Chapter Five Law of Contagion.

Anne was grateful that James was still letting her ride on the back of his bicycle,

in spite of all that had happened. Being pulled behind it like an old tin can tied to a string

had been unpleasant. She didn’t actually sit on it as much as float with the contraption,

but the illusion of sitting was comforting.

She lightly floated off the bike as James brought it to a stop in front of the old

cobblers shop. “Out of curiosity, is this another of your inventions?”

“Yes.” he answered, patting the bicycle’s brown leather seat with a proud smile.

“It’s not perfect yet, but I’m rather proud of it. The clockworks actually wind off the

bouncing of the seat, so where the cobbles are fairly level and the street is smooth, I end

up having to actually pedal.”

“It is quite clever.” Anne acknowledged. She gasped a moment later as a young

girl hurtled through her body. The new ghost still found it to be startling when someone

walked through her, or an object passed through her head.

“I’m ready for another go!” the red head said to James in a perky voice. “I think

that I got the bugs out! That class on aerodynamics was terrific!” she burbled in a faintly

Irish sounding accent. “What?” the girl demanded, noticing the professor’s wince.

“You just ran through Anne.” James said weakly, wincing as he realized what he

had said, not meaning to mention the ghost to anyone else.

“Anne?” the girl looked about. “I don’t see anyone.”

The ghost woman couldn’t help but smile at the redhead’s energy. The girl was

dressed in a red pair of oil-stained coveralls and a grimy yellow shirt. A bandana was

wrapped over most of the girl’s long hair, and heavy black boots that were covered in

ash protected her feat. Anne could see James’s swallow back a curse. She was also carrying

an odd contraption of brass, leather, and wire that Anne couldn’t divine a purpose for.

“Anne is a ghost.” He admitted, reluctantly. “I finished my camera and managed

to get myself haunted.”

“Really?” The girl asked, raising her eyebrows and staring at the man to judge his

sincerity. Finally, she shrugged. “That’s neat! Where is she?” Emily demanded, one of her

arms swinging through Anne’s chest as she turned about to search for the ghost.

James groaned, and grabbed the girl’s shoulder, arresting her motion. “Emily, stop

that! Anne is invisible, and intangible. The only reason I am seeing her is, most likely, the

massive quantities of mugwort I managed to breath in making that lens!”

“Mr. St. Cloud, what is that…apparatus she’s carrying?” Anne finally broke down

and asked.

James looked down, the ghost woman finally drawing the item in question to his

attention. His expression instantly became pained. “It’s a rocket pa-“

“I need to make history now!” The girl swung the contraption onto her back,

strapping it on with the quick motions of obvious practice. “We’ll talk when I get back!

Cherreio!” The girl hit a button on lanyard leading from the device and flames leapt out

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of the bottom of its brass tubes. For the first time since her death Anne was glad she was

intangible, the flames passing right through where her legs were. She had no doubt she’d

have been set alight by the fiery exhaust.

For a second nothing happened except a lot of flame and noise, then the girl

catapulted up in a lovely arch that reminded Anne of when her cousin Elbert threw rocks at cattle. Halfway through the arch the fire on the girl’s back went out and she fell out of the sky.

James sighed and muttered “She went into the Thames again. Hop back on; we

better go fish her out.”

“Does she do this often?” Asked Anne, mildly aghast at the danger the

girl had happily tossed herself into. “And why the devil do I smell… sausage?

“Weekly.” James said dryly. “And somehow Emily discovered she got more

thrust from a mixture of spiced meat and nitrous oxide then from the chemical alone.

Don’t ask me how or why spiced meat seems to be the best choice.”

Dry, of course, did not describe the girl that they fished out of the river, although

she was cursing more about her valve failing that having fallen into the river from over a

hundred feet in the air. She seemed totally unaware of what would have happened if she

had hit solid earth instead.

“Are you alright?” Anne asked, forgetting for a moment that the girl could not

hear her. Fortunately James was echoing her question.

“I’m fine, just mad. The valve for the fire control must have melted again! I went

through all my fuel to quickly. Dang it! I was sure that the alloy I used would be tough

enough.”

“Come along Emily. Let us get you home so you can dry off.” James grumbled.

He turned to his bicycle and Anne saw him slump as he realized there was only enough

room on the bike for two.

“Let the girl have the seat, I can float behind.” Anne sighed to herself as James

and Emily got on the bike. Unhappily she braced herself, and moments later she was once

again being dragged behind them. It was a strangely tiring experience.

Anne remained silent as they got back to the building James lived in; he trotted

the still wet girl back to her father, after which he and Anne headed back into his lab and

apartment.

“Are you alright? You are looking… a bit more transparent than usual, if what

I’ve seen all day is usual.”

“Yes, I just feel a bit tired. Apparently, it still uses energy to chase a bicycle down

the streets of London, even when you’re dead.” She smiled wanly at him. “Now, what is

your idea, and how does it involve Mugwort?”

“Oh yes, of course.” James shook his head. “I allowed Emily’s latest attempt at

fiery suicide distract me from our purpose!”

She followed James as he rushed across the large, open floor of his workshop and

the easily one dozen slate boards he had dominating the wall. Anne’s shock that he was

able to afford so many expensive boards turned to amazement as he slid a pair up, above

their heads, to reveal cork boards underneath.

Pinned to the boards were painstakingly drawn designs for what looked like a

camera, with a great deal of detail given to its lens. While no expert on photography,

Anne had owned one of the new, easy to use Kodak cameras that had become popular so

recently for her frequent trips out of the city so she had a rough idea of what she was

looking at. She also noticed designs for a glassmaking furnace, and notes on mixtures for

making high quality glass.

“The spirit camera was a bit of a personal conceit on my part.” James said, pulling

her attention away from the drawings. “I really didn’t put a lot of effort into the science

of the thing, but it did keep me from going mad my first semester as a teacher.” He

smiled, raising an eyebrow while looking at her. “Well, I think it did, at any rate.”

“Thank you oh so very much.” Anne muttered.

James chuckled, before he turned his attention to the list of materials. “The

premise, however, was the question as to how alleged ghosts appeared in random snap

shots from time to time.”

“Spirit photography.” Anne spoke up, mostly to prove she wasn’t completely lost

in his explanation. “That American bloke… William Mumler I think his name was…

came up with it, but the blighter turned out to be a con artist, didn’t he?”

“Very good!” James nodded, smiling at her. Anne chose to ignore the small

fluttering of pride his smile caused her, though it did cause her to suspect the young

professor was a better teacher than she’d originally expected. “And yes, he was a fraud…

using double exposures. He was revealed as such when the fool used a client’s living

relative for one of his ‘Spirits’.”

“However, he wasn’t the first, nor the last, person to find images on their

photographic plates and film that weren’t there at the time the photo was taken. While

double exposures are frequently the cause, there are cases of the person being a complete

stranger and not every one of those can be a hoax.” James shrugged “Or at least, that was

my theory.”

“Are all engineers as optimistic as you?” Anne teased.

“Most likely.” James nodded, unbothered by her light jab at his expense. “Now,

since this doesn’t happen all the time, and most of the newer shots are being taken by a

manufactured camera and roll film, the cameras aren’t the reason. I theorized something

in the environment… perhaps lightning activity, perhaps particulates that we can’t see

with the naked eye… caused the ghost to become, momentarily and only for the cameras

eye, visible.”

Anne nodded. “I suppose I can see the logic there. That doesn’t explain why you

thought your camera was so much more likely to capture me, which it did, or why you

need mugwort.”

James frowned. “Didn’t you listen as I explained it to the constable?”

“Well… I sincerely did… try…” Anne tried her best to look chagrined. “It’s

just… well… I’ve noticed you have a habit to run on about your inventions… a bit…”

His affronted look almost caused her to give up her false embarrassment in favor

of laughter, but he quickly shook it off. “Yes, well. I’ll try to be briefer this time.”

“Thank you!” she winced as he glared at her. She’d been a bit more heartfelt with

her gratitude then she’d intended.

“Well…” He raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if she’d interrupt him again.

“Since I couldn’t duplicate conditions without a fairly substantial body of documentation

I looked for other sources of wisdom on issues of the spiritual and paranormal. I found

myself looking into folklore.”

He began writing on a blank slate board hanging next to the cork board with his

ingredients list. Anne had to admire his quick, yet precise and easily read, penmanship as

he began writing a recipe on the board. “Glass is, basically, made up of sand and a few

other things, brought to a very high temperature and homogenized into the clear substance used in windows or camera lenses. You can add certain chemicals, basically

impurities, to create colors for a stained glass. In the case of my spirit lens I used refined, powdered mugwort and so called ‘cold’ iron.”

Anne gasped. “Oh! I see! The old technique to summon and manipulate spirits!”

“You know about that?” James asked, blinking at her for a moment, before

turning back to his recipe list. He used an eraser to erase and then scrawled changes in the

amount of mugwort and iron needed.

“You’re planning to make another lens.” Anne realized, as he modified his

formula.

“Indeed. A lens that is, God willing, a bit less fragile.” James agreed. “It obviously

works, in theory.”

Anne looked at the formula, “Mr. St. Cloud...”

“Call me James.”

“James, would you be offended if I made a few suggestions to your formula. The

one you are using is valid, but not particularly powerful.”