“Don’t interrupt me while I’m apologizing. It’s bad form.”
Mattie glanced at Luthor with a suppressed smile. Luthor seemed far less humored having Simon back, though the apothecary had to admit that their conversation was reminiscent of days gone by.
“Your words struck a cord within me, Luthor,” Simon explained. When the apothecary seemed surprised, Simon continued, “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve spent the past few days taking a much more active role in solving these murders. I’ve done what I can on my own but could use your research as well. I presume you have notes on the cases, beyond the folders I’ve kept at my house?”
Luthor finally smiled and motioned toward the sitting room. “Of course, sir. They’ve been awaiting your intricately deductive mind. What sort of investigation have you conducted, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The apothecary led Simon into the room, helping the Inquisitor past the larger obstacles against which Simon seemed keen to bump, and showed him his seat.
“I’ve spent the past few days walking every inch of Solomon’s Way, exploring the district from every angle in an attempt to find the culprit behind these murders. I think that I’m close, but could use your book-learning—and the rest of the clues you’ve collected—to connect the pieces of this dreadfully complex puzzle.”
From the table, Luthor retrieved the notebook onto which he had written many of the clues and his notes from the night before. He explained their findings—the footprint and mud, the sewer entrance, the ooze-like blood on the wall, and their speculation that the killer operated from the edge of the river—while Simon read through Luthor’s handwritten notes. Simon nodded along intently, though Luthor wasn’t sure how much the Inquisitor heard. His eyes flickered quickly over the page and the apothecary knew from experience that Simon was likely tuning out all other sounds from the room as his mind began to work.
Another knock at the door jarred Luthor from his conversation, though Simon continued reading unabashed. Mattie peered out the window and glanced toward the front stoop. She was smiling as she turned back.
“It appears our doctor has made it after all.”
Excitedly, Luthor hurried toward the foyer. He opened the door, and the tall doctor stepped into the townhouse. Gesturing toward the sitting room, Luthor drew the doctor’s attention to their unexpected visitor.
“It appears that the elusive Inquisitor Whitlock has now joined us on our investigation,” the apothecary explained.
Casan smiled, though it seemed forced. He walked into the sitting room and paused before the table, extending his hand in greeting. “It’s an honor to have you joining us in the investigation.”
Simon glanced up from his reading but didn’t shake the doctor’s hand. Casan’s hand lingered for a moment longer before dropping back to his side. Luthor frowned at the exchange and quickly interceded. “Tell us, Youke, what did you find in Solomon’s Way?”
The doctor’s gaze lingered on the Inquisitor, who hadn’t offered another glance in Casan’s direction. Turning away, the doctor smiled toward Luthor and Mattie. “I managed to isolate the blood in the sample you provided and its identity I shall reveal to you in a moment. As for the location of our killer’s home, I’m sorry, but I found nothing of use. I scoured the Way from one end to the other, examining not only the businesses along the river but also those across the street, but found no doctor’s offices or veterinary services in that area.”
Simon set down the notebook noisily before standing abruptly. “Nor would you, since our killer is neither a doctor nor a veterinarian. Though, truth be told, I wouldn’t have expected any other assumption from you, Doctor.”
Casan scowled at the interruption. “Have I done something to offend you?”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest defensively, but took a deep breath and seemed to noticeably relax before continuing. “I don’t much care for you, Doctor. I believe the cause is a sense of professional jealousy. Based solely from Luthor’s glowing description of you, I believe you are perhaps the only man I’ve met recently who is my intellectual equal. However, your knowledge lacks refinement, which is why you have overlooked the more glaring possibilities in this case.”
“Was that an apology?” Casan indignantly asked.
“As near a one as I’ve ever heard offered,” Luthor interjected, again trying to diffuse the volatile situation. The apothecary glared at Simon, clearly urging him to put more effort into his halfhearted apology.
Simon cleared his throat. “Doctor Casan, I fear I have wronged you through omission. I had chosen to ignore the knowledge you possess because of your juvenile interpretations of said knowledge. Please accept my apologies.”
Casan looked flabbergasted toward the apothecary.
Luthor shrugged. “I would accept the offer, were I you.”
With a sigh, Youke turned back toward Simon. “Apology accepted.”
“Excellent,” Simon replied before dropping heavily back onto the couch, the strain of standing upright clearly overwhelming him.
Youke, Luthor, and Mattie likewise sat, encircling the small table between them. Casan leaned back with feigned disinterest as he spoke. “If we’ve overlooked the more glaring possibilities, as you’ve stated, then please enlighten us.”
Simon nodded. “From reading the notes and perusing the case files hundreds of times to better understand our killer, I’ve come to realize that we are not dealing with a single killer, but rather two.”
Casan chortled derisively. “We’ve already come to the same conclusion, one the public face who can move freely through Solomon’s Way, while the other is the brutish thug who moves solely by means of the sewers beneath the city.”
“Indeed you have, as I’ve deduced from Luthor’s scrawled notes. However, I do not believe that both killers are human. I believe that our second killer, the giant whom attacked Miss Hawke, is something other than a man.”
“We surmised as much ourselves,” Luthor said. “The giant is too large to be a man. Were you thinking that he’s, perhaps, an abomination from the Rift?”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t believe our giant is another incursion from the Rift, but rather the work of a man’s hand. Are you familiar with the tales of the Golem?”
“The Golem of legend was created by religious zealots, persecuted for their faith but too weak to stand against their oppressors directly,” Simon explained as he leaned forward in his chair. “Instead, they crafted clay into the likeness of a man, taller than any of the priests gathered. Calling upon the holy might of their God, they demanded the Golem be imbued with the spark of life, that it rise from its place of creation and defend the zealots from those who would do them harm. Such was the power of their belief that the Golem did rise. It towered over the priests, its power undeniable, as strong as ten men. It marched from the temple and slaughtered the invaders to a man before crumbling to dust.”
Luthor, Casan, and Mattie seemed transfixed by the brief story, all their minds awhirl with possibilities. They began speaking at once, asking question upon question. Simon raised his hand to silence them all.
“One at a time, please.”
“Are you saying that our killer is a priest?” Luthor asked.
Simon shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Luthor. Do keep in mind that our second killer is likely the Golem’s creator. It’s hardly becoming of a man of the cloth to be a cold-blooded killer. Besides, this story is just a parable, a fairy tale told to get children to sleep at night, as my own parents did when I was young. ‘Go to bed or else the Golem will come for you. No locked door or window can stop a beast made of mud.’”
“Then what makes you believe this giant is a Golem at all?” Casan asked.
“I had my suspicions after perusing one of my Inquisitor tomes on superhuman beasts, but I didn’t until I arrived here this very morning. It was Luthor who first made me believe that we are looking at a manmade creation, something of flesh and metal, fused together in an am
algamation of evil intent.”
“Me, sir?” Luthor asked.
Simon nodded. “It was when you described for me the ooze that you discovered splattered on the alley’s wall. Meat and metal was how you described it, was it not? It’s even here in your notes. Do you have that sample with you?”
Luthor stood and walked to the mantle, upon which his doctor’s bag currently rested. Opening the bag, he pulled from it a vial, the contents of which were ochre in color. Despite his vigorous shaking, the contents moved very little within the jar. With the stopper still in place, Luthor handed the sample to the Inquisitor.
Simon uncorked the vial at once and raised it to his nose, breathing deeply the fumes emanating from the sample. He closed his eyes as he attempted to discern its individual components.
“If this is the blood of a Golem,” Luthor said, “then could this be a reagent of sorts or some other mystical component in the Golem’s creation?”
Ignoring Luthor’s question, Simon dipped a finger into the gelatin. Pulling his finger from the vial, he examined the sample under the electric lights. Abruptly, he brought his finger to his mouth and licked the ooze. The other three stared at the Inquisitor, appalled by what they had just seen.
“It’s lard,” Simon proclaimed, “mixed with a faint metallic aftertaste. It’s hardly mystical in nature; more likely than not it’s used as a lubricant.”
“Was that absolutely necessary?” Mattie asked, her color pale. “Couldn’t you have come to that determination without putting it in your mouth?”
“Of course not, Matilda. Don’t be silly.”
“You’ve done a masterful job of identifying one of the two culprits,” Casan chided, “but we’re still no closer to identifying the Golem’s master, if that is what we’re facing.”
“On the contrary,” Simon said, “all the clues we need are right here before us, for those keen enough to connect the proverbial dots. Answer me this, Doctor. The blood that you isolated from the mud, was it either porcine or bovine?”
The doctor arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Porcine. How did you know?”
Simon turned the notebook toward the doctor, on the page of which the Inquisitor had circled Luthor’s notes about the killer’s skill with a blade, insinuating a medical background. “Your instinct serves you well, Doctor, but the simple facts elude the complexities of your mind. You have such a high regard for the medical profession, being a professional yourself that you find it hard to believe that someone so skilled with a blade could exist outside the world of medicine. A doctor is not the only man capable of wielding a blade or removing meat from bone. Tell me, who else would be skilled with a blade and whose waste would include porcine blood?”
“A butcher,” Mattie answered, sufficiently impressed.
Casan snapped in the air. “The map, if you please, Luthor.”
“There’s no need,” Simon interjected. He unfurled his own map and laid it across the table. Numerous buildings were marked on the map, a clear indication of how the Inquisitor had spent his last few days. “I believe you’ll find the answer on my map.”
As the map was laid out before him, the doctor’s eyes flew across the page until they settled on a square structure on the drawn map. He tapped it with the tip of his pencil. “Mercer and Son Butcher. I walked past their shop twice this week and hardly gave it a second glance. Right there on the waterfront, right in front of our collective noses the whole time.”
Simon smiled. “I believe you’ll find that the mud beyond the walls of the butcher’s will be stained with the blood of the slaughtered animals, a match for the dark mud you discovered in the alleyway.”
Casan looked up excitedly from the map. “We should take this to the constabulary at once,” the doctor offered, but Simon shook his head.
“This is our crime to solve.”
“What do we know about the, presumably, father and son who own the shop?” Mattie asked.
Casan shook his head. “Nearly nothing, I’m afraid. I don’t frequent their business, though I know where I could find out more. If you could give me an hour to query the constables, I shall have everything we need to confront these killers.”
“I agree,” Luthor added. “I’m hardly prepared as I am to face such a beast.”
“Very well,” Simon said, turning the map toward him so he could further examine the marked shop along the water’s edge. “We’ll meet at the police station in one hour’s time, assuming that’s sufficient time for everyone to prepare.”
The others all nodded their consent. Casan stood and extended his hand once more, which Simon this time took. “I’m glad to be working with you again, Inquisitor,” Casan said, without the telltale sarcasm that had been in his tone previously.
“And I you, Doctor,” Simon said.
The doctor hurried to the foyer with Luthor in tow. As Youke left, the apothecary locked the door behind him.
Mattie stood as Luthor walked back into the room. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’d like to prepare for my second time facing this monster. He got the better of me last time, but rest assured our next meeting will be quite different.”
Simon stood as Mattie excused herself. She hurried up the stairs, the sound of her footfalls following her to her bedroom overhead. When they were finally alone, Luthor walked back to the table and sat in his chair, facing the Inquisitor. He stared at Simon, though the man hardly looked up from the map.
Luthor cleared his throat to get Simon’s attention. “Sir, in the heat of the moment things were said between us, things that can never be taken back once issued. I would hope that you know everything I said was done with your best interests at heart.”
Simon looked up slowly from the paper before him, his lips thin and bloodless. The Inquisitor smoothed his thin moustache. “Of course. I don’t hold you accountable for the things that were said in anger. In fact, your words cut through the din of my depression. I dare say I wouldn’t be sitting here now were it not for your insistence.”
Releasing a pent-up sigh of relief, Luthor smiled. “Beneath your gruff exterior truly does beat a warm heart, sir. No matter the words said between us, please do know that I’m dreadfully sorry for your loss, I truly am.”
Simon calmly folded the map before retrieving the notebook he had cleared from the table. He stacked the papers together neatly before returning his gaze to the apothecary.
“I know that when you look at me, Luthor, you see an emotionless automaton.”
Luthor nodded. “At times, sir. If I understand you correctly, though, you’re trying to tell me that you’re far more like an onion, with layers?”
Simon furrowed his brow in confusion. “Nonsense, my good man, I am an emotionless automaton, not at all much different from the Golem we seek.” He shrugged as he considered Luthor’s question. “Though I believe the onion analogy might be apropos, since I’m likely to make you cry.”
Luthor couldn’t suppress a laugh. “It’s good to have you back, sir.”
The street in front of the Solomon’s Way police station was mildly busy by the time Simon and his cohorts reached it. People went about their business, entering the nearby pubs for an early lunch. A single man refused to move with the rest of the flowing pedestrian traffic. Doctor Casan stood stoically beside the precinct steps, craning his neck over the crowd as he watched for the others.
Simon saw the doctor before the doctor saw him and the Inquisitor led Luthor and Mattie to the tall, lanky man’s side.
“Doctor,” Simon said as they pressed themselves against the wall to avoid the passing people.
“Inquisitor,” Casan replied.
“I do hope you’re now adequately prepared for what’s to come next.”
The doctor nodded. He pulled aside his jacket to reveal a pistol concealed beneath. It was shoved haphazardly into the doctor’s belt and jutted at an odd angle, one that Simon knew would make it hard to draw when the time came. Simon pushed the man’s jacket closed once more, afraid of
startling the passersby.
“Do you know how to use that?” the Inquisitor asked.
Casan frowned. “I have only the most rudimentary understanding, to be honest. I’m far more comfortable with a scalpel.”
“The pistol will serve you better should we need it, though I’d prefer you remain behind us as we proceed.”
“You will get no argument from me,” Youke replied. “I took the liberty of querying the constables about Mason and Sons.”
“What did you find about our mysterious pair?” Luthor asked as he tapped his cane impatiently on the ground, feeling that he should interject himself into the conversation at some point, rather than let the two intellectuals continue their wayward discussion. The apothecary glanced at Mattie, but she shook her head, clearly content remaining unseen near the back of the group.
“There is no pair,” Casan explained, “at least not any more. Thomas Mason founded the butchers nearly twenty years ago and his son, Peter, joined him in the family business nearly a decade later. Thomas suffered a heart attack three years ago, leaving the business solely in the capable hands of his only son.”
“Then Peter is our second killer?” Luthor asked.
“It would appear so,” Simon replied. “Did you, perchance, learn anything more about the son?”
Casan nodded. “I did, though only the most trivial of facts: a physical description and little else. As is the propensity of his profession, he’s stocky but not necessarily short. Peter is in his early thirties and is in great health for his age. Beyond that, I apologize that information wasn’t very forthcoming.”
“It will do,” Simon remarked. “Gather your belongings. It’s time to confront Peter Mason and his monstrous creation.”
They pushed their way through the crowd though, admittedly, many people moved out of the way of the odd party. Perhaps it was more the determined and severe expression on Simon’s face that moved people aside. In either case, the group quickly approached Riverbend Street, which ran the edge of the canal through Solomon’s Way and into Eden’s Grove. There was only a smattering of people in the streets this far away from the main thoroughfare. Though assorted shops lined the canal, they were mostly produce and goods that would be far more desirable after a long day’s work, rather than something to be purchased during a short lunch break.
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