Heart's Blood(14)

The library desk was directly across from the shelving where he had found the second book, along the wall that backed up to the lounge, the room they'd come through to get in here.

The librarian's fluffy white eyebrows raised nearly as high as his fluffy white hair when he saw the books Pearl hefted onto the high counter. Not because she was female, but because the book was sorcery. No one had taken a sorcery book out in ages, he informed her. He had to make up a card for it, since they hadn't used cards the last time the book had been touched.

"Onward, Parkin." Mr. Carteret gestured toward the library door when they were done. "Things to do. People to see. Spirits to conjure."

Mr. Carteret led her back through the common room, as he named it, and down the stairs. But rather than heading back out the door to Wych Street, he turned the opposite direction into the depths of the building.

Men of all shapes, sizes, and ages scurried and strode hither and yon on various types of business, and every single one of them stared at Pearl as she passed. Some stopped to stare. Some kept walking, their heads swiveling like owls as they passed, to keep her in sight. Some scowled. Some smiled and nodded. Some gaped like schoolboys. Pearl just hefted her books higher and hurried to keep up with her magic-master as they journeyed back to the hallway where she'd been with Elinor and Magister Tomlinson.

He went through a door ahead, then stuck his head back out. "Hurry up, Parkin. We've only got the day."

She slipped through the door and stopped just inside to catch her breath. Mr. Carteret was across the large room, speaking to the men clustered around him. Brawny, athletic types, most of them. They clapped him on the shoulder and laughed out loud-just to see him again, Pearl thought. These men liked him. They were glad he'd been exonerated.

Other men rose from the desks arranged in concentric arcs around the room, centered on the desk where Mr. Carteret stood at the far side of the room. Filing drawers lined the walls, and a freestanding chalkboard with cryptic notes and diagrams drawn on it blocked much of the light from the window behind that desk. Gas lamps on the walls made up for the blockage.

As her breath caught up with her, Pearl noticed awareness of her presence rippling through the room. Those nearest the door saw her first, and their staring drew the attention of those just beyond, which captured the next, all the way through the chamber, until everyone stared at her, except Mr. Carteret and the man to whom he spoke.

One of the nearest magicians, a young, freckled, curly headed fellow, cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss, but I'm afraid you've made a wrong turn somewhere." He came around his desk and made as if to take her burden. "If you'll allow me to escort you back to-"

"Parkin!" Mr. Carteret had finally looked up from his conversation. "What are you doing, lollygagging about? Get yourself over here where you belong."

"Yes, Magister." Pearl smiled sweetly, and a little smugly, at the young man-a wizard, she thought-and hurried through the maze of furniture to her magic-master's side.

He set her books on the edge of his desk, then laid his hand on her shoulder. It made her shiver. "All right, you louts, harken here. This is my apprentice, Miss Pearl Parkin. She will be studying sorcery. If you are not already aware, I am telling you now. Sorcery plays an essential role in the investigation of crimes and in the administration of justice.

"Yes, she is female. Sorcerers generally are. So I don't want any larking about. Flirt on your own time. When we are working an investigation, all of you will maintain a professional and businesslike attitude at all times, when Miss Parkin is present, and when she is not.

"With the return of sorcery, gentlemen-the knife-edge of justice-we will be working more and more often with women. Best you begin to learn how from this moment. If you do not feel that you can, I'll gladly transfer you back to Enforcement Branch."

Mr. Carteret looked down at Pearl. She looked back, all atremble. Her dreams were coming true more fully than she had ever thought possible. "Parkin." He waved a hand toward the men in the office. "The Briganti. Investigations Branch."

"Sir-" One of the men spoke up-not Freckle Face. "Don't you agree that Investigations is a dangerous business? Shouldn't she study elsewhere?"

"I am her master of magic, Meade. How can I teach her if she is elsewhere?"

"Exactly my point, sir." Meade was a tall, earnest-looking fellow with a Midlands accent. "Investigations is too dangerous for a female, much less an apprentice."                       
       
           



       

Mr. Carteret's smile was thin. "I think you will find, Mr. Meade, that Parkin is not nearly so helpless as you might think." That thin smile twisted, conceding additional amusement. "For while, as her magic-master, it is my duty to protect my apprentice, she protected me from harm on one of the worst of London's streets, while a murder victim was disposed of a short distance away. Besides-"

His gaze and tight smile traversed the room. "Surely you do not mean to say that none of you would assist me in the defense of my apprentice?"

A rumble of denial rose, with "Of course not, sir," flying over the top from Mr. Freckles.

"Thank you, Ferguson. I'm sure Miss Parkin is grateful to know she can rely on you." His gaze raked over the group again. "On all of you. Now-to business. The murder of Angus Galloway. What do we know?"

While the Briganti scattered to collect their papers, Mr. Carteret pinned Pearl with his predator's gaze and gestured from her books to a nearby chair. Obviously he intended for her to begin reading while he conducted his investigation.

She laid the books side by side and looked up to see if Mr. Carteret had any suggestions for the order of reading. He was busy erasing the chalkboard, which, now that she looked more closely at it, had some rude drawings at the bottom. She picked up the sorcery book and settled into the chair, hiding her amusement. She'd seen worse.

The book was written in the "methinks," "doths," and "hast thous" of Shakespeare or the King James Bible. It was slow reading. Especially since the reports from Mr. Carteret's investigating Briganti were so much more interesting.

The reports were mostly information delivered from the regular police when Magistrate Bellowes signed his transfer warrant. Results of the questioning of the people present when the body was discovered: No one noticed anything out of the ordinary until they saw the corpse. Results of questioning the neighborhood residents: The same. No one saw, heard, or sensed anything at all.

Mr. Carteret fanned the sides of his frock coat, pushing them out of the way to set his hands on his hips as he frowned down at the floor. He paced a few steps. Pearl tucked her feet under her chair to get them out of his way, but he stopped before he reached her. He stood so long there beside her chair that she looked up and found him looking back down at her.

"You were there, Pearl," he said. "In the street. In the alley around the corner where you found me. What-"

"I found you before that," she interrupted him. It seemed to be important, that she be precise. "I followed you there."

"To that alley off Green Bank? From where?"

"Whitechapel Road. Near Red Lion Street." She closed the book. She'd only gotten three pages into it. This was more important. "I thought at first you were drunk, but now that I've had time to think, I'm not so sure. I believe it was more likely strong spirits affecting you than strong drink."

He rewarded her pun with a crooked smile. "Why do you think that?"

She frowned. Why indeed? She picked her way through her thoughts as she spoke them. "Because, you staggered, but not in a drunk's-A drunkard is loose and-" She shook her arms, all her joints and muscles limp. "Floppy, sort of. He goes reeling and flopping and sprawling all over the street. You didn't."

She thought some more, bringing up her memories of that night, only two nights and an eternity ago. "You staggered because I don't think you could see what was there, where you were walking. You walked all peculiar, too. Hunched over, like you were hurt. Every so often, you would jerk and stumble, as if you'd just run into something, but nothing was there for you to run into. You walked down the precise middle of the road. You lost your hat one of those times, you jerked so violently."

"Thank you for fetching it for me." He gave her a little bow, his forehead creasing in a small frown as he did so. "Why ever did you follow me? Do you ordinarily go about assisting well-dressed drunkards?"

"No, sir. Hardly ever. Never, in fact. Well, once. He was very young, sir, and lost, and he'd caught Bill Savage's eye, so I hid him and made sure he got back safe to his friends. But that was only the once."

One of those black angel-wing brows of his flew upward. "And I seemed lost and defenseless to you as well?"

"Oh, hardly." A delicious shiver slithered through Pearl as she recalled how she'd felt. "Not lost, and definitely not defenseless. Not until you lost consciousness. Even hurt and staggering, you appeared quite dangerous."