Quicksilver

FIFTEEN

Clive Sweetwater was seated in his favorite chair, feet propped on a leather ottoman, when Owen walked into the library the following morning.

“Good morning, Uncle,” Owen said.

“Huh.” Clive did not look up from his copy of the Flying Intelligencer . The day’s edition of The Times was lying on the table next to the chair, but Clive always read the scandal sheet first. He claimed it was far more interesting. “Hollister’s death finally made the papers. Heart attack, of course.”

“Of course.”

“How goes the Arcane investigation?”

“All I have at the moment are a great many questions.” Owen picked up the silver pot on the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I stopped in to see Nick. I called at his lodgings a few minutes ago. His housekeeper informed me that he was on his way here, to make use of your library.”

“He arrived shortly before you showed up. Headed straight for the kitchen, as is his habit. Matt and Tony returned home just before dawn, after keeping watch on the Dean house for you. They slept for only a couple of hours, and now they’re in the kitchen as well. Don’t know where they get the energy.”

“Youth.”

“The three of them are eating me out of house and home.”

“Blame your housekeeper.” Owen swallowed some coffee. “Mrs. Morgan’s cooking is remarkably good.”

Clive lowered the paper with a sharp, rustling motion and peered at Owen with his hunter’s eyes.

“Your Aunt Aurelia has announced that she’s going to register you with Arcane’s new matchmaking agency,” he said.

“That won’t be necessary.” Owen kept his tone very even.

“When you think about it,” Nick said from the doorway, “it makes great sense to employ a matrimonial agency that specializes in matching people of talent. It sounds like a very efficient way to proceed with the business.”

“Do not,” Owen warned, “use the word ‘efficient’ in my presence today, unless it is to describe your progress in locating that damned clock maker.”

“What’s the matter with you? Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Owen looked at him, not speaking.

“Right,” Nick said. He sauntered into the room and headed for the coffeepot. “Got a solid lead from a collector who specializes in paranormal artifacts. Said he’d heard rumors of a clock maker who created exquisite mechanisms that could induce unconsciousness and create hallucinations. There were hints that for a suitable amount of money, the clock maker will take a commission for a curiosity that can kill.”

Owen halted his cup halfway to his mouth. “Which clock maker?”

“He didn’t have a name, but he said that the clock maker is said to use an alchemical symbol as a signature.”

“That fits. There was a small alchemical sign on both devices.”

“I’m doing some research on those marks. I’m hoping to turn up more information today.” Nick peered at him with keen interest. “What is your problem with the word ‘efficient’ today?”

Owen looked at his cousin. Nick was a couple of years younger. He was tall and lanky, with the sharp, ascetic features that were common to the men of the Sweetwater family. But unlike most of the males in the clan who possessed a certain intuitive good taste in clothes, Nick had a perpetual air of scruffiness about him. It had been too long since he’d bothered to get his curly brown hair cut. His gray coat and trousers, although expensively tailored, were already rumpled, even though it was only eight-thirty in the morning.

Nick struggled manfully with the latest fashion in neckties, but he invariably produced lumpy mounds of fabric instead of elegant knots. He had always had a difficult time, sartorially speaking, but there was no denying that the situation had worsened after he moved into his own lodgings, because his mother was no longer able to keep an eye on him.

The unkempt appearance concealed a razor-sharp psychical gift for unraveling the secrets of dead languages, codes and other such mysteries. Nick was never happier than when he was deciphering an ancient manuscript, especially one that contained paranormal secrets. It was the nature of his version of the Sweetwater family talent.

Ethel Sweetwater appeared in the doorway, saving Owen from having to come up with an answer to Nick’s question about the word “efficient.”

Ethel was a fine-looking woman, fashionably dressed in a dark red-and-black gown. Like all of the women in the Sweetwater family, she was formidable, a force of nature. The Sweetwater men did not marry weak women. They required women who could handle the talent of the men of the line, women who could keep dark secrets.

“What is this about efficiency?” Ethel asked.

“Good morning, Aunt,” Owen said. “You are looking spectacular today.”

“Do not evade the question,” she said crisply.

Like many of the women who married into the Sweetwater family, Ethel was highly intuitive.

“Have you ever heard of a Dr. Spinner?” Owen asked.

“Yes, of course,” Ethel said. “He has an excellent reputation. Noted for his very modern treatment of female hysteria, I believe.”

“I am told his therapy is highly efficient,” Owen said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Ethel said. “I have never experienced an attack of hysteria in my entire life.”

“But you are aware of his therapy?”

“Certainly. Dr. Spinner is a very fashionable doctor at the moment. He uses a new electrical instrument to achieve excellent results. Why do you ask?”

Owen cleared his throat. “The subject came up in conversation recently.”

Ethel raised her brows. “It must have been a very interesting conversation.”

“Yes,” Owen said. “It was.” He made a valiant effort to change the subject. “Were you able to learn anything from your research into the Hollister family tree?”

“Very little that will be useful, I’m afraid. The line ended with Hollister. There are no surviving close relatives, no uncles, brothers or cousins. It was not a prolific family. I did, however, turn up traces of madness here and there in the family tree. At least one cousin and a grandfather were confined to asylums. I suspect there were others who were mentally unstable, but in earlier times families generally kept their mad relations in the attic.”

“But there is evidence of strong talent in the line?”

“Yes,” Ethel said. “However, from what I could tell, the truly powerful talents in the family were the ones most likely to show indications of instability and insanity.”