They sat at an extraordinary mahogany writing desk fashioned in the shape of a stylized gryphon, with a lion’s body and the head of an eagle, covered in gold leaf, protruding from one side. The lion’s flat back was upholstered in pale orange leather, with cubbyholes for bottles, pens, and blotter.

And even though Riley had visited the twenty-first century, he believed this desk to be the most fantastic single object he had ever seen.

“You are admiring my desk, I see,” said Charismo. On this morning he wore an old-fashioned powdered wig over his dark curls, his mask was painted in garish orange and red to give him a slightly demonic appearance, and his dressing gown was quilted silk with a lush fur collar.

“Yes, sir,” said Riley. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Charismo drummed his fingers on the wood. “A gift from the tsar of Russia. I baked a poultice for a boil on his nose, if you can credit that. The offending blemish was reduced in circumference by more than sixty percent. Alexander was most grateful.”

Riley’s jaw dropped. “You are a doctor, too?”

“I have no formal qualifications,” said Charismo, in a way that suggested formal qualifications were a waste of a gentleman’s time. “I am connected with the spirit world, which is composed of the sum of human experience, past, present, and future. The spirits communicate with me in my dreams. They whisper to me of words and music, but also of future events. Wars, catastrophes. Plague and famine. It is a terrible burden.” Charismo rested his weary, tortured brow on his knuckles. “No one can ever comprehend the cross I bear.”

Riley dared to pat his hero’s elbow. “Sherlock Holmes said, ‘Genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains.’ And surely, sir, you are the greatest genius who ever lived.”

Charismo smiled a touch sadly. “Dear boy. Yes, perhaps I am. And how pleasant it is to have the fact acknowledged. You truly are a perceptive young fellow.”