George Mann - The Osiris Ritual

Veronica had come to Soho alone, expressly against the wishes of Sir Maurice. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, that she risked exposing the truth about her situation. She found herself wishing – as she did most days – that she were able to reveal the truth to Sir Maurice: that she, herself, was also an agent of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, and that she was quite capable of managing a case of her own. She was fully aware of the risks, and saw nothing unduly dangerous about her choosing to tackle Alfonso on her own. If he proved difficult, she had the wherewithal to incapacitate him and call for the police.

Telling all of this to Sir Maurice, of course, was out of the question. Her Majesty had specifically forbidden it, and besides, she was already abusing her duty to the Crown. She could hardly claim that she had fulfilled her primary mission, of late: to keep a watchful eye on Sir Maurice. She had been entirely absorbed in the case of the missing girls. Something about the case, something about the manner in which the girls had been plucked from their daily lives, seemed to strike a chord with her. It made her blood boil.

Perhaps, in some way, it reminded her of her sister, Amelia, who had been wrenched away from the family home at a crucial age, only to be deposited in a series of increasingly bleak sanatoriums, where she had been left to suffer in isolation. Perhaps that was the root of her obsession with the case. Nevertheless, Veronica knew that the police were getting nowhere, and whilst Sir Charles was tied up with the Winthrop situation, Sir Maurice aiding him, all she could do was press on. She hoped to bring the matter to a conclusion before any more girls found themselves

"disappeared away" by the errant magician. It pained her to lie to Newbury, of course, and she recognised that it drove a wedge between them, a barrier that prevented them from ever being truly honest with one another, but she could see no other satisfactory recourse. One day, she knew, the truth would come out, and she only hoped that it would not result in Sir Maurice losing all trust in her, or pushing her away. She couldn't bear that. She cared for him too much. She was, she reminded herself, only acting in his best interest – in the best interest of the Empire, no less – but in the back of her mind she knew, honestly, that Sir Maurice would not see it that way. It was a betrayal. A betrayal of the most gentle kind, but a betrayal nonetheless. She tried to put it out of mind.

She arrived at the theatre. It was clear immediately that the place was closed. A number of bills had been pasted on the windows, informing any potential theatregoers that the evening performance had been cancel ed. Inside, the lights in the lobby appeared to have been extinguished.

Frowning, Veronica tested the door. To her surprise, it was open. Glancing from side to side, Veronica crossed into the dimness of the foyer. There was no sign of the commissionaire. No sign, either, of any people manning the kiosks or ticket booths that ran around the edges of the lobby.

Like the rest of the now- dilapidated theatre, the lobby had once been grand, a reception hal worthy of receiving even the most auspicious of visitors. The floor was a stunning white marble, although it was now covered in a patina of dust and dirt, caused by the tread of innumerable boots. Tall Corinthian-style columns stood proud on either side of the archways that led through to the theatre proper. The ticket booths on Veronica's left were now cast in darkness, with shutters pul ed low to obscure the glass partitions. To her right, a number of small kiosks had been set up to sell food and drinks to the hungry patrons, but were presently silent, like smal, abandoned islands in the murky light.

Veronica drew a deep breath. She almost turned on her heel and left, assuming the theatre to be empty, but then, from somewhere inside the auditorium, she heard a number of faint clanging sounds. She stil hoped to find and confront Alfonso before the day was out for, if he too had somehow disappeared, the trail would grow cold.

Quietly, so as not to disturb whoever was at work in the main theatre, Veronica approached the entrance to the stalls, sweeping aside the heavy velvet drape and peering into the dimly lit arena on the other side. The darkness, Veronica thought, had a kind of texture to it, an oppressive air. The empty stalls and seats were like a sea that stretched out before her, unmoving. She gave an involuntary shiver. The only sign of life in the entire auditorium was a man – Alfonso – who stood on the stage, spot-lit by the harsh glow of an electric lamp. He had a frustrated look on his face, as he tried, over and over, to insert a sword blade into his upturned hat. Clearly, he was practising a new illusion for his act.

Veronica stood in the shadows at the back of the hal, observing what was happening on the stage. She realised she was holding her breath. She studied Alfonso as he made another attempt. His top hat had been upended on a smal, round table that rested on the stage. She could see clearly between the three wooden legs. There appeared to be nothing underneath it, although Veronica fully expected the table to be rigged in some way. Alfonso raised a sword, placed the point of it inside the brim of the hat, and gave a sharp thrust, downwards. This time it appeared to work. The blade slipped down inside the hat until only the hilt was standing proud, still held firmly in Alfonso's right hand. The blade itself, however, was nowhere to be seen. As far as Veronica could see, it had not pierced the tabletop. She could see nothing between the legs of the small table. It was rather a marvellous illusion, Veronica considered, and whether it was effected with a collapsible blade, or, as she had at first suspected, a simple trick of the light, she could not say. Most likely, the blade had passed through a notch in the table, and was simply not visible from the angle in which the audience were able to view the stage.

Alfonso stepped back and rubbed his hand across his chin, thoughtful y regarding his handiwork. He smiled. Veronica took this as her cue to approach. Making no attempt to hide her presence, she descended the stairs at the back of the hal and passed along one of the aisles, her boots echoing loudly on the wooden steps. Alfonso turned to watch her approach, a surprised look on his face. He clearly wasn't expecting any visitors. Veronica was a picture of professionalism.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Alfonso. My name is Miss Veronica Hobbes. You may recall we met earlier in the week?"

Alfonso narrowed his eyes and offered her a disdainful look. "Indeed. I recall your visit. But Miss Hobbes, unfortunately it seems that this evening you have wasted a trip. The theatre is closed. I fear I must ask you to leave."

Veronica smiled. "Ah, well. I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as all that. I have some further questions for you, regarding Miss Rebecca Irlam."

"Who?" Alfonso furrowed his brow. Then, as if realisation had suddenly dawned on him, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Ah, yes, the girl who went missing from the theatre on her way home last night. A sad affair. I've already given all the information I have to the police." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now, I'm sure you'll understand that I'm a busy man. If I can ask you to be on your way.." He turned away from her, examining the hilt of the sword, which was still protruding from the brim of the hat on the table.

Veronica stepped closer to the stage. Her eyes were hard, and they gleamed in the harsh electric light, as she mounted the smal set of steps that led to the platform where Alfonso was standing. She hadn't noticed on her previous visit how high the stage itself was raised from the floor.

She regarded the magician. The set of her jaw was firm and unyielding. Her blood was up. "Mr.