by C. J. Archer
“So I see,” she said softly. “Tell me, Mr. Glass, do you think the shooting yesterday was related to my husband’s murder?”
“What else could it be?”
Her face paled and she clutched the edge of the counter.
“But I’m quite sure I was the intended target,” Matt quickly reassured her. “Someone wanted to warn us to stop investigating.”
She blew out a breath. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
“You’re not in danger,” I told her.
She gave me a relieved smile, but I could not return it. “Do you have more questions about what I saw yesterday or about my husband’s murder?”
“The latter,” Matt said. “Can you tell us more about the time Lord Coyle came here?”
“Who?”
“The gentleman with the long white moustache.”
“He bought a toy, but I can’t recall what it was. My husband served him. I was rearranging shelves.”
“When was this?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Some weeks ago. Perhaps even months. I can’t be more certain than that, I’m afraid. Why is it important? Do you think he killed my husband?”
“Why did you initially say he was here in the days before your husband’s death? Why single him out?”
“I—I don’t know. I was confused.” She touched her temple. “My mind has been somewhat muddled since that night.” A customer entered and Mrs. Trentham straightened. “Is there anything else?”
“Thank you. That’s all for now. Have a good day.”
Matt led the way to the door then waited as the others filed out. I didn’t follow. I removed my glove and passed the automaton knight, letting my fingers brush against the metal. It was warm. Warmer than the other toys in the shop.
“Mrs. Trentham, has anyone taken particular notice of this automaton lately?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It usually captures the attention of most who come in, particularly children. It’s a very striking toy.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
I rushed past Matt to be first outside the doorway and checked the vicinity before ushering him to our waiting carriage. I didn’t breathe again until he was safely ensconced in the cabin with the door closed.
“That automaton shouldn’t be allowed on the shop floor,” Willie said, rubbing her wrist.
Duke took her hand and studied the bruise. His face turned grave. “Aye. What if it attacked a child?”
Matt went to open the window, but I slapped his hand away. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Telling Woodall to take us home. Do you have a better idea?”
“I do, as it happens. We should visit Mirnov again. The automaton felt warmer than the other toys in the shop that have magic in them. The magic in it is stronger.”
“You think Mirnov spoke a spell into it, not Trentham?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“It’s certainly worth exploring since we appear to be at a dead end. I’ll tell Woodall to go to Brick Lane.”
I slapped his hand again as he reached past me for the latch. “Stay away from the window. I’ll give Woodall his instructions.”
We arrived at Brick Lane twenty minutes later. The toymaker groaned when he saw us approaching through the market stalls. “Are you expecting trouble?” He eyed Cyclops up and down. While they were of a height, Mr. Mirnov was a twig where Cyclops was the trunk of a mature oak.
“We’ve just come from Trentham’s toyshop,” I said as my gaze swept past him. We had not been followed, but we needed to stay alert. “There’s a life-sized suit of armor near the back. Have you seen it?”
“No. Why?”
“It contains magic.”
“So Trentham put his magic into it.” He shrugged and gave me an expectant look.
“It was stronger magic than that in the other toys.”
“As strong as this?” He picked up a spinning top from his cart and handed it to me.
I removed my glove and closed my fingers around it. It was warm. Warmer than Trentham’s toys, except for the automaton. “Yes.” I held out the spinning top, but he didn’t accept it. He simply stared at me.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Glass?”
I nodded. “There are—were—only two toy magicians in London. You and Mr. Trentham. If the magic in that automaton wasn’t his, it must be yours.”
He took back the top. “It’s not,” he growled. “You must believe me, Mrs. Glass. I have not put magic into an automaton suit of armor. What sort of toy magician would make such an object anyway? It sounds frightening.”
A group of small children shyly approached the cart, and Mr. Mirnov bent to their level to speak to them. We hurried back to the carriage. With no further ideas about our next movements, we drove home.
Fabian was there, talking with Aunt Letitia in the drawing room. He looked relieved to see us and greeted us enthusiastically. “How is your investigation coming along?” he asked as he sat again.
“Which one?” I asked. “The theft or the murder?”
Aunt Letitia made a sound of protest and rose. “I have some correspondence to attend to. Excuse me, Mr. Charbonneau.”
The men stood and returned to their seats once she was gone.
“The theft, of course,” Fabian said to me.
“It’s not going very well.”
“And the murder?”
“Also not well.” I sighed. “We suspect Coyle is involved somehow, but proving it won’t be easy.”
Fabian turned to Matt. “You are very quiet, Glass. Do you have an idea of how to get the truth from that cur?”
“No.”
Fabian frowned. “But something is on your mind, yes?”
“He was shot at yesterday,” Willie said.
“Mon dieu! Thank God you are not hurt.”
“His magic watch saved his life.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Then thank God for magic. You must be very shaken.”
“We are,” I said, also frowning at Matt. He drummed his fingers on the chair arm and stared into the middle distance. “Is something the matter?”
His gaze focused again. “I was just thinking about the automaton. What do you think it was made of?”
“Metal,” Duke said.
“Tin,” Cyclops countered.
Matt turned to Fabian. “Do you know any tin magicians?”
“No. Why?”
I told him about the automaton at Trentham’s toyshop, and how the magic in it was stronger than the rest of the toys, meaning it probably wasn’t Trentham’s magic. “The only other toy magician in London denies it was his magic in that automaton.”
Fabian’s breath caught. He passed a hand over his jaw and down to the column of his throat. “You think it killed Trentham?”
My blood chilled. I hadn’t thought of that, but clearly Matt had, if the absence of surprise on his face was a sign.
“I reckon it could have.” Willie rubbed her wrist. “That thing was strong.”
“It was mindless,” I told her. “It needs magic to make it work and the right kind of magician to infuse magic through it. That’s the flaw in your idea, Matt. A tin magician can’t make an automaton work, just like a brass magician can’t make a clock run on time even though it contains brass components.”
“Brass is an alloy of copper and zinc,” Cyclops said.
Willie hissed at him to be quiet. “That ain’t the point.”
“The automaton is more than its tin shell,” I went on. “Its mechanism is made up of different components. Only a toy magician can make it move without turning a key, just as only a watch magician can make a timepiece work perfectly.”
Fabian suddenly sat forward, his eyes bright. “Both of you are right. A tin magician cannot make an automaton move. But a tin magician with our new spell can.”
“The flying spell?” Duke asked.
“Moving spell. We chose to use it to make a carpet fly, but it can be used to move anything containing the magic of another magi
cian. In this instance, an automaton made mostly of tin. The metal of its components will be insignificant in quantity for any other type of magician to make it move.” Fabian’s gaze settled on me. “You must find a tin magician, India.”
I rose and all the men followed suit. Willie remained seated, shaking her head. “Can’t any magician make it move with your new spell? Why does it need to be a tin magician?”
Fabian tapped the rug with the toe of his shoe. “Just as I could not make the carpet fly on its own, just my iron rods, a magician who is not a tin magician or toymaker magician cannot make the automaton move.”
“Unless their magic is as strong as India’s,” Matt pointed out. “Then it wouldn’t matter what type of magician they are or what type of object they are trying to move.”
Fabian smiled at me.
“But there ain’t none like her,” Willie said, finally standing. “Come on. We’ve got to find us a tin magician. Any ideas how we do that?”
“Oscar,” I said at the same time Matt said, “Barratt.”
Willie fastened her jacket buttons. “Then let’s visit him now before lunch.”
Fabian bade us farewell on the front steps of our townhouse just as Detective Inspector Brockwell alighted from a hansom. We invited him to join us, and filled him in on what we’d learned so far as we drove to Oscar’s place of residence. He sighed heavily when we mentioned the likelihood of a tin magician moving the automaton with the stolen spell.
“Is that a problem?” Matt asked.
Brockwell sighed again. “Just once I’d like an investigation that didn’t involve magic.”
“We were always sure this one involved magic.”
“I know. Sometimes I just miss the old days where the criminals were merely brutes fueled by liquor, carnal desire or petty disputes.”
Willie barked a laugh. “You love this, Jasper. Admit it. You were bored before we came along.”
Brockwell’s lips twitched, the closest he ever came to actually smiling. “I suppose you’re right.” The smile quickly vanished, replaced by a frown directed at Matt. “Should you be venturing out of doors, Glass, considering someone shot you?”
Matt turned a frosty glare onto him. “Say that again and you can walk.”
Brockwell’s Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow and he made a point of looking out the window. “I wonder if we’ll get snow tonight.”
We arrived at Oscar’s accommodation only to be told by his landlady that he wasn’t at home and hadn’t been home all night. We tried Louisa’s townhouse next where she invited us inside, confirming that Oscar was there. I was wildly curious as to whether he’d spent the night but could never ask. Besides, she’d never admit it. The damage to her reputation if it got out would be catastrophic. Not that Louisa would greatly care. She wasn’t looking to make a match with a suitable nobleman, nor did she want to mix in society. Still, the gossip might upset the elderly aunt she lived with.
The aunt was nowhere in sight, which meant we could speak freely. Louisa sent the ancient butler away after he’d fetched Oscar, and we sat in the drawing room with the door closed.
“You look well, India,” Oscar said as we sat.
“Thank you.”
Ordinarily I would make a comment that he looked well too, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie. He seemed harried, and the shadows under his eyes dark against the stark white of the rest of his face. His hair was unkempt and his tie crooked, but it was the ink stained fingers of his right hand that drew my attention.
When she saw me looking, Louisa placed a hand over his, clasping it as a loving fiancée would. “Considering the Inspector’s presence, I assume this is not a social call.”
“We need to ask Barratt about tin magicians,” Matt said. “Do you know any, Barratt?”
“Tin?” Oscar shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Why do you need a tin magician?”
Matt didn’t respond so Oscar turned to me.
“We’re investigating the murder of Mr. Trentham,” I said.
Oscar placed his other hand over Louisa’s. “We read about it in the newspaper and wondered if you were looking into it. So he was murdered because of his magic?”
“We don’t know.”
“We must look at all possibilities,” Brockwell added. “It would seem a tin magician may have wielded the murder weapon.”
Oscar’s brows shot up. “What was the murder weapon?”
No one answered him.
“I see,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I don’t know any tin magicians.”
Louisa slipped her hand out from between his and leaned forward. “How is your spell making with Fabian coming along, India?”
“I told you, we have given up.”
“You claimed to do so for Coyle’s benefit, and anyone else in that group whose interest in new spells borders on maniacal.”
“Whereas your interest is purely for the benefit of mankind,” Matt said with chilling idleness.
Her lips thinned with her strained smile. “I am on the side of good, Mr. Glass. I want magicians to thrive and magic to be explored. Have you considered that you are the villain here? You want magic suppressed. I want it to bloom.”
Matt’s hand curled into a fist where it rested on his thigh.
“We have given up,” I said quickly, before the situation escalated. “That was not a lie.”
Louisa leveled her gaze with mine and seemed to be trying to decide if I were telling the truth or not. “Then I am sorry for it. I know that for magicians like you and Fabian, giving up making spells is like me giving up breathing.”
“That’s being a little dramatic,” I said icily. “And why do you presume to know what Fabian or I think?”
“He told me. In fact, that comparison was one he made.”
My gaze flicked to Oscar. His cheek indented, as if he were biting the inside of it, and he stared down at his lap. “Fabian doesn’t speak for me,” I said. “I’m content with my magic as it is.”
“Mr. Barratt,” Brockwell said, “what do you know about curses?”
Oscar blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Curses?”
“Romany curses.”
“Trentham’s murder is linked to a gypsy curse?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
Oscar shifted his weight and stroked his goatee beard. “Some believe curses are a branch of magic, but I’m not so sure. They seem entirely unconnected to me.”
“Both use words,” I pointed out. “Curses are a kind of spell.”
“True, but magic is grounded in an object or natural resource, like a watch, iron or ink. Curses aren’t.”
“Are there any books on the subject?”
“I can do better than a book. I can give you the name of an expert. Indeed, you already know him. Professor Nash can help you.”
Matt rose, apparently not wanting to stay in their presence a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you for your time, Barratt. Louisa.”
“I’ll see you out,” she said, taking my arm. She slowed her pace and we fell behind the others. “How is Fabian?” she whispered.
Oscar, walking a little in front, turned his head to hear.
“He’s well,” I said.
“I’m worried about him. If he has given up creating new spells, he’ll be out of sorts. Are you sure he doesn’t seem unhappy?”
“Louisa, if you’re worried about him, why not visit him yourself?”
She blinked rapidly. “Please tell him I think of him every day.”
Oscar’s shoulders slumped as he looked forward again.
I extricated myself from Louisa and joined him. “How are you?” I asked. “Be honest.”
He gave me a tired smile. “Don’t worry about me, India. I have much to keep me occupied and a marriage to look forward to.”
“The evidence of your occupation is all over your fingers.”
He closed his hand into a fist, hiding the ink stains.
“You’re writing the book, aren’t you?” I leaned closer and checked to see that Louisa was far enough away that she couldn’t hear. She watched us, but Willie had engaged her in conversation several steps behind. “She’s making you work all hours to finish it, isn’t she?”
“I want to write it.”
“But at such a cracking pace? Oscar, you’re working yourself to exhaustion.”
“Louisa makes sure I have enough breaks throughout the day. She’s taking good care of me, don’t worry.”
“Is she? Because from what I see, she doesn’t care for you. She only cares about your book.” I strode off to where Matt waited at the front door, feeling a little sick about how bold I’d been.
But my words wouldn’t have come as a surprise to Oscar. He knew Louisa didn’t love him. He knew she was marrying him so her children could have a chance of being magicians. That didn’t mean I liked letting him know that I knew. It would hurt his masculine pride.
“I thought we were following the tin magician lead,” Duke said when we reached our waiting carriage.
“We still are,” Brockwell said. “But in the absence of a name, we need to follow all leads. Mirnov is still our main suspect, and Mr. Mirnov’s wife put a curse on Trentham.”
Duke glanced at Matt. Matt nodded. “We’ll call on the professor. Hopefully he can enlighten us about tin magic as well as curses.”
Students had not yet returned to University College from the winter break, but staff were on campus to prepare for the resumption of lectures. We found Professor Nash in what must have been the college’s smallest office in the history department. We couldn’t all fit, so Duke and Cyclops volunteered to stay outside and dragged Willie with them.
Professor Nash beamed as he shook Brockwell’s hand after we introduced them, making him seem even younger. With a youthful face, he couldn’t be too old, but his thinning hair made it impossible to tell for sure.
“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Mrs. Glass. And Mr. Glass too, of course.” He indicated we should sit. “I apologize for having only two chairs. It’s a little too tight to fit more.”
Even if he tidied up the stacks of books piled on the floor, there wouldn’t be enough space for another chair. Nor would there be anywhere to put the books anyway. The shelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes, as was the top of the filing cabinet, and the surface of the desk was covered with papers. I sat while Matt and Brockwell remained standing behind me.
