The Luminaries

tickets allocated according to the principle ‘first to come, first to be served’; the occasion would be prefaced , however, by an evening of ‘drinks and speculation’, open to the discerning public—who was encouraged, collectively, to come with an open mind.
    This last injunction was perhaps easier said than done, for as the paper had it, the purpose of the
séance
was to locate, via the extraordinarily sensitive instrument of Mrs. Wells herself, certain tremors of spirit, the investigation of which would open a channel between this realm and the next, and thereby establish some kind of a rapport with the dead. Within the broad category of the dead, Mrs. Wells had been both excessively particular and excessively confident in making her selection: she planned to summon the shade of Mr. Emery Staines, who had not yet returned to Hokitika, and whose body, after five weeks of absence, had not yet been found.
    The widow had not made clear what she planned to ask the shade of Mr. Staines, but it was universally assumed that, if nothing else, she would surely request to know the manner of his death. Any medium worth her salt will tell you that a spirit who has been murdered is far more loquacious than a spirit who has left this world in peace—and Lydia Wells, we need hardly remark, was worth every grain of hers.
    ‘What is a
séance
?’ said Tauwhare again.
    ‘It is a piece of utter foolishness,’ said Löwenthal cheerfully. ‘Lydia Wells has announced to all of Hokitika that she is going to commune with the spirit of Emery Staines, and more than half of Hokitika has taken her at her word. The
séance
itself is just a performance . She will go into a trance—as though she’s having a fit, or a seizure—and then she’ll say a few words in a man’s voice, or make the curtains move in some unexpected fashion, or pay a boy a penny to climb up the chimney and call down the pipe. It’s a piece of cheap theatre. Of course every man will go home believing he’s made contact with a ghost. Where did you say you’ve been?’
    ‘Mawhera,’ said Tauwhare. ‘Greymouth.’ He was still frowning at the paper.
    ‘No word of Mr. Staines up there, I suppose.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Nor here. We’re rather losing hope, I’m sorry to say. But perhaps we’ll get a clue of some kind this evening. The real cause for suspicion, you see, is Mrs. Wells’s certainty that Mr. Staines really is dead. If she knows that much, then what else does she know, and how does she know it? Oh: tongues have been wagging, Mr. Tauwhare, this fortnight past. I wouldn’t miss this party for the world. How I wish that I’d got my hands on a ticket.’
    For the widow had chosen to limit her
séance
to only seven souls—seven being a number of magical allusion, possessed of a darkly mysterious ring—and Löwenthal, arriving at the Wayfarer’s Fortune some fifteen minutes before nine in the morning, discovered, to his immense regret, that these seven places had already been filled. (Of the Crown men, only Charlie Frost and Harald Nilssen had been successful in securing a ticket.) Löwenthal, along with scores of other disappointed men, would have to content himself with attending the preliminary ‘drinks and speculation’, and leaving before the
séance
was officially conducted. He attempted to buy a ticket at double price from one of the lucky seven, but to no avail. Frost and Nilssen both refused his offer outright, though Nilssen promised to describe the event in a high degree of detail, after the fact, and Frost suggested that Löwenthal might like to assist him in developing a strategy of reconnaissance, beforehand.
    ‘It’ll be three shillings on the door,’ Löwenthal supplied, in case Tauwhare could not read, and was disguising his lack of ability.
    ‘Three shillings?’ Tauwhare said, glancing up. That was an extraordinary sum, for one evening’s entertainment. ‘What for?’
    Löwenthal shrugged. ‘She knows that she can charge what she likes, and she’s going to do just that. It might pay for your brandy if you drink quick enough: she’s doing bottomless cups, you see, not drink-for-drink. But you’re right—it’s a robbery. Of course every second man is champing at the bit to get a word with Anna. She’s the real attraction—the real draw! You know she’s barely been seen beyond the Wayfarer’s front door in three weeks. Goodness only knows what’s been happening inside.’
    ‘I wish to place a notice in your