The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [20]
Her audience giggled in return; an involuntary response.
"Everybody happy on a ship. Everybody leave their troubles at home!" she said, laughing again, her irrepressible good nature filling the room; the air felt lighter, invigorating as sweet springwater.
Why, I feel better myself, thought Doyle, chuckling. What sort of a trick is this? Infecting people with happiness? New one on me.
"Nobody seasick?" she said.
A collective groan and more laughter. One raised hand from a woman in the middle row.
"Oh, too bad for you, lady. You sit back there, okay?" Some people were holding their sides, doubling over with laughter. "How the food on this ship? Pretty good?"
Yes, the food was good, answered the audience.
"Lady, you really missing out!" she said to the seasick woman. "We really miss food. We got no food over here."
We're certainly eating out of your hand tonight, thought Doyle. Seances usually turned up dour, gloomy spirit personalities, the sort that suggest suicide had played a part in their passing; this was unquestionably the happiest soul Doyle had ever seen a medium manifest. No wonder Sophie was such a crowd pleaser.
"My name is Mr. Li," said Sophie. "But you can call me .. . Mr. Li."
Even his stupidest jokes sounded funny; maybe Mr. Li had been a court jester in his former life.
"We got all sorts people over here. Lots and lots of peoples, All happy, friendly; if not they are after they meet Mr. Li. Same for you. Mr. Li say, Life should make you happy. Why so serious? Not so bad. Look at you: on ship. Good food. No seasick. Except for one lady. Don't sit too close to her!" She laughed again and the crowd laughed right along with her.
Extraordinary talent for mimicry, thought Doyle: I'm completely persuaded that I am looking at a jolly old Chinese man, not the sort of sturdy, middle-aged English woman you find striding through Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon. But nothing necessarily supernatural at work yet.
"All sorts of peoples here tonight. Somebody there want to talk to somebody over here, you tell Mr. Li. If they over here, Mr. Li go find, okay? Mr. Li like, uh, like tele-phone operator."
Standard enough procedure to kick off a reading; now let's see how "Mr. Li" delivers, thought Doyle, studying her every move.
"If I could have a show of hands, please," said Mrs. Saint-John. "We'll try to get to everyone, time permitting."
Audience members began to ask Sophie questions about dead uncles and cousins and husbands, and she relayed straightforward detailed answers that seemed to more than satisfy them. Bringing to bear all his observational skills he could spot none of the usual flaws in her presentation; possible confirmation, thought Doyle, for his theory that mediums somehow tap into the mind of the questioner for their desired information, an easier explanation to swallow than a sea of disembodied spirits hanging about an interdimensional switching board.
But Doyle still had his trump card to play. He took out his pen and wrote a name on a cocktail napkin.
Jack Sparks.
When Mrs. Saint-John pointed to him, he handed her the napkin.
"This is the departed you wish to speak to?" asked Mrs. Saint-John.
Yes, Doyle replied. That was the man. The same test he had applied to every medium he had investigated over the last ten years since Jack had died. The test every one of them had failed.
Mrs. Saint-John leaned in and whispered the name to Sophie. A pause. The brow of "Mr. Li" furrowed; he craned his neck, closed his eyes. Finally he shook his head.
"That man not here," she said.
"So you are unable to contact him?" asked Doyle. Curious; he usually received a parcel of lies; never this response before.
"No. He not here. So sorry."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"What you don't understand, mistah? You pretty smart fella, huh? I think so. Listen to Mr. Li: Man not here. Man not dead."
"Not dead? That's impossible."
"Oh, now you think Mr. Li a liar, huh? Well, you know, Mr. Li been