The Policeman of Secrets

Chapter 2 Part 1

Chapter Two

As he moved through drifts turned yellow by the moon, Balthazar’s gait revealed the extent of the injuries he had sustained both before and during the mayhem in the parlor. His left leg trailed the other and he favored his right arm, occasionally rubbing it to ease the pain. Solomon saw blood shining black against the lamplight. It was clear the count could not remain upright much longer.

“Staying here is not an alternative, my friend,” said Balthazar, his breath clouding in the frozen air. “Elizabeta and her late friends are agents of the Arcanum, and such people are to be feared. They and their foul leaders are the secret force that runs this nation, and others too, I suspect. I am their foe, and have paid the penalty. But now”—he paused to take a thin breath—“you are involved in our game, and for that I am sorry.

“So much must remain secret for the present, but I can tell you a book you passed on is of vital importance and I must have it, whatever the price.”

Full of questions as the pair strode away, keeping to the shadows all the while, Solomon could not help whispering, “That woman, Elizabeta. She spoke of... torture.”

“Yes, a dear friend of mine was aware of your prominence in the book trade, and he told me that if anybody would have a copy of the Lenksham, it would be you. So here I am. The poor man probably thought they would stop their attack and leave him, so that they could subject you to the same and he could live in peace.”

He looked about, but there was no sign yet of any pursuers. “He didn’t know the Arcanum like I do. Now they are aware of you and your activities. I would suspect your shop is being looted from beam to base as we speak. What a night!”

Balthazar’s breathing was becoming more difficult, Solomon noted, and the count’s sweat-streaked face was growing white as he went on, “Sorry, old boy. I mean to cause you no more harm, but many lives depend on my success. You must take me to the client who has this book.”

“But why? Why is it so important? I have not read it but from what I know, it’s a very tedious treatise on life’s trials and how one should make the most of each day. Nothing of any interest.”

“Trust me when I say that it is far more important than you can imagine. There is much to it that is hidden, and much we shall enjoy discovering together. If you stay with me, I expect there will be danger, violence, and more such excitement. I might also be able to provide great wealth and books of a quality and character you cannot fathom. What say you?”

Mr. Snow was about to reply when the count collapsed.

Solomon’s club, the Athenaeum, was an expense he could ill afford. But it was convenient for the theatre and an invaluable source of clients. His regimental service and a few collectibles sold to the right people at the right price also earned him a little flexibility regarding the late payment of his subscriptions.

On this mysterious evening, it seemed the only place to turn for discreet assistance. Its respectful staff saw little, heard less, and said nothing.

Holding Balthazar up with one arm, Solomon flagged down what appeared to be the neighborhood’s solitary hansom cab. The driver, wrapped up well against the cold, was grateful for any fare on such an unforgiving night and was happy to help him push Balthazar into the carriage, where the count fell onto the worn velvet seat beside a comforting brazier of burning charcoal.

“Too much ale, I fear,” Solomon said by way of explanation for the bloodstained man’s unconscious state. The cabbie said nothing, so Solomon directed him to a street near the Athenaeum. Uncertain though he was about the night’s events, the bookseller knew it would be good practice to ensure that few people knew of their exact destination. Cabbies and their ilk were wont to chatter, and it would not take long for the mysterious group Balthazar named the Arcanum to pick up their trail.