Authors: F. E. Higgins
The Bone Magician (19 page)
It is late, past midnight, but I must write this now. I have an admission
. I have done
something tonight that does not rest easy with me, for it involves deceit and dis sembling. I admit I shy away from writing of it, but I have always held that this journal must tell my story, the whole story, not only the parts I wish others to
see.
Since I fell on the Foedus some days ago and unwittingly escaped the clutches of the Silver Apple Killer, I have thought long and hard
about the bargain I made with Juno. And the more I have thought about it, the more the idea has grown on me. My future is not in this city. The only question to be resolved is this
:
do I go with
the answer I have craved – the matter of my father’s innocence or guilt – or not?
Time, however, is running out. In an effort to solve the mystery of Bone Magic, I have been to see Madame de Bona again, but I am still
none the wiser, only sixpence poorer. Madame de Bona played her part to perfection. Benedict orchestrated the affair and Juno created the atmosphere, for that is what she does with those herbs, masking the abominable odours from the tavern. You can even
smell the Gluttonous Beast up there. I thought perhaps she should swing her bottle a little less – the smell is quite overpowering – though I suppose I am more susceptible than most. I will never believe that this resurrection is real
. My father always said that there is an answer to everything in this world if we seek it out. Yet what evidence have I of trickery? Even Deodonatus Snoad seems convinced
.
This whole business of bones and corpse raising preyed on my mind all day and I was so distracted that Mr Gaufridus released me early
. It is not the first time that he has done this. Sometimes I think it is just an excuse to get rid of me so he can work on some new device. He
likes to keep it all secret until he has finished.
It is easy enough to know when he is up to something. He is a rather careless worker; I often find things on the floor that are not part of a coffin – screws and bolts and oily chain links and such like. I suspect he keeps things hidden away in the
Cella Moribundi
.
My early return to Mrs Hoadswood’s afforded me the opportunity to overhear a very interesting conversation
. I stopped on the stairs to savour the aroma of dinner, a habit I have developed, and as I stood there I heard Benedict and Juno arguing below. I deduced that they must be alone because the exchange was both heated and frank. I
knew I should not be listening, but I could not make my feet carry me up the stairs. It became obvious that Benedict was trying to persuade Juno to perform another private corpse raising. Juno was adamant that she would not.
‘We agreed,’ she said firmly. ‘Sybil was the last one
. And anyway, what if there is
another body watcher? Will we have to drug him like we drugged Pin?’
‘There won’t be,’ said Benedict. ‘This fellow assured me that the family were happy for us to be there. All they
wish is to say a last farewell to their poor father who died so suddenly. It’s hardly too much to ask. After next week you will be gone and need involve yourself in this business no more. Just do it as a last
favour to me, an old man who hates to see others suffer
.’
Juno was quiet for a long time. She has a soft spot for Benedict, and I was not surprised when she relented. ‘Very well,’ she
agreed finally. ‘But I swear to you on the memory of my
own father
that this is the last time.’
Benedict seemed happy with this arrangement and they agreed to go straight from the Nimble Finger to an address over the Bridge where the
family, and the body, would be waiting. And that was when I had the idea. What if I followed them to the raising? I could not miss this opportunity to witness another extraordinary act of Bone Magic. It might give me the chance I needed to solve the
riddle for once and for all. My plan made, I was about to continue down the stairs when Juno started to talk again.
‘Pin has asked to travel with me,’ she said.
‘I see,’ was Benedict’s reply. ‘Well, he’s a good boy, loyal, hard-working.’
Juno
made a noise as if she wasn’t sure. ‘My only fear is that he will hold me up. When I go from here, it is
with one quest in mind.’
‘It seems to me,’ said Benedict slowly, ‘that you are both on a similar quest
.’
I heard the scrape of a chair on the floor and I knew that someone was on the way so I crept back up the stairs and to my room
. Shortly after I heard Juno’s door and before long I could smell her burning herbs, not those to help her sleep but to relax. By now I knew some of the combinations well
.
I settled outside the Nimble Finger around nine, and just as the bells struck the half-hour, the side door opened into the
alley and out came Juno and Benedict. I followed them cautiously over the Bridge. How lovely it was to inhale the clean air of the north and to walk such wide, well-lit streets. Unfortunately it was not so easy to stay out of sight and I had to keep
quite far back. It wasn’t long before Juno knocked at the glossy door of a large house in a well-tended square.
I strained
my ears to hear a brief exchange of words before they were allowed in. This all seemed far more straightforward
than Sybil’s affair – at least they gained honest entry. But how should I enter the house? Certainly not in their wake. I went down the iron steps to the basement and as luck would have it a kitchen girl came out with a coal scuttle. I ducked
out of sight and as soon as she started rummaging in the coal store I seized my chance and ran in.
I was in a narrow corridor, a flight of stairs directly ahead, and I guessed the kitchen was down the other end
. I heard the rustling tassels of Benedict’s pointed shoes before I saw them on the top stair and, seeing a door to my right, I slipped behind it to hide. Again I was blessed with good fortune, for in the light of the
ensconced candles I realized I was in the very room where the body in question was laid out. I heard voices and saw a large chest by the wall in which I concealed myself just as the door began to open.
The chest held blankets and cloths and made a comfortable enough hiding place. I pushed out a loose knot in the wood and through the hole
I could see quite
clearly into the room. I settled down with my green eye to the hole, determined to watch closely to see how Benedict worked his magic. The body, an old man, lay on the table directly ahead. Seconds
later Benedict and Juno were led in by two young men dressed in black
. They were followed by an older woman, also in mourning dress. From their dark brows and wide-set eyes I surmised that the two men were sons to the
mother
. They seemed in good enough humour under the circumstances, and even laughed a little and joked. Grief affects people in different ways – I had learned that much from Mr Gaufridus – but there was
something about this trio that made me uneasy. I had a feeling that all was not as it se emed.
At first everything went as I expected. Benedict and Juno, their top lips glistening with the unguent they smeared there, took their
places and soon the aroma of Juno’s bottled potion came to me, though, hidden as I was, it was very faint. Determined to keep a clear head I wrapped a linen glass-cloth around my mouth and nose and was pleasantly surprised at how effective it was.
I had always found the summoning potion quite cloying.
Benedict raised his arms and began his now familiar spe ech. I must say they put on a fine show, the pair of them. Benedict’s robes and bearing gave him an
almost kingly air and Juno’s quiet movements lent grace and solemnity to the occasion.
I observed the trio of onlookers and concluded that they seemed not so much nervous as unusually keen for the whole thing to begin
. Benedict finished his incantations and I waited eagerly for the result. The boys and their mother appeared quite transfixed by their dead father but, to my surprise, the body didn’t move. Benedict looked as if he was
about to say something, but before he had the chance one of the young fellows, the shorter, leaped forward and grabbed his father roughly by the shoulders and began to shake him.
‘Where is it, you mean old goat?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Tell us where you put it.’
Juno and Benedict exchanged horrified glances and I heard Juno say quite clearly, ‘What do you mean?’
‘The money,’ said the second son, not even looking at her. ‘Our inheritance
.’ He
came over and he too gave the body a tremendous shake.
‘I
don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Juno steadily
.
I, however, was beginning to feel nervous. The two sons were becoming increasingly violent in their efforts and their father was now
quite dishevelled. His hair, previously combed back and oiled, was now in a state of complete disarray, and his collar and tie were undone. One arm flopped over the side of the table. Mr Gaufridus would have been dreadfully upset to see a valued customer
in such a state, and by ‘customer’ I mean the body. I had realized early on that Mr Gaufridus had far more time for the dead than for the living. For myself, I had never seen such a display of rage against a person, dead or alive
.
Benedict finally intervened. ‘Please, sirs,’ he said firmly
. ‘I must ask you to stop.
This isn’t the way—’
‘Get back, old man,’ said the first son, his hands gripping the lapels of his father’s jacket and demanding again,
‘Tell us where it is.’
But the corpse remained resolutely silent.
‘Why won’t he tell us?’ asked the mother and her tone was surprisingly menacing for such a frail-looking
creature. She took a step towards Benedict and pointed at him accusingly. ‘I thought you said the dead had to speak the truth
.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Benedict, ‘but this isn’t the sort of thing you’re supposed to do
. You must respect the dead.’
‘Respect the dead?’ she screeched. ‘There’s a fortune in gold pieces hidden away somewhere and that tightfisted
scoundrel has died without telling us where, and that’s all you can say?’
By now Benedict’s concern was no longer for the dead but for the living, specifically himself and Juno, who was tugging hard at his
arm.
‘Let’s go,’ she hissed urgently. ‘Now!’
I watched with rising panic as the two of them hurried out of the room.
‘Niffy-naffy southsiders,’ shouted the mother, running to the door after them. ‘I knew we couldn’t trust you.
Don’t expect any payment for this. We could have the pair of you, trading under false pretences!’
How I wished I could have gone too. Instead I lay frightened half to death in the chest
. The two sons,
apparently realizing that no amount of shaking was going
to reveal the whereabouts of the gold, stood back and began to argue over their unkempt father
.
‘I knew it wasn’t going to work.’
‘But it was your idea.’
‘What!’
And of course they too came to blows and all I could do was wait and watch. The brothers fought each other for what seemed like an age.
At one stage they rolled into the chest and knocked it backwards. They were dirty fighters. Such hair-tugging and low blows and, not surprisingly, violent shaking. Just when I thought there was going to be bloodshed, their mother finally pulled them
apart, giving each a sharp smack around the head as she did so. The trio finally left the room none the poorer but none the wiser.
I lay in that chest for I don’t know how long after that, petrified they might return. When finally I mustered the courage to leave
I was out of that house and up those iron steps like a rock from a slingshot. I ran all the way back to Squid’s Gate Alley. I am sorely disappointed by the whole sorry affair, and thwarted once again in my quest.
