The Spiritualist's Dilemma

Death Comes To All

The hansom stopped in the middle of Steel Mill Street in Vasco. It was late evening and the cobbled street, wet with the rain from the previous night, shimmered in the glare of the gas lights. Maya got down from the cab, her feet landing in one of the many gilded puddles, and surveyed her surroundings. On both sides of the street were single-storeyed gabled stone houses, each fronted by a well-maintained garden. This was one of the older parts of Vasco and the houses were in remarkable condition given their age. The house that she had an appointment in, however, stood out as a singular blot on the well-maintained locality. It seemed to have been the subject of decades of neglect. Ivy clung to the walls of the house, the roof tiles, once orange, were black with age and the garden in front was overgrown by an army of shrubs. A small jasmine bush grew in the middle of the garden, shading a stone bench upon which creepers crawled like tropical snakes. The garden was surrounded by a shabby, untrimmed hedge broken by a small wrought iron gate. The façade of the house had three large windows, one to the right of the main door and two more to the left, while the building was flanked on both sides by other houses, with no space in between.

Maya crossed the gravel path threading the garden and knocked the door casting one glance upon her appearance. She was wearing the same long black skirt and a loose white blouse which she had worn to the office in the morning. Her hair was tied in a bun and she had no hat upon her head. She had considered wearing one of her better dresses for the occasion, to be in a more presentable state for her first case, but after fretting for half an hour about which dress to wear, had given up and not changed at all. Dressing up always made her nervous. In any case, she doubted that any dress could make her look even marginally attractive. She possessed features which no dress or cosmetic could possibly conceal – a tall bony frame with hardly any bosom, bushy jet black hair, two large brown eyes, and a claw-like nose upon an angular face. Maisie, her room partner, who spent most of her day experimenting with cosmetics, had once remarked that God must have been distracted while crafting her and had forgotten to put any feminine qualities inside.

What these qualities exactly meant, Maya had very little clue and she cared naught for them.

In the glow of the lamp hanging on a hook beside the door, Maya noticed that her blouse had a large spot in the front where she had spilled tea in the morning. Her skirt too was creased and laden with a generous amount of dirt. Maya dusted her skirt to make herself slightly more presentable.

The door opened and a fat, short man, bare-feet and in white trousers and shirt opened the door. He had a thick crop of silver hair upon his head, a rotund jovial face, and green eyes. In each of the five fingers of his right hand he wore thick rings, each with a different colored stone, while around his neck were at least half a dozen beaded garlands. Maya deduced from his appearance and the book in his hand, "History of Spirit Worship in Ancient America" that this was Prof. Mortemius Chinew. The old man studied Maya for a few moments, trying to gauge the purpose of her visit.

"I am sorry," he said after some time in a shrill childlike voice, "if you are here for the position of a maid which I had advertised for, you'll have to accept my apologies. Moin, my caretaker, is not here and I would very much like him to take the interview before employing anyone. You can though, if you like, still make tea for me. If I like your tea I would drop in a good word for you. You see, I still can influence his decision."

"Hello Professor," said Maya blushing, "I am not here to interview to be your maid. I am Maya Mitchell and I work for Professor Henry Camleman. He has sent me to verify your claims of the presence of spirits in your house."

The mention of Henry Camleman brought a look of familiarity upon the old man's face. He smiled and invited Maya inside.

"Please pardon me miss for mistaking you. I did not expect that Henry would give my letter any thought," said Prof. Chinew, leading her into the living room, "but it seems he values 50 Cowries more than I thought."