Issue #27 RRP $8.95 Rory Douglas Abel Aliette ... - Upgrade Systems

The Case of the Overdressed Man
“Send him in.” Dr Theosophus turned to Nick and smiled. “Perhaps this will be
another client?” Work had been thin on the ground lately and the doctor needed all
the clients he could get.
A tall, rather bulky looking figure was shown into the room. As he entered, Nick
realised that a lot of the bulk was his clothes — he wore a large overcoat, a scarf
wrapped around his face and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. Nick
glanced out of the window at the fine spring morning and thought he seemed a little
overdressed.
Dr Theosophus clearly felt the same way as he greeted the visitor. “Would you care
to remove your coat and hat?”
“No, thank you.” The man’s voice was slow and deep with a trace of an accent.
“Some tea?”
The visitor shook his head.
“A seat?” Dr Theosophus waved towards an armchair.
“No, I will stand.”
The man stood with his back to the fireplace and slowly scanned the room and
its contents. He took in the laboratory bench and its clutter of glass tubes, jars and
bottles; the huge globe and orrery that filled one corner; the robes and assorted
pieces of magical equipment that hung from the walls. Above the fireplace, a large
portrait showed Dr Theosophus conjuring a demon. The artist had drawn the creature
with multiple fangs and spikes so it looked quite deformed as it struggled within a
pentagram.
Of course, Dr Theosophus didn’t actually use that room for magic, and the beaker
Nick was cleaning had held nothing more than the previous night’s nightcap. Another
much plainer room at the top of the house was where the doctor practised his arts.
Dr Theosophus was a good enough businessman to know what the clients
expected, hence the study and all its contents.
“My name is Alex Connaught,” the man said. “I have come here because I believe
you can help me.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Dr Theosophus said. The magician sank into his armchair, his
feet up on a small pouf, his arms resting across the top of his ample stomach.
Nick perched on the edge of the bench and listened intently as the prospective
client continued with his story.
“I have a sister, Lavinia, who is engaged to be married to a man called Svenson.”
“Daniel Svenson?” the doctor asked, sitting up in his seat.
“Yes, Daniel Svenson. You know him?”
“He’s one of those foul new machinists.” The doctor scowled at the thought of all
men of science.
“Believe me, it is not a match that I was happy about. I visited Lavinia at the home
of her fiancée a few nights ago.”
“She is living with him?” Dr Theosophus asked, a note of surprise in his voice.
“She has fallen in with a society of free thinkers, who seem to ignore the moral
decencies.”
“I see. Go on.”
21