The Vampire of Tinkerfall (Elysium #3)

Chapter Seven

 The Clocktower was filled with the smells of cheap ale and nearly spoiled stew. It was unusually quiet, especially considering the events that had taken place earlier that day. There was no boisterous laughter or raucous singing, and any conversations were spoken in anxious whispers.

"Not exactly lively, is it?" Booker asked as he and Trinket sat at a table in the corner where they could observe the rest of the room.

"Strange. I would have expected all sorts of talk about the old man's death," she said.

"Could it be possible no one has heard?"

"I doubt it. There was a very large crowd gathered when it happened."

A serving girl approached their table with a strained smile. "Good evening, Mr. Larkin. What can I get for you tonight?"

"We're just aching for some of that delectable stew," Booker said with a charming grin.

The girl gave a terse nod. "Very good. I'll fetch it right away."

She made her way into the back, her movements stiff and tense. As she disappeared behind the creaking kitchen door, Trinket turned to Booker.

"She seemed rather nervous," she said.

"Yes, she and everyone else," he muttered, glancing about the room again.

"Could the old man's death have scared them that much?"

"This city's witnessed worse deaths than that. I mean, the police found human parts amidst roasts and bacon at the butcher's shop. A man bleeding to death on the street shouldn't be all that unnerving."

The memory of a human jaw tumbling out of that burlap sack flashed through Trinket's mind. She suppressed a shiver and drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Yes, the butcher. Have you come up with any ideas to help him?"

Leaning back in his chair, Booker twisted his mouth into a frown. "I did send a message to Jewkes, but he has yet to respond."

"He's probably preoccupied with more recent morbid happenings."

The serving girl returned and placed two bowls in front of them. "Enjoy your meal," she said as she made to leave.

"Ah, one moment, if you will," Booker called out.

The girl stopped. Her shoulders heaved, and then she turned back to them and took slow steps towards their table. "Is there anything else you require, Mr. Larkin?"

Brow furrowed, he looked her up and down. "Are you all right?"

"Of course, sir."

"You look as though you're afraid I'll bite if you come any closer."

The serving girl flinched at the mention of biting, but she took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. "I'm well aware you won't bite, Mr. Larkin. I simply have my hands full with other matters and other customers."

Booker's eyes darted about the room and then settled back on her. "Doesn't seem all that busy. Did you run out of ale?"

She let out a rigid laugh. "No, of course not. It's just a quiet night. We have them on occasion."

Trinket and Booker exchanged a glance. "I'm sure," he said, returning his gaze to the serving girl. "Tell me, have you heard about that old bloke dropping dead in front of his apartment building?"

Though the girl was still smiling, the muscles in her throat flexed as she swallowed. "I think I may have heard something in passing," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Larkin, but I am quite busy. So unless you need anything pertaining to food or drink, I must be off."