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Authors: Darren Craske
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have we heard that, eh?’ Dray said.
‘Indeed. The suspect is still down in the cells at the moment. I know you weren’t due in until later…but I don’t think we can afford to sit on this for long.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’ asked Dray. ‘Don’t mince your words, Horace; I’ve known you too long. If you’re onto something, then let me in on it! What the hell’s got you so bothered?’
Berry rubbed a hand over his forehead, and slid it over his hair. ‘These murders have been like a bolt from the blue to the folksround here, Commissioner, and if this gets out, God knows what could happen.’
‘Berry, calm down. What are you on about? If what gets out?’
Sergeant Berry toyed anxiously with his earlobe. ‘That’s the reason why I called you in, sir. Just like the others, this poor girl wasn’t just killed; she was mutilated horrifically in a most ungodly manner. Once you see the state of her…you’ll understand what’s got me bothered.’
‘We’ve both seen murder before, Berry; nothing shocks me about that any more.’
‘You might change your mind once you’ve seen her, sir. I think we’ve got a real mess on our hands here, and I don’t have the slightest clue how we’re going to deal with it.’ Berry leaned forwards, pressing his hands flat onto Dray’s desk. ‘Something tells me we’re going to see a hell of a lot more bodies turning up.’
CHAPTER XII
The Thicker Plot
C ORNELIUS QUAINT WAS sitting in near darkness in his office, the only glimmer of light provided by a single candle positioned on the cluttered table in front of him. Piles of paperwork were stacked up high on his desk awaiting his inspection, but he ignored them this night. His mind was simply not on the job. Admittedly, the circus finances were no fun at all, and there was never a good time to bury one’s head amongst figures and sums, but he had at least hoped they would serve as some kind of distraction. Instead they were nothing more than one more thing to put off and do tomorrow. The very thoughts he was trying hard
not
to entertain remained stubbornly present at the forefront of his mind. The shutters over his carriage windows were down, and an eerie silence had taken hold within the room. It was rapidly approaching two in the morning, and Quaint’s burst of energy from the night’s adventure at The Black Sheep had subsided, giving way to beleaguered tiredness. As much as he hated to admit it to anyone—least of all himself—he was not a young man any more. He rubbed at the third finger on his left hand and stared into the flickering light of the candle, allowing the golden-amber flame to hypnotise him. He rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. Quaint barely even noticed the gentle knock on his office doorbefore Madame Destine stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with a hot pot of tea and two cups upon it.
‘I thought you would still be awake, my sweet.’ Destine pushed a stack of papers to one side and placed the tray on the corner of Quaint’s desk. ‘You do realise that pile won’t get any smaller the longer it is left, you know. Unless you are trying to perfect a new magic trick to make all the bills disappear.’
‘I think that I would have better luck trying to turn water into wine, Madame,’ Quaint said with a wan smile.
Madame Destine seated herself in a wooden chair opposite him, raised her veil and looked at Quaint intently, her eyes taking in every minute detail of his worn face. She leaned forward to pour tea into his cup, never once removing her gaze from him. After a long pause, she spoke: ‘Is there something on your mind,
mon cheri
?’
‘No, Madame. Why do you ask?’
She blew gently into her teacup as wisps of steam floated to the ceiling. ‘For three reasons; because I know you better than you know yourself, because you cannot hide anything from me, and because I know what the date is today.’
Quaint froze, the teacup suspended in mid-air, inches from his mouth. A hollow
‘Indeed. The suspect is still down in the cells at the moment. I know you weren’t due in until later…but I don’t think we can afford to sit on this for long.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’ asked Dray. ‘Don’t mince your words, Horace; I’ve known you too long. If you’re onto something, then let me in on it! What the hell’s got you so bothered?’
Berry rubbed a hand over his forehead, and slid it over his hair. ‘These murders have been like a bolt from the blue to the folksround here, Commissioner, and if this gets out, God knows what could happen.’
‘Berry, calm down. What are you on about? If what gets out?’
Sergeant Berry toyed anxiously with his earlobe. ‘That’s the reason why I called you in, sir. Just like the others, this poor girl wasn’t just killed; she was mutilated horrifically in a most ungodly manner. Once you see the state of her…you’ll understand what’s got me bothered.’
‘We’ve both seen murder before, Berry; nothing shocks me about that any more.’
‘You might change your mind once you’ve seen her, sir. I think we’ve got a real mess on our hands here, and I don’t have the slightest clue how we’re going to deal with it.’ Berry leaned forwards, pressing his hands flat onto Dray’s desk. ‘Something tells me we’re going to see a hell of a lot more bodies turning up.’
CHAPTER XII
The Thicker Plot
C ORNELIUS QUAINT WAS sitting in near darkness in his office, the only glimmer of light provided by a single candle positioned on the cluttered table in front of him. Piles of paperwork were stacked up high on his desk awaiting his inspection, but he ignored them this night. His mind was simply not on the job. Admittedly, the circus finances were no fun at all, and there was never a good time to bury one’s head amongst figures and sums, but he had at least hoped they would serve as some kind of distraction. Instead they were nothing more than one more thing to put off and do tomorrow. The very thoughts he was trying hard
not
to entertain remained stubbornly present at the forefront of his mind. The shutters over his carriage windows were down, and an eerie silence had taken hold within the room. It was rapidly approaching two in the morning, and Quaint’s burst of energy from the night’s adventure at The Black Sheep had subsided, giving way to beleaguered tiredness. As much as he hated to admit it to anyone—least of all himself—he was not a young man any more. He rubbed at the third finger on his left hand and stared into the flickering light of the candle, allowing the golden-amber flame to hypnotise him. He rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. Quaint barely even noticed the gentle knock on his office doorbefore Madame Destine stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with a hot pot of tea and two cups upon it.
‘I thought you would still be awake, my sweet.’ Destine pushed a stack of papers to one side and placed the tray on the corner of Quaint’s desk. ‘You do realise that pile won’t get any smaller the longer it is left, you know. Unless you are trying to perfect a new magic trick to make all the bills disappear.’
‘I think that I would have better luck trying to turn water into wine, Madame,’ Quaint said with a wan smile.
Madame Destine seated herself in a wooden chair opposite him, raised her veil and looked at Quaint intently, her eyes taking in every minute detail of his worn face. She leaned forward to pour tea into his cup, never once removing her gaze from him. After a long pause, she spoke: ‘Is there something on your mind,
mon cheri
?’
‘No, Madame. Why do you ask?’
She blew gently into her teacup as wisps of steam floated to the ceiling. ‘For three reasons; because I know you better than you know yourself, because you cannot hide anything from me, and because I know what the date is today.’
Quaint froze, the teacup suspended in mid-air, inches from his mouth. A hollow
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