metallic clank heralded their arrival as they heaved open the door. Josie looked up to see a rusty bell. She caught Alfie’s eye. It was a far cry from the polished professionalism of Wiggins the Undertaker.
The inside of the shop was vast; it reminded Josie of a church or maybe a library. Bookshelves lined the walls, disappearing up into the shadows near the ceiling. Display cases stood in rows and piles of books and papers, stuffed animals and various articles of junk cluttered every surface. Old chairs and dull suits of armour were dotted about the room. A thick layer of dust coated everything. A few dim gaslights illuminated parts of the space and a feeble light struggled through the begrimed windows.
‘There’s the old faker,’ Gimlet said, nodding across the cavernous room.
In a far corner, a high-backed armchair housed a grey old man. He was dressed in a silk smoking jacket and a matching pillbox hat. The gown had once been a deep crimson, Josie could tell, but it had faded with age. Blossoming trees swirled across the painted silk and colourful parrots sat on their branches. The old man’s face was shrouded in the frizzy grey beard and grey hair that exploded from under his hat. But Josie recognised his eyes. It was the watcher.
‘Mr Gimlet,’ he said, pointing at them with his long-stemmed pipe. ‘And the two youngsters. I’ve been expecting you.’
.
.
Amarantus flos, sym’bolum est immortalitatis.
Clement of Alexandria
.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Evenyule Scrabsnitch
Josie frowned at the stranger in the fancy smoking jacket. ‘You’re not Sebastian Mortlock?’ She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. That would have been one piece of this puzzle in place. Now she had a new piece to fit.
He flinched at the name, looking nonplussed, then gave an embarrassed cough. ‘My name is Scrabsnitch, Evenyule Scrabsnitch, purveyor of mystery and antiquity –’
‘Give over, Ted,’ Gimlet snorted, but the man’s expression did not change.
‘Ted?’ Josie repeated, frowning.
‘Don’t be fooled by that Evenyule nonsense. He uses a false name to impress the village idiots who visit this place,’ Gimlet murmured. ‘His real name is Ted, Ted Oliver, and he wasn’t expecting us.’
‘Believe what you want, Gimlet.’ Scrabsnitch waved a bony hand. ‘I was expecting you, once I realised the young lady had snatched a card from my pocket.’
‘Hardly second sight, then, Ted,’ Gimlet said, folding his arms. ‘Now, perhaps you can explain why you’ve been following Josie all this time.’
‘I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to approach you,’ Scrabsnitch said, peering up at her through bushy eyebrows, his shoulders slumping, ‘and your guardian before . . . he passed away. But I was wary of the company you’ve been keeping.’
Gimlet strode forward, grabbed the old man’s lapels and pulled him up out of the chair. Josie thought he was going to hit him. The old man hung from Gimlet’s powerful grasp, dropping his pipe.
‘What do you know about them?’ Gimlet snarled.
‘No more than I’ve observed! Put me down.’ Scrabsnitch waved his arms and kicked his feet in the air as Gimlet lowered him to the ground.
‘Gimlet! You’re too rough,’ Josie said and laid a reassuring hand on Scrabsnitch’s arm. ‘You must forgive my friend, Mr Scrabsnitch. He’s had a difficult time recently, as have we all.’
‘Here you are, mister.’ Alfie rescued the man’s pipe from the floor, while stamping out a smouldering fire that had struck up on the dry carpet.
‘I knew your guardian well, Josie Chrimes,’ Scrabsnitch said, his voice shaky as he settled himself back into the chair. ‘Besides, I used to visit the Erato every night. I loved your act and Cardamom was such a magician.’
Josie couldn’t help smiling. It seemed like an eternity since she’d last performed onstage. It had been in another world, another time.
‘He used to frequent my shop often in the old
The inside of the shop was vast; it reminded Josie of a church or maybe a library. Bookshelves lined the walls, disappearing up into the shadows near the ceiling. Display cases stood in rows and piles of books and papers, stuffed animals and various articles of junk cluttered every surface. Old chairs and dull suits of armour were dotted about the room. A thick layer of dust coated everything. A few dim gaslights illuminated parts of the space and a feeble light struggled through the begrimed windows.
‘There’s the old faker,’ Gimlet said, nodding across the cavernous room.
In a far corner, a high-backed armchair housed a grey old man. He was dressed in a silk smoking jacket and a matching pillbox hat. The gown had once been a deep crimson, Josie could tell, but it had faded with age. Blossoming trees swirled across the painted silk and colourful parrots sat on their branches. The old man’s face was shrouded in the frizzy grey beard and grey hair that exploded from under his hat. But Josie recognised his eyes. It was the watcher.
‘Mr Gimlet,’ he said, pointing at them with his long-stemmed pipe. ‘And the two youngsters. I’ve been expecting you.’
.
.
Amarantus flos, sym’bolum est immortalitatis.
Clement of Alexandria
.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Evenyule Scrabsnitch
Josie frowned at the stranger in the fancy smoking jacket. ‘You’re not Sebastian Mortlock?’ She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. That would have been one piece of this puzzle in place. Now she had a new piece to fit.
He flinched at the name, looking nonplussed, then gave an embarrassed cough. ‘My name is Scrabsnitch, Evenyule Scrabsnitch, purveyor of mystery and antiquity –’
‘Give over, Ted,’ Gimlet snorted, but the man’s expression did not change.
‘Ted?’ Josie repeated, frowning.
‘Don’t be fooled by that Evenyule nonsense. He uses a false name to impress the village idiots who visit this place,’ Gimlet murmured. ‘His real name is Ted, Ted Oliver, and he wasn’t expecting us.’
‘Believe what you want, Gimlet.’ Scrabsnitch waved a bony hand. ‘I was expecting you, once I realised the young lady had snatched a card from my pocket.’
‘Hardly second sight, then, Ted,’ Gimlet said, folding his arms. ‘Now, perhaps you can explain why you’ve been following Josie all this time.’
‘I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to approach you,’ Scrabsnitch said, peering up at her through bushy eyebrows, his shoulders slumping, ‘and your guardian before . . . he passed away. But I was wary of the company you’ve been keeping.’
Gimlet strode forward, grabbed the old man’s lapels and pulled him up out of the chair. Josie thought he was going to hit him. The old man hung from Gimlet’s powerful grasp, dropping his pipe.
‘What do you know about them?’ Gimlet snarled.
‘No more than I’ve observed! Put me down.’ Scrabsnitch waved his arms and kicked his feet in the air as Gimlet lowered him to the ground.
‘Gimlet! You’re too rough,’ Josie said and laid a reassuring hand on Scrabsnitch’s arm. ‘You must forgive my friend, Mr Scrabsnitch. He’s had a difficult time recently, as have we all.’
‘Here you are, mister.’ Alfie rescued the man’s pipe from the floor, while stamping out a smouldering fire that had struck up on the dry carpet.
‘I knew your guardian well, Josie Chrimes,’ Scrabsnitch said, his voice shaky as he settled himself back into the chair. ‘Besides, I used to visit the Erato every night. I loved your act and Cardamom was such a magician.’
Josie couldn’t help smiling. It seemed like an eternity since she’d last performed onstage. It had been in another world, another time.
‘He used to frequent my shop often in the old
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