(eng) Jonathan L. Howard - Johannes Cabal 1.2 by Exeunt Demon King

Author:Exeunt Demon King [King, Exeunt Demon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

This version of Mother Goose was a Demon King’s dream. After a hefty appearance early on to broker the deal and a shorter one a little later when the Dame asks for the goose back and gets turned down, the king enjoys a very hefty absence from the stage, more than long enough to run around to the pub next door and wash away the old hopes for a serious acting career, before making a slightly unsteady entrance for the grand finale. This was useful to me too, as it provided a period in which I could prowl the theatre backstage without running into too many people who had the leisure to ask me what I was doing. As I made my second exit from the stage that night, I made my way to Pensey’s office. He was characteristically delighted to see me. “Don’t get too rat-arsed and back in plenty of time for your cue, sir.”

“I’m not leaving the building,” I said and enjoyed his mild surprise. “No, I was wondering about something you said about Maleficarus the Magnificent. You said he spent a small fortune preparing his act. What did you mean by that?”

“Mr Maleficarus was a perfectionist, sir. He wasn’t happy with the facilities so he paid for improvements out of his own pocket.”

“Sounds unusual.”

“It’s unique, sir, at least in the history of the Alhambra. He was right, though, we certainly didn’t have anything like that trap.”

“The star trap,” I said, knowing full well it must be.

“Yes, sir. He had some of the best stage engineers in the country in to construct that. Wanted it to be perfect. Beautiful craftsmanship, always worked like a charm. At least until your predecessor got his head smashed into jam by it.” You will see that Pensey and tact were never likely to see eye to eye.

“But he designed it.”

“Yes, sir.” He wrinkled his nose as if he thought I was playing some childish trick. “How did you know that?”

“An educated guess.” I left Pensey and walked down the steps to the basement with as much dignity as one can muster in red tights, cloak and artificial moustache. Oh, and those damnable horns. The spirit gum it took to keep those in place, blast them.

I examined the star trap closely. It was very clean, unsurprisingly. It must have had mechanics swarming over it immediately after the last “accident.” I had researched the previous three deaths and they had been far less spectacular. They had all involved deaths on stage, though, twice written into the death certificates as strokes, once as heart failure. All three, I noted, had suffered their collapse in the same quarter of the stage. I was prepared to make a small wager that each of them had walked across the closed star trap immediately before dying.

The workings of the trap looked just as you’d imagine them; relatively simple but with excellent workmanship. I found the contacts that triggered the flash and smoke on stage as the platform passed a point, adjustable to allow for variations in the passenger’s height.

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