Cadoville (unfinished)

Chapter XIV

Daylight, finally.... I sat up, breathing slowly, coolly..., the sunlight on my face, awake and alone, a cloudy city outside my window. Filling up my wash bowl, I brought some life back to my cheeks with a few splashes of cold water before putting on my boy clothes. I should eat. Stepping over the discarded artillery jacket, the only thing to remind me beyond doubt that last night hadn't been one long nightmare, I headed to Dr Spice's apartment. Sure enough, a half-eaten basket of pastries and a mildly hot beverage were waiting for me, as always....

No doubt news of Daumont's death would be circulating the streets and coffee houses of Paris, fingers pointing and tongues wagging – the only question was who would the powers that be blame? The maid's face was still fresh in my eye – chalky, tear sodden cheeks, gasping for her life.... I wasn't hungry, but managed to persuade myself to nibble the corner of a croissant, my eye drawn to the rows of books, tightly packed along the bookshelves, which I had seen many times but not noticed. Dr Spice's apartment was ruthlessly spick and span, regimented, every item in its place and a woman came every week to keep the dust from betraying where these places were.

Like a line of soldiers standing smartly to attention, I inspected the books, my index finger drifting from cover to cover - Latin, French and English - some of them unexpected, even odd choices.... Horse anatomy, poetry, Machiavelli's De Principatibus.... Quietly, I took out the latter and flicked through, pausing with intrigue when, from a hollowed out groove inside, a couple of thick wodges of cash tumbled to the floor. I put it back, only to unearth more paper money in other books, then gold coins, jewellery, teeth..., a dozen or so nestled in the hollowed out pages.

Cupping my face with cold, clammy hands, I sat down and breathed deeply, turning my attention to Dr Spice's bedroom door and thinking it was about time I found out more about the man who was promising to get me to Gruyères if I helped him. A quick look downstairs, and I went inside. The room was as immaculate as I was expecting, dauntingly immaculate - it was hard to imagine anyone had been sleeping in here. Edging forward, not a single grain of grit was clinging to the soles of my feet, and a gentle perfume of tobacco hanging in the air. A tatty old pack of cards rested on a low table, next to a little bag of dii.

A studded, oak chest sat in a far corner's shadows, a chunky key poking out of the lock beckoning me forward. I glanced behind. Itching with curiosity and my hands already reaching for the key..., twist, turn, click.... The torrid stench of metal and burnt wood rushed up my nose, watering my eyes.... A tangled heap of rags and clothes inside, splattered and smeared with rusty stains - shirts, neckerchiefs and bands of linen, then a worn, red, army jacket with big green cuffs. A thick, leather apron underneath with a rolled-up leather pouch, bearing a faded Irish harp and the words Cpt. L. Spice - a collection of scalpels, hooks, tweezers, and probes staring back at me, all tarnished with the same burnt rouge.

"Do you think you'll find your assassin there?" My heart leapt into my mouth. Dr Spice behind me, blocking the doorway, his eyes glinting like the sharpened razors in my hands. Getting nothing but stunned silence from me, he piled the clothes up on the bed. "What did I interrupt that was so engaging you didn't hear me come in?"

Red-faced and with my skin prickling, I headed back to the table, angry and gritting my teeth at the now absolute certainty he would send me back to the Caribbean – my mission to find my parents' killer was as good as over....

"I was looking for something...."

"What?"

I raked my fingers through my hair, unable to look at him and waiting for the inevitable....

"Anything!" I snapped, but Dr Spice remained unmoved - arms folded and cold. "... Anything that might tell me who you are.... I hardly know you...."