Free The Osiris Ritual by George Mann

these new devices seemed to foreshadow. Aside from that, they were damn ugly, and a nuisance, too. Perhaps Veronica was right, after all. Perhaps there was a very real need to slow things down, to stop the world from rushing too hastily towards the future. Or perhaps he was just feeling dour and hung-over.
    He’d been taking more risks recently, with the laudanum, and he knew he was playing a dangerous game. He’d even visited an opium den, just over a week ago, a place at the back of a coffee house, known to its clientele as “Johnny Chang’s”. It was a nauseating place, full of Chinese sailors and fal en gentlemen, but the heady aroma of the opium and the promise of relief at the end of the pipe had proved too tempting, and he had allowed himself to wallow there for most of an afternoon, buried in a sea of silk cushions. Chasing the dragon was something new to him. Until that point a week ago, he had experimented only with laudanum, measuring it out into glasses of red wine and imbibing it in the comfort of his own home. But the ritual of the pipe was exotic, bewildering and, somehow, more appealing. He planned to purchase one of the devices for use in his apartments. He preferred to indulge himself in private.
    Newbury understood that others could not appreciate his craving for the opiates, that both Charles and Veronica saw it as a weakness to be overcome. But to Newbury it was much more than that, more than just the need for a physiological intoxication. It helped him to think, to see the world from a different perspective. It was during his opium hazes that he often found the solution to a case, or made a connection where previously he had seen none. The drug allowed him to retreat into the crevices of his own mind, and what he found there was often illuminating. It lifted the shades of perception, opened his eyes to things that others would deem impossible. It enabled him to trust his instincts. Without the opium, he feared he would not be half the detective he was, and that troubled him beyond regard for his physical wel being. So he continued to indulge, keeping his practices hidden from the world. The opium was at the epicentre of a maelstrom of need and desire.
    It was fuel for his mind, but poison for his body.
    For a moment, Newbury considered going back to bed. He allowed himself to entertain that fantasy for a few minutes, knowing full well that it was never truly an option. He had to meet with Veronica for a start and besides, he was fully expecting to receive a summons to the palace to discuss the missing agent, “Caspian”, and whether or not Her Majesty had any intention of pursuing the matter further.

    Regardless, his mind was also exercised by the mystery surrounding the Theban mummy. He’d spent the evening reading through his library of occult tomes, searching out any references to irregular mummification practices in Ancient Egypt, but had found nothing that could help him to identify what it was that Winthrop had uncovered in Thebes. Unperturbed, he had dashed off a note to Aldous Renwick, a long-time correspondent and a master of occult literature, describing the circumstances and asking his friend to examine his own library on the off-chance that he might be able to throw up something different. For the time being, both of Newbury’s mysteries had stuttered to a halt. Whilst he waited on others, he would do al he could to help Veronica bring her own matter to a close.
    Downing the dregs of his tea, Newbury forced himself to stand, flinching as the movement caused a brief explosion of pain in his temples. He sighed, cursing under his breath. Then, swooping up another piece of toast from the rack, he made his way with trepidation towards the washroom, where he planned, if at all possible, to make himself reasonably presentable.

    †
    A short while later, following a wash and a shave, Newbury had dressed and was feeling more like his usual self. He had donned one of his black suits, with a