Steampunk Jack

Chapter Seven: Vision of the Dead

The next several days were spent, when James’s schedule at the university permitted, working on crafting a new set of lenses.

Anne, never having watched glass being made before, found the process fascinating, if only for the obviously intense heat required to craft the stuff. James couldn’t walk within a foot of the open door of the furnace safely, for fear of a tongue of coal fired flame brushing him, used a long metal pole to mix and manipulate the glowing mass of molten sand and minerals. When he considered it done, and how he’d determined that remained a mystery to the woman, James had poured the bulk of the mass into four molds, two with the rude, impressed shape of camera lenses and the other pair a shallow dish like simple spectacle glass.

She only wished listening to his long lectures on physics and mechanics were as interesting. Being dead was bad, but being dead, bored, and unable to leave was immensely worse.

Where the making of the glass looked appallingly labor intensive, the grinding of the lenses themselves was a study in hunched over self-punishment. One lens for the camera took longer to complete than the process of heating the oven and mixing the glass itself had.

In the end, however, James had been satisfied with the results and had mounted the smoky purple glass in a ring of brass which could be easily screwed into the box like camera he had built.

“So… we’re ready?” Anne asked as she watched him wipe specks of what she suspected were imaginary dust off of the newly repaired contraption.

“More or less.” He nodded. “We just have to decide where to take the first picture.”

Anne frowned, and gestured at a newspaper next to her. “Why not at the sight of this… Jane Blankenship’s murder?” She asked. “It was less then a week ago, so it should be nice and fresh.”

“That, I admit, is partially my concern.” He admitted.

“Pray tell, why?”

James sighed and walked to the desk Anne had perched herself on, settling into the wooden chair in front of it. “You, to be perfectly honest.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

He frowned, collecting his thoughts. “I went back over my notes… well you already know that, since you watched me do it…Anyway, I recalled that several references suggested that, after death, a person’s soul might hang about for a bit after death. I’ve seen various religious and anecdotal references to everything from the soul instantly departing… now in question due to your presence… to remaining for three days after death to as long as a full lunar cycle.”

“You’re beginning to wonder if my… haunting of you… would not have happened if you had waited longer before trying to photograph my murder.”

“It is a possibility, considering our discussions on the energy produced by ‘death’ in some mystical systems.” James nodded. “And while I am not terribly dismayed by your presence, you’re a wonderful conversationalist and a rather comely young lady if you don’t mind me saying so; I would rather not end up with another ghost following me about.”

Anne, blushing lightly at his complement, nodded. “I suppose I can understand that, though I suspect your earlier theory that I’m… different than most is probably more accurate.”

“Probably a valid point, but we lack the information we need to be sure. Still…”

“Professor, Are you here?” The strong voice of Emily Porter interrupted James mid sentence. “Professor?”

“Back here!” He called, shrugging to the frowning Anne. “Sorry. She does have a habit of just bursting in.”

“So, I’ve noticed.”

Emily, for a change wearing an actual dress, appeared. “I have your paper, Professor. Are you still planning to try out your camera again?”

“Yes.” James nodded, wondering how the two issues could be at all related.

Emily smiled and opened the paper. “Then look here. It seems opportunity knocks whenever you finish that blessed thing.”

James and Anne leaned over the newsprint, Anne inadvertently brushing against Emily who yelped and jumped back. “Anne, stop doing that!”

James chuckled, raising an eyebrow as Anne winced in contrition. He didn’t miss the smirk on her otherwise apologetic face.

“She apologizes.” he said, shaking his head.

Emily had set out to prove, for herself, that there was really a ghost haunting the young engineer, and had set out all manner of bizarre tests, most of which were likely variations on superstitions and hearsay. Anne had been particularly entertained by the girl’s use of dowsing rods, which seemed better for leading her away from ghosts, as opposed to bringing her closer to the one that was actually in the same room.

Be it through boredom, or an actual attack of humor, Anne had decided to help the younger woman experience the spirit world. Mostly this was achieved by the ghost woman walking up behind the girl when Emily was distracted and brushing her back or sides with her hand.

While her touch couldn’t actually move objects, and indeed passed right through all corporal matter as far as James could tell, it did carry a resulting chill. The first couple of times Emily hadn’t pieced together the chills source, but eventually realized she was being teased.

“I’m just sure she is, too.” Emily muttered, stepping back to the table with a suspicious glare in the vague direction of Anne. “Now look here. It seems the landlord of Mary Jane Kelly, that victim of Saucy Jack’s who was found in her own bed, is offering to let gawkers come peer at the crime scene for a pence a piece. For a quid he’ll even let you have the room to yourself for fifteen minutes.”

“Doesn’t the current resident object to that?” James demanded.

Emily shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I imagine that, once a new renter finds out their bedroom was a place of murder, they find a new roof to put over their head right quick. I suspect he’s had trouble filling the place.”

“It does make sense. I would have avoided the scene of a murder.” Anne commented, then grimaced. “Other than my own, I meant… well, I’d have avoided that one too, of course…”

James chuckled. “I get your point, Anne.” He commented, waving off Emily’s questioning look. “And this does sound like it might be a good source. Didn’t the newspapers report Ms. Kelly was seen by several people in the hours immediately following her death?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah.” Emily agreed.

Anne leaned back, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Sounds like a very promising target for one of these psychic stains… if not another actual ghost.”

“Well, hopefully this one will stay where she is.” James commented dryly.

Neither of them had been paying attention to Emily, who had found one of the unfinished spectacle lenses of spirit glass, and brought it up to her eye. “What a peculiar color. Did you plan for… blimey!”

They both looked at her, waiting for her to explain her exclamation when Anne realized she was looking right at her. Hesitantly, the ghost woman waved.

Emily waved back. “Well bloody hell, I guess you’re not crazed, Professor!”

“I know I’m not!” James growled. “Put that down, it’s not finished.”

“You know, I imagined her looking different. She’s sort of… wobbly isn’t she?”

“Wobbly? What the devil does she mean by that?” Anne demanded, turning on James. “Have I looked funny all this time, and you haven’t mentioned it?”

“Ignoring the fact that you do grow more transparent depending on how tired you are no, from the descriptions of you I have read you look just as you should.” James replied, rubbing his temples. Crossing to Emily he snatched the lens from her hand. “She’s looking at you through an imperfect glass, so it’s distorting you’re shape. It did answer the question as to rather the glasses would work, or not. Now, can you see her without the glass?”

Emily concentrated, staring at where Anne was standing. “Wait… I think… no, sorry. Can’t see a blessed thing.”

“Then it must have been the fumes.” James sighed. “I wonder how long it will last.”

Anne shrugged. “For most herbal tinctures it would have worn off by now. However, you did make a new lens, so that could have refreshed the effect. Of course, since I am, as you put it, haunting you that might be a factor as well.”

“Good to know. Well, I suppose I’ll grab my coat and wallet.” James declared, jogging up the stairs to his sleeping quarters. “Do me the favor of packing the camera, Emily. If you’re quiet, you can come too!”