The Golden Flask (34 page)

"It's good to see you, Grace," said Jake, hugging her.

"And you, too." There was a look of regret in her
eye at that moment, and perhaps a veiled acknowledg
ment that her husband had indeed met his fate. She quickly stepped back when Jake released her.

"What is the rock?" he asked.

"From looking at it, I would say a simple Bezoar
stone. It arrived unannounced, with a note proclaiming its magic as a mad stone. My brother scoffed, then took
it with him to the garden here. That was nearly two weeks ago. Nothing I have done has helped."

"Have you tried to remove it from his hands?"

"I cannot seem to shake it loose. It is as if it were glued."

Jake knew of mad stones, even if his scientific studies
had not included them. Stones of various descriptions
had been known for centuries, and they were generally
said to cure ailments such as warts and sniffles. Jake's
family had even attempted to buy one famous for its
fever cures in Virginia. But the spell this stone seemed
to have cast on Bebeef was right out
of
The Arabian Nights.

Or perhaps a very esoteric cure book.

"Is your brother's library still stored in the barn?"

"Of course," answered Mrs. Hulter.

"There is a book based on notes by Avicenna, the
grand vizier and body surgeon of Persia," said Jake. "I
would like to consult it."

Mrs. Hulter had no idea which book he was talking
about, but was only too happy to do anything that might cure her brother. Most of his store of ancient
texts was packed in crates in the cellar below the barn's
main floor, protected by a ponderous guard of heavy rocks. It took Jake more than two hours to move the stones away and find the work, a translation in Latin of a text dating from the tenth century. Mad stones were
fully described, and though Jake's command of the no
ble tongue was rusty, he was able to ascertain that no
such effect was documented. He therefore turned to
Bebeef s own encyclopedic study — not of mad stones,
but of paralytic poisons.

It was nearly noon before he had read enough to attempt a cure. As Timothy had gone off to bed and Alison was still slumbering, Jake enlisted Mrs. Hulter
as an assistant. He made her wrap her hands in thick
gloves, and cover her body with several layers of
clothes, until only her eyes showed through. These he covered with gauze so tightly that she could barely see.

"I hope you're not expecting me to speak in tongues," she declared.

"Hardly," said Jake. "There is no magic here, just a
powerful poison. The cure is surprisingly simple —
largely coca powder and menthol. But first we have to
strike the rock from his hands. If my guess is correct, the underside is covered with a gummy substance ob
tained from a bush in the French Alps, which acts as a
glue."

Jake filled a pot with water and let it boil over the
fire. As he waited, he too covered his body with the
thickest cloths he could find.

His hands were so well padded that he was able to take the hot iron handle of the black kettle in them.

"Are you going to burn him?" asked Mrs. Hulter,
the concern in her voice clear despite the rags protect
ing her face.

"I am afraid it will," said Jake. "When I give the signal, grab his head and pull him away from the stone."

They walked back to the garden, where the philoso
pher had not stirred an inch in the hours since Jake had left him. The patriot spy took up the kettle and held it over Bebeefs hands, then told Mrs. Hulter to be ready.

"I'm sorry to hurt you, professor," Jake told Bebeefs unmoving body a second before tilting the burning liquid. "But I believe the cure better than the disease, and I have great need of your help."

Mrs. Hulter grabbed her brother beneath the arms and hauled backwards as Jake started to pour the water. Bebeef fell from the chair, but the shock of the
scalding water barely registered on his face. His hands
were still stuck fast to the stone.

Jake kicked at his wrists and poured the rest of the
water. Finally, with a loud, piercing scream, Bebeef be
gan to writhe beneath his sister's arms, and the poisoned stone fell from his hands to the ground.

Chapter Thirty

Wherein, Alison becomes a butterfly.

T
here's no fool as
an old fool," said Bebeef a half
hour later, restored to consciousness and some comfort
by a formula taken from his own book of cures. He had
refused bed rest and was even now setting his labora
tory in the barn loft back to order. The immense room
was filled with even more tubes, jars, and bottles than his store in Manhattan. A long table ran through the
center of the room, and a large cabinet of fancy walnut
trays sat beneath a triangular window at the far end of
the room. A jar of healing salts sat open on the middle
rung, having been used to take some of the sting from
the burns.

"Naturally, I should have suspected something was
amiss when the package arrived. But I have such a con
tempt for these blasted stones and their superstitions.
People look everywhere for cures these days, instead of
consulting with those who have studied the body and its humors scientifically."

"I am sorry about your hands," said Jake. "But ac
cording to your notes, there was no other way to destroy the gum."

"Couldn't be helped," said the old man almost cheerfully. Thick gauze saturated with several oint
ments covered his hands, but otherwise he was in good
shape. "These will hamper me, but I have suffered
handicaps before."
"Do you know who prepared the stone?"

"There are only a few people with the knowledge to concoct something like this, and none bear me grudges," said the professor. "With the exception of one man, who has betrayed all his oaths and duties to the sacred knowledge he has gathered. He conducted human experiments for many years in London, and some friends have tried to have him arrested. I joined their petitions some months ago, but I had not heard if they were successful."

"You're talking about Harland Keen," said Jake.

It was one of the few times in his life Jake actually surprised the professor. "You know him?"

"He is an assassin for the secret department. He has tried several times to kill me."

"The secret department?"

"It is a coterie of men sworn to the king and charged with assassination. Keen has been after me for some time. I thought I had killed him a few weeks ago, but apparently he found a way to escape."

Bebeef tried to grab hold of Jake's arm with his bandaged hand. "You must be extremely careful. The man has a great store of knowledge — truly he is the incarnation of Faust, if not the devil himself."

Bebeef‘s gaze fluttered momentarily. It was as if he could see through the window's chintz fly barrier, out over the countryside, past the Heights, the bay, into the city itself, searching for his enemy.

"He is not immortal," the professor said finally. "No man can cheat death. But Keen's mastery of medicines and the body are more than those of the entire college of Edinburgh taken together."

"Beyond yours as well?"

Bebeef laughed lightly. "I am but a poor country scholar. You see how easily I am fooled."

"Keen must have prepared the stone some time ago. He has been busy of late."

"Perhaps we can assume from his presence in America that our petitions were successful. So that is something. But come, Jake. I hope you did not travel here just to save me."

"I would have," said Jake. "I owe you my life several
times over. But I also have great need of your help. I
want to kill someone. And then revive him."

"The first part of the equation is easily solved, but the second has given philosophers fits for centuries."

"Why else would I have sought you out?"

The professor's eyebrows began percolating, as if their roots were rubbing the furls of his brain.

"There will be witnesses, so the death must seem absolutely genuine," said Jake. "That is its whole point: I need to kidnap the man for a few hours without any
one realizing it. I was thinking of some sort of
paralyzing powder," he added. "Something, perhaps,
derived from a sea ray?"

"Paralyzing a man is not the same as killing him. He will continue to breathe heavily with that family of
medicines."

"Something else then. I need only a few minutes.
But it must be convincing and relatively safe," added
Jake, "as I will probably have to die as well."

As Bebeef contemplated the problem, Jake studied the lines in the old man's face. Each seemed to record an entire library being investigated.

"The solution is not so elaborate as you think," said
Bebeef finally, his face glowing as he remembered a
formula used by certain South American natives in
their religious ceremonies. "We will begin with a man
drake root from the garden. Bring me the green-spined
book from the storage downstairs. Really, the formula
is so simple to prepare I am surprised that you did not
think of it yourself."

"That is what you said about the shrinking potion you gave my father for the dog."

"Oh yes, but I am sure this one will work."

* * *

Al
ison slept soundly upstairs for many hours, until well
past two. Mrs. Hulter, realizing by some innate sense
that her guest was about to wake, walked silently into
the room and stood by the bedside, so she was with her
when she opened her eyes.

"It's all right, dear, you're among friends," said Mrs.
Hulter as Alison bolted upright in confusion. She put her hand gently on her shoulder, urging her back.
"Rest a while longer. Jake has told me all about your
troubles. I am sorry for your poor father."

A strange sensation took hold of Alison's chest, and
suddenly she felt as if her heart had burst. Without
warning, she began crying uncontrollably. Mrs. Hulter
bent down and held her in her arms as the poor girl was overcome by the grief she had held so firmly in check.

She cried for a solid hour before finally falling back
on the bed, exhausted and spent.

"It is a terrible ordeal to lose your father," said the older woman gently. "I cried for days when mine passed on. And I hardly knew my mother."

"Me neither," said Alison.