Ashes To Ashes: A Ministry of Curiosities Novella (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 5) (2 page)

Lincoln made his way upstairs and along the corridor, determined to get all the way to his own room this time without stopping. He failed, however, and paused outside Charlie's door. No, not
her
door, anymore. He rested his hand on the doorknob but didn't twist it. After a moment, he let it go, satisfied that yet again he hadn't succumbed to the temptation to enter. He hadn't been inside since he'd tried to pack her things on the morning she'd left.

That morning was etched into his memory and couldn't be removed, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't forget the wavering pitch of her voice as she'd questioned him, shouted at him, pleaded with him, and finally acquiesced. Nor could he forget the way her eyes changed shape and color with each emotion, and the way her expressive mouth told him what she was really thinking when her words did not. He remembered all too clearly the stab in his gut and the ache in his throat when her tear-soaked face looked up at him as he watched her departure from the tower room—the room she'd reluctantly occupied upon her arrival at Lichfield.

As with all bad memories, the best he could do was to push it to one side, where he didn't stumble over it every moment of every day. Sometimes, that even worked.

* * *

D
oyle brought in the newspaper
, along with Lincoln's breakfast. The man was efficient, professional and unobtrusive, all qualities Lincoln liked in his staff. While Seth, Gus and Cook were reasonably efficient, they lacked the other two attributes. They had also shed most of their reserve in the last few weeks and even dared to speak to Lincoln as if he were their equal, if not their friend. Doyle still feared and respected him. Another reason to like him.

It was still dark, and Lincoln lit the lamp on his desk to spread out the newspaper. Doyle had ironed out the creases, even though Lincoln had told him it was unnecessary. He picked up his teacup, only to set it down again as he read the headline on the front page: CIRCUS STRONG MAN SHOT IN HEAD AS HE SLEPT. Lincoln scanned the article. By the end, he was sure he had another supernatural murder on his hands.

According to the article, after the show at the Olympia ended, the victim had retired to his lodgings for the evening, alone. A gunshot had woken some of the other performers around two AM. When they investigated, they found Brutus dead in his bed. No one had seen the killer leave, and the police had no suspects. The performers claimed the victim was a good man with no enemies. The article went on to describe the feats of strength Brutus displayed in his act. It was the lifting of the brougham clear off the ground that intrigued Lincoln. No man could do that. No
normal
man, not even a strong one.

But the piece of information that really gave him pause was the name. Brutus was a pseudonym used for the act. His actual name was Patrick O'Neill. Lincoln recognized it.

He dressed and headed up to the attic where the ministry archives were stored. They were copies he'd made when he'd first started working at Lichfield. The original files were kept at Julia, Lady Harcourt's Mayfair house. Lincoln had made copies not only to familiarize himself with supernaturals and their powers, but also to have the files on site where he could access them. He hadn't trusted any of the committee members to give him access back then, and he certainly didn't trust them now.

The attic had been visited a number of times recently, as the files were checked and updated after the last murders. Each of the small drawers contained approximately twenty files, some taking up several pages. Much of the information in those longer documents had been gathered centuries ago and followed descendants through the generations to the present. The originals had been written on parchment, but these copies were on ordinary paper. Many of the files were no longer active, the hereditary line having died out. There were a little over two hundred active ones, one of which was Patrick O'Neill's.

Lincoln remembered the details clearly, but he pulled out the file anyway to re-read it. According to the document, Patrick O'Neill was descended from a line of supernaturals based in Ireland. Their power wasn't strength, but moving objects with their minds. It was the same power that Reginald Drinkwater possessed. The file listed O'Neill's last known address as New York, where he'd taken up with Barnum and Bailey's circus troupe.

According to the newspaper article on his desk, the "Greatest Show on Earth" had come to London for the winter and had already performed several shows at the Olympia in Kensington. Lincoln had seen the advertisements describing the star acts, including that of Brutus himself. Was it the claim of "super-human strength" that had caught the killer's eye, or had the ministry's archive been accessed and O'Neill's name found there?

If it were the latter, the suspects narrowed considerably, and in a direction that worried Lincoln. He might not like or trust the committee members, but he hadn't pegged any of them as murderers.

Then again, the murders had been carried out by a middleman. It was easier to kill someone when you didn't pull the trigger yourself and could simply read about it in the papers the next day. It was the best way to assure anonymity, if the hired gunman's silence could be bought.

Other recent events and coincidences bothered Lincoln too, not just the murders. How had the committee known that Charlie raised the body of Estelle Pearson, for one? Spies, of course, but who had hired the spies? Lincoln had found none lurking outside the gates of Lichfield, but he hadn't checked before the event, only after, when his suspicions had been raised. Also, who had known that Charlie regularly rode Rosie and cut through the saddle straps? Perhaps that had been a guess, considering Rosie was the only small mare in the stable, and there had only been one side saddle.

Whether the committee were involved or not remained to be seen, but at least Charlie was out of the way now. Sending her north had solved that dilemma, although it hadn't been his primary reason for organizing the position at the school for her. He'd done it so he could work at his best again, without distraction or hindrance. Having her nearby played havoc with his attention. Now he could focus once more.

The fact he was thinking about her
again
wasn't lost him. But those thoughts would become fewer soon, he was sure of it. It was just a matter of time.

He returned O'Neill's file to the drawer and was met on the staircase by Doyle, who was out of breath and looked relieved to see him.

"There you are," said Seth, striding along the corridor from the right. Gus came from the left, and both converged on the staircase as if they were trying to trap their employer. "Where were you?"

Since when did his men question where he'd been? "Attic. There's been another supernatural murder."

Gus and Seth both swore, their language as colorful as it had been before Charlie arrived. The very proper Doyle didn't bat an eyelid. He pressed his hand to his chest and murmured, "Dear lord. Will you be investigating, sir?"

Lincoln had previously told Doyle that he was the leader of a secretive semi-government organization that investigated crimes the police couldn't solve. He'd left out the part about supernaturals. It explained the comings and goings at Lichfield well enough without worrying the man unnecessarily.

Lincoln nodded. "Seth and Gus, prepare the coach and horses." He strode past Seth, back to his rooms. "We're going to the circus."

L
incoln was rarely surprised
, and never astounded, but watching the acrobats, exotic animals and other performers parade into the vast hall of the Olympia, he came close. Some performers traveled in golden chariots, others sat atop one of the thirteen elephants, or rode horses and camels, while yet others led in zebras, carried monkeys, or simply danced or tumbled. There was no strong man, of course, but the crowd whispered Brutus’s name in hushed, shocked tones. If the performers missed O'Neill's presence among them, on this first show following his death, they gave no indication. Their smiles were wide and bright.

A brass band led the parade past the grandstands where Lincoln and Seth sat, along with thousands of others. Seth's jaw fell open as he watched the spectacle pass by. For a worldly individual, he could be childlike sometimes.

"There must be hundreds of people involved," Seth breathed. "My God!" He leaned forward and squinted at the large glass container passing by on the back of a horse-drawn cart. The box contained water and a woman. "Is that a mermaid?"

"No," Lincoln said. "Mermaids aren't real."

Seth sat back with a
humph
. "Spoil sport."

Lincoln refrained from retorting that Seth should know better, given his education. Clearly a good education and gullibility weren't mutually exclusive.

The menagerie split up and filled the three rings and two stages. Riders performed tricks on horseback in one ring, acrobats tumbled in another, elephants lifted their left fore-legs in unison in another, while a vaudevillian show and ballet occupied the stages.

"I don't know where to look," Seth said, his gaze flicking between each of the performances.

"That's the point," Lincoln told him.

"What?"

He sounded distracted, but Lincoln explained anyway. "With so many acts on at once, it's impossible to see everything. You'll leave here today wanting to come back and see the things you missed. You'll buy another ticket for tomorrow on your way out."

"Or get one the way you did." Seth flashed him a grin, but it quickly withered and he turned back to the show.

Lincoln had been prepared to pay for tickets, but it seemed all of London wanted to see the famous Barnum and Bailey circus, and the show was sold out. Lincoln had resorted to picking the pocket of a passing gentleman.

Seth applauded along with the audience as an aerialist dressed in short pantaloons somersaulted in mid-air and caught a swinging bar high above them. "Charlie would love this." Lincoln felt Seth's gaze burning into him. "You should bring her when she comes home," he went on.

Lincoln didn't bother correcting him. It never seemed to sink in that Charlie wasn't coming back, no matter how many times Lincoln told him.

Lincoln stood and headed back down the aisle, away from the spectacles. He didn't wait to see if Seth followed but he heard his footsteps.

"Was it something I said?" The pout in Seth's voice was as much an act as the performances in the rings.

Lincoln fisted his hand at his side. Hitting Seth wouldn't be wise when he wanted to move around the Olympia undetected. Maybe later, after they'd finished investigating, he'd offer to spar with him to relieve some tension. They both needed to get it out of their system.

They skirted the perimeter of the enormous Olympia theater. Most of the spectators were inside watching the displays, giving the sideshow freaks time to themselves, away from their booths. Nobody paid Lincoln and Seth any attention, not even when Seth gawped at the oddities.

"Did you see that girl?" he whispered. "She has two heads!"

Lincoln didn't think he warranted an answer, so he gave none.

"Blimey, that man has three legs." A moment later, Seth made a horrified sound. "I've seen some hairy women in my time, but she takes the cake. Do you think she's just a man dressed like a woman?"

"Ask her for proof."

"Do you think she'd mind?"

Lincoln's gaze slid to Seth to see if he was serious. Seth kept a straight face; it would seem he didn't realize Lincoln had made a joke.

After several moments of silence, in which he continued to stare at the circus folk, Seth finally said, "If the thin man and the fat lady had children together, do you think they would be normal, or either thin or fat?"

There was no point joking about the logistics of such an arrangement if Seth wasn't going to laugh, even though Lincoln could think of several comments that would have had Charlie smirking at the very least.

He strode on in search of the strong man's neighbor, Lionel the lion-faced man. That morning, during a brief visit to the lodging house where the victim was found dead in his room, Lincoln had overheard the landlady give the police the name of the lodger occupying the next room. There'd been too many policemen crawling through the house to take a closer look or speak to her then. Lincoln would return later that night for a more thorough investigation.

In the meantime, he could question the lion-faced man. They found him in a tent at the back of the Olympia grounds, sipping tea and chatting to another man with scaly skin on his neck and face. They were wrapped in woolen cloaks against the cold, but neither wore hats or gloves. Lionel was indeed covered with real hair growing out of his skin. It was a soft golden brown color, like that on the top of his head, and covered every inch of his face except for his eyes and mouth. A lion was an apt description.

"You speak with him," Seth whispered. "I'll wait here."

"He looks like a lion, he doesn't behave like one."

"How do you know? Have you ever met a lion-faced man before? And that other fellow looks like a lizard." Seth shivered. "It's not normal."

Lincoln stopped and rounded on his employee. "You're coming. You might be needed."

Seth took a step back. In alarm? "What for?"

"Talking." People found Seth charming. He was good at setting folk at ease, and that could be useful when questioning witnesses. On this occasion, however, Lincoln doubted Seth's charm would work when he seemed so uneasy himself.

Lincoln approached the two men. Both watched warily, but made no challenge. "Are you Lionel?" He wished the landlady had mentioned his last name, but Lionel was all Lincoln had heard.

Lionel nodded cautiously. "It's Ira, actually. Ira Irwin. Lionel is a stage name."

"Who're you?" the lizard-man snapped.

"We're private inquiry agents, employed by Mr. Barnum and Mr. Bailey to find O'Neill's killer," Lincoln said.

"Isn't that what the police are for?"

"The police in England aren't very efficient."

Irwin snorted. "Much like our American ones."

"So Bailey hired you, eh?" Lizard's brows lifted. Now that he was closer, Lincoln could see there weren't actual scales on the man's face but an intricate tatoo made to resemble scales. "Can't believe he'd spend money on one of us freaks."

"He wants to catch the killer and see him brought to justice."

Both Irwin and Lizard snorted. "You mean he wants to make a dollar out of it somehow," Lizard said.

The light breeze drifted through the tent opening and brushed the hair on Irwin's face like grass in a meadow. "So you want to ask me some questions?" he asked in his American drawl. "I can only tell you what I already told the police. I heard nothing before the gunshot. It woke me up and set my heart racing. Took me a few moments to figure out what it was, and when I did, I got out of bed and went to investigate. The hall was empty at first, then Mrs. Mather, the landlady, joined me, and the other circus performers lodging in her house too. When we were all assembled, we realized O'Neill wasn't with us, so we knocked on his door. There was no answer so we went inside and saw…" He wrinkled his hairy nose. "There was blood everywhere, and his face was blown off."

Lizard rested a hand on Irwin's shoulder. Both men bowed their heads.

"I keep seeing the scene in my head," Irwin went on, his voice thin and tight. "All that blood and bits of brain everywhere. I don't envy Mrs. Mather cleaning it up."

"Did you hear any other noises, either before or immediately after?" Lincoln asked.

"Like I said, I was asleep before. After, maybe I heard some footsteps running off, but I can't be sure. I was still trying to figure out what had woken me."

"Did O'Neill have any enemies within the circus?" Seth asked. "Anyone who might want to harm him?"

"No!" Lizard cried. "We're like family, even the non-freaks."

"He wasn't a freak?"

"He was normal, just like you, only he was real strong."

"Was there any trickery to his feats of strength?" Lincoln asked. "Hidden wires and pulleys?"

"No," Irwin said, sounding offended. "He was as real as I am." He grabbed a fistful of hair on his forehead and tugged. It didn't come away.

Seth's swallow was audible. "We believe you," he said quickly. "Just trying to establish facts. So you can't think of anyone he wronged?"

"No," Lizard said, as Irwin shook his head.

"What about women?" Lincoln asked.

"What about them?" Irwin said.

"Did any go to his room?"

"On occasion." He glanced at Lizard.

Lizard nodded. "Go on. If it'll help find who did this, tell him."

"He would meet up with one of the dancers sometimes," Irwin said. "I could hear them through the wall."

"Her name?"

"I don't know. She's a Polak, I think."

"Ela," Lizard said.

"How do you know?"

Lizard winked at his friend. "I asked her."

Irwin blinked. "Oh. Of course."

"She's very beautiful," Lizard went on. "She's got hair like midnight and skin like milk. If you wait for the dancers to finish the show, you'll see her. She's the prettiest and has the best figure." His tongue darted out and licked his lower lip. Lincoln wondered if he knew it made him even more lizard-like. Perhaps that was why he did it.

"Thank you." Lincoln walked out of the tent.

A moment later, Seth caught up to him. "That was interesting," he said. When Lincoln didn't respond, he elaborated. "Perhaps the killer didn't kill the strong man because of his supernatural ability. Perhaps it was Irwin. Did you notice the way he spoke about the dancer? I'd wager he was in love with her, but she shunned him for the better looking man. When Irwin saw her with O'Neill, he killed him out of jealousy."

Lincoln shook his head. "His account of last night wasn't fabricated.

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Lincoln's psychic senses may not be very strong, but he could sometimes tell when he was being lied to, although not always. Irwin was what Lincoln called "readable." The man hadn't lied.

Still, Seth might be right. The strong man's death could have nothing to do with his supernatural power. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out if anyone wished to kill him out of jealousy.

"Are we going to find Ela the dancer?" Seth asked, keeping pace.

"Yes."

"Good."

Lincoln rolled his eyes but Seth was looking forward and wouldn't have seen.

They made their way back to the main building, where two men stood guard at the rear doors, ordering curious onlookers to move on. Applause filtered out from inside, and the band struck up a bold, brassy tune.

"You take the smaller one," Lincoln told Seth.

Seth caught his jacket sleeve. Lincoln glared at him until he let go. "Are you mad?" Seth hissed. "It's broad daylight! We'll be spotted."

"Pull your hat brim lower."

"That's it? That's your suggested disguise?"

Lincoln adjusted his hat and pulled up his coat collar.

He left Seth and wandered over to the burlier of the two guards. The man's thick neck bulged over his collar and his eyes almost disappeared into the surrounding fat.

"This is a restricted area," the man said. "Move along."

With a small twist of his arm, Lincoln dropped the knife he kept tucked up his sleeve into his palm. He showed it to the guard. "
You
move, or I will kill you."

Seth had decided to join in, and snuck up behind the other fellow. He must have shoved the point of his knife into the man's back because he lurched forward. "No harm will come to you if you move now," Seth said to his man. "If you don't, there'll be chaos, and I don't think your bosses will appreciate the bad publicity."

The two men exchanged glances, but neither moved. They didn't look particularly bright. The stupid ones usually needed decisions to be made for them. Lincoln thrust the blade forward, causing the big fellow to spring back on surprisingly nimble feet and swear loudly.

Lincoln dodged to his right and, when the guard moved to catch him, changed direction and slipped in behind him. He thrust the knife into the man's back as Seth had done to his opponent. It wasn't lost on Lincoln that his employee had chosen a better approach than he had. He pushed harder, digging through the layers of clothing to skin. The music drew closer. There was no time for delay.

"To the wagon," he said, hustling the guard toward a small, crimson wagon with gold lions, mermaids and tigers painted on the side. Lincoln recognized it from the parade. "Get inside."

"We just want to talk to one of the girls," Seth told them as he hustled his guard forward too. "No harm will come to her or anyone else."

"Then why not just pass us some ready?" his guard said. "We arrange meetings between the girls and toffs all the time."

"Is that so?" Seth growled, no doubt for Lincoln's benefit. "How much?"

"For you, two quid each."

"That's bloody robbery! We only want to talk."

"That's what they all say."

"One," Lincoln said. "Or we do this our way." He let his fellow go, but remained sprung, ready to attack.

The man simply held out his palm. When Lincoln didn't move, Seth paid him.

All four returned to the doors. A group of children approached, excited grins on their faces. "Git lost," the thick-necked guard snarled at them. "You ain't allowed back here."

"We only want to look," said a sandy-haired boy with freckles.

"I said, git lost!" The guard raised his hand, but Lincoln caught it.