by Adam Drake
Starting from the back door we searched the yard. The cobblestone ground showed no footprints. A line of Elicia's laundry blew in the wind. She would never take them down now.
I wanted to speak with the neighbor again so leaving Fairfax to watch the townhouse I went next door. After an initial shock and fluttering of hands the neighbor woman, named Farrah, let me in and sat me on a tiny couch. She sat across from me, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“You are sure she is dead?” Farrah asked, eyes wide in bewilderment.
“I'm afraid so,” I said. I gave her a few more moments, and asked. “You said you saw her a couple days ago? Could you be more specific?”
Farrah sniffled and snorted into a handkerchief. “Yes. It must have been two evenings past that I saw her coming back from the store with a bag of groceries. We exchanged pleasantries, and she went in.”
I considered the packed suitcases on Elicia's bed. “Do you know if Elicia was planning a trip? Or intended to go somewhere for a visit?”
This question befuddled Farrah even more but just when I worried she was going to breakdown again she said, “Well, she told me she was going to sell a book.”
“A book?”
“Yeah. Not sure what she was going on about. Kind of a simple girl, homely like. But she was positive she could get a lot of money for it and she'd leave for the South Islands and never return.”
“Did she mention to whom she was going to sell it?”
Farrah shook her head and cried again.
I told her a constable would be by to take a formal statement and I went back to Elicia's townhouse. The constables had arrived by then and Fairfax sent most out to canvass the neighborhood.
As I entered the kitchen with Fairfax I found Constable Webster looking at Elicia sitting in her stone chair. He scratched at the hair under his cap and said, “Now how are we going to move this one?”
To Fairfax I said, “Look at the teacup. It's empty and unstained. I believe Elicia was waiting for someone to arrive and was drinking. Then she let the person in, probably through the back door and they both sat down here. All this indicates she was familiar with that person.”
“But who?” Fairfax said.
“A buyer for a book she was selling,” I said. “And she thought she'd be paid handsomely for it. The bags upstairs show she was ready to leave after the sale. The buyer, once he received his book, then turned her to stone and left that Mark. He exited out the back and used her keys to lock it behind him.”
“But what book?” Fairfax said.
“That is what I intend to find out. Come Fairfax, we must go talk to Misael Rousset, again, at once.”
CHAPTER TEN
Misael Rousset was closing the store for the day when we pulled up out front. He stood in the open doorway and looked at us with worry.
“Oh, dear,” Misael said as we exited the buggy. “I take it things are not well and fine?”
“Unfortunately, no,” I said. “I'm sorry to inform you that Miss Ipthorn is dead.”
Misael gasped in shock and clutched at his chest. “By the Gods! No!”
Fairfax and I shuffled him into the store and made him sit before he dropped of a heart attack. Misael slumped in the chair, a look of horror on his face. “Oh, that sweet girl. This is terrible. How did it happen? Do you know who did it?”
I shook my head. “We are working on the who, but as to the how, I was hoping maybe your knowledge of the histories may be of assistance.”
Regaining his composure, Misael straightened in his chair and wiped a handkerchief over his face. “Yes. Yes, of course. How may I help?”
I looked at Fairfax who shrugged. I then explained to Misael how both Elicia and Oswall had been turned to stone. With further explanation about what Curator Othmar had told us of Gunther's Stone Talon Misael's expression morphed to one of sheer amazement.
“Gunther's Stone Talon? Been used again? Impossible!” The bookshop owner said.
“And yet there are two victims of its power and we fear there may be more.”
“But there's now way for the Talon to be used other than by Gunther the Ungrateful who is thankfully long dead. And everyone knows he lacked the... er... ability to father children.”
I nodded. “True enough but there might be something which may account for the Talon's reuse.”
“And that is?”
“Elicia was trying to sell a book. A very expensive book which may contain the missing link.”
“Which book is that?” Misael asked.
“I was hoping you might be able tell use, Mr. Rousset. I believe Elicia stole it from your store with the intent to sell it to her killer.”
Misael gaped like a landed fish as he tried to absorb this revelation. “No! Not Elicia. She wouldn't do anything like that to me. Not after all I've done for her.”
“That may be so, but she was having a difficult time financially, as you already told us. It would not be too much of a stretch to allow that she may have decided that selling one of your books would save her from that difficulty.”
Now Misael looked confused, still not willing to accept what Elicia had done.
Fairfax asked, “Are you missing any books?”
Misael blinked at the question. “I don't know. Well, not that I would have noticed. There are quite a bit here.” He looked around at his store and the tens of thousands of volumes. “I'd have to do an inventory. Even my expensive ones number in the thousands.” He motioned to the dozens of large enclosed cabinets. “It would take days, weeks even to go through them and check against my inventory list.”
Fairfax said, “I can get the boys to come in, start to sift through this lot with Mr. Rousset's list.”
For the first time in my life I regretted the sight of so many wonderful books in one place. The undertaking would be horrendous and in the meantime there could be other victims of the Stone Talon.
Hopeful for some guidance I looked at the knitting bag. To my grand relief the clasp was brass.
Fairfax noticed my expression. “What? They want to come out again so soon? Is that a record for one day?”
“No, not a record, thankfully.” I put the satchel on the ground.
Misael looked at our exchange, befuddled. “Might I ask what you two are going on about?”
Fairfax smiled at him, “Stand back, Mr. Rousset, and you will see for yourself.”
I exposed the knitting bag and touched the clasp. It yawned open and began to wiggle.
“Oh, my dear!” Misael said and recoiled in the chair.
A cat's head appeared. This one was orange with white spots.
I asked the cat, “What book did Elicia Ipthorn steal?”
The cat did not move. It only watched me with an intent stare.
Fairfax asked Misael, “Sir, if we knew which cabinet the book was stored in would that help you narrow the search?”
Misael was staring wide eye at the cat, but turned to answer Fairfax. “Well, yes, it would. But what can a cat do to help? Strange place to keep a cat if you ask me. Cruel even.”
Fairfax chuckled.
This time I asked the cat, “From which cabinet did Elicia Ipthorn steal a book?”
The cat launched itself from the bag startling Misael who yelped in fright. The orange cat trotted over to one of the smaller heavy oak cabinets.
“Your cat is well trained, Detective, but I don't see how it will -”, he stopped talking as he watched.
The cat lifted one paw and touched the cabinet door. There was an audible click as the lock came undone, then the door swung open on its own.
“By the Gods!” Misael proclaimed in astonishment.
Inside the cabinet were rows of drawers. The cat moved closer and stared up at a drawer near the top. That drawer also clicked and slid open. Then the cat scampered back to the satchel and vanished into the bag with a jump.
Misael stared in utter disbelief. His eyes went from the bag to me, then to the bag again. “That's... that's the Bag of
Infinite Cats.” He regarded me, awestruck. “That means you're the direct descendant of -”, he said before I interrupted.
“Who I am descended from means nothing at this moment as there is a murderer running around the town.”
Misael still stared at me in amazement.
Frustrated, I said, “Please, Mr. Rousset, if you will?” I motioned to the cabinet.
The bookshop keeper snapped out of his trance. “Yes. Yes, of course. Let's take a look.” He walked to the cabinet but gave me a frightened glance.
He would be happy to pay me a gold piece for that little show, I thought with mild amusement.
Misael looked into the open cabinet. “Empty,” he said, his brow furrowing. He removed a clipboard from the cabinet's inner paneling and ran a finger down a list. He stopped, with a look of confusion. “Well, that is peculiar.”
“What is?” I asked.
“There is a missing book, but not one of any real value. The title roughly translates to Magical Sources and Rebirths. Mad Scribe Perrick Faywin was the author. It is almost complete gibberish, something even the most ardent translator would be unable to decipher beyond bits and pieces of text.”
“Magical Sources and Rebirths,” I said. “Do you have any idea what it contained?” And why someone would kill for it?
“Yes, well, not much is known about it. From the fragments of sentences which could be understood Perrick had a fascination with breaking magic down to its most basic essence. He believed any spell or item could have its magical elements reversed. But nothing of the sort can be done, or has been done. Not even at the Citadel. It's an impossibility.”
I let this information sink into my tired old brain for a moment. “Might such a theory result in an artifact having its soul-bound limitation broken? So it could be bound to someone else?”
Misael eyebrows beetled on his forehead. “Well, perhaps. But we are dealing with the fanciful ravings of a lunatic. Perrick was not known for being sane. He was called the Mad Scribe after all.”
My thoughts raced with the potential implications of this.
When Fairfax noticed my distraction he asked Misael, “How long was this book in your possession?”
“Oh, a little over a week. Picked it up as part of a lot sale at the auction house.”
“Did anyone bid against you?”
“No one. But that is typical. There is little interest in books as an investment now a days.”
Until now, I thought. “Did anyone come to your store and ask for the book?”
Misael's face froze. “Oh, by the Gods. Yes! A man came in about four days ago and asked for the tome by name. He was a strange one, too.”
“Can you describe him?” Fairfax asked.
“He was tall and skinny. Wore all black clothing. Funny looking nose, too. Long and hook shaped. But that wasn't what was strange about him.”
Tired of waiting for a straight answer I asked, “What was strange?”
“Well, he wore make-up.”
“Make-up?” Fairfax said.
“Yes, white make-up all over his face. He looked to be a mime on a shopping trip. It made me assume he had a condition of the skin which needed the outrageous application.”
“And he offered to buy the book?” I asked.
“Yes, but I refused to sell it to him.”
“Why is that?”
“After only spending a few moments with the man I realized I just didn't like him. And when I refused he raised his price. Double, then triple! Still, even though the money would have been useful, his desperation to obtain the book put me off. I told him it was not for sale and asked him to leave.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Unfortunately, no. Though by his demeanor, I suspect it would have been as fake as his face.”
“What happened when you asked him to leave?”
“Well, he ranted and raved, calling me unprofessional and then left. I pushed out the entire incident from my mind.” He looked at the empty drawer with realization dawning on his face. “And now I see that by my refusing to sell him that book has resulted in Elicia losing her life. The poor woman.”
I did not argue the last point. “Was Elicia here during this exchange?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Then I think either he approached her about purchasing the tome, or she contacted him somehow.”
Misael shook his head. “I'd suspect the former. Poor Elicia wasn't the brightest girl. The notion to steal from me was beyond her realm of capability. She had to have been coerced.”
“That is a possibility,” I said, though mostly to make the man feel a little better.
“But how did Elicia get the book from the cabinet? The keys are always on my person.”
“I believe your love of tea was how she did it.”
“What do you mean?” Misael asked.
“I found a bottle of sleep berries at her townhouse. It would not have been a stretch for her to drop one in your tea and wait until you fell asleep to take the keys from you. Then after she stole the book, and secreted it away, she returned them.”
Misael went silent, hurt by the betrayal of one he trusted.
As Fairfax and I were leaving Misael said, “Please. As a favor to me and poor Elicia, find this man and make him pay for what he has done.” There was anger in this gentle man's eyes.
“Of that, Mr. Rousset,” I said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We left the bookshop keeper with his regrets and returned to the buggy.
“So we need to find a tall, rude, skinny man covered in all black attire and wearing women's make-up,” Fairfax said. “Should not take us long.”
“I admit our list of suspects is still as non-existent as when we started. But this revelation about the book Elicia stole provides a few answers,” I said.
“How so?”
“The suspect stole the Talon from the museum, but could not use it. It was inert. So the suspect tries to get the Magic Sources & Rebirth book from Rousset. Maybe he did not know of its existence until after the auction. When he could not purchase the book he manipulated Elicia into stealing it.”
Fairfax nodded. “He meets her at her home, going through the back door at night. Then he... turns her to stone?”
I held up a finger. “Not yet. The Talon is still useless at that point. So he checks the book to confirm its validity, finds the spell within its pages and reads it somehow. He must be versed in the language. The spell works, breaks the soul-binding on the Talon from Gunther the Ungrateful, and binds it to himself.”
“How do you bind an artifact?”
“By touch,” I said, and did not want to get into the details for which I was familiar. “So once the artifact is bound to him his first act is to test the Talon on poor Elicia.”
“As she was drinking her tea, daydreaming of her future life in the South Islands.”
“Yes, but why he would desire the Talon, specifically, is beyond me. If he wanted to kill someone using a pistol would work just as well.”
“But less grand a spectacle.”
I shrugged, “As to his true motivations for trying to obtain the Talon and get it bound to himself, I am at a loss.”
Fairfax said, “So why kill Oswall?”
“He must have found a connection to the suspect, or was getting too close for comfort. Then he was lured to Muddy Way on some pretext and turned to stone.”
“Oswall knew of Elicia. Wrote her name on that card for a reason. How did he make the connection between the museum burglary and Elicia? There must be an overlap.”
I pondered that. “He was pulling on a thread we missed.” Then I sighed. “Ah, Fairfax we've gotten ourselves tangled up in some ugly business. It makes me tired.”
“Let's report in at the Constabulary, then I will take you home. We will pick up first thing in the morning. And I will bring biscuits this time.”
That made me laugh, which was what I needed.
We drove bac
k to the Constabulary as the sun was setting on the horizon. As we turned into the lot there was a large open backed truck parked there. A small crane atop it was lowering something wrapped in canvas to the ground. Constable Webster was supervising, shouting instructions to two men working the crane.
He nodded to us as we approached. “Finally managed to get him here in one piece. Took a bit of work, too.”
