The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1)

by Celine Jeanjean

  The refreshments arrived and Grahms poured them both a glass of orange wine.

  “Your health, sir,” he said, raising his glass. Longinus raised his and they both took a long sip. “I’m afraid,” continued Grahms, “that I’m not at liberty to discuss —”

  “I’d be writing the article myself, you see. And what a joy it would be to describe the lavish, tasteful backdrop to my conversation with the famed Lieutenant Grahms. My father would of course be reading all my articles, as would the rest of my family.”

  “They…they would? I didn’t realise the Gazette was read in Kushania.”

  “Oh, it will be now, at least by members of the right circles. They are already all talking about it.”

  Longinus could see the calculating, hungry look on Grahms face. He had him now, hook, line, and sinker.

  “Now, I understand you are a professional man,” he continued, “and I wouldn’t want to put you in a compromising position. Say I held the story back until a time that was suitable for you?”

  “Well…that might work.”

  “I could make you a hero, a noble beacon of justice, Damsport's last virtuous defence, the scourge of the, er…well, you get the gist.” Longinus twiddled his moustache again. It really was a fine habit. He leaned back in his chair. “I would very much like to see the body, so I can describe it in all its visceral vividness.”

  Visceral vividness, nice. Worth writing down, maybe to use in the next pamphlet.

  Grahms shook his head. “I’m afraid that is impossible. I would gladly help, but no one can see the remains until the family has come. We haven’t yet managed to get in touch with any next of kin, so it might be a couple of days.”

  “Of course,” Longinus replied. “I understand.”

  “But I could let you know once the family has come. You would be welcome to see the remains then.”

  “My thanks, Lieutenant. Do you happen to have a name for the victim?”

  “Yes, that I can give you. It’s Doctor Corian, Damsport's most proficient alchemist — after the one who works for us, naturally.”

  No, he isn’t, you dolt! I’m the best alchemist in Damsport.

  Longinus produced his writing box and made note of the name. “Splendid! Any suspects?”

  “Well, that assassin, the Viper. He signed his name on the victim’s forehead.”

  “Yes, I heard, but any clues as to the man’s real identity?”

  Grahms shook his head.

  Good.

  “Marvellous,” he said aloud. “That will do for a start. This was…enlightening, Lieutenant.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Longinus got up, and was nearly at the door when he turned back. “Oh, that reminds me. Wasn’t there another killing by that same assassin? Somewhere down at the docks…maybe a week ago?”

  “Yes, five days ago. A sailor. Very odd case. The man was poisoned in the same way as Dr Corian, but the skin from his forehead was removed. We’re still not sure what to make of it.”

  So, whoever was behind this must have hired Dr Corian to identify the poison’s composition from the sailor’s skin. The gods be thanked for the gossip at the Hand and Tankard. Now I need to find out just how close he got to replicating my poison.

  “Shakh?”

  “Hmm? Yes? Oh yes, well I have full faith in your abilities, Lieutenant,” Longinus replied smoothly. “I’ll be back in a week or so to enquire after your investigation. I will be writing to my father on this matter at once, he does love a good mystery. I’ll be sure to tell him about our interview.”

  “I’d be most honoured…Too kind…”

  Longinus sketched a small bow and walked out, the Lieutenant’s simpering thanks following him down the corridor. It was then that it occurred to him that whoever had skinned the sailor had to have been following him that night at the docks. It would be too much of a coincidence for him to have come across the body before the guards got to it. He remembered the noise that both he and the sailor had heard. Unease wormed its way into his chest. This was getting too close for comfort.

  Chapter 19

  “So, what happened?” Rory all but pounced on him as he returned.

  “It’s just as I expected, he took the skin from the sailor’s forehead and used it to re-create the poison. It’s difficult but possible. It would take a very skilled alchemist. Coincidentally, that’s what the victim at the bath was.”

  “Really? Who was he?”

  “Dr Corian. He was a good alchemist.”

  Rory thought of the jar he had given her.

  “No patch on me, of course,” continued Longinus. “No one is — but good enough to do it. He probably got killed as a way to test the poison. An efficient way for his employer to tie up a loose end. Quite elegant, really.”

  “So what now?”

  “Just as expected, I couldn’t see the body, but with his name you can pass yourself off as his niece.”

  “Won’t they know I’m not related to him?”

  “They haven’t found his family yet so no, they won’t. Anyway, he was well known for being a loner, and he had no family so they will be searching for a while. Here’s the device you can use to extract the poison —”

  “Hold your steamers there. I ain’t going in there looking like this. The key to a con is in the appearance, right, and while I can do a desperate urchin girl better than anyone, I ain’t gonna pass for no doctor’s niece, not by a long shot.”

  “You’re right, how could I have overlooked such a detail? We’ll get you some clothes.”

  “I ain’t got no money, and anyway this is for you, so you’re paying.”

  “Don’t be any more crass than you already are, Rory. A gentleman doesn’t speak of money.”

  “I ain’t no gentleman.”

  “On that we agree, at least. You will, however, have to become one if you’re to be my assistant. This way.”

  Longinus lead the way down a lane, and Rory trotted after him.

  “I ain’t your assistant!”

  * * *

  Buying clothes turned out to be even more humiliating than the baths. It wasn’t the gasps or the tutting at the state of her clothes that got her, it was the look of pity on the shopkeep’s face. It had been a long time since she had come across genuine pity, and she swore to herself there and then that she never would come across it again.

  They had to go through a large selection of items in order to find something that would fit her diminutive frame. A sleeveless vest came close enough — it would be a blessing to have bare arms in the heat. The shopkeep sewed three leather straps with buckles along the back, cinching it down to size. Rory tucked her medals beneath the vest, despite Longinus’ insistence that she take them off.

  He selected some leather gloves and a pair of leather leggings. Although they were the smallest pair available, they were still far too big. Rory lashed them to her waist with her belt, so that she looked like she was wearing a brown paper bag around her hips.

  “And now for your boots,” said Longinus.

  “I’m keeping my boots.”

  “They don’t match your belt.”

  “So you keep saying, but I’m keeping them, alright?” The iron inserts were far too valuable, but Rory didn’t want to tell Longinus about them. A girl had to have some secrets.

  “I’m the one buying you all this, so I make the decisions.”

  “I’m the one helping you with —” Rory glanced at the shopkeep, “you know what.”

  They glared at each other, until Longinus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You do that a lot,” remarked Rory. “It ain’t gonna make me any less irritating, you know.”

  “Oh I’m well aware — nothing could achieve that. It might just stop me from killing you, though.”

  “I think you look fine,” said the shopkeep, patting her arm with a smile. “If I might suggest one thing…”

  She disappeared behind Rory, taking a couple of the smalle
r hair segments from either side of her face and plaiting them down the back of her head. “It’ll keep your hair out of the way,” she said, cocking her head to admire the effect.

  Rory looked at herself in the mirror and grinned. Despite the ill-fitting clothes, she looked bloody marvellous. Almost warrior like. If she had the rapier at her hip, she might even look fearsome. Her hair looked better, too — it didn’t dwarf her face quite as much.

  “Thanks,” she said to the shopkeep.

  “My pleasure. Come back if the straps at the back need adjusting.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Longinus’ moisture extractor went into Rory’s new pocket. It was an odd contraption with what looked like a large octopus sucker on one end, a glass vial on the other, and in the middle a little piece of machinery that was activated by a rotating handle. Longinus had gone into extensive detail to explain how the machine created a vacuum, therefore drawing any moisture through the contraption’s sucker. Rory had tuned him out as soon as she saw him pedantically raise his index finger.

  “So you know what you’re doing?” he asked for the umpteenth time. “Don’t forget, I need the moisture from the forehead, where the poison has been painted. If you miss, it will all be for nothing.”

  “Yeah, I heard the last three times you told me,” replied Rory.

  Longinus fidgeted with his pantaloons. “And you remember how to crank the extractor?”

  “Even I can turn a handle. You got my silk line and grappling hook, right? Don’t you take your eye off them, they’re worth a pretty penny and there are plenty of people who would want to steal them from me.”

  “Yes, Rory,” Longinus sighed. “I have them. Nobody cares about your rusting grappling hook and grubby line, but yes, I have them and will keep an eye on them. Now will you focus on what’s important here?”

  “Well, my silk line and grappling hook are as important to me as your poisons are to you, alright?”

  They regarded each other for a moment, both uneasy, then Rory turned away and made for the guard headquarters.

  She pulled out a few medals at random, kissed them for luck, and tucked them back into her vest. As she walked she began to squeeze out a tear or two. Her nose, as always, was primed and ready to sniffle.

  “Can we help you?” asked one of the guards.

  She made herself as small and pathetic as possible, looking up with tear-filled eyes. “I just heard that my uncle died,” she wailed, “at the baths.” She sniffled and went to wipe her nose, realising when she left a trail of snot on her forearm that sleeves might have been a better idea after all.

  “What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “D-d-doctor Corian,” she replied, bursting into big fat tears.

  “Ah, yes,” said one. “We’ve been trying to reach out to family and —”

  Rory grabbed one of the guards by the sleeve. “I ain’t got no fam’ly other than him, sir! I don’t know what to do!” She wailed louder.

  The men looked at each other in a panic, predictably ill at ease in front of a crying girl.

  “There, there,” said one of the guards, patting her back awkwardly. The other backed away and ran inside.

  “Er, there now,” continued the guard, “it’s alright. No need to cry. Cairn will be back soon, and er…” He glanced anxiously towards the building. “Everything will be fine. We’ll need you to, er, sign something and er…”

  The second guard had returned. The two men argued for a brief moment in low voices until they decided who would escort her inside. The man who had just returned gestured for Rory to follow him, looking less than pleased.

  Much to her concern, the guard took her down into the basement. Basements were tricky, dangerous places: no windows to climb out of. She continued her pitiful wailing and sniffling, keeping an eye out — the good one. Her swollen eye was leaking quite a lot of water, making it hard to see.

  The guard walked quickly, evidently eager to get rid of his charge.

  “Through here,” he said in a gruff voice, pointing to an open door. He hurried off, leaving Rory alone as she entered a room lit by the brightest vapour lamps she had ever seen. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with gleaming white tiles that reflected the light, making it appear even brighter. She blinked several times as her eyes adjusted.

  The room was stark, only furnished with a desk that heaved under a mound of paper, an alchemy bench much like the one Longinus had, and a marble slab. On the slab was a body covered with a white sheet so that only the face was visible, a spiderweb of black veins spreading out from the word “Viper.”

  Rory didn’t have time for anything else before a man wearing an impressive set of optics stepped into the room. The lenses were thick, magnifying his eyes so that they seemed to be as large as the lenses themselves. In front of the right eye, several additional lenses were lowered, further magnifying it and creating the disturbing illusion that one eye was significantly larger than the other. The left lens was set on the end of a telescoping tube with a number of dials on the side to adjust the distance by which it stuck out.

  “You are the niece of the deceased?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm, good. Hold on.” The man adjusted his lenses until they were both the same size. “Ah, there we are, yes. I am Dr Howshinger.”

  “What happened to my uncle, sir? What happened?” Rory went to Howshinger, bubbling tears and snot, pulling at his sleeve, but he seemed impervious to her unique brand of charm. He pulled his arm away.

  “Your uncle was poisoned, and I mean to discover how.” He nodded to himself, as if agreeing with his own statement. “Yes, I mean to discover how. A very interesting little riddle. Very interesting. Now, if you would kindly confirm that this is Dr Corian, and you do, yes? Good. Then you can sign, er, where has the document gone?” He went to the desk, and rooted around in the papers. Rory pulled out the extractor, keeping an eye on him, but he turned back too quickly and she had to slide it back into her pocket.

  “There it is. You can sign here and then be on your way, yes? Plenty to get on with.” He nodded and held out the paper, which was covered in some illegible scrawl amongst which the name ‘Dr Corian’ was visible. She looked up at him as pathetically as she could, and burst into fresh tears.

  “Come, come,” said Dr Howshinger, “this is not the time, nor the place. This is a place of alchemy. Of alchemy! So sign and be gone.”

  Rory dried her eyes, annoyed that her act wasn’t working.

  “I don’t have a pen,” she said sulkily.

  Dr Howshinger produced one. Rory made as though she was about to take it, then she had an idea.

  “No!” she shouted, stepping back and putting on a horrified look. “You ain’t defiling his body! I know what you’re gonna do, you’re gonna cut him open, like he was no more than the carcass of a pig, ain’t you? The Lord of Consciousness will not allow it.”

  Dr Howshinger’s magnified eyes blinked with dismay.

  “You’re a member of the Sisterhood of the Exalted Consciousness?”

  “Yes, I am,” replied Rory, wracking her brains to remember one of the lectures she’d had to listen to when she had begged the sisters for food. The good sisters could preach alright, but they weren’t so good on actually practicing charity, so Rory never used to visit them much. “And the Lord of Consciousness sees all,” she continued. “He will…er, strike you down if you try and prevent the soul of one of his, er, to prevent my uncle’s soul from rising to the…heavens! You ain’t ruining the consciousness of his body and condemning his soul to be eaten.”

  Rory was pretty sure that last part was doctrine from the Huer Priests, but Dr Howshinger didn’t seem to notice. Damsport was a smorgasbord of religions, and keeping track of every belief would have been a job in itself — one that few were interested in.

  “My dear, that is not my intention at all, no, not at all. I am on the contrary seeking to help your uncle, yes, to help him. I seek only to
bring him peace, and to you, too. Peace of mind, once we understand what happened to him, and who — yes, more importantly, who was behind this ghastly crime.”

  Rory squeezed out a couple more tears. “That’s very good of you, sir.”

  “But I cannot catch the person who did this to him if I don’t know how he died, you see. And for that I need to, er…”

  Rory could tell he didn’t care a whit about catching anyone, there was a hunger in his eyes every time he looked at the veined forehead of the corpse. He was after the poison, and no mistake about it. Maybe Longinus was as good as he made out to be.

  “Well…” she said slowly, pretending to think. “My uncle was in fact a follower of the Church of Equilibrium. I suppose if I was allowed to take something from him I could perform the ritual…”

  “The ritual? Yes, of course, absolutely! Yes, yes. What do you need?”

  “Some of his essence.”

  “His essence?” Howshinger looked understandably confused, since she had just made that up.

  “Yes.”

  “And then you’ll sign?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, great, yes. Good.”

  Rory moved to the body’s head.

  “Wait, not from there! I mean, er, wouldn’t it be better not to deface him?”

  “The third eye lives in the middle of the forehead, as everyone knows, Dr Howshinger. And that’s what I must take for the ritual.”

  In truth, she had no idea what the ritual was, or even if there was one. She moved quickly before he could object again, applying the sucker to the forehead, right over the ‘P.’ She cranked the little handle and there was a suctioning noise. When she removed the device, there was a perfect red circle where the sucker had been, and the P and part of the neighbouring letters had disappeared.

  Dr Howshinger watched her with a frown.

  “Now where do I sign?” she asked.