Free Fortress of Ephemera: A Gothic Thriller by Eric Christopherson Page A

old, my memory is not what it used to be. I'm rather forgetful these days, to tell the truth, and I don't believe I've laid eyes on those gold Croesids in . . . I'm not sure. Five or six years? At any rate, I can't recall where I hid them last.”
    Howard handed Noah the note pad. “What sort of code is it written in?”
    “One of my own invention. Only Elizabeth is familiar with it besides myself, though she's nearly blind now. It's protection in case the note pad should fall into the wrong hands. I keep it with me, on my person, at all times, you see.” He opened the note pad, glanced at his writing. “I'm afraid I'll need my spectacles in this light.” He pointed to the pile of clothing Cormac and Willie had tossed in a heap while stripping him down.
    Cormac dug out from there a lady's lorgnette, of all things, with a bejeweled handle, gleaming as it must have gleamed at ancient soirees and operas, and passed it to Howard, who passed it along to Noah, who perched the spectacles upon his nose as delicately as any society matron and began to read.
    “Ah,” he said shortly.
    Howard snatched the pad away, studied the opened page, frowned when he couldn't decipher the code. “Well, where are they?”
    “It doesn't say,” Noah answered. “My notes provide only an initial clue as to the locations of the various collections. Another precaution of mine, you understand, should the note pad ever fall—”
    “Fall into the wrong hands,” Howard finished impatiently. “So what's the clue?”
    “It's in the antechamber, where you first entered. We'll need to find a small, Japanese relic from the early Edo period. A statue of Hotei, the Laughing Buddha. Nine and one-half inches in height and made of copper. Purchased by my father from a monk in Kyoto, I think he told me.”
    “Scavenger hunt!” Willie said and guffawed. “Kind of fitting, eh, Howie?”
    “Shall I lead the way?” Noah asked.
    Howard shut the note pad and dropped it into his coat pocket. With his left arm, he motioned magnanimously toward the staircase. “After you.” He told Cormac: “Stay within a foot of Mister Langley at all times, you hear?”
    The mick snorted derisively. “What's he gonna do?”
    “He's paranoid, Cormac. Probably got other weapons stashed around the house. No telling what kind. Knives, guns, swords, dynamite, armored tanks. Be prepared for anything.”
    “ 'Paranoid?' ” Noah muttered as he stepped, in passing, between myself and Miss Buxton. “What a strange word.”
    I told him: “It's a relatively new one. It means . . . overly cautious.”
    “Hmmph,” he said. “Paranoid for good reason.” One of his hands covered the open flap in back of his union suit, an effort at modesty he would soon abandon as too tiresome, I suppose.
    Miss Buxton addressed Howard. “May we have our coats now, Sir? It's rather chilly.”
    “Not now, Miss. Your continued compliance will earn them back to you in time. Willie will carry them with us as a show of good faith.”
    “Surely we are all to some extent gentlemen here,” I said, “and you won't object to returning Miss Buxton her coat at this time?” She was already shivering, though I wasn't actually sure if the cause were fright or cold.
    “Very well,” Howard said. “Once I've searched her.”
    “You wouldn't!” I exclaimed—in near simultaneity with Patrolman Cox.
    “Wouldn't I?” Howard said. “Men have been killed by less than a hair pin, you know.”
    He stepped up behind Miss Buxton and proceeded to knead his fingers through her tresses in search of such a pin. It was a patterned, deliberate search that turned deliberately sensual when Howard read my glower. His hands began to play, to stroke and pet her scalp, to swirl fingers at her temples. The hands slid down her neck to caress her shoulders, and from there dipped out of sight only to reappear quickly beneath her arm pits and reach for her breasts.
    Yes, the fiend imprisoned Miss Buxton's mammary glands.