“And this time he will not get away!” concluded a red faced Clackprattle, banging the table.

“Very moving,” said Bisset, who had remained impassive throughout the diatribe, apart from little glances towards Pook.

Pook unfixed both his gaze and smile and turned to Clackprattle.

“Indeed Master, a most eloquent exposition of the injustices and deprivations you have suffered at the hands of Sir John Jennings,” he said.

“If it is not too impertinent a question, my I ask why you seek the weapon,” said Bisset.

Clackprattle looked astonished.

“Have I not just explained the very circumstances!” he said.

“Indeed, and at some length,” said Bisset. “But you have about your person a most formidable means of attack. Surely that would suffice?”

“The Master feels, and I concur, that a less direct approach may be more appropriate here,” said Pook. “Indeed, given our previous misfortune the opportunity to carry out some action from a distance seems most prudent. For it seems Sir John has more than his fair share of luck. He seems to lead a… charmed life.”

Bisset raised one eyebrow and tilted his head a few degrees.

“I am sure you are correct,” said Bisset. “The next question is how we should proceed.”

“I believe, sir, that the next question is ours to ask,” said Pook.

“Just so,” said Bisset.

“What is it that might be found at the locations indicated by the map?” asked Pook.

“I will ask the questions!” barked Clackprattle. The other two men looked at him with mild surprise which melted into pleasant smiles as they awaited the next utterance.

“As he said,” said Clackprattle, waving a hand in the general direction of Pook.

“At the four locations indicated on the map are four “beings”. They each… represent one of the four classical elements. Each possesses a part of the key which they will surrender to one who can pass a test that is set,” said Bisset.

“A test presumably commensurate with the element is question?” said Pook. “A physical test for earth, for example?”

“Indeed Mr Pook,” said Bisset. “And I believe I have at least two questions now.”

Clackprattle scowled at Pook who nodded lightly.

“It would seem so,” Pook said.

“My first question is will you allow me to invite you to stay with us here? I believe you have been staying somewhere quite inappropriate to persons of your stature.”

Clackprattle snorted.

“You mean Paris?” he said.

Bisset smiled again.

“Perhaps you may feel warmer to my city if you were to stay somewhere more… consistent with your standing in society,” he said, gesturing lightly around the large room.

“We acquiesce,” said Clackprattle, looking bored.

“My second question is would you permit me the opportunity to study the map in order to find the location of the first part of the key?” said Bisset.

Clackprattle shrugged but Pook leaned forward and put a hand on the map.

“I feel that, whilst that may seem a most effective course of action, it would not perhaps be the most desirous,” he said.

“Do you think?” said Bisset, a small frown forming on his face.

“I would very much like to remain in constant contact with the map,” said Pook, “in the interests of mutual transparency.”

“Well, perhaps we may travail in such a way that you accompany me, Mr Pook, whilst your Master enjoys the comforts we can provide.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Clackprattle, clearly bored.

“And I have some information that may make you very keen to proceed at a prompt pace,” said Bisset.

“What might that be?” said Pook.

Bisset looked absently away from the table.

“Only that Sir John Jennings and his wife happen to be in Paris at the moment,” he said.

Sabine sat back and exhaled deeply. She placed the cigarette she had been absently smoking into the overflowing ashtray and turned to Emile.

“What a story!” she said.

“It was quite the adventure,” said Sir John, flushed from telling the tale. “Four adventures, really.”

“And this Pook creature and the man, Clack, Clack…” said Sabine.

“Clackprattle,” said Marie.

“Yes, ‘im,” said Sabine. “They were nowhere to be found?”

“No,” said Marie. “After the…explosion? I think you’d call it that. After that there was chaos and they escaped, along with much of the cult. The police tried to find them, but, well, there seemed to be no crime for them to solve.”

“They had it down as an industrial accident,” said Sir John, ”even though it was in a church.”

“I didn’t follow fully,” said Emile. “It was the stone they made that exploded? After Clackprattle grabbed it?”

“They were making, or trying to make, the Summum Malorum,” said Sir John. ”It’s like the famous philosopher’s stone that gives eternal life and riches. Only it does the reverse.  It can take life and turn gold into dross.”

“This was the cult you mentioned, this Draco Viridis?” said Emile.

“Yes,” said Sir John. ”They were led by this chap Lord Anglestone. He was the one that died.”

“This is what confused me,” said Emile. “How did that happen?”

“Mac Dubh, who was an alchemist, arrived in the church,” explained Marie. “He had made the Philosopher’s stone and pressed it against this Summum Mallorum. I imagine the mix of concentrated good and evil balanced out and they destroyed each other. Anglestone was holding the evil stone and Mac Dubh the good one. There was a flash and after… they were both gone.”

“I thought this Claprattle had the bad stone?” said Sabine.

“Clackprattle,” corrected Marie “He held it for a while, but he dropped it. Anglestone picked it up then Mac Dubh came in and then… the flash.”

“The stone was doing something very odd to Clackpratlle’s hand,” said Sir John. “It was going a most peculiar green colour.”

“I see,” said Emile. “So Anglestone led the cult and Clackprattle and this Pook joined it, and seemingly tried to grab this stone for themselves.”

“That’s what we think,” said Sir John. “Although no one was around to explain. They all ran away quickly.”

“And this Pook,” said Sabine leaning forward again. “You’re sure about him? That he is a puoque? It’s not just his name, it’s what he is.”

“We have evidence, yes,” said Sir John.

“What evidence?” said Sabine.

“He had an influence on people,” said Marie. “An unnatural one. We think it’s ‘ow they managed to join this cult.”

“Fascinating,” said Sabine. “Alors! But enough. Now you are here on ‘oliday and I really understand why!”

“Actually we’re…” started Sir John.

“Yes a holiday,” said Marie. “At last! We thought we might visit some old neighbourhoods.”

“I see,” said Sabine frowning a little. “Well, that sounds very nice.”

“Yes indeed,” said Sir John. “We’re just going to have a nice, peaceful rest. A nice get away.”

“And you are quite sure they are sane?” said the lady, hunched over the canvas and applying generous quantities of paint to it.

Emile looked over her shoulder at the chaos of colours and shapes of the painting. A quizzical look passed over his face. He squinted and tilted his head.

“As sane as anyone I’ve met, Sabine,” he said. The lady turned to look at him, a wild plume of dark hair sweeping around as she did. She looked closely at his face.

“Well, that doesn’t tell me much,” she said. There was a knock at the door and Emile went to answer.

“That will be them,” he said, then jovially, “Marie! Sir John!”

As he saw the couple he changed his tone. “My God, what is it, what has happened?”

“Terrible, terrible business,” said Sir John, face pale and holding on tightly to Marie.

“The Libraire du Magie,” said Marie. “We went there…”

“That is a terrible business!” said Emile. “That man sells the worst nonsense I’ve ever seen. A profiteer on the gullible.”

“That man is dead,” said Sir John. Emile sat down suddenly.

“Dinard. Dead?” he said quietly.

“Yes,” said Marie, “We found him in the shop, slumped over the counter. He had been there some time by the looks of it.”

“Well, he was never the healthiest specimen,” said Emile absently. “Poor Dinard.”

“Oh, what a shame,” said Sabine. “I liked him so much! He was so clever, and I so liked his colour-music ideas.”

Sir John and Marie looked around at the lady.

“I’m sorry,” said Sir John, “we haven’t…”

“My God, my manners,” said Emile. “Marie, Sir John, this is Sabine. She is a guest of mine.”

“Enchanté,” said Sabine.

“Et vous,” said Marie.

“The same,” said Sir John.

“Sabine is an artist,” said Emile.

“Amongst other things,” Sabine said. “Emile, darling, perhaps we should have something to drink?”

“Yes, good idea,” said Emile.

“I shall go to the cave and retrieve something worthy of our guests,” Sabine said with a sly smile and swept out of the room.

“Sabine is very modern,” said Emile after she had gone.

“I see,” said Sir John. “Are you… that is… do you… I mean… is she?”

“We are not lovers, no,” said Emile. “Well, not exactly.”

“I see,” said Sir John. “I think.”

“Paris,” said Emile and shrugged.

Sabine returned then with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. She waved it imperiously round the room.

“It is a little on the warm side,” she said, “but in light of our guests and the sad news they bring, it is the only thing I will drink.”

“I was saving that…” said Emile.

“For an occasion more worthy than this?” said Sabine, looking perplexed. With a single twist of her wrist the cork came off the bottle.

“I’ll get the glasses.” said Emile, resigned.

“Paris,” said Sir John and glanced at Marie. She smiled for the first time that afternoon.

“So, Sir John, Marie,” said Sabine, sitting down in front of the couple and fixing them in her gaze, “you must tell me everything about your adventures.”

“I’m sorry, how much exactly?” said Sir John looking alarmed. The waiter pointed to a total at the bottom of the bill and Sir John recoiled a little.

“Is that because of…the incident?” said Sir John.

“Because of the wine,” said the waiter sourly. “The scene is free of charge.”

Sir John pulled out a large number of notes and handed them over. The waiter looked at them.

“It is customary to leave a tip,” said the waiter. Sir John sighed and added another note.

“One that is not derisory,” said the waiter, and Sir John added yet another note. The waiter looked at the pile with mild disapproval but took the cash.

“In return, I have a tip for you.” said the waiter without humour.

“What’s that?” said Sir John.

“Find a better friend,” he said and left.

Marie took Sir John’s arm and they walked away from the restaurant, heading north.

“Well that was embarrassing,” said Sir John. “But the right thing to do.”

Marie smiled at her husband.

“I’m sure Emile will say otherwise,” she said.

“Well, you know, that’s just, him,” said Sir John.

They wandered for a little while in silence looking at the buildings covered in posters. Everywhere there seemed to be exotic curling letters and botanical shapes. An artform sprouting fresh from the city walls.

“This style is very…new” said Sir John. “I don’t remember it last time.”

“Do you like it?” said Marie.”It’s very in vogue.”

“It’s a bit…curvaceous for me,” said Sir John, gesturing. “I prefer something more…”

“Mechanical?” interjected Marie.

“I would say Classical,” said Sir John. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very…natural,” said Marie. “I like how it makes the city seem more organic.”

Sir John wrinkled his nose as they went past a blocked drain.

“I’m not sure that’s what the city needs,” he said. They turned a corner and faced the Ille de Paris and the Seine.

“This is more like it,” said Sir John, looking at the vast building opposite.

“It’s hardly Classical!” laughed Marie.

“True but it has…gravitas,” said Sir John. “I’ve always found the Notre Dame enchanting.”

A little cloud passed over Marie’s face.

“More than you know,” she said. “Come with me.”

Marie pulled her husband by the hand over the bridge, walking at pace. Sir John could barely keep up as they weaved through the crowd.

“What is it?” he said, “What are we rushing to see.”

They stopped at the edge of the cathedral and Marie looked around. She pretended to tie a shoelace as a couple walked passed then looked up when they had gone.

“May I present,” said Marie pointing at a gargoyle, “Albecht.”

The gargoyle’s eyes moved side to side and then he moved to look down and Marie and Sir John.

“Is this him?” said the Gargoyle in French, “I thought you said he was handsome?”

“What could be worse!” said the fat man walking down the Parisian street. He strode and kept his head fixed ahead as his shorter, smaller companion scurried to keep pace with him. “What could be worse than another day in this vile, sodden, drunken town with its whimpering, whining inhabitants.”

“Indeed Mr Clackprattle…” started the companion.

“You call me Master now Pook,” said Arthur Clackprattle and waved a gloved fist at his companion. “Don’t you forget.”

“Indeed, one thousand apologies Mi … Master,” said Ernest Pook. “I think I can say without contradiction that your … power and magnificence is most firmly impressed on my mind. And I agree with you most heartily, this is indeed a most decadent town with many, many citizens all too willing to embrace the most depraved pleasures of the flesh, but, and I feel I must stress this point, we should strive to remind ourselves of our most glorious goal and our proximity to it.”

Clackprattle snorted.

“Our proximity to it … are you blind man?” he said. “We’ve been here a month already and have nothing but the rantings of laudanum addled lunatics and frauds of the first order. We’re no closer to finding this weapon than on the day we left London.”

“Whilst I feel no urge to contradict you,” said Pook, “I feel that circumstances are a little better than you fear. We have learned, have we not, of the key and its significance in our search? We have found, have we not, a gentleman who promises to divulge to us the map of where the key may be found?”

“A map for a key for a weapon,” said Clackprattle. “Riddles within riddles, all the smoke and mirrors this whorehouse of a city inspires. How do we know, Pook, that we can trust this man, his map, this Key or any of these wild goose chases.”

“We should have faith Mi … Master,” said Pook. “Our cause is just, and thanks to our helpful friends in London our wallets are deep. We should not gamble the knowledge we would gain for a small lack of patience.”

Clackprattle stopped in the street and stared coldly at Pook.

“Sir, anyone who thinks Arthur Clackprattle lacks patience is terribly mistaken. I was patient in Manchester, when our plans were ruined. I was patient in London, when our prize was stolen from us, and oh yes, I am patient here in this … cesspit.”

“Indeed sir,” said Pook, lowering his head slightly, “no one that knew you would say anything other. I am sure that our investigations will yield the progress that leads to the goal we seek. See, sir, we are a few yards away now from the emporium. Let us cross the threshold and find our reward.”

Clackprattle turned away and grunted and walked towards a bookshop. He stood just outside waiting as Pook scurried around and opened the door for him. Clackprattle and Pook made their way inside.