Chapter Twenty-Three

It was strange, Anne thought as she watched James carve the oak pin, comparing it to the one he’d pulled out of the compass. She was dead, but at the same time she was happy. Happier than she could truly remember being, as a matter of fact.

It had been more than a week since they had reclaimed her mother’s book, and in that time James and she had grown close. Closer, in fact, then she’d ever let herself become to any man. He was intelligent, had a sense of humor, and could accept that she was capable of doing things he couldn’t. The only bad part in the whole affair, not that she’d allow their dreams to progress into anything truly improper, was that she was a ghost and he alive.

She shook off her musings, though not the smile they produced, and looked down at her notes to re-read the spell she intended to cast. The notes in question were in a simple notebook, not her family’s tome. James had insisted, and she’d agreed, that the book needed to be someplace very secure and so he’d had a higher quality vault installed in his home, one that had several smaller safes within it.

Elbert, with Anne coaching him, managed to forge a fake book, which James planned to keep in the general, open area of the vault while the real book rested under a pile of stock certificates in a locking drawer at the bottom of the thing. All three had decided it was better safe then sorry.

“That looks about right!” James’s voice brought her attention back to him, and she smiled when he showed her the oaken pin. “Just the right size.”

“Then pop it in, and we shall get to work.”

After the pin was installed carefully James soldered the knife tip to the iron needle affixed to said pin, and reinstalled the glass. Then he turned it over. “Alright Anne what is the rune you wanted on the back?”

Anne summoned a spiritual pen to her hand and drew the rune on a piece of paper “This is the rune for justness. And this is my name.”

James nodded and etched the symbols into the edge of the compass. “Alright. Next is the spell that’s your job Anne.”

“Indeed it is,” James set the modified compass on the floor in a circle of white chalk. The four crystal pillars marked the carnal directions and the black polished onyx was set on the glass front of the disk.

Anne focused herself on the circle and took a deep breath.

Fire for a life’s light ended cut before full flower

Water for blood splashed on the stone

Earth for flesh stolen, the seat of a woman power

Air for the spirit that seeks evil to atone

The four pillars of quartz began to glow with an inner light that wrapped around the compass and Onyx. Anne’s hair whipped about her as she poured her power into the ritual.

In the Name of Mars I call thee

Onyx, black as my killer’s heart

Lead to the one who ended life

With the point of this broken knife

Let the compass serve its part

By the rune of justice I bind thee!

The circle flared with light, dazzling both Anne and James. When their eyes cleared, they saw the compass, no longer a shiny brass but instead as black as the onyx had been. It was as if the onyx had melted and melded with the metal.”

“Is it safe for me to pick up?” asked James, as Anne felt the first wave of exhaustion hit her.

“Yes.” her voice sounded weak, like a whisper of what it should have been

James knelt and picked up the now enchanted object, it felt almost…slimy. The needle with its bit of knife pointed west. James turned the device in his hands, but the hand remained firmly pointing in the same direction. “It seems to be working.”

“I… Know… but can we maybe go after him later.” Anne asked, nearly swooning. “I think I need to lay down for a bit first.”

James stood, holding his arms out as though to help her, sighing helplessly. “Of course. Take the cot. I’m going to see about constructing a rude brace for the compass to rest on my handlebars.”

Anne, not really hearing what he said, nodded and stumbled up his stairs. James sighed and walked to his workbench to begin the labor.

It took Anne the better part of the remaining afternoon, as well as the whole of the night, to recover from her work. Even then she wasn’t fully solid in appearance, not compared to her usual standard.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard.” James chided her, hands absently trying to wipe the greasy feeling of the magical compass away.

Anne smiled and replied from her place on the back of his bicycle. “Do you realize how odd it is for you to be so concerned with the health of a dead woman?”

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“Considering you’re the dead woman, I fail to see what’s odd about it.” He muttered, before taking a sharp turn that left an angry pair of workmen shaking their fists in his wake. “I’m still not convinced we should have headed right out.” He stated, for the third time since they had left.

He’d come down that very morning to find Anne declaring herself fully recovered, in spite of the fact she obviously wasn’t, and insisting they set out to hunt Jack the Ripper immediately. Reluctantly, and after an hour-long argument, James had relented and now, several hours later, he was regretting that decision. Absently he wished it was not a Saturday, and that he would have classes to pull him away from the hunt, and off of the poorly padded seat of his bicycle.

“Are we sure this bloody thing is working?” He demanded, waving a hand over the compass where he had mounted it on his bicycle. The simple clamp, designed so he could remove it when the clockwork contraption they rode wasn’t convenient, allowed him to watch the hand while riding without having to take all of his attention away from busy London streets. As it was he’d still nearly hit any number of pedestrians, horse drawn carts, and mechanical carriages.

“I’m sure. Actually, the fact that it has switched directions a few times proves it.” Anne insisted. “You didn’t anticipate my killer to be just sitting about plotting his next assassination, did you?”

“Truthfully? I did, yeah.” James replied. “What self-respecting man of nefarious deeds is up and moving in the light of day? Whatever will novelists think?”

“Very funny.” Anne chuckled. “Still, I think we’re going to need to turn again. The hand is moving steadily southward now, from the northerly direction it had been.”

“Does that mean he’s moving again?” James moaned. “I am seriously considering murdering him just due to the wear on my arse as it is.”

“No… actually… I think we’re getting close.”

“Good.”

The inventor and the ghost soon found themselves upon a street filled with high-end shops. Unlike most places in the overcrowded, poverty stricken city of London, most of the folks here were dressed well and hurrying about on what they, no doubt, thought to be important errands. Absently James glanced down at the compass, and found himself cursing.

“What… What’s wrong?” Anne demanded, looking around them, not realizing he was glaring at the black cased compass.

“It is broken!” James growled. “The bloody thing is just spinning around like a top now!”

Anne looked over his shoulder, and peered at the compass. Unlike James she gave a bark of happy laughter. “It’s not broken! It means we’re right on top of him!”

“Do you see the blighter?”

Anne looked around the crowd, her eyes jumping from one well-dressed man to another. Sighing, she shook her head. “No. He might be in one of the shops.”

“Lovely. The thing goes dizzy before you can see the bloke.” James nestled his bike against a street lamp and wrapped his locking chain around it. “Let’s mingle with the crowd a bit, see if we can find him.”

“Okay.”

He stayed behind Anne, and for the most part he just let his eyes wander. He had her description of the man, true, but most of the men on the street filled it to a greater or lesser extent. Not being an artist, he couldn’t sketch out the man, in hopes of being able to achieve a likeness, and with her spiritual writing or not Anne was no better an artist.

James felt a small nibbling of a thought, half formed, in his mind. He paused and began looking about. Something in the crowd was demanding his attention, but he couldn’t place it.

Anne, for her part, didn’t notice he stopped right away. She discovered it soon enough, however, when she hit the invisible barrier that prevented her from leaving the inventors presence. She gasped in shock as she suddenly found herself unable to walk forward, turning to look behind her.

“James!” She called out, but he was to busy gazing about to hear her. “James!” She yelled more loudly, striding up to him. “Damn it James, can you tell me why you’re looking about like a sun struck goat?”

“The watch. He wanted to see my watch.” James said, not paying attention to the ghost woman. He spun around, eyes locking on the sign for a watchmaker, and began pushing through the crowd for it.

“James, are you even listening to me?” Anne demanded. “We need to find my killer! We aren’t here to shop for a watch.”

“No… but your killer is.” James stated, his voice strong in its assurance.

Anne looked up at him, confused. “Why, pray tell, are you so certain of that.”

“Because… The Inspector knew exactly when the last victim was killed, and he asked me what time it was.” James answered, thinking that answered the question.

“Okay… could you maybe make that a bit clearer, Professor St. Cloudy?” the ghost growled.

“The inspector told me that the last victim was found after the newspapers had gone to press… so near dawn. Yet he was certain that the victim was killed at nine o’clock. He was very precise.”

“Yes? So?” Anne urged.

“Well, there’s no way to be that sure of how long a body is dead, at least not after something like eight hours between murder and discovery.” James explained. “Not normally.”

“What the hell does a watch have to do with anything, though?”

James grinned. “The inspector asked Elbert and I for the time, but right before he did you pointed out he was ‘suspicious again’. He didn’t care about the time, Anne… He wanted to see if Elbert or I were missing a watch.”

“But why?”

“Because the killer must have lost his.” James grinned. “The only way to be sure of the time is if they found that watch, broken most like, next to the body. If the killer wore it with a chain and fob, like most gentlemen, then he may have been well gone from the scene before realizing he’d lost the thing.”

Anne frowned, and then nodded. “That makes sense… maybe. But don’t you think you’re taking a bit too much as an assumption? It could be the woman’s….”

“Anne?” James stopped, turning to the suddenly frozen ghost. The look of fear, rage, and realization on her face was unlike anything he’d ever seen. “Anne! What’s wrong?”

“That… That’s him!” She replied, pointing.

James spun around, following her finger to a well-dressed man, his coat, hat, and fine walking stick declaring for the world his wealth. Silver and gold accents graced his fingers, the cane and cufflinks as he tipped his hat in passing to the watchmaker from the store he’d been approaching, before turning and striding towards James himself.

“Get him! Get him James!” Anne called out, though she didn’t really know what James would do with him after grabbing him.

The question was redundant, however, as James let the man walk by unmolested, only turning to follow him with his eyes. Then, without a word, James turned and marched back towards his bicycle, Anne literally in tow.

“What… we’re leaving? But we don’t know who he is! We don’t know where he’s going!” Anne cried, with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t understand why James would suddenly turn cold, and away from their only chance at justice. “Why?”

“I know who he is.” James replied. “Get on the bicycle, Anne.”

She obeyed, the frozen tone of his voice scaring her. They rode away for several minutes, when James suddenly turned the machine into an alley.

“Why the hell would he be killing women?” James hissed, pulling himself off the bicycle. “He’s a doctor! A healer, for the lord’s own sake! Why?”

To Anne it was as if James was demanding answers of the sky, or perhaps God, himself. He didn’t seem to see her anymore. Instead, he drove his foot into a rubbish bin, sending the wooden cask spinning deeper into the alley. “Why damn you!”

“James… James… who is he?” She asked. “Please tell me… Who?”

James sighed. “His name is Lord William Donston Thompson. He’s a medical doctor, and the man who invented the new method of blood filtration and purification that has had such luck with relieving illnesses of the blood.”

“Well, he’s my killer. Why didn’t you stop him?” Anne demanded, and then frowned. “Wait, did you say ‘Lord’.”

“Yes, I did, and a wealthy and powerful member of parliament.” James replied. “He’s also, unfortunately, a favorite of Queen Victoria herself. He is, effectively, above reproach. Without evidence, we can’t accuse him. If I did, it’d be more likely me who would go to prison.”