The Bone Magician (14 page)

Tonight there was no singing, but the conversation over supper was far-ranging and most interesting. Aluph noticed that I was admiring his
outfit and said as much with his attractive and practised smile (and when I say practised, I mean exactly that, for I see him daily in front of the looking glass in the hall)
.

‘Aluph ain’t like the rest of us,’ said Mrs Hoadswood.

‘Sometimes I think we’re lucky to be graced with his presence at the same table.’

‘My dear Mrs Hoadswood, you say the nicest things,’ said Aluph, and his coruscating smile lit up the room
. ‘You
see,’ he continued, turning back to me. ‘It is essential in my profession that I dress thus
.’

‘What is your business, Mr Buncombe?’ I asked with genuine interest, for I knew he worked irregular hours – but at
what?

‘Well, my dear boy,’ he said, quite brimming with self-importance, ‘it is difficult to explain
.’

‘He reads lumps,’ said Beag gruffly.

Aluph shook his head. ‘That, Beag, is not strictly true, and I should have expected more from a man who claims such learning as
yourself.’

‘Lumps?’ I was intrigued.

‘Head lumps – I mean
bumps
,’ Aluph corrected him self
. ‘I read the bumps on people’s heads.’

I failed to see the difference between lumps and bumps but out of common courtesy refrained from saying so
.

‘For what reason?’ I asked.

Aluph came around the table to stand beside me. ‘There are many reasons
.’

‘But mainly for money,’ laughed Mrs Hoadswood.

A
fool and his money are easily parted,’ muttered Beag‘ softly.

Aluph seemed oblivious to all this and cast a critical eye over my head. ‘From the unique shape and texture of a person’s head,
I can tell what sort of character they have,’ he declared confidently. ‘It is a philosophical and scientific matter known as Cranial Topography
. It’s also about untapped potential. You know what you are
now, but do you know what you could become?’

‘Once an addlepate, always an addlepate,’ said Beag.

Then Mr Pantagus spoke, to no one in particular, from the far end of the table.

Although I know little about the science of head‘ lumps,’ he said mildly as Aluph grimaced, my‘ own expertise being in
another field altogether, I have to admire Mr Buncombe’s unswerving dedication to the subject. Whatever I think about the matter, there are plenty of people in this city who are only too willing to have their heads read. I wish him luck and I hope
they are pleased with what they hear.’

‘I can assure you, dear Benedict,’ said Aluph, ‘that my customers are always satisfied
.’

As
are mine,’ replied Mr Pantagus, and there was a‘ twinkle in his eye.

Aluph turned once more to me. He pursed his lips slightly when he saw the unkempt state of my hair – I understand now that he is used
to rather better coiffured tresses – but undeterred he spread his fingers wide and dug his hands into my knotted tufts and began to run his fingertips slowly over my forehead, my crown, above my ears and down to the nape of my neck. He was silent
except for the occasional ‘ah’ or ‘uhuh’ or ‘hmm’.

‘What have you found?’ I asked, unable to hold back any longer.

Aluph wiped his hands carefully on a bright green lace-edged handkerchief he carried in his waistcoat pocket
. ‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘your head is what I would call dolichocephalic in shape. That is, rather longer than it is wide
.’

I wondered if this was good or bad.

‘I can tell from this,’ continued Aluph, tapping firmly on my left temple, that‘ you are a boy of great
intelligence and I sense that you have an appreciation for the finer things in life.’

‘What else?’ I asked.

Aluph smiled benignly. ‘I am afraid I can say no more without payment
.’ He looked hopeful; I
felt he expected a coin or two, but he was soon disabused of this notion.

‘Profound, indeed,’ remarked Beag with a grin.

‘Mr Hickory,’ said Aluph with commendable restraint, as a ‘
potato
thrower —’ he emphasized the word potato quite strongly – ‘I can hardly imagine that you have much to contribute to this discussion.’

Beag would not entertain any slur on his potato-throwing talents. He stood up and raised his clenched fists. ‘Buncombe,’
he snarled, ‘if you don’t hold your tongue I’ll give you a bump you’ll be feeling for the next six months
.’ He thrust his fist across the table and Aluph leaned back quickly.

‘Please, gentlemen,’ intervened Mrs Hoadswood sharply, rising to her feet. Her eyes were fiery. Beag sat down again with a
grunt and Aluph adjusted his cuffs. Then Mr Pantagus asked the question that had been on
the tip of everyone’s tongue for days. I knew it would come.

‘Well, Pin, what do you know of Fabian Merdegrave’s mur der?’

And so I told them.

‘The murder of Uncle Fabian has its roots in the past. When my mother said she wished to marry a southerner it
caused terrible trouble and split the Merdegrave family. Grandfather said he never wanted to see her again and disowned her. Grandmother was not so violently opposed to the marriage but would not go against his wishes. When Grandmother was still alive
Mother used to take me in secret to see her. She gave us money and small gifts and smuggled out pieces of Mother’s jewellery from the house. Mother was always hopeful that one day her father would relent and the rift would be healed.

‘Despite this, we were happy enough. Father was a skilled carpenter and he taught me all he knew; Mother
cooked and sold her wares in the market. In the evening she taught me to read and write for she wanted me to get ahead in life. My learning, and love of it, set me apart from the other children on the street, but when I
complained, Mother told me that I had a choice – to forge my own way or to follow the pack. It was her greatest desire that I should make something of myself and I know she didn’t want me to stay in the City. Sometimes she told me stories
about her childhood over the river, about the beautiful house she lived in with so many rooms she couldn’t count them, about the servants who provided for their every need and about her wonderful toys. I wondered why she ever left but she said to
me that there was more to life than owning objects. That sometimes the most precious things of all couldn’t be touched by a human hand. I didn’t understand then, but I think I am beginning to understand now.

‘The trouble started when Fabian, my mother’s brother, found out about the secret visits. He was a drinker and a gambler and
would take any wager down at the Nimble Finger. He was always in trouble, owing money to all sorts of people. When Jeremiah Ratchet, a rich man from out of town, employed some violent fellows to collect his debts, Grandfather ran out of patience and
refused Fabian any more money. So Fabian came to us and threatened to tell about our secret meetings. This would have put Grandmother in a terrible position so my father gave Fabian what he could, because my mother
asked him, but not the jewellery, which he hid.

‘Then Grandmother died and we thought Fabian would not bother us any more. We moved into cheaper lodgings and didn’t see my
uncle for a long time. We thought we might be able to live in peace again, but before long my mother fell ill and couldn’t work. Father sold all the jewellery to pay for cures, but nothing helped. When she died he fell into a terrible melancholy,
losing all interest in life and work. I tried my best to fulfil his promises, but my woodworking skills were not yet up to his and the jobs became fewer and fewer and our debts grew.

‘Not so long ago, before he was murdered, Fabian found out where we were and came looking for money again. My father was furious
and sent him away, but he returned when I was alone and he started asking about my mother’s jewellery. I told him the truth, that whatever we had we had pawned, except for one piece, a silver picture locket, that had been buried with her, in
keeping with
tradition. He seemed to believe me and I was glad when he left. I truly thought we were rid of him.

‘When Father heard about Fabian’s visit he flew into a terrible rage. ‘‘The gutter scoundrel,’’ he
ranted. ‘‘He has used you, a young lad, for his own greedy ends.’’ He pulled on his coat. ‘‘I know where he’ll be,’’ he said. ‘‘I have to get to him before it’s too
late.’’

‘I didn’t understand what he meant and I waited hours before going to find him, but it was so dark and cold and the streets
are so dangerous at night that I soon gave up. When I came home I found Fabian lying dead on the floor, strangled.

‘I haven’t seen my father since.

‘Everyone thinks he killed Fabian. I find it hard to believe he could commit such a crime, but if he didn’t then why did he
leave? I used to wish that he would come back. I have even searched for him, but now I am not so sure.’

Pin looked around the table and he could see from their faces that they were as doubtful as he was.

‘At least now you have a job and a home,’ said Mrs Hoadswood gently. ‘Perhaps you should leave the past where it
is.’

‘I
would,’ Pin said, ‘if Deodonatus Snoad would do the same.’