“No need. He was stewing all the evening over my refusal. Now he’s reached a crescendo, with this scuffle, he’ll retreat to lick his wounds. The cycles of his moods are tediously predictable.”
A cheer ascended from the guests; the fire was lit. Conrad and Hedwig proceeded through the crowd and stopped before the blaze. Tomorrow winter would begin. The burning timber crackled. Embers caught the air. The circle of masks glowed red and gold. Hedwig saw a flaming sphere, tumbling through the bonfire, and – recollecting the baby hedgehog, the reality that all babies must have a mother – she leapt forward with a cry, her fingers plunged into the pyre.
Her hand was burnt.
“My sweetness!” Conrad exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
Wincing, Hedwig answered: “Too much fire and moonlight. It’s made me suggestible. I thought an animal was caught in there.”
“Hey, Hedwig!” Daisy shouted from the darkness; Hedwig recognised her voice but couldn’t see her. “Don’t sacrifice yourself!”
“It’s not a bad burn,” Hedwig said, although she wasn’t sure of that at all. “There’s salve and bandages up at the house.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Rieko, from behind the face of a Pierrot. “It’s hard to dress your own hand.”
“Thank you, but please don’t. It’s barely burnt at all,” said Hedwig, who thought that accepting help demeaned her. She wished only to excuse herself, unseen.
It took her ten minutes to reach the house. It would be blessedly quiet and she could inspect the burn in privacy. The side door was open when she arrived, which annoyed her – perhaps all the more because pain had shortened her tolerance. Had Briar been using secret keys again? She had intended to call the locksmith and it slipped her mind… she wouldn’t forget again. Tomorrow morning, first thing, every lock would be replaced.
She pushed the door shut behind her. Through the gloom of the hall she could make out the familiar, dark shapes of pictures on the walls, and the sole item of furniture in this narrow corridor, which was a half-moon table. She also saw that a light bulb, and flex, had been discarded on the rug.
That’s odd. She looked upwards. Someone had yanked the overhead fitting from the ceiling, leaving wires exposed like the roots of a plant. The light had been whole and working when she and Conrad left the house this evening. Who had destroyed it?
Someone who didn’t want to be seen, she thought. Someone who could buy time in the darkness, if they were disturbed.
And yet she did not believe she was in any danger. Not yet. For the obvious culprit was still Briar; it must be him, mustn’t it? Who else had keys? Who else was known to steal from Conrad, and hadn’t the fight left Briar with just the motive he needed? Yes – she was certain it was Briar. Her certainty made her indignant, rather than fearful. Briar knew how to throw a punch and he broke things often enough, but she had expelled him from the house before and she would again.
She turned the corner, into the main entrance hall, and stopped by the suit of armour. She sensed she was not alone – from the acoustics of the room, perhaps; conveying some sound beyond her conscious awareness. Only then did she see, by the spandrel – right before the Paid Mourner’s cage – a shadow that looked as solid as a man.
Fresh doubt stopped Hedwig calling Briar’s name. The shadow must be Briar – could not be otherwise – but did not resemble him. It was too still. It was too erect of posture.
A moonbeam pierced the fanlight, sudden and bright, illuminating the room before her. The man was real. He wore a Volto Larva mask – the face of a ghost, pale and encasing his whole head, which she had seen no one wear at the party. His frock coat was unbuttoned, revealing a dagger at his hip.
Hedwig ceased breathing. He was armed. She stepped backwards, because to turn her back was unthinkable, when this shadow, this ghost, this man might stab her if he knew he had been seen.
He was intent upon the Paid Mourner. Never taking his gaze from the doll, he placed his hands on the latch – the famous, impenetrable latch – and lifted it, as though no barrier would put her beyond his reach.
How had he opened the cage? Hedwig’s mind rebelled against the proof of her eyes. The iron guards of the cage would produce paranoia in any intruder who touched them. Yet they had not deterred this man; and that terrified her more than the wrenched light, more even than the dagger. Because it said he did not feel as normal people do.
The trespasser picked up the Paid Mourner. He cradled the doll in his arms. Conrad’s heirloom, worth two million pounds, had been plucked from her pedestal like a ripe cherry.
He stroked the Paid Mourner’s head with a gloved hand.
Hedwig cried out as though she had been touched.
The man shot round to face her. Under the moonlight, the eyes of his mask were deep and dark.
His free hand unsheathed the dagger. He held it before him, and the doll crushed against his chest, to warn against Hedwig’s approach. She lacked the power for any such thing. Her limbs were frozen.
If he stabbed me now, I could make no move to escape.
He sprinted towards her. As he drew close her legs gave way – she sank to her knees, her hands raised above her head in defence. His coat tail brushed against her skin. The wool raked her weeping palm as he ran on past, from the hall, into the night.
She sobbed, shaking and crouched, uncertain whether he was really gone or might yet return. The clock chimed, and did again a quarter of an hour later, and then a third time, before she tried to stand. With one shoulder to the wall she walked back to the garden.
From the violin music that carried on the breeze she knew the guests had begun dancing. She stumbled into a run, her feet tangling with the thick underskirts of her dress, the burn in her hand raw and screaming. The lacing of her bodice hurt her ribs and still she kept increasing speed, half tripping, half flying in an attempt to leave the empty cage behind her. Her mask slipped as the bow unravelled and she let the Colombina fall to earth.
She only stopped, panting, when she was close enough to identify the dancers – to see the papier mâché cats’ heads, the Scaramuccia, the Bauta. She saw no ghost among them. Might he have swapped faces? Who among the dancers would dare terrorise her in the house?
Dennis was the first to see her. He broke from the dancers, to join her.
“What’s wrong?” he said, urgently. Her disarray must have caused him alarm. He took her by the shoulders. “Hedwig? What’s happened?”
“A man in a Volto Larva mask,” she gabbled. “A ghost! He broke the light! He breached the cage!”
“Slow down, Hedwig; I don’t understand.”
“He stole the Paid Mourner.”
The other dancers didn’t hear Hedwig above the music. Soon, very soon, they would know. They whirled and leapt. Only she and Dennis were still, delaying, for just a while longer, the moment everything would change.
10
That night was a long one. Conrad notified the police, who, when they arrived, insisted that no one leave the grounds. Conrad provided a description of the doll, though when it came to revealing her specific enchantment – a secret hitherto held only by Conrad and his brother – he refused. Why pre-empt the thief by ruining her mystique? She might yet be retrieved, and the thief silenced, particularly if – as Conrad stubbornly maintained – the fae folk were the masterminds behind the crime. The police were unsure how to pursue this angle, and turned their attention to more tangible explanations. They searched the immediate area and questioned everyone, obtaining, in the process, permission to also search the guests’ own properties. It was a logical request, because every party attendant lived on the eyot; one of them may have slipped home with the doll in the forty-five minutes before an alarm had been raised.
At seven in the morning the guests were finally allowed to depart. Larkin proceeded to the Eyot Tavern, looking forward to a long bath. His frock coat smelt of firesmoke and damp. Specks of earth had gathered in his glove fingers. Wine and black c
offee had soured his mouth. On arrival he found that the police had begun ransacking the Tavern, but still needed more time to confirm the doll wasn’t there, which put paid to any thoughts of unwinding. The search team was led by a looming action man, with a thick neck, a soft, meaty complexion, yellow hair, and pale blue eyes. Apparently his name was PC Walcott.
“Will you be long?” Larkin asked. “I was hoping to get out of this costume.”
“It takes as long as it takes,” PC Walcott stated. “We’d all like some sleep. But the ground and first floors have been cleared for use, so you can get yourself some breakfast.”
Larkin went to the kitchen, which was one of the rooms that had been searched already, and left in disorder – much to Mrs Mayhew’s annoyance. He assisted her with re-laying the lino and moving the fridge into position and returning the tinned goods to the cupboards. When they’d finished they sat down with mugs of tea.
“That Stanley Walcott,” Mrs Mayhew said. “I can’t help seeing him as an overgrown boy. He went out with Hedwig for two years. They were at the same school. He’s a mite older than her.”
Poor Hedwig. “So she didn’t go to school on the eyot?”
“She did for primary. There’s so few pupils she got a lot of attention. Then I enrolled her at secondary in Iffley when she was eleven. Not much point staying on at the eyot school unless you’re going into the doll trade. And she did well, in her A-levels. A bright girl like her should really be at university. But she applied to Oxford, and when she didn’t get a place, she refused to try anywhere else. None of the others were good enough.”
Larkin pondered how to bring Mrs Mayhew round to the topic that really interested him: whether Hedwig could tell who had stolen the Paid Mourner.
“After the commotion last night, I didn’t get the opportunity to speak to Hedwig.” He stirred his tea to encourage it to cool. “How is she taking things?”
“Outwardly fine. I can tell she’s upset no matter how well she hides it. She’s taking it personally – as if she could have stopped a strange man with a weapon!”
“Has she given a good description of the thief?”
“She described the mask, and that he had a dagger. I don’t think she could pick him out of a line-up. I reckon she’ll blame herself for that as well.”
“What a pity.” He raised the mug to his lips. Mrs Mayhew made strong, bitter tea. “Does Hedwig have any idea why someone would steal the doll?”
“I don’t think so; she only said that the police think it’s too recognisable to have resale value. It must be someone with a grudge against Conrad, I reckon.”
“Really?”
“There’s plenty on that list.”
“Briar Kendrick?”
“For certain.”
“What’s the problem between him and Conrad, anyway? I heard Briar was disinherited, yes?”
“That’s the latest, but they’ve never been on good terms. It was their dad’s fault. Felix was a cruel man, the kind who pulls wings from flies for amusement. He poisoned things between Conrad and Briar when they were still boys.”
“How?”
“Lots of little games to make them compete against each other… Like, Briar and Conrad are twins – Briar is the elder by a few minutes – but Felix would only buy one of them birthday presents each year. He’d say they could earn his favour with good behaviour, lead one of them to think they were winning, then on the day Felix would say he despised toadying and give the other boy the gifts. He trifled with them, all the time.”
“I can see how that might sow discord.”
“Briar went off the rails in his early teens and never got back on them for very long. He seemed to settle down a bit when he met Persephone’s mother, then she couldn’t keep him dry. Still, I’d deal with him over Conrad any day of the week. Briar’s broken, but he has a generous heart. Whereas Conrad… He has more of his father’s nature.” Mrs Mayhew looked at Larkin sideways; her eyes were blue as a Barbie’s, even if they were starting to line. Rubbing a flake of nail polish from her thumb, she added: “You should be careful of Conrad.”
Larkin laughed uneasily. “Conrad’s been very good to me.”
“He won’t give you those enchantments, no matter what he’s promising. He doesn’t trust newcomers. He doesn’t even trust people who spend too long away from the eyot! I lived in Selkirk for two years before Hedwig was born, and he let me come back but has never treated me the same since. I knew if I didn’t come back before the birth he’d never permit me to raise her here.”
“But she was born here, and Conrad has taken to her.”
“For now.”
Mrs Mayhew’s viewpoint troubled Larkin, because he suspected she was right. Conrad might never willingly relinquish the enchantments and Larkin needed to redouble his efforts to discover the Sorcerers’ methods under his own initiative. Still he made a last-ditch attempt to protest: “Conrad doesn’t see me as an outsider. I’m family.”
Mrs Mayhew opened her mouth to reply, but PC Walcott entered the kitchen. He said the police had completed their search of the Tavern, and normal activities might now resume. Mrs Mayhew went to open the bar. Larkin took the stairs back up to his room, which had been left in a terrible state. The mattress had been shoved at an angle onto the bed, trailing sheets. Floorboards had been lifted and not all of them had been replaced. He knelt by the gap, with the intention of sliding the boards back into position. There, between the joists, lay an abacus, which the police must have deemed irrelevant to their search. Larkin picked it up, disturbing years of grime. He blew dust off a hook at the top, which suggested it was a wallhanging. Was it used for counting? Instead of beads, discs were threaded upon the wooden rods, round face outwards. The discs were half an inch thick and the edges were decorated with a geometric pattern of alternating light and dark triangles.
Larkin remembered, when he was a boy, cutting out a circle of paper and drawing a bird on one side, a cage on the other. When he spun the circle on a piece of string, it appeared as though the bird were trapped in the cage. These wooden discs worked in the same fashion. The face of each disc was painted with a different abstract mark; and the reverse was painted with yet another. You could spin each disc on its rod, so that the two marks blurred into a single, cryptic symbol. Larkin revised his initial impression. Rather than an abacus, it seemed to be an early animation device. The difficulty was, he had no way of establishing what the resulting images meant. He had an inkling the symbols were the alphabet of another language. Maybe the wallhanging was intended as an aid for learning. But what language could it be?
The symbols bore a passing similarity to runes. Runes were used for occult purposes. Might these symbols, too, have a mystical significance? And wasn’t there only one thing on this tiny river island that the occult was used for?
Mrs Mayhew might know what the wallhanging was, and why it had been concealed. But he couldn’t ask her. If the symbols related to laying enchantments on dolls, he wanted a chance to work out how, before alerting anyone else on the eyot to the wallhanging’s existence. He wrapped it in his pillowcase, and placed the lot in his leather bag. It would be safe enough there, while he had that bath.
11
Persephone slept heavily after the masquerade, and rose late. She was making her first coffee of the day when she heard a knock on the front door. Briar was still in bed. She assumed the knock was one of the neighbours – a party refusenik – with complaints about the noise her father made returning last night. People always complained to her, not to him, for there was general consensus she should keep him in line.
But when Persephone opened the door, the half dozen people awaiting her were strangers, and included two people in police uniforms. At the front stood a neat, grey-suited woman.
Persephone stared in consternation. “What do you want?”
The woman in grey blinked at this terse greeting, before introducing herself as Inspector Naidu.
“A valuable item was stolen fro
m Conrad Kendrick’s property last night,” she said. “The doll known as the Paid Mourner. The thief was dressed in appropriate fancy dress so must have been privy to the details of the party. We’re searching the houses of everyone on the eyot.”
“The Paid Mourner was stolen?” Persephone’s fingers closed tightly round the edge of the door. “We weren’t at the party for long. Nobody said anything about a theft while we were there.”
“I’m afraid we’ll need to know the details of where you went, and with who, after you left.” She checked her notepad. “I believe the brother of Conrad Kendrick lives at this address, and there was some kind of disagreement last night?”
If they were asking about that, they must think Briar was involved in the crime. There was, in fact, a brief period of Briar’s time unaccounted for. On their way from his fight with Conrad, Persephone had turned her back on Briar when he stopped to urinate in the river. He had also taken the opportunity to wander from her supervision while she wasn’t looking, and she didn’t find him again for another fifteen minutes. She had roamed up and down the riverbank until she spied him slumped between the roots of an oak tree. But surely, in that time, he hadn’t the wherewithal to steal the Paid Mourner?
“My dad and uncle fell out. Brothers argue. He wasn’t in a fit state to do anything but come home and sleep it off. In fact he’s still sleeping. Does the search have to be done now?”
It would be helpful to buy some time, and check for herself if the doll were in the house.
“You may refuse until we get a warrant. However, the sooner we can establish the doll is no longer on the eyot, the better. All other residents so far have obliged.”
So Persephone would draw additional attention to herself if she said no. She sighed, resentfully. “You’d best come in, then.”
Half a dozen officers entered. Inspector Naidu said they would take a room each, and confirmed no one besides Persephone and Briar lived at the property. The police would need to roll back carpets, lift floorboards, check cupboards and behind pictures and in the linings of soft furnishings. Persephone led three of the men upstairs, and told them which room was which. She left her father’s room till last.
The Thief on the Winged Horse Page 7
