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The writing on the door reads Lester and Doe, Private Investigators, but so far as Deborah knows, nobody has ever seen Mr. Doe. She asked Arthur about it once in passing on the elevator, and he gave her an odd smile. "How would they know?" he'd asked. "He doesn't tend to introduce himself."
And it's true that there are any number of odd people in and out of Lester and Doe, and she doesn't know who most of them are. They don't just show during business hours, either. Sometimes at night, she hears footsteps going to their door. Less frequently, she hears the light tap-tap-tap of knocking; most times the door is opened as if expecting the visitor.
Sometimes there's no telling what these meetings are about. Other times, finding out is as simple as reading the papers. Missing persons found, corruption uncovered, at least one attempted murder foiled. Not that Deborah has to read the papers; she works in the newsroom, and a good deal of the time she's writing them, even if Tom, the bastard, keeps trying to relegate her to fluff pieces.
Look, the point is, she's curious about her strange neighbor-or-neighbors, and while she wouldn't be crass enough to investigate them without at least a hint of wrongdoing, it's not as if she can stop seeing things and cataloging them. And she likes Arthur Lester; he has a wry sense of humor, he doesn't try to flirt, and he's one of the only men in her life that has never tried to call her Debbie. If he wants to invent a partner or have a silent investor, it's none of her business unless they start shooting the place up like Scarface.
So when there's frantic banging at the detectives' door late one evening she knows Arthur is out, Deborah doesn't hesitate to stick her head out of her rooms. The woman there turns to her with a frantic look in her eyes that turns to relief when Deborah holds up her hands to show she means no harm.
"He's...they're not in." She delivers the bad news. "I don't know when they expect to be back."
The woman draws in a breath and lets it out in something just short of a sob, and Deborah nods firmly to herself. "Come on, then. You can sit with me until someone comes." She holds out an arm and the woman, with a worried but hopeful look, stumbles forward toward her. Deborah catches her and helps her in. "Are you injured?"
She shakes her head. "Just...just tired."
"Right. I have coffee and tea." She closes the door behind them. "I'll put on water, you decide what you'd like." She pulls a sheet of paper and pen from her desk and pats the seat behind it. "Write a note for the detectives and I'll slip it under the door so they'll know you're here."
When she comes back from putting the kettle on the stove, the woman has her letter written. She nods up at Deborah. "Thank you. For all of this."
Deborah smiles. "Don't mention it. Oh." She sticks out her hand. "Deborah Gold."
"Adalina Seaton." She shakes Deborah's hand, and she doesn't quite smile, but she isn't quite as frantic anymore, so Deborah counts it a win. She hands the letter over, and Deborah nods. "I'll be right back."
It's the work of only a moment, and when she comes back, Adalina has barely moved, looking like she really might fall asleep there.
Deborah cocks her head at her. "We could forego the tea or coffee and I could make you warm milk or a hot toddy if you'd rather. I have a very comfortable couch." She looks torn, and Deborah adds, "I promise to wake you up as soon as one of them," by which she means Arthur, "is back." Adalina caves with a grateful nod, and Deborah goes to get the scotch and a blanket.
She's fallen asleep herself, napping in her chair, when there's a knock at the door. She gets up, checks her guest, and opens the door a crack to see Arthur Lester.
"Miss Gold? I think you have a client of mine."
Deborah chuckles at his phrasing and opens the door wider. "Come in. I'll wake her." It takes only one shake of her shoulder before Adalina startles awake. She eyes Arthur nervously.
"Miss Seaton?" Arthur removes his hat (but not his gloves; she doesn't think she's ever seen him without them) and nods to her. "Arthur Lester. I got your note. Would you like to come and talk?" He gestures toward the door.
Adalina hesitates, and Deborah understands it. Arthur tends toward polite and soft-spoken, but there's a hardness to his face and a fierceness to his amber eyes that are hard to miss. The roughened scar by his eye and the notched ear don't help, either. Whatever else he might be, Arthur Lester is a man that's seen violence.
"You can talk here, if you'd rather," she says impulsively. She doesn't mind chaperoning, and she might even find out something interesting.
Adalina looks relieved, but Arthur looks dubious. He cocks his head slightly as if listening to something; a habit she's noticed before when he's thinking. "All right," he says after a moment, "if you truly don't mind. And if you can promise none of this will end up in your paper, Miss Gold."
Deborah raises her hands. "Strictly off the record until it's public record or you tell me otherwise," she promises. "Coffee or tea?"
"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Arthur answers.
"Coffee, please," Adalina agrees.
Deborah nods. "I won't be a moment." She's got the kettle heating and the bag and Nescafe ready in a minute, and the milk and sugar set out not long after. She hovers in the doorway to listen as they talk.
Adalina takes a breath and lets it out shakily. "I don't quite know where to start." She pauses and nods to herself. "I understand your office, you take the...unusual cases."
He immediately straightens in his seat, seems to get more focused. "And you have an unusual case?" He's not sharp with her, but his voice is intense, not the soft-spoken neighbor he usually is. This must be his professional demeanor, and it's fascinating to see the change.
Adalina nods. "I do tattooing." She pulls up her sleeve to show a flower inked on her arm, and Deborah steps in to get a closer look. It's delicate and pretty, and she wonders how much it hurt and how hard it was to keep steady lines through the pain. "Not that I'm in Mr. Liberty's class or anything," Adalina goes on, "but ladies and a few men, they hire me, and I go to them and give them their art. Not enough to live by on its own, but a tidy sum. I'm good at what I do."
Arthur nods his understanding, and Deborah smiles at her before going back to get the kettle. She pours the cups and brings the tray out. "Tea and coffee." She sets the tray down and picks up her own coffee while they fix theirs (a little sugar for Arthur, cream and two sugars for Adalina; she makes a note of it).
"Please continue, Miss Seaton," Arthur prompts. "Was it while tattooing that this started?"
Adalina nods and sips her coffee. "I got a letter, a few weeks back now. An offer of a job. I was to meet a man, Mr. Goddard, at a warehouse down on River street, and he would tell me more. Five dollars just to show up and hear him out. I probably don't have to tell you I went. It wasn't my usual sort of place, but I've worked in stranger. I took a knife with me in my satchel, just in case.
"Turned out I didn't need it -- the knife or the satchel. He had his own setup, a really fancy electric needle with the ink fed from a reservoir. The deal was, I'd use his equipment, his ink. Men would come to me, and I'd tattoo them, the same thing on each of them, right over their heart."
She shakes her head. "It didn't seem right. Sounded more like branding cattle than giving them art, but he let me talk to some of the men, and they were all willing. Said they were getting paid enough on the job, if their boss wanted some ink on them, they had no problems. And if he was paying them like he was paying me, I can understand why. These days, who can afford to turn that kind of thing down? So for a few days, I went there, I inked the men who came to me, I made sure they knew how to take care of it, and I went home. And that was the end of it, I thought."
She stares into her coffee. "Then a couple days ago, I was walking back from the square, and as I was crossing the bridge, I saw one of the men. I remembered him because his skin was such a lovely color, we'd talked about maybe another, more artistic tattoo later. His name was Francesco. I smiled and waved at him, asked how he was. He passed me over and kept going. Not like he wasn't friendly, but like I wasn't even there. I stepped in front of him, and he looked at me, and...that was it. He just looked. Like that was all he could do, like there was nothing in his head. His eyes were so dead. I asked if he was okay. After a moment, he stepped around me and kept going as if I was a rock in his way."
She sets her coffee down and starts massaging her hands together. "I was flummoxed. I went home, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew that something was wrong. And the only place I knew to find him was at that warehouse. So the next day I went back. I don't know what I was expecting, but I walked right up, nobody stopped me. I went in and the warehouse floor was full of workers now, bustling and busy, but so quiet. Nobody talked or tussled or did anything but work. I tried to get the attention of a few of the men, but they either ignored me entirely, or walked around me and kept going.
"After a while, I got frustrated, and I just yelled. Loud and strong, 'Won't anybody tell me what's going on?!'. None of them reacted, but Mr. Goddard came out of the office. He smiled at me, polite as anything, and told me my 'services were no longer required', like a servant he'd put out. Then he gestured to one of the men, and he took me by the arm and escorted me out. Even he wouldn't talk or look at me. Just delivered me outside like a package."
She hesitates, then looks up at Arthur and Deborah. "I still don't know what's going on, but it's something strange. Something unnatural. I don't know how or if my tattoos are involved, but something tells me they are, and either way, those men need help."
Arthur nods. "I don't doubt it. What else happened?"
"What --" Adalina shakes her head. "Isn't that enough?"
"Enough for you to come to a detective, possibly," he answers. "Maybe even enough to bring you to me. But it doesn't bring you out at near midnight."
Adalina hesitates, and Deborah takes the risk to go and sit by her, put a hand on her arm. Adalina looks at her worriedly, but doesn't pull away. "Whatever it is you're frightened of," Deborah tells her, "you came here for help. Let him help you. And me too." She gives her a smile.
Adalina shakes her head. "You'll think I'm mad." She gives a brittle laugh. "Maybe I am. Please, will you just look into it? I can pay."
"Miss Seaton." Arthur leans forward in his seat. "I have experienced a lot of strange and terrible things. I very much doubt that I'll think you mad. I will look into this regardless of what you tell me, but if there's anything dangerous, I would prefer to be aware of it. I don't like going into these things blind." His lips twist in a kind of smile she can't interpret. "As it were."
She breathes deeply and lets it out in a shaky sigh. Deborah picks up her discarded coffee cup and the bottle of scotch still on the end table and pours her some. She takes it in unsteady hands and downs a healthy sip, then looks from one of them to the other before staring into the mug again. "I went back."
"Go on," Arthur says, fiercely serious.
Deborah commends his willingness to believe his client, but she resists the urge to shoo him out before he scares Adalina away completely. She gives him a significant look over Adalina's head, and he somehow manages to look utterly baffled. She stifles a sigh.
"I still wanted to know what was going on," Adalina continues. "I couldn't shake the feeling that somehow my tattoos were involved. I waited until it was dark, dressed accordingly," she gestures at her dark shirt and trousers, "and crept in. Late as it was, there were still just as many workers there as during the day. All working, all silent. The office was dark, so I didn't think anybody would notice me, but I kept to the shadows anyway.
"The tattoo equipment was still set up in the corner where it had been, so I made my way over to it. I started looking it over, to see if I could spot anything odd. It was very high-quality, a machine I'd be glad to have, but the needle and arm, the power source, they were all normal. The only thing different was the fact the ink was fed from a reservoir. I'd thought when I was using it that it was smart, even if it didn't make much sense for smaller work. But I hadn't looked too closely at the ink before."
She takes another drink, and Deborah knows whatever it is, this is what's brought her here. She hasn't even heard the details, but it's as if she can feel it hovering close, waiting to pounce.
"I followed the tubing to the reservoir. The ink was black and thick, and I wondered if it was hiding something inside it. I wasn't sure what that could be, but everything else was normal, so...so I closed off the valve and picked the reservoir up, tilted it to see. And the ink...it didn't flow, it moved. I tilted it left, and for a second it stayed right where it was, before it welled up on the right, rippling in waves." She shudders. "It was just wrong, I don't know how to explain it.
"I was so startled I dropped the thing. I was worried it would break, but it hit the ground and rolled, and the stuff inside it, the ink, it went wild. It exploded all over the inside of the tank, over and over, and I couldn't look away. And then there was a noise, and I glanced back, and all the men were coming towards me, or towards the ink, I wasn't sure, and I just ran."
She finishes her drink in a gulp and shakes her head to clear it. "I'd heard about you, been planning to ask you already, after Francesco, and..." She shrugs. "So that's why I'm here. Am I mad?"
"Unfortunately, I doubt it," Arthur says, both gentle and grim. "Miss Seaton, do you remember the design of the tattoo?"
Adalina gives him a reproachful look. "I did the same thing fifty times over. How could I not?"
"Can you draw it for us?"
Deborah goes back to the desk and gets paper and pen for her again. Adalina nods in thanks and sketches with strong, sure lines. It's angular, lines converging and doubling back on themselves, with odd-looking loops in places. It's nothing Deborah has ever seen before.
Arthur gets that head-cocked listening manner again as he stares at it, and then he thins his lips and nods. "If I may have that, I think I need to do some research." He holds out his hand and waits for Adalina to pick up the paper and give it to him. "Thank you. I would recommend staying out of sight until we can be sure they aren't waiting for you. Do you have a place to stay?"
Adalina hesitates, and Deborah dives into the silence. "You can stay here." Sue her, she wants to find out what's going on and see how this goes down. And Adalina seems like she could use a friend.
They both give her startled looks, and she smiles. "Honestly, it's not a problem. That way," she tells Arthur, "she'll be close by if you have any questions, and," she turns to Adalina, "you won't be out of the loop if we find anything out."
"If we -- that is, John and I -- find anything out," Arthur said. "I'm not dragging you into this, Miss Gold."
"Too late," she tells him evenly. "I'm in."
"I'm an experienced investigator --"
"So am I," she interrupts. "A different kind of investigating, maybe, but I know how to research and ask questions. And I'm good with people. And if something strange is going down, I want the scoop. Not until it's safe," she assures him with a raised hand, "but before anybody else. Unless Miss Seaton objects."
Adalina blinks, clearly not expecting to have been put on the spot. "No... No, I think it could only be helpful to have an extra pair of hands, as it were. Though I can't pay you, too."
Deborah waves her off. "The story is the payment. Don't worry."
After a moment, Adalina nods. They turn to Arthur, and he hesitates a moment longer, then nods himself.
"Right." He stands and puts his hat back on. "Well, as it's the middle of the night and none of the sources I need will be awake at the moment, I'll leave you ladies to your sleep, and we can start in the morning."
Deborah sees him to the door, then returns to clean up the cups. "Will you be all right out here?" she asks Adalina as she hands over hers. "My bed'd be tight, but we could share if you'd rather."
Adalina smiles at the offer. "Your couch is comfortable enough, thank you. Though I could use a wash up."
"Right through there." Deborah nods. "There are towels in the cabinet behind the door. I'll find you a nightdress."
Adalina takes her hand and squeezes it. "Thank you for all of this. You're tremendously generous."
Deborah grins, even as she squeezes back. "No, I'm tremendously nosy. But I'm glad I can help. Don't worry, I'm sure it'll all be fine."
What she isn't so sure about is Arthur Lester's willingness to include her in the investigation, whatever he's agreed to. It's nothing personal, she's just learned men tend to want to protect her. Fortunately, she doesn't rely on Arthur for her paycheck, so she's less concerned about pushing too far. After a morning coffee and breakfast, she and Adalina show up bright and early at Lester and Doe's door.
Arthur answers their knock, and it's clear he's lagging a bit behind them, mostly dressed but still in a smoking jacket and stocking feet. He looks resigned to see them, if not surprised. After a moment, he moves aside and waves them in. "Please come in. I'm just about ready."
Deborah looks around; she's only ever seen his place from the door before, and she has been curious. The room they enter is more an office than a living space, but she'd expected that. There's one desk with a chair behind it; the blotter is neat and the pens organized, but there are no pictures on it, or anywhere in the part of the flat she can see.
In front of the desk are two chairs that look comfortable but not overly plush; those are probably where clients are meant to sit, and Adalina heads for one, but Deborah is much too curious to sit.
To one side of the room towards the back is a stand-up piano. Deborah tries to remember if she's ever heard music coming from the apartment, and the best she can come up with is maybe. There's no music on the stand; like the rest of the room, it gives very little insight into the personality of its occupant-or-occupants. Though if John Doe is a real person (and honestly, with a name like that, he'd have to be, unless Arthur is completely bereft of imagination), he's certainly not in evidence.
There's a bookshelf to one side, and finally here there is evidence of two people sharing it. The books are lined against either side of the shelves with a clear empty space between them; to one side are true crime novels and poetry collections (at least one a duplicate of a book on the other side), with a few odd things scattered through: botany, music theory, and a book on dressmaking. The other half holds more poetry, some classics (she spots both Emma and Frankenstein), philosophy texts by everyone from Plato to Wittgenstein, and several illustrated bestiaries. She tries to determine which side is Arthur's, but without knowing more about his partner, it's difficult to separate them.
Before she can make more of an effort (or make her way far enough in to peek into the next room), Arthur is back out, fully dressed and ready. "Shall we?"
They head out and flag down a cab, and Arthur directs the man to the Miskatonic library. Having started many of her own investigations there, Deborah is only surprised that Arthur expects them to have anything about moving ink or mindless men; the topics seem more like to show up in Weird Tales than academic texts.
When they get in, Arthur hesitates at the desk, looking the staff over, then nods to himself and heads back for the offices. Adalina gives him a confused look that he ignores, and Deborah offers her a shrug before following.
When they catch him up, Arthur is facing down a middle-aged, stocky man with glasses and a goatee that sighs when they join them.
"Mr. Lester, I am willing to give you limited, supervised access as a courtesy to my predecessor, but I must insist that no-one else be permitted. These books are dangerous, as you well know."
"I do. But we'll need Miss Seaton to verify the identification." Arthur waves vaguely in their direction. "Miss Adalina Seaton, Miss Deborah Gold, Dr. Cyrus Llanfer, Head Librarian."
"Charmed," Dr. Llanfer says, sounding anything but. "Fine. If she's already seen it, she can verify, but until then, we do this alone."
Arthur nods before Deborah can protest, and she scowls. "He's right," Arthur says, turning back toward them. "If this is what we think, knowledge isn't power, it's danger. Besides, we have other things to find out," he hurries on. "Miss Gold, can you find out who owns that warehouse and what it's currently being used for, and track down the history of any of the men whose names Miss Seaton can remember?"
Deborah gives him an unimpressed look, but it's true they need the rest of the information, too, and that's the kind of thing she's good at. "Fine. But I still have questions." She turns to Adalina. "Come on, I know where the municipal records are. Let's leave the boys to their toys."
It takes only a few minutes to find out the owner of the warehouse is a company called Thornley Metals. It takes longer to find the owner, given that Thornley Metals is owned by Baradar Holdings, which is invested in by several smaller groups, each of which traces back to Milford Trust.
"Why go through all of this?" Adalina asks, bewildered.
"Whatever they're doing, they don't want it to get back to them. I've learned all kinds of ways to find these things out, but most people won't bother," she explains. "Of course, all that really tells us is that they know they're doing something they shouldn't be. For all this tells us, they're cooking the books. Something completely normal, just underhanded. Next we get more creative. What was Goddard's first name?"
By the time Arthur comes out of Llanfer's office, they've determined that Mr. Emil Goddard has a string of poorly conceived business ventures behind him, some shady friends (who may or may not be connected, but definitely aren't on the up-and-up), and no known chemical background.
Deborah looks up as she sees Arthur and Llanfer approaching. "Have you found anything?"
Llanfer is carrying an ancient-looking book, heavy paper bound in red leather, in his white-gloved hands, open to a page in the middle. He sets it on the table between them. "Don't touch, please. Miss Seaton, is this the symbol?"
Adalina barely glances at it before she's nodding. "Yes. No, wait -- this line here was doubled."
Llanfer frowns and turns two more pages. "This one?"
"Yes." She looks at it longer, then nods firmly. "That's definitely it."
Llanfer frowns. They wait. "Well?" Adalina finally asks.
"Oh!" Llanfer startles out of whatever trance he was in. "Well, I'm not exactly sure..."
"We need to know what it does, Dr. Llanfer," Arthur says firmly.
The librarian looks back at him, then hesitantly at the two of them.
Deborah sighs. "Dr. Llanfer, you can tell us, or I'll pick that book up this instant and read it for myself."
He scowls at her and clutches the book to his chest. "Do you understand what you're dealing with?"
"No," she answers, unimpressed, "because you haven't told us yet. Once you do, we will."
He huffs, but she's faced down worse men than a librarian. Adalina crosses her arms and firms her lips. Eventually, Llanfer sighs. "Fine, but on your own head be it." He puts the book back down, eying Deborah suspiciously until she clasps her hands behind her back. "It's a symbol meant to confer inexhaustible strength and resilience, so the person it's used on can perform near superhuman feats of strength and not need rest, and they heal from anything."
"And?" Adalina asks. "That's not what I saw. What else does it do?"
"That's it," Llanfer says. "It doesn't do anything else. You paint that symbol on someone, it does what it's supposed to, and when it wears off or is removed, they go back to normal."
"And what if it doesn't rub off?" Deborah asks.
"These were tattoos," Adalina explains, "they were permanent."
Llanfer's eyes go wide. "That would not be a good idea. First of all, in order to power a temporary sigil, you would need...hm. Something like a small summoning ritual, or perhaps a battery the size to use in a flashlight. Any energy would work to power it. But to power a permanent one, you would need a massive ritual with several deaths for each one, or a large electrical generator. And all that power would be going through the person you wanted to power, so they would be lucky to survive. Then assuming they did, the human brain is not meant to never shut down. With lack of sleep, after a week or so, they would be driven insane."
"And what if you removed their minds?" Arthur asks grimly. "What if you somehow preserved only their bodies?"
Llanfer shakes his head. "No, then you would have resilient dead bodies. Difficult to cremate, but not able to walk around." He frowns in thought again.
Arthur tilts his head in thought. After a moment, he shakes it. "But... No, I..." He grimaces. "Dr. Llanfer, what would happen if you kept the bodies and the minds, but pulled their souls out of them?"
Llanfer crosses himself, and Arthur looks like he's visibly stifling a sigh. "If such a thing could be done..."
"Could it be done?" Arthur asks.
"Perhaps." He shakes his head. "Not with a sigil, but there are some relics. Perhaps."
"There was something odd about the ink," Adalina says. "It moved. Could that be involved?"
Llanfer thinks for a moment, tapping the book against his chin, before shaking his head. "It seems likely, but I don't recall reading anything about it. It could be a part of amplifying the power, or it could be a part of a relic, but it's nothing I've heard of."
"Are we really discussing this?" Deborah asks, the absurdity of it all hitting her. "Using rituals and things to make people stronger, pulling their souls out of their bodies?"
"Believe me, Miss Gold, it is possible," Arthur says. "I've seen...er, experienced...similar things. Miss Seaton is right, those men need help. And I'm going to give it to them." He raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you backing out now?"
Deborah puts her hands on her hips. "Not on your life. Just making sure."
Arthur nods, though he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "What about you? What have you found out?"
Deborah explains the layers of shell companies. "Goddard's in charge, but doesn't want to be put on the spot if anything happens. He also has some shady investors. Unfortunately, there's no telling what exactly they're making in that factory."
She taps her notebook. "None of the men Adalina can remember names for have listed addresses or phone numbers, and the only missing persons listed in the papers don't match those names. None of them have been reported for acting oddly or doing anything unusual. There's nothing in the public blotter to say anything's going on."
"Probably chosen because they don't have local family or connections," Arthur muses. "Nobody to miss them."
Deborah nods. "Which suggests they know what they're doing isn't something family or friends would approve of, at the very least."
Arthur huffs. "If I were pulling men's souls from their bodies, I doubt I'd want their family to know, no. Any unidentified dead bodies recently?"
"It's Arkham," Deborah answers dryly. "There have been three in the last month. One in the railyard, two washed up by the river. The paper doesn't mention any notable tattoos, though, and they usually would, looking for someone to identify them."
"That's all? Damn," Arthur curses.
Deborah scowls at him, because honestly?
After a few moments, Arthur's eyes flick to her. It takes him a few seconds longer to process what he's said. "Not that people being dead is good," he says, shaking his head. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. But if any of the dead men were ours, it would at least give us more of a lead."
He cocks his head briefly, and Deborah waits. "A lot of energy, you said, Dr. Llanfer? How much to power...how many tattoos were there, Miss Seaton?"
Adalina twists her mouth up in thought. "Not one hundred. Possibly fifty. Definitely more than twenty."
Dr. Llanfer looks aghast. "The kind of power needed would be enough to power half of Arkham." He shakes his head. "The initial power needed would be, as I said, a large generator. That many at once..."
He bounces a finger in front of him. "Although, if they powered only a few at a time, perhaps they could manage on a factory's power. Hm. Yes, once each sigil is activated, it will need a lesser amount of power to keep it active." He doesn't pace, although he looks as if he wants to, drumming his fingers on the cover of the book. "If they powered up a few at a time, then used a secondary generator to keep the existing ones going...yes, they could perhaps do it with a very large factory."
"They've had a few weeks to do it," Arthur says. "How long would each activation need?"
"The ritual isn't difficult, and most of it is the sigil itself. With that already completed, perhaps only a few minutes. Longer at first, shorter as they became used to it."
Arthur nods. "And if we cut off the power?"
"Most likely the sigils would drain what power they have, then cease to work." Dr. Llanfer shifts uncomfortably. "Normally, I would say that the sudden drain might cause a shock to the system, but if they've done as you suspect, the soulless would be simply lose their strength." The look on his face is grim. "I hope you are wrong about what they have done, Mr. Lester."
"Does anything else fit?" Arthur asks, looking at him.
"Perhaps some mind-altering or will-draining..." He trails off and sighs. "No, I can think of nothing else that would match what you have all told me of this."
Arthur thinks for a moment, then nods. "That's what we'll go with, then. Thank you, Dr. Llanfer."
Dr. Llanfer holds up a hand as if fending him off. "Do not thank me. Don't involve me. Do what you have to and keep it far away."
"Understood." Arthur sighs but holds back whatever else he very obviously wants to say until Dr. Llanfer has closed himself back in his office. "At least we have an idea what we're dealing with now. The question is, how did Goddard get ahold of the knowledge and materials to do this? And what's so important he would risk it?
He turns to Deborah. "What have you found out about his investors?"
She shrugs. "No telling for sure if they're connected, but they've definitely been involved in some underhanded things. Alcohol, of course, until a few years ago. Other drugs more recently, along with antiques and imports. Hard to say without more research, but I'd bet it's half legitimate and half a cover for smuggling."
"Antiques might give them access to more esoteric things," Arthur points out, and Deborah shrugs in acknowledgment. It's not as if she knows where you'd find the sorts of things they've been discussing. "How do they do their business -- would they meet Goddard themselves, or send an associate?"
Deborah gives him an exasperated look. "How on earth should I know that from library records? We'd have to talk to people they've done business with before."
"Or just risk it and improvise," Arthur says. Then he rolls his eyes. "Improvise safely, of course. It's not as though he's much of a physical threat, it sounds like."
It's Adalina's turn to shrug. "He's a little man, older but not old. But he has the others to help."
"And yet he avoided killing or even hurting you," Arthur points out. "Hm. That suggests he prefers nonviolent methods, though what he's done with the men... Perhaps there's a way to reverse what he's done when he no longer needs them." He has one of his listening pauses. "It's a bit of a stretch, I'll grant, but worth investigating."
"You think we can convince him to fix them?" Deborah asks. She's skeptical, but it'd be nice.
"Convince him or force him," Arthur says darkly. It's a bit worrying, and Deborah looks askance at him. His eyes flick over to her, but he says nothing.
"Why don't we at least start with subtlety?" she suggests.
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "We absolutely will. But I'm not ruling anything out. Who's Mr. Goddard's primary investor, and when was the last time they met?"
Adalina can't go in with them; Goddard, after all, knows her. She hangs back out of sight as they approach the factory door, Arthur now wearing his best suit and coat and Deborah in her least practical skirt and blouse, her lone fur draped over her, though she refuses to wear heels. Playing the doxy or not, if she has to run or kick, she's not breaking her neck. And if they're looking at her feet, she's doing a poor job of the rest of it.
The man that answers their knock seems to have his brains (soul?) intact, even if he's not the most stimulating conversationalist.
"We're here on behalf of Mr. Aherne," Arthur says with a slightly feral smile. Deborah hangs off his arm and does her best to look as bored as possible. "Just checking in." He gets a grunt in reply as the man jerks his chin to beckon them in. They follow, and Deborah trails her eyes over the factory. It's unremarkable except for the lack of noise Adalina mentioned. Oh, there is noise from a smelter, and a press, and the screech of metal being filed, but...nothing else. This many men, somebody should be joking around or grumbling or shouting instructions, but there's nothing. It somehow makes it hit home that what they're dealing with is beyond even Arkham's usual unnatural happenings.
They're at the bottom of a steel staircase when a man she presumes is Goddard comes rushing down to meet them, a stressed smile on his face and reaching for Arthur's hand. When Arthur doesn't reach out in turn, Goddard grabs his hand and pumps it with more enthusiasm than is probably warranted.
"Mr...I'm sorry, what was your name?"
"I didn't say," Arthur responds curtly, taking his hand back. "Mr. Aherne sent me; that's all you need to know." He smiles pleasantly enough, but his canny eyes give it an edge. "How are things proceeding?"
"Come, let me show you." He leads them out to the edge of the factory floor, chattering about deadlines and numbers. From the corner of her eye, Deborah sees the door crack open, and she puts one foot on a ledge to adjust her stocking, drawing the eye of the muscle as Adalina sneaks in.
When she turns back to the others, Goddard is excitedly showing Arthur a box of metal components and explaining they're on schedule, everything is going well.
"And this magical new..." Arthur waves his hand vaguely, "thing that's going to keep the men from slacking or organizing?"
Goddard looks like he's been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "What do you mean?"
Deborah tenses, wondering if they'll have to run for it, but Arthur gives him a cool look. "Did you think we wouldn't find out? Whatever you're doing, we want in."
"That wasn't part of the deal," Goddard protests.
"Or we could take your parts and equipment as payment for our assistance to date, and leave you to it," Arthur says coldly. "Surely you can manage your other investors' questions."
Goddard blanches. "No, no! I can show you." He goes over to a cabinet and fumbles with the lock for a moment before opening it. "I found it in an antiques shipment," he's explaining. "Took me a while to find out what it was, but it's perfect for this. So much easier to handle people." He turns back around with a battered wooden cigar box, intricately carved.
"It's a box," Deborah says, not having to feign much of her lack of interest. Surely this can't be the thing causing all the fuss?
Goddard gives her a haughty look. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. But so long as I have this, none of those men will give me any trouble. They'll do whatever I say."
Deborah can feel Arthur's arm under hers tense, his fist clenching hard, and she hopes his anger isn't visible to Goddard, but he speaks smoothly enough. "And if I bring this back to Mr. Aherne, they won't give us any trouble, either, will they?" He holds his hand out.
There's a split second where Goddard's expression is terrified before it goes canny. "You won't tell Mr. Aherne about this." He steps forward as he opens the box, and Arthur shoves Deborah to the side before a force she can't quite see, like spots at the edge of her vision, thuds into him and he crumples to his hands and knees. He mutters something that sounds frantic, but she can't make it out, too busy searching for a weapon.
She finds a set of metal shears and hefts them just as Goddard reaches Arthur, and she prepares to fight her way to that box, before Arthur's leg lashes out, sweeping Goddard's legs from under him. He lands with a shout, and Arthur is on him, the now-closed box abandoned to one side as Arthur's fist crashes into Goddard's chest, then his chin, poorly aimed but enough to keep him down.
The muscle shouts in turn and races for them, bowling Arthur over from the side before raising a gun. There's a shot, but not from him, and blood blooms across his shirt as he falls, Adalina shaky but determined behind him, her own gun dropping.
There's a moment of silence. Then Deborah lets out her held breath, dropping the shears. "Adalina. Thank god. Arthur, are you all right?" She hurries over to him, kicking Goddard back down as he starts to get up.
"I will be," he answers, but his tone is determined and grim more than relieved. "Where's the box?"
He should be able to see it, but Deborah supposes allowances should be made for having nearly been shot and having been hit with... "Whatever that was, why didn't it work on you?"
"It's here." Adalina picks it up gingerly. "What do we do with it now?"
"Burn it," Arthur says. "Destroy it. Drop it in the smelter."
"Are you sure that'll work?" Deborah asks, helping him up. He wavers a bit, but stands on his own.
"From what we saw, it's the sort of artifact that destroying it will break its power," Arthur confirms, and Deborah has more questions now, because she didn't see anything of the sort, but fine. Work first, questions later. She nods to Adalina.
Adalina nods back and strides further into the factory, over to where the metal is being processed. She climbs as close as she can get, then tosses the box in. There's a brief gout of fire as the wood catches, and then a collective gasp of indrawn breath from every man on the floor, followed by murmurs of confusion. Then, as one, they collapse.
Deborah starts to hurry to them, but a groan alerts her to the fact that the muscle isn't as dead as she had assumed. She runs to him and grabs his gun before he can. His eyes flutter open, and she could have sworn they were blue before -- she's a reporter, she catalogs details -- but now they're the same amber as Arthur's.
"Don't move," she cautions him firmly, leveling the gun.
He blinks up at her in confusion, tries to say something, coughs, then tries again. "Arthur?"
There's a scuffle behind her as the man in question hurries over. "John?"
"Arthur, Miss Gold is pointing a gun at me," the man (John?) says weakly, then coughs again. "Also I don't think these lungs are working very well."
"Fuck. What can we -- Miss Seaton! Come quickly!" He turns to call in her direction and...wait, his eyes are brown now. Definitely darker than before.
Adalina hurries over. "They're alive! The ones I checked. I don't know when they'll wake up, but --"
Arthur interrupts her. "Hurry -- the sigil!" He gropes at John's clothes for a moment before ripping his shirt open. "He could die again. Let's hope whatever's powering it still works."
"You want me to do it again?" Adalina sounds aghast. "Besides, I could never finish it in time."
"Not a tattoo -- it doesn't need to be permanent. Just long enough for him to heal. Hurry!"
"He tried to kill you!"
"We've had our differences," John rasps. "I promise not to try again. For a while."
"Ha," Arthur says dryly. "Fuck you, too. Please, Miss Seaton."
Adalina gives them a doubtful look, but crosses to the tattoo machine and inspects it for a moment before unhooking the reservoir and bringing it over. She eyes the ink with some trepidation, but sorts out a rivet from a nearby table, dips it in the ink, and starts drawing. John's chest moves shallowly under her, and she has to stop a couple times for him to cough, but soon it's done and she sits back. "Now what? It wasn't instant, before, or I would have noticed."
"Power," John rasps out, his eyelids fluttering again as he struggles to stay awake. "Push power into it. Shouldn't take much."
"A flashlight battery, Llanfer said," Arthur prompts. "Maybe less with this ink."
Adalina goes back to the tattoo machine. This time, Deborah follows.
"Is there a battery in this thing?"
"A converter we can plug in," Adalina explains. "Are we sure this is a good idea?"
Deborah chuckles. "I have no idea what's going on, though I think I may finally have met my other neighbor. How can I help?"
"Here. Put your hand here and hold."
Deborah does as she's told, and they're soon hauling a power cord and converter back to the men, who haven't moved. Adalina goes to plug it in, and Deborah shakes her head at them. "I hope you know I do expect an explanation."
"Later," Arthur says.
"If I survive," John adds.
"Shut up," Arthur admonishes him.
Deborah rolls her eyes.
Then the converter is plugged in and Adalina is lowering the bare wires she freed over the sigil on John's chest. She takes a moment to breathe, then touches it.
A spark of electricity flows along the sigil for a moment, then fades. A second later, John is hissing in through his teeth and arching in pain as the bullet wound visibly begins closing.
The thing is, Deborah is a reporter in Arkham. This may have been her first experience with something so obvious and huge, but she's covered more "gas leaks" and "false alarms" than her colleagues in Boston could dream of, and she is not an idiot. When the police have arrived and the workers are waking up and the four of them bow out to return the same way three of them got there, she has time to think.
And aside from the eye color change, she notices other things -- like the fact that there are now definitely two men living down the hall from her, which only highlights the fact that one of them clearly had not been there before.
It's possible, of course, that Doe had been working undercover for a while, and that his appearance on the scene of Lester's current case was entirely coincidental, or even planned from the start. He'd never intended on killing Arthur and was just playing a part, and Adalina's shooting him was all a terrible misunderstanding.
It's possible. It's certainly how she'll spin it in her story, anyway. All part of an underhanded labor dispute gone wrong. Maybe trafficking in workers. If the law can't prove Goddard was involved, the CIO can still have a field day with him.
Adalina certainly notices something is up, but she hasn't lived by Lester (and not Doe) for months, and she's busy helping her friends among the workers get back on their feet, so she doesn't have the observation time Deborah does. And honestly, Deborah's not sure she should say anything if her new friend hasn't noticed it. She remembers Llanfer's well-intentioned if paternalistic insistence on ignorance being safer, and she supposes there's some truth to that. It's certainly easier and less likely to break your sanity, anyway.
She's certain her own is a bit bruised by now. But Lester and Doe still make congenial neighbors (when they're not arguing in the hallway, and she swears to God, if they don't take it inside, she'll dump water over them both!), and they do seem to be doing some good in the world, so in the end, it's not worth too much fretting over.
So long as she gets the scoop on their stories.