The Study in Silver (The Wolflock Cases Book 5)

by Rhiannon D. Elton

  “I’ll get some clean water for your brush!” Wolflock piped up, grabbing the bucket of dirty water.

  “But you just cleaned it-”

  It was too late. Wolflock had ‘accidentally’ kicked the bucket of blue paint across the pale deck, right into Nan Ji’s path. He and Stra stepped into it and hissed.

  “Clumsy boy!”

  “Sorry!” He feigned a gasp and crawled over to them to collect the scattered paintbrushes. “Sorry!”

  Nan Ji took a step back and Wolflock saw a clear impression from his and Stra’s shoes. Nan Ji’s shoes had a squared geometrical pattern with no hint of floral work. Stra’s shoes had a typical slanted cut to them, but there was a diamond shape underneath the ball that showed they had been designed by a very particular cobbler. Neither pattern matched. Part of him knew that after the argument he had overheard between Captain and First Mate that Nan Ji wouldn’t be the killer, but he had to be completely certain.

  The only people left who could be suspects were one of the crew, Haatji and the Captain.

  “Come with me, Ji,” Stra smiled and put his hand soothingly on Nan Ji’s shoulder, “I have a tonic that clears guts and paints.”

  They both left quickly with Nan Ji grumbling.

  “I’m sorry, Veluse. Maybe painting just isn’t for me,” Wolflock shrugged with a grin and ducked off.

  Veluse seemed unperturbed by this. “You may want to stick to sketching shoes. You seem to have a talent for it.”

  He went straight downstairs and added to his notes, sketching down Nan Ji’s and Stra’s shoeprints and adding them to his diary. Even if this wasn’t valuable for this case, it may be in the future.

  He reviewed his notes and they began to come together like jigsaw pieces.

  The blood under the nails meant that someone would have an injury, likely to their arm. The shoe print would fit like a glove when he found it and also meant that the foot fitting it had to be fairly small too. The handprint on her cheek fitted a small palmed person. It was just the silver paint that made no sense. What was it? Where had it come from? He put it aside in his mind and notes, but there was something bothering him. Something... or someone... was missing from this picture.

  He did know his next step though. The size of the crews’ hands and feet would be the easiest way to tell if one of them was responsible. They were likely to have scratches on their arms from the rigging and general ship work, so that wasn’t a definitively incriminating sign. He grabbed a lace from one of his pairs of shoes to measure with and went down to the landing on the hull to measure the precise size of the shoes in the dust. When he got down there though... it was clean.

  Spotless.

  The dust along the sides of the floor were wiped clean. So were the railings.

  He’d have to work with just his memory and even though it was near perfect, he preferred to be as precise as possible. He was just thankful he’d paid attention to it earlier.

  He knew that all the crew had two pairs of shoes in case one broke while they were on duty, but they often didn’t wear them as their bare feet got better traction on a wet deck, so he made his way to their hammocks and found them quite tidily set against the walls. He didn’t know whose shoes were whose really, but he did know that every set were larger than his. This released the crew from suspicion. The set he had seen in the dust were definitely smaller than his own. This meant to him that the crew were not only innocent, but still the good and well natured people he relied on for his safe transport. This also eliminated Geagle as a hurt lover capable of murder. His story about leaving his post to urinate was also looking more likely as well. He may have never seen the killer pass.

  “What’re doin’, lad?” Goden tapped his shoulder suspiciously.

  Wolflock yelped and jumped, grinning sheepishly.

  “Oh! Goden! You scared me!”

  “Why’dya have my shoes? They won’ fit ya, lad.”

  Thank goodness for the crew being slow.

  “I was looking at the pattern. Veluse said I have a talent for sketching shoe patterns and I wanted to get some inspiration!” Wolflock feigned a look of pride.

  Goden raised a dark eyebrow.

  “Yer an odd one, Felen. Git back upstairs now. Ask the folk on deck for a gander at their shoes. Ol’ Goden needs his shut eye in case a lady friend comes a visitin’ again.”

  Sufficiently shooed, Wolflock began to move, but then he turned to see Goden getting into his hammock.

  “Goden? Did someone clean the landing to the hull?”

  “Hmm? Yeh... Cap’in asked me to take care o’ it. Clear the bad ‘nergy out ‘n all. Now off wit’ cha, lad. I’m on nights so I need me shuteye.”

  Without another word Wolflock moved upstairs, again adding to his notes. Halfway through writing them down he realised something. He hadn’t confided in Mothy. Why?

  Wolflock stopped writing.

  He trusted Mothy implicitly with everything. Maybe he just hadn’t had time to say anything. Maybe because his investigation started with Nü and her family he didn’t want to upset his friend. Maybe he didn’t want to get his best friend tangled up in believing that someone he liked and trusted was a murderer.

  He shook the thoughts from his head and finished his notes, keeping the shoe pattern from downstairs in his pocket.

  “Lockie?”

  Wolflock jumped again. He was feeling so highly strung today.

  Mothy looked at him from the doorway with a concerned smile.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What are you up to?” Mothy repeated, his smile becoming a smirk. “You’re not interested in painting. You certainly aren’t that clumsy. You were rude to Nü and I heard you talking to Goden downstairs about shoe prints. Are you going to tell me what you’re up to or do I have to guess?”

  Wolflock sighed. Maybe it was a sign.

  “I-”

  “Mr Felen, I’d like to see you in my study,” Captain Blutro said with an intense stare as he suddenly appear next to Mothy.

  “Uh... yes Captain.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” he reassured Mothy as he passed, following the Captain down the hall and into the study before the Captain’s bedroom. Wolflock glanced quickly at the table where he and Mothy commonly popped out from under due to the secret shaft leading to the crew quarters one floor down.

  “Now I understand that you have been behaving peculiarly since Parihaan’s death,” Captain Blutro said sternly and rested the heels of his palms across the central table. “This needs to stop. I’ve had complaints about your line of questioning from other guests and trespassing into other people’s space. You need to understand that the ship is going through a hard time and we don’t need these wounds opened anymore.”

  “I find that wounds don’t heal unless they’re cleaned, Captain,” Wolflock sniffed blandly.

  Captain Blutro stared at him with a cold authority.

  “I like you, Mr Felen. I’ve given you privileges aboard my vessel that I’d not extend to most. Do not make me regret my faith in you.”

  Wolflock couldn’t meet his gaze. Something felt so wrong. Surely the Captain hadn’t pushed her down the stairs. His hands on the table looked about the right size... and he was so keen on stopping anyone questioning what happened. Was it just grief for his brother?

  “Captain, I did find that Parihaan was responsible for fooling Geagle into allowing the alcohol onboard. Apparently she is very convincing when not under the influence of poison.”

  Wolflock needed to see the Captain’s shoes... If he kept him talking he just might get the chance.

  Captain Blutro blinked and sighed with a smile.

  “Foolish man... love blinds all. Due to everything that has happened I’ll overlook this for now. Thank you for completing the task I set you.”

  “You’re welcome. May I ask for payment?”

  Captain Blutro frowned slightly and sat down, resting his feet on a second chair, givi
ng Wolflock a clear view of his criss-crossed soles. Not a match.

  “You can ask but I’ll determine your payment in the end.”

  Wolflock nodded, “can I try on your jacket?”

  Captain Blutro smiled and took it off revealing folded up sleeves and scratches up both his arms. Wolflock put on the jacket and looked in the mirror. It was a little too long for him but he felt quite dashing.

  “How did you get those scratches on your arms?” he asked lightly as he preened.

  The Captain looked at his arms and rubbed them as if the deep scratches would wipe away.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Mr Felen. I scratch my arms incessantly when I’m under great stress. This drinking alcohol business has brought up a lot of sour old memories and I’m glad it’s over and done with.”

  The scratches on both arms did indeed look older than one day, but Wolflock was still concerned. He removed the jacket, thanked the Captain and left.

  The Captain may have had other shoes and he did leave his nightly post, but his hands were a little too large and his jacket indicated his height would have been too great to have as close a stance as the images Wolflock had draw from the dust on the landing.

  Tentatively the Captain was crossed from his list.

  This only left Haatji.

  He had seen her coming out of the crews’ quarters and she was jumpy when he caught her. She hated Parihaan and they fought on every occasion they met when Parihaan was poisoned. Her hands and feet were smaller, and she often wore fine clothes. He would have to check her shoes and her arms, but he was confident that he was on the right trail.

  As he walked down the hall he could barely hear the person calling his name.

  “Mr Felen!”

  Haatji came close to him without touching him. He looked up and brought his mind back to the present moment.

  “Mr Felen! Your room!”

  “My room?”

  “I... oh dear... I do not know who did it...”

  He pushed passed her and slid to a halt outside his door.

  It was ransacked.

  And his papers were gone.

  “I was just here though. I was away with the Captain for just a few minutes!”

  “I’m so sorry. Is everything there?” Haatji asked nervously with her hands to her lips.

  Wolflock began throwing things around.

  “My diary! All my notes! Where are they!?”

  He had only been gone a few minutes. Who would have had time to do this? They’d have to standing outside his door from the time he left, surely...

  But that would mean the only person who could have done this was...

  Chapter 4, It All Points To...

  “Mothy...” Wolflock breathed.

  It didn’t add up though. Why would his best friend do this to his room? Where was he?

  A cold voice in the back of his mind suddenly dropped a piece of the puzzle into place that he hadn’t wanted to see before.

  Mothy had a dark past and had probably have had to perform very un-Mothy like things to survive. Like murder.

  His palms were small even though his fingers were long. His feet weren’t particularly large for a boy his size either. He also was constantly under attack from Parihaan and if the drinking alcohol had come from slavers or even a slave related industry, then Mothy may have been tipped over the edge.

  But no...

  Not Mothy.

  Not the eternally, annoyingly happy Mothy.

  He was agile too. And there was the secret shaft between the crew quarters and the Captain’s room where he could have hidden when Haatji, Goden and the Captain went passed during the evening...

  Wolflock couldn’t believe it. Surely it wasn’t true.

  He dropped the shirt he was holding numbly and looked at Haatji, who was staring at Wolflock still with horror.

  “Where were you last night after dinner?” he asked softly.

  “I... I had gone to see Goden in the crew quarters. I was coming back up when you saw me.” Her voice was a touch shakey.

  “Did... did you see anyone else down there?”

  Haatji shook her head.

  “I mean, I did see people pass, but it was so dark... What is all this about, Mr Felen?”

  “May I see your right arm?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your right arm!”

  Haatji peeled back her long sleeve shakily. It was clean of any scratches.

  He sighed sharply and began tidying his room.

  “It’s nothing, Haatji. I... I just... Nothing...”

  “Please come up to lunch. You don’t look well. It will do you good,” she said soothingly as she laid a hand on his forearm near his elbow.

  “I’ll be up presently. I just need to clean this up first.”

  She nodded and withdrew, leaving him to get his room in order.

  His mind whirled with every moment he had ever spent with Mothy, wondering if there had been some small sign he had wilfully missed.

  Everything had come into question. Nothing in his world was right.

  Glumly, Wolflock finished putting away his few possessions and made his bed, but as he walked passed Mothy’s room he couldn’t help but see a glint of gold poking out from the porthole window.

  If Mothy had been through his room so viciously, then it would simply be payback if Wolflock looked at the glittering thing. He stepped in and found a strange golden stitched fabric shoe with the toe curling up. It was dangling precariously from a thick splinter. Carefully he snatched up the shoe and looked at the sole. It looked so similar. Wolflock pulled out the sketch of paper he had and nearly dropped them both.

  It matched. It was the exact same shoe. Had Mothy seen his notes and then tried to throw out these expensive shoes with his papers to hide the evidence?

  Wolflock felt sick. He had to know but he also couldn’t bare the idea of it being true.

  With the shoe in hand and the paper in his pocket, Wolflock dragged his feet to lunch. His gut churned as he saw Mothy smiling brightly and talking across the table to Tinni and Tanni.

  Before he could turn on his heel and leave, Mothy spotted him and waved him over with a long, nearly gangly arm.

  He joined them and sat the shoe on the seat beside him.

  “Lockie! Finally! Are you going to let me in on your mischief yet? What’s the matter?” He looked very concerned at Wolflock’s dark face.

  “Where were you last night?” He asked heavily.

  “Huh? I was up here with Nü and her brothers watching the stars. I wanted you to join us but I couldn’t find you.”

  “How long were you there for after our fight with Parihaan?”

  Mothy hummed thoughtfully.

  “Not too long. Maybe an hour. Maybe less. Nan Ji came and got them for an early bedtime.”

  Wolflock’s spirits sank even more. Mothy had motive and he had just given up his alibi.

  “Here, I got you some lunch. There wasn’t much to choose from but I thought you’d prefer the salad sandwich over the tuna surprise. I think the surprise was Tuiti fruit jam.”

  Mothy reached over and passed a plate of sandwich to Wolflock, but it was at that moment Wolflock saw his arms.

  “Mothy... How did you get those scratches?” He asked cautiously.

  “Huh? Oh these? I got them from Parihaan,” Mothy smiled embarrassedly.

  “What!?”

  “Remember when you found us last night? She scratched me when I tried to push her away. Why?”

  A very good cover story indeed.

  “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Wolflock put the shoe on the table and Tanni, Haatji and Yifi all gasped at his actions.

  “If you put an old shoe on a table it brings death! Get it off now!” Haatji snapped, looking very red and flustered and pointing with her left hand.

  Mothy took up the shoe and looked over it.

  “Sorry Haatji. It’s ok now. I won’t put it back on the table. It’s really pretty
. But no. Why?”

  “It was hanging outside your window... It matches the footprints I found on the landing when I discovered Parihaan...”

  Mothy’s greenish eyes moved knowingly from his arm to the shoe and back to Wolflock, who looked pleadingly at his best friend.

  Mothy frowned in thought for a few moments, rubbing his chin, before looking up with his eyes full of light. “I can fix this for you. C’mon,” he waved his hand so casually and Wolflock followed, wondering what he was doing.

  Was he going to take him outside and push him off the back o the ship for discovering his secret? Was he just going to throw the shoe overboard and be done with it? Did he have another explanation? By the gods Wolflock hoped he did.

  He turned towards the kitchen area of the dining hall and Wolflock stepped ahead slightly in case he was going to throw the shoe into the fire and be rid of the evidence that way.

  “Well now,” Mothy grunted slightly as he put the shoe on. It was a tight fit, but it did go on. “Let me show you something. Get the ash from the floor and spread it out so you can see.”

  Wolflock sprinkled the black ash on the red bricks and iron until it carpeted it.

  “Alright. Now you walk across. Take a bit of a run up so it’s natural.”

  Fascinated now, Wolflock did this silently, seeing the pattern from his own shoes come up very clearly in the soot. He could see the size of his stride and even where his heel blurred slightly as he twisted when he walked.

  “Walk back and forth along the outside so your natural walk comes through,” Wolflock instructed.

  Mothy smiled obligingly and then walked over the black dust.

  Not a single one of Mothy’s footprints, with the shoe on or not, came out clearly. Every step he took smudged as he twisted his toes outwards.

  “It was the only way to stop the Trostons from finding out who had stolen food or supplies. They couldn’t trace our footprints so they couldn’t tell if it was one of us or if it was one of their own. It didn’t normally stop the punishments, but it did keep a few of us safe and fed.”

  “Alright... Stand still with your legs to the bench. Heels against it.”