The Bone Magician (21 page)

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 understand 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.

‘For better
or worse,’ concluded Aluph, ‘I think we should pass this information on to Constable
Coggley
. I have an appointment tonight, but I shall pay a visit to our good constable on my return.’

I bade Aluph goodnight after that and left in quite a quiver of excitement. I went straight to Juno’s room – I had to tell her
what I had seen and learned – but there was no answer so I returned to my room hoping she might be back before I went out again.

The evening passed slowly. I sat deep in thought in front of the fire and considered the events of the past few days. My fateful encounter
with the Silver Apple Killer was still at the forefront of my mind, but even though I shuddered at the memory, at least one good thing had come of it
:
I knew now for certain that the Silver Apple Killer was not my
father. Apart from the fact that it would be unthinkable for my father to try to kill me, his only son, there was also the matter of his height; the Silver Apple Killer was at least eight inches too short! Not surprisingly, I was also thinking about my
foray into Juno’s trunk and the disturbing effect her
potion had on me. I resolved there and then never to sniff any of her bottles again.

In the warm room my eyes began to close and I drifted off helplessly into a dream filled with grinning skulls and deep snow and graves and
bottles and canes with wheels.

I woke with a start. How long had I been asleep? From the odour drifting up to my room I knew straight away that Juno was back. I took my
coat and hat and went down to see her.

‘Juno,’ I hissed, tapping at the door, ‘I know you’re in there. Let me in
.
It’s important.’

There was a long silence, but then the door opened slowly and Juno looked out sleepily.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ She stepped back and I entered
. The room was filled with a thick fog and I
was reminded sharply about what I had done earlier. But this was not the time for confessions.

‘Fiends! What’s going on in here?’ I asked, coughing and waving my arms about. ‘I can hardly see.’ I went
straight to the window and pushed it open. The cold air rushed in and the thick smoke streamed out into the night
.

‘This
can’t be good for you,’ I warned.

‘I have such terrible trouble sleeping,’ muttered Juno. When I turned around her upper lip glistened and I knew she had just
smeared it with her unguent. Instantly her eyes brightened and her cheeks coloured. She shivered and shut the window
. ‘What did you want anyway? It’s late.’ Now she bristled with efficiency, as if nothing
had happened, and it struck me immediately that the application of the unguent had something to do with her sudden revival. And if that was the case, I thought wryly, I could have done with some earlier.

‘I’ve got something to tell you, about the Silver Apple Killer. He uses a Friction Stick.’

A Friction Stick?’‘

‘It generates power, enough to burn you and to knock you over.’ I was bursting to tell her everything, but the clock was
striking the hour outside.

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I can’t talk now. I have to go to the Cella Moribundi
.’

‘Then I’ll come with you,’ said Juno simply. ‘I’ll keep you company,’ and she wrapped her cloak around
her and left the room, expecting me, as usual, to follow.

Aluph Buncombe quickened his pace and cursed the rawness of the cold. It was very dark, with only one street lamp the
whole length of the road, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew there were people watching him from shadowy doorways. A little further down the street a tavern door was thrown open and two men spilled out to continue their altercation in the
gutter. Aluph hesitated. He was already regretting that he had accepted this particular head-reading invitation. He much preferred to go over the river. Whatever he really thought of the northerners, at least he was always in luxurious surroundings.

But Aluph was a man who kept his promises. He had
sent word that he was on his way; it was too late
to turn back. So he braced himself and strode on with false confidence until he came to Number 15. He rapped on the door and waited. A minute or so later it opened slowly and Aluph flashed his best smile for the crone who stood there.

‘Yes?’ she croaked.

Aluph composed himself as best he could and stated that he was ‘Here to see Mr Snoad’.

‘Eh?’ she croaked.

‘Mr Snoad.’

‘Wassat?
’

‘Mr Snoad!’
he said finally, only inches away from her waxy ears.

‘Top floor.’

‘Much obliged,’ said Aluph, tipping his hat, and he stepped in and closed the door behind him. Instantly he was filled with
regret and fear and nausea. The smell in the narrow corridor was as far from the delicious smells at Mrs Hoadswood’s as was possible. The walls that he brushed against were sticky and the floor seemed soft underfoot, but he dared not look down. He
didn’t want to know what he was standing on.

‘Evenin’,’ said a shifty-looking fellow emerging from a
room on the left. He
squeezed past and Aluph instinctively held on tightly to his purse. And rightly so for he could feel the man’s fingers all over his jacket as he went by. The sly chap gave a little laugh and slipped out on to the street and Aluph began to breathe
again.

‘This is the first and last time I’m doing this,’ he vowed to himself as he began to climb the stairs. ‘Over the
Foedus or not at all.’ He had only accepted because he was hoping that Deodonatus would like what he heard – indeed he was going to make sure that he did, and then he might put in a good word for him in the
Chronicle
. But he hadn’t thought Snoad would live in such a dreadful part of the City. Aluph always maintained that there was no such thing as bad publicity. Now he just wondered if he would survive long enough to
enjoy it.

He took the stairs one at a time, his pace decreasing as he approached the top. Halfway along the corridor he came to the door, but
before he could rap upon it with his knuckles it opened slowly.

‘Mr Buncombe, I presume.’

‘At your service,’ replied Aluph, peering into the gloom. ‘Would you be Mr Snoad?’

‘I
am,’ came the reply and the door opened a little wider. ‘Come in.’

The voice was gruff, muffled almost and, thought Aluph, neither northern nor southern. The room was very badly lit: two short candles on
the wall and the glow of the fire. He stood where he was for some seconds as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The room was spacious and surprisingly neat, apart from a large table that was strewn with news journals and paper and empty ink pots.

A voice came from over in the corner, to the right of the window, by the fire.

‘Well, come on then. Do your stuff.’

‘Of course, Mr Snoad. Now what had you in mind?’

‘I hear you can tell the future from my bumps,’ he said brusquely. ‘I want to know what’s ahead of me in this
miserable life.’

‘Well,’ said Aluph, ‘I am not quite a fortune teller—’

‘What are you then?’ interrupted Deodonatus. ‘If you don’t tell the future what do you do?’

‘It’s not that I don’t tell the future,’ said Aluph carefully. After all, if that’s what Deodonatus wanted
he could certainly have a decent stab at it. ‘It’s simply that with
proper cranial analysis you can be more certain of the path that is ahead of you.’

‘That sounds like what I want,’ said Deodonatus. ‘Get on with it then.’

‘Hmm,’ thought Aluph. This was not quite what he expected. He would have to play this carefully. He doubted Deodonatus Snoad
was one for flattery. He was too sharp for that.

‘Perhaps we could have some more light?’

‘No,’ was the curt reply.

Aluph felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Ehem,’ he said, and could scarcely believe his nerve. ‘It is customary to
receive a portion of the fee up front.’

‘On the table,’ said Deodonatus. ‘Take it now but don’t cheat on me. I know what’s there.’

‘I wouldn’t even think of it, Mr Snoad,’ said Aluph. ‘For sure, it would be all over the
Chronicle
in the morning.’

Aluph went to the table and felt around for the money. These certainly were not the sort of conditions he was used to working in. His
fumbling hands closed at last around a pile of coins. Shillings by the feel of them. He dropped them in his pocket and all the while he was conscious of a pair of eyes on him.

‘Hurry
up,’ growled Deodonatus. ‘I haven’t got all night.’

Aluph went over to the chair where Deodonatus was sitting. There was something sticky on his fingers and he wiped them surreptitiously
down his trouser leg. At that moment the moon came out and, for a few seconds only, Aluph could see Deodonatus silhouetted in the pale light. It was an extraordinary sight. That protruding brow, the bulbous nose, the knobbly chin that rested on his
chest. His breath caught in his throat, but he managed to stay calm.

‘Perhaps you could sit forward a little,’ he said and he realized that his voice had risen somewhat in pitch. Deodonatus
obliged and Aluph began.

He laid his hands on Deodonatus’s head. ‘What a fine head of hair you have,’ he began. He could swear there were
things crawling in it.

Deodonatus merely grunted.

‘Very well,’ nodded Aluph, relieved at not having to keep up a stream of mundane chatter. Slowly he moved his fingertips
through the matted hair and took a curious pleasure in the knowledge that he was also wiping his fingers clean at the same time.

‘You have an enlarged sub-nape lobe.’

‘What does
that mean?’ asked Deodonatus.

‘Well,’ said Aluph carefully, ‘it’s a good thing really. It means you have a talent for . . . for . . .
information, for communicating ideas. Do you find that people listen to you when you speak?’

Deodonatus grunted. ‘I don’t speak to that many folk these days. Whenever I have in the past, I found they had little to
say. They preferred to look.’

‘Like the Gluttonous Beast,’ said Aluph, without thinking. ‘What a spectacle that is. I take it you have paid a
vis—’