched, seized the cold iron ring in both hands, and heaved. He might as well have been attempting to lift the Tower of London by main force—indeed, he began to suspect he was the butt of a joke. “Is the ring just set in solid stone, then?”
“Not at all.” Adams reached down and, with one hand, lifted the trap door open with an air of ease. After it rose halfway, some mechanism was engaged, and the trap door stood open on its own, revealing a set of wooden stairs leading below.
“Is there a trick?” Pimm said, squinting. “A hidden switch of some kind, to release a lock?”
“Perhaps I am just very strong.” Adams started down the steps, and after a moment’s hesitation, Pimm followed. In for a penny, after all.
Adams threw a switch at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, and the long low room beneath the floor lit up, illuminated by strings of electric lights, the bulbs dangling like strange fruit from wires overhead, and banishing all shadows. The strange giant gestured toward the bulbs. “They are incandescent lights, based on the design of the great magician and passable inventor Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin, though I have made certain improvements to increase their useful life.”
“The light is marvelously steady,” Pimm said. “Most of the electrics I’ve seen flicker a bit, but these, they’re like suns done in miniature.”
“My studies benefit from light.”
Pimm looked around the laboratory. There were racks holding rounded vessels of clay, a long table covered in glassware, a wall entirely taken up by a huge apothecary’s cabinet, and shelves holding countless books, mixed in with specimen jars full of cloudy fluid and half-glimpsed biological oddities. “You are a natural philosopher, sir?”
“I am principally an anatomist. The human body and its working are my ongoing fascination. Mr. Value is kind enough to send me any dead bodies he discovers, so their misfortunes might at least further the sum of human knowledge.” Adams approached a table covered with a sheet, and Pimm braced himself when the giant pulled the covering aside.
He had seen many dead bodies since taking up his criminological hobby, several of them damaged by terrible acts of violence—poor Constance Trent was probably the most harrowing, though he’d also seen men with their heads smashed in by andirons, a handful of slashed throats, and people with their faces convulsed in the final rictus of death by poisoning.
The woman on the table was the least distressing corpse he’d ever seen
The towering figure crouched—even bent down, his head was level with Pimm’s chest—and drew back the corner of a faded Oriental rug, revealing a trap door with an iron ring set on one end.
“I’m afraid your trap door isn’t very well hidden,” Pimm said apologetically. “The corner of the rug you lifted is more worn than the rest, and the outline of the door is visible if one takes the time to look. If this place should ever be raided by officers of the law, I fear they might discover this door.”
Adams nodded. “I suppose so. But the police will never trouble us here—Mr. Value pays well to see I am undisturbed. And while there are certain unsavory elements who might break in and attempt to discover my secrets…” He gestured at the ring. “Try to lift it, Lord Pembroke.”
Pimm crouched, seized the cold iron ring in both hands, and heaved. He might as well have been attempting to lift the Tower of London by main force—indeed, he began to suspect he was the butt of a joke. “Is the ring just set in solid stone, then?”
“Not at all.” Adams reached down and, with one hand, lifted the trap door open with an air of ease. After it rose halfway, some mechanism was engaged, and the trap door stood open on its own, revealing a set of wooden stairs leading below.
“Is there a trick?” Pimm said, squinting. “A hidden switch of some kind, to release a lock?”
“Perhaps I am just very strong.” Adams started down the steps, and after a moment’s hesitation, Pimm followed. In for a penny, after all.
Adams threw a switch at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, and the long low room beneath the floor lit up, illuminated by strings of electric lights, the bulbs dangling like strange fruit from wires overhead, and banishing all shadows. The strange giant gestured toward the bulbs. “They are incandescent lights, based on the design of the great magician and passable inventor Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin, though I have made certain improvements to increase their useful life.”
“The light is marvelously steady,” Pimm said. “Most of the electrics I’ve seen flicker a bit, but these, they’re like suns done in miniature.”
“My studies benefit from light.”
Pimm looked around the laboratory. There were racks holding rounded vessels of clay, a long table covered in glassware, a wall entirely taken up by a huge apothecary’s cabinet, and shelves holding countless books, mixed in with specimen jars full of cloudy fluid and half-glimpsed biological oddities. “You are a natural philosopher, sir?”
“I am principally an anatomist. The human body and its working are my ongoing fascination. Mr. Value is kind enough to send me any dead bodies he discovers, so their misfortunes might at least further the sum of human knowledge.” Adams approached a table covered with a sheet, and Pimm braced himself when the giant pulled the covering aside.
He had seen many dead bodies since taking up his criminological hobby, several of them damaged by terrible acts of violence—poor Constance Trent was probably the most harrowing, though he’d also seen men with their heads smashed in by andirons, a handful of slashed throats, and people with their faces convulsed in the final rictus of death by poisoning.
The woman on the table was the least distressing corpse he’d ever seen
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