Abigail pointed at the Hebrew words printed around the sides of the triangle. “This is from Deuteronomy, chapter six, fourth verse, and reads, ‘Hear, oh Israel; the Lord our God is one Lord.’”
“The Bible?” said Hero in surprise. “Are you telling me this nasty old man was performing magic spells while quoting the Bible?”
Abigail nodded. “Most of the grimoires contain biblical verses. The Bible has long been considered a source of powerful magic.” She traced the strange writing around the circle. “See this? It’s from the Psalms. It reads, ‘As he clothed himself with cursing like with a garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, like oil into his bones.’”
Devlin frowned. “What alphabet is that?”
“It’s an alphabet of twenty-two letters called the transitus fluvii. It’s found in Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s sixteenth-century grimoire, Third Book of Occult Philosophy, although I don’t know if it originated with him. Basically I guess you could call it an occult alphabet.” She sank back into her chair. “The items on the table you described would be used for various magic rituals or operations. The short lance is supposed to be dipped in the blood of a magpie, while the knife with the white hilt is dipped in the blood of a gosling and the juice of the pimpernel.”
“And the knife with the black hilt?” asked Hero.
Abigail glanced over at her. “A knife with a black hilt is only used to summon evil spirits. It’s dipped in the juice of hemlock and the blood of a black cat.”
“Oh, God,” whispered Hero. “That’s what the cat was for.”
“And it explains why Eisler kept all those birds,” said Devlin, picking up the vellum to study it again.
Abigail nodded. “They would also have been used for sacrifices. White animals and birds are typically sacrificed to good spirits, and black to evil spirits.”
“He did seem to favor the black,” said Devlin.
Abigail laced her hands together in her lap so tightly the knuckles showed white. She looked like a simple, red-haired spinster, prim and plain—until one remembered she was surrounded by texts on magic and the darkest secrets of the occult. “He was not a nice man,” she said, her voice oddly strained, tight. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“You sound like Hero,” said Devlin, looking up.
“He caused great harm and unhappiness to many. True justice is rare in this world, but this time, at least, I think we have seen it in action.”
“Unless an innocent man hangs for his murder.”
Abigail’s anger seemed to drain away, leaving her looking troubled. “You will be able to prove that this man Yates is innocent, won’t you?”
“I don’t know.” Devlin carefully rolled the white sheet of vellum. “You said this is called the fourth pentacle of Saturn. What is it used for?”
“Operations of ruin, destruction, and death.”
“I wonder whose death he was trying to cause,” said Hero.
Devlin’s gaze met hers. “If we knew that, we might know who killed him.”
Chapter 37
“A
h, Lord Devlin,” said Sir Henry Lovejoy when Sebastian stopped by Bow Street to see him later that afternoon. “I was just about to send a message round to Brook Street. I’ve discovered some interesting information about that fellow you asked me to look into.”
“You mean Jud Foy?”
“That’s the one, yes.”
“You’ve found him?”
“Not yet, no. But I thought you might like to know that it seems he was once a rifleman.”
“With what regiment?”
“The 114th Foot. He was invalided out in 1809.”
“Good God, is he Sergeant Judah Foy?”
“He is, yes.” Something of Sebastian’s reaction must have shown on his face, because Lovejoy’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”
“You could say that.”
Tyson was cupping wafers at Menton’s Shooting Gallery when Sebastian came to stand off to one side and quietly watch. The man’s movements were smooth and assured, his aim as flawless as one might expect of someone who’d purchased his first pair of colors at the age of sixteen.
He shot three more times before looking over at Sebastian and saying, “I take it you’re not here for the entertainment value?”
Sebastian crossed his arms at his chest and smiled. “Don’t mind me.”
Tyson’s handsome features remained impassive. But Sebastian saw his eyes darken. He handed his flintlock to the attendant and stripped off the leather guards he wore to protect his cuffs from the powder. “I’ve finished.”
Sebastian watched him walk over to pour water into a basin and wash his hands. “Tell me about Jud Foy.”
Tyson paused for a moment, then went back to soaping his hands. “Who?”