Read Online My Clockwork Muse by D.R. Erickson - Free Book Online
Authors: D.R. Erickson
Tags: Steampunk, Historical Mystery, Poe, clockwork, edgar allan poe, the raven, steampunk crime mystery, steampunk horror
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advantage. "I just need you to repeat your previous statement.
There seems to have been a jumble of some sort in our records."
"Oh, bother!" the fat woman cried. "How am I
supposed to remember everything I told you people?"
"Just the salient points, then, madam. The
men in the corridor ... I take it you saw them?"
"Of course I did. Two men, drunk as skunks it
seemed to me. Well, one of them was, anyway. The other man was
practically dragging him along. Dead to the world, he was."
"Well, what made you think him drunk, and not
just unconscious for some other reason. Was he singing, or carrying
on in some fashion? Perhaps he was the victim of an accident and
nothing more."
The woman looked at me as though I were daft.
"Because of the way he was dressed, sir. Obviously fresh from some
wild party or other."
"And how was he dressed?" I had to ask the
question, even though I already knew the answer.
"Like a fool," the woman replied. "He was
dressed like a ... like a ... Oh, what do you call it?"
"A court jester?"
"Yes! From olden times. In fact, it was the
jingling of the bells in his hat that caused me to look down the
hall in the first place. We get all kinds here. You learn not to
ask too many questions."
"Of course," I said. Now for the answer I was
really looking for. "Did you give a description of the man to the
police?"
"How could I? His face was down the whole
time while the other man dragged him along. His head sort of bobbed
from one side to the other" —the woman's jowls jiggled as she tried
to imitate the motion— "causing the bells in his hat to jingle a
little. All I remember of him was that hat of his—"
"No, not the jester," I prodded impatiently,
"but the other man. The killer, if you will. The one dragging the
jester along? Did you give a description of him to the
police?"
"Oh, yes!" the woman said brightly. "Him I
saw clearly."
"Ah!" I said with satisfaction. Now I was
getting somewhere.
The woman gave me a sort of mocking smile.
"But seeing you, Inspector—"
I looked at her dumbly until I realized she
was expecting my name. I gave her the first name that popped into
my head. "Dupin," I said with a start, and regretted it instantly.
I remembered I was not quick enough to provide an alias to Burton's
secretary. Now I was rather too quick. But once the name was out,
there was no taking it back. I hoped that once heard the name would
be quickly forgotten.
"But seeing you, Inspector Dupin ," the
woman said, grinning. "I can see I shouldn't have bothered."
I frowned. "Why not?"
"Because I could have told the cop that the
man in the corridor looked just like your own Inspector Dupin—and
he would have known instantly what the man looked like!"
She laughed at her joke, which she seemed to
think the height of irony. My mouth was filled with the bitter
taste of bile.
"What are you saying? That the man looked
like ... me?" I asked, dumbfounded. With a sense of rising horror,
I asked again, "The killer looked like me ?"
"Oh, yes. Same broad forehead, if you don't
mind me sayin'. Little moustache, just like yours. Heavy shadows
around the eyes. A dark man, I thought. But then the light was
awful dim. I see you're much paler than him. No offense."
I waved off her concern.
"Uncanny resemblance, though. That's why I
dropped my plate. I thought you were him, come back to take care of
witnesses, if you know what I mean. Where are you going?"
"No more questions." In my hurry to leave the
room, I banged into one of the chairs, knocking it askew, and did
not bother putting it back into place. "The police appreciate your
cooperation, madam." I uttered the words so quickly, I doubted she
even understood what I was saying.
Back in the dimness of the corridor, I
pressed myself tight to the wall, feeling as if I might faint. My
breath came to me in short spasms. Think, Poe! Think! I felt
in mortal danger. When this woman had described Fortunato's
murderer to Gessler, it was my face she had conjured with
her
There seems to have been a jumble of some sort in our records."
"Oh, bother!" the fat woman cried. "How am I
supposed to remember everything I told you people?"
"Just the salient points, then, madam. The
men in the corridor ... I take it you saw them?"
"Of course I did. Two men, drunk as skunks it
seemed to me. Well, one of them was, anyway. The other man was
practically dragging him along. Dead to the world, he was."
"Well, what made you think him drunk, and not
just unconscious for some other reason. Was he singing, or carrying
on in some fashion? Perhaps he was the victim of an accident and
nothing more."
The woman looked at me as though I were daft.
"Because of the way he was dressed, sir. Obviously fresh from some
wild party or other."
"And how was he dressed?" I had to ask the
question, even though I already knew the answer.
"Like a fool," the woman replied. "He was
dressed like a ... like a ... Oh, what do you call it?"
"A court jester?"
"Yes! From olden times. In fact, it was the
jingling of the bells in his hat that caused me to look down the
hall in the first place. We get all kinds here. You learn not to
ask too many questions."
"Of course," I said. Now for the answer I was
really looking for. "Did you give a description of the man to the
police?"
"How could I? His face was down the whole
time while the other man dragged him along. His head sort of bobbed
from one side to the other" —the woman's jowls jiggled as she tried
to imitate the motion— "causing the bells in his hat to jingle a
little. All I remember of him was that hat of his—"
"No, not the jester," I prodded impatiently,
"but the other man. The killer, if you will. The one dragging the
jester along? Did you give a description of him to the
police?"
"Oh, yes!" the woman said brightly. "Him I
saw clearly."
"Ah!" I said with satisfaction. Now I was
getting somewhere.
The woman gave me a sort of mocking smile.
"But seeing you, Inspector—"
I looked at her dumbly until I realized she
was expecting my name. I gave her the first name that popped into
my head. "Dupin," I said with a start, and regretted it instantly.
I remembered I was not quick enough to provide an alias to Burton's
secretary. Now I was rather too quick. But once the name was out,
there was no taking it back. I hoped that once heard the name would
be quickly forgotten.
"But seeing you, Inspector Dupin ," the
woman said, grinning. "I can see I shouldn't have bothered."
I frowned. "Why not?"
"Because I could have told the cop that the
man in the corridor looked just like your own Inspector Dupin—and
he would have known instantly what the man looked like!"
She laughed at her joke, which she seemed to
think the height of irony. My mouth was filled with the bitter
taste of bile.
"What are you saying? That the man looked
like ... me?" I asked, dumbfounded. With a sense of rising horror,
I asked again, "The killer looked like me ?"
"Oh, yes. Same broad forehead, if you don't
mind me sayin'. Little moustache, just like yours. Heavy shadows
around the eyes. A dark man, I thought. But then the light was
awful dim. I see you're much paler than him. No offense."
I waved off her concern.
"Uncanny resemblance, though. That's why I
dropped my plate. I thought you were him, come back to take care of
witnesses, if you know what I mean. Where are you going?"
"No more questions." In my hurry to leave the
room, I banged into one of the chairs, knocking it askew, and did
not bother putting it back into place. "The police appreciate your
cooperation, madam." I uttered the words so quickly, I doubted she
even understood what I was saying.
Back in the dimness of the corridor, I
pressed myself tight to the wall, feeling as if I might faint. My
breath came to me in short spasms. Think, Poe! Think! I felt
in mortal danger. When this woman had described Fortunato's
murderer to Gessler, it was my face she had conjured with
her
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