The Bone Magician Read online

  ‘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.

  Chapter Thirty

  Be Careful What You Wish For

  The very next evening Pin stood once again at Juno’s door. From outside the wind carried the laughter of the crowds on the frozen Foedus. ‘At least one good thing has come from it,’ he thought wryly. ‘With the waters frozen we do not have to suffer the stink.’ Pin had recovered remarkably well from his recent trials, both known – his escape from the Silver Apple Killer – and secret – his ordeal in the linen chest.

  He knocked but there was no reply. The door was slightly open so cautiously he looked in, half expecting Juno to be there dozing on the bed, but it was immediately obvious that the room was empty. The fire wasn’t even lit. He was aware of her fragrance on the air and he inhaled deeply. It was comforting, but then all the other smells came to him and he was caught by a sudden desire to sniff her herbs. He could even see the trunk under the bed.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ he said softly, ‘but I don’t think she would mind just this once.’

  Pin knelt and pulled out the trunk, all the time knowing that Juno might walk in at any moment. He lifted the lid and examined the various pouches of fragrant ingredients, the potions and ointments all neatly placed within. Now, which ones were which? How many times had he watched her with the pestle and mortar – yet he couldn’t remember. He would have to sniff them out, but, in truth, the trunk was such a concoction of odours that it confused his nose. Tucked in a pocket at the end was the peardrop bottle, but it was practically empty. Out of curiosity he pulled the stopper and held the bottle to his nose. Instantly he was knocked sideways by the wonderful yet unbearably intense aroma.

  He lay for a short while on the floor staring up at the ceiling. The room seemed to be growing and shrinking and he could see the smallest things as if through a magnifying glass. Up in the corner where the wall met the ceiling, though to Pin it seemed only inches away, he could see a brown spider sitting in its web. And then a most curious thing happened. The spider began to shake violently from side to side, causing its whole web to move in a rapid spinning motion. Pin watched until he was dizzy, then he looked away.

  Only just aware of what he was doing, Pin recorked the bottle, replaced it in the trunk and pushed it under the bed. He stood up, but his limbs felt dead and he could not seem to control them. He managed to stagger to the door and crawl up the stairs to his attic room. It took all his energy to reach the bed but he couldn’t get on to it. He shook his head and tried to focus, but the last thing he remembered was a bright light illuminating the room. Then the light shattered into a million tiny pieces and, blinded by the shower of these broken rays, Pin collapsed on the floor and lay twitching and smiling as he lapsed into a stupor.

  Someone was at the door. Pin was confused. He knew where he was, but it was so bright. Surely that wasn’t sunlight coming through the window? He sat up and shielded his eyes and his heart jumped like a twitching bird. At the top of the stairs stood a motionless figure, a bright light shining around it, a shadow spread across the floor like a dark stain.

  ‘Who’s there?’ asked Pin and he was surprised at the sound of his own voice.

  The person took a step forward.

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ came the reply. ‘Don’t you know your own father?’

  Pin gasped and felt his chest tightening. His breath came in short pants and he stood up but swayed and fell back on to the bed.

  ‘Father? Is it really you?’ A sob rose in his closing throat and he swallowed hard. He stared, but still he couldn’t make out his father’s face. ‘Come into the light,’ he said. ‘I can’t see you.’

  The man came slowly forward. It was true. It was his father come back to him. A smile creased his face and he held out his arms. Pin ran across the room and he felt as if his feet didn’t touch the ground. He jumped up, and powerful arms enfolded him.

  ‘I thought I would never see you again,’ said Pin

  His father put him down, held him at arm’s length and took a good look at him. ‘You’ve grown.’

  ‘But it’s only been a few months – I can’t have changed that much. And you are the same.’

  And it was true. Oscar Carpue looked exactly as Pin remembered him the night he disappeared. He was wearing the same worn clothes and his face was unshaven. Pin’s mind was racing with a hundred questions and they tumbled out all over themselves.

  ‘Where have you been? What about Uncle Fabian? Everyone says you killed
him.’

  Oscar Carpue shook his head sadly.

  ‘I never believed it,’ Pin said firmly. ‘Never, but they kept saying it. And if you didn’t do it, why did you leave?’

  Oscar Carpue went over to the bed and sat down. ‘Son, I have a surprise for you.’

  Pin felt his pulse quicken. ‘What is it?’

  The smiling man said nothing, only pointed at the door.

  Pin turned and he felt as if he had been hit hard in the chest. ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘it cannot be.’

  ‘It is,’ came a gentle voice from the shadows. ‘Haven’t you got a kiss for your own mother?’

  Pin was shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said, quivering at the knee. ‘I watched them bury you. I know you are dead.’ His head was spinning. What was happening? He backed away from the two people. They were strangers to him now.

  Pin was woken by a knock.

  ‘Are you up there?’ It was Aluph.

  Pin got to his feet, cold and stiff, but his head was clear.

  ‘Come up,’ he called.

  Aluph appeared, the top of his head first, and then his smiling face. ‘Ah, Pin. I’ve been thinking about your encounter with the Silver Apple Killer. I might have something of interest to you. Come down to my room and I’ll show you.’

  ‘What time is it?’ asked Pin, for he had no idea whether it was the middle of the night or early morning.

  ‘Just after eight. Are you out again tonight?’

  ‘A little later,’ said Pin. ‘A body came in today so I must sit with it.’

  ‘This won’t take long,’ said Aluph.

  So Pin, still feeling a little queer but welcoming the distraction from the memory of his strange dream, followed him. He couldn’t help but glance at Juno’s door as he passed, but there wasn’t a sound from within. On the floor below, Aluph held his door open and Pin walked straight in only to be halted immediately in his tracks by possibly one of the strangest sights he had ever witnessed.

  ‘Fiends!’

  And he was well placed to exclaim for there in front of him, on a shelf opposite the door, arranged in order of size, ascending from right to left, was a collection of twenty-two insanely grinning skulls.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A Queer Collection

  ‘Please,’ said Aluph, his light blue eyes twinkling, ‘shut the door!’

  Pin closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off the gruesome display that was before him. To have one skull in your lodgings might be considered acceptable, but to have twenty-two (Pin counted them twice) could only be considered . . .

  ‘Fantastic!’ he gasped.

  Aluph smiled in a sort of embarrassed yet pleased way. ‘This is my very special collection,’ he said and he chose a skull from the middle of the row. He held it in the palm of his left hand while running the fingertips of his right over the smooth, yellowing bone.

  ‘But where did you get these from?’ said Pin nervously.

  ‘Oh, my dear boy,’ said Aluph hurriedly, ‘do not be alarmed. No crime has been committed in their acquisition, I assure you. I obtained them from the anatomy school by the river, after they had finished with them of course.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘The surgeons,’ replied Aluph.

  ‘You mean after they cut up their bodies?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Aluph breezily, as if it was a fact of very little consequence. ‘Of course, I only take the ones where they haven’t opened up the head. I need the skull intact. Once the surgeons have used them for their demonstrations or their research, or whatever it is they do in their pursuit of surgical knowledge, they are then discarded. A man I know there saves the skulls for me. Boils them first, of course, to clean them up.’

  ‘But who were they?’

  ‘Criminals, to a man,’ said Aluph matter-of-factly. ‘Usually hanged down at Gallows Corner or died in Irongate.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Pin. It was known citywide that the school of anatomy was allowed to use the bodies of criminals to demonstrate their surgical skills (or lack of them) and procedures to students and other members of the profession.

  Now curious enough to go forward and touch one, Pin asked, ‘But what do you do with them?’

  ‘Well,’ said Aluph, ‘as you know, I practise the science of Cranial Topography. I know every inch of each of these skulls. Test me if you wish.’

  Pin managed a laugh. ‘Very well. Close your eyes.’ Aluph obliged, and Pin took a skull from the shelf and placed it on his outstretched hand. Aluph fingered the smooth bone and instantly declared it to be the seventh from the left, which Pin agreed was correct. He proceeded to repeat this trick no less than four times with equal accuracy.

  ‘Quite remarkable,’ said Pin, and Aluph took a bow.

  ‘What does this mean?’ Pin pulled down the last and largest skull from the shelf. The surface had been divided, by means of black ink, into various regions and within each was a letter.

  ‘Ah,’ said Aluph, ‘the letters indicate the location of the various characteristics of a person. Feel this.’ He gave him a skull and Pin ran his fingers over the part marked D.

  ‘And now feel this,’ said Aluph, handing him another.

  ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Pin in surprise. ‘One lump is quite larger than the other.’

  ‘And what does this letter mean?’ He was pointing to an X.

  ‘Rage,’ said Aluph. ‘In simple terms, it can be surmised that the owner of this skull probably had quite a temper.’

  ‘Maybe that is what got him into trouble in the first place,’ suggested Pin.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Aluph. ‘You see, I wish to put together a collection to demonstrate every variation in the topography of the human cranium. I know some people laugh at me, and perhaps I do take advantage of the foolishness of the rich—’

  ‘No more than they deserve,’ interrupted Pin with feeling.

  Aluph acknowledged his support with a smile and continued, ‘But it is my living and I make no apologies for that. There is another far more serious side to it, however. Imagine if I could tell from an early age what a person’s true inclinations were, then I would have the chance to save them from themselves.’ A misty look came to Aluph’s eye and in that instant Pin saw him in a new light.

  ‘You mean if you could tell that a person was going to be bad then you could perhaps change them?’

  Aluph smiled wryly. ‘Yes, that is what I propose.’

  Pin looked long and hard at the skulls. ‘Do you know the crimes these people committed?’

  ‘Alas, I do not,’ said Aluph. ‘If I did know, how very interesting it would be to see how the skull fits the crime! But I did not bring you up here to discuss skulls.’ He replaced them all carefully, turning each slightly to make sure they faced in the same direction. ‘I wanted to show you this.’

  He laid a piece of paper on the table and smoothed it out. It comprised bold and plain text and a variety of fonts. There was a small, but detailed, diagram at the bottom.

  Pin drew a sharp breath. ‘Oh Lord, it’s the stick that makes you jump.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pin’s Journal

  What an intriguing fellow that Mr Buncombe is! Tonight in his room he proposed a most interesting idea, namely that if a person’s character is evident from the bumps on his head, then perhaps it would be possible to have some influence over his chosen path in life. I thought this a splendid idea in the main, but I argued that a person might not want to be deterred from their crooked path, that they might prefer to be a criminal. Aluph thought on this for a while and had the good grace to admit that his was a theory not entirely without problems. But he concluded that in such a case the person should be jailed there and then for their and everybody else’s sake. I must say, if what Aluph suggested was true, then Urbs Umida would be a better place altogether, though perhaps there would be a need for more prisons.

  Aluph has always seemed a little regretful about how he spends his day, and now I underst
and why: all these head readings he must undertake with those frivolous ladies, when in fact he would prefer to be working on his scientific theories. But we all need to make money. I reassured him that he was giving those ladies of leisure exactly what they wanted. How could that be wrong? Aluph’s skull collection was not even the most interesting part of the evening. He went on to show me a most peculiar advertisement from the ‘Chronicle’ for an invention called a Friction Stick. And then, when I thought I could be surprised no more, he produced one from the cupboar d!

  ‘I bought it quite recently, for a number of reasons,’ he said. ‘But I also thought perhaps it might afford protection on the streets, what with this murderer out and about.’

  The Friction Stick truly was a fascinating object. At first glance it looked just like a walking stick – one end was tipped with metal, brass I believe – but the other end had an arrangement of interlocking cogs and wheels. A handle was attached to the wheels, which when turned seemed to cause a small glass plate to rotate. Aluph turned the handle and the most ominous whirring started up and my blood chilled at the sound.

  ‘That’s exactly the noise I heard,’ I said to him, ‘just before the Silver Apple Killer poked me.’

  We both watched as the wheels spun faster and faster and sparks began to fly around the room.

  ‘This spinning generates a sort of energy field,’ said Aluph. ‘It’s invisible, but if you touch the metal endpiece, well, you know what happens.’

  Indeed I did and I still had a burn mark on my chest to prove it.

  ‘The force itself is surprisingly strong,’ said Aluph, ‘even after only a few turns.’

  We were both silent for a long moment. We knew now how the murderer committed his crimes, but we were no closer to knowing his identity or his motive. I recalled the moment the strange man came to my aid out of the fog. When I saw his cane I thought it a sign of weakness. How wrong I was.