Tales of the Shadowmen 4: Lords of Terror by Jean-Marc Lofficier & Randy Lofficier

Author:Jean-Marc Lofficier & Randy Lofficier
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Coat Press
Published: 2013-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

Her false moustache itched. She had to remember not to scratch, for fear of losing her disguise.

Elizabeth transformed herself without stuck-on whiskers. Even knowing the travesty, Gilberte could not recognize the young sculptor as Mrs. Eynsford Hill. She walked, talked, sweated and smoked like a man.

Voltaire had seen Gilberte and Elizabeth as “Edda Van Heemstra” and “Eva Prim” less than a day before. Now, the giant met “Jacob Epstein” and his apprentice, “Priam Vé.” No flicker of suspicion sparked in his eyes.

The Persian had hired some roughs to deliver the crate. Voltaire dismissed them and called on the casino’s staff–liveried apes with scraped knuckles from dealing with ungracious, complaining losers–to carry the big box upstairs to the gallery. When they could not exert sufficient lift, the major-domo added his own muscle. Voltaire bent double and the apes hefted the crate onto his shoulders. “Mr. Epstein” insisted he accompany the giant and his burden every step of the way.

Maneuvering the crate up the wide marble staircase was tricky. Gilberte trusted Riolama knew how to keep as quiet, and that the bird girl wouldn’t suffer injury through awkward man-handling. Voltaire’s collar burst as he strained. The apes assisted, keeping the crate from tipping off his back

The Persian had hoped Kane would be occupied elsewhere on this busy day, but he was in his gallery with Boltyn, Hattison and the capering Emeric Belasco. The mystery of who sat inside the Eye-Ball was solved. Evil Emeric was the likeliest prospect in Kane’s Most High Order. Last evening, he had shown how nimbly he could work such contraptions from on high.

Voltaire, sweat pouring from his prehistoric brow, set down the crate.

“What’s this?” asked Kane. “I said we weren’t to be bothered.”

“Bothered?” responded “Epstein,” blood rising. “Bothered! A mistake has been made. No philistine is worthy of owning Epstein’s Rima. You shall not even set eyes on her loveliness. Kane, your check will be returned, uncashed. You, Giant-Man, lift up the crate and take it away from this place.”

Voltaire’s fists opened and closed as if he were crushing melons. The casino apes looked helplessly at each other.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Kane, trying to mollify the temperamental artist. “Did I say I didn’t want your Rima? I have people who advise me on what to buy. They suggest I back you, Mr. Epstein. You will apparently ‘appreciate.’ ”

Elizabeth puffed out, but still glowed with wounded pride.

“I am a sculptor of genius, sir. Not a racehorse or a bond issue. I am not to be backed or invested in. My work has nothing to do with money… which is why it costs so much.”

Kane tried to think that through.

“If we could go over the wiring specifications again,” interrupted Hattison, who looked as if he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months. “Everything must be checked and tested…”

Kane, not caring to be nagged, ignored the engineer. He considered the large wooden box.

“Open ’er up,” he decreed. “Let’s have a look at your Rima.”

“Very well,” said Elizabeth. “Great care must be taken.

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