Free The Hellfire Conspiracy by Will Thomas

for himself.”
    Barker put down my notes and leaned back in his chair in thought.
    “What do you make of it, sir?” I dared ask.
    “I’m not certain,” he said. “I have no frame of reference. I have never read a fairy story before.”
    “Never? Not even when you were a child?”
    “No. I was raised in a strict Calvinist home and all we read were the Bible and our clan histories. Reading tales of ogres and such would have been considered desperately wicked. What do you gather from it?”
    “It is a variation on the classic giant story,” I said. “A child is caught by a slow-witted giant and through an act of cleverness escapes. It is also a morality tale. Be good and do not wander off or else the bogeyman shall get you. The difference is that the tale takes place in the center of London instead of a castle or at the top of a beanstalk.”
    “The tale is rather gruesome,” Barker said. “Boy meat and hacking off limbs.”
    “Yes, but that’s the thrill of it. When a child first hears it, it is harrowing. After that, it is humorous—the slow-witted man and his wife tricked twice by a child.”
    “Do you think there might have been a Mr. Miacca around whom the legend grew?”
    “It is possible. Parents would be sure to point out someone they wished their children to avoid, particularly if he was a foreigner. As you said earlier, the name sounds Jewish or Mediterranean. There’s no telling how old the legend is. It could be centuries old.”
    “You’ve made a very good analysis, Thomas. I knew I was not mistaken in hiring a scholar. Is there anything else?”
    “Well, sir, there is one other legend about cannibalism in Old London.”
    Barker nodded. “Sweeney Todd.”
    “Exactly. He’s in the book as well, but he’s under legends rather than fairy tales. I thought I’d call it to your attention.”
    “And so you have.” He picked up the verses I’d copied from Lear, and began turning the pages. I watched his brows slowly sink behind his round spectacles.
    “Poems,” he grunted. “Limericks. I have heard many a limerick in my time, mostly from sailors. They were generally ribald. These are not, but I do not understand the humor. What is humorous about a man who has birds nesting in his beard? It does not look like Miacca’s note.”
    “His longer poems do, sir. Look past the limericks.”
    He flipped impatiently through the pages. Finally, he tossed it onto his blotter with more vehemence than he normally gave the printed word and made his pronouncement. “Rubbish. The similarities are superficial. Anyone with a grasp of English could have written the poem. As for this fellow, I cannot understand Lear’s appeal, save to the smallest of tots. Do you have anything else?”
    “Well, sir, there is one thing. I was followed from the British Museum.”
    Barker leaned back in his seat and pressed his fingertips together. He looked rather like a schoolmaster when he did that. “Continue.”
    I told him about Miss Potter and our conversation. I left out any attempts at flirtation on my part, but I knew he was smart enough to imagine it back in again. Here it comes, I thought, the lecture: This agency does not exist to provide you with female companionship, etc.
    “She offered to keep an eye on the Charity Organization Society,” he stated.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “We may take her up on the offer.”
    That was all. No lecture.
    “Socialists,” he growled.
    “You do not approve of socialism? If it makes any difference, I believe the term Miss Hill used was ‘Christian socialist.’”
    “Christian socialist,” Barker muttered. “That is even worse.”
    “What is the difference, pray, in the good works you do in the Tabernacle and the work of the Christian socialist?”
    “It starts with their entire worldview, lad. They believe that man is basically good, and that, given the proper nudge by such crusading women, they can turn the earth into a utopia and usher in the millennium.”
    “And you