The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

The Broken One (Part III)

Upon returning home, Booker brought the dead pigeon downstairs to examine it more closely. This was certainly not the work of a run-of-the-mill stray. The bite marks were reminiscent of the wound the Wolf had left on Trinket's leg: clean yet jagged cuts. Like wild knives slicing through flesh.

Letting out a long sigh, he tapped his pen against the notebook in which he'd written his observations. Of course, this didn't really bring him any closer to the beast. It only gave him more evidence that it existed. But he didn't need evidence. He already knew it was real. There was no denying that. He'd seen it with his own eyes. What he needed was to find the animal's creator.

Benedict.

Booker rubbed his tired eyes. Staring at the dead pigeon wasn't going to bring him any closer to his goal. What he needed to do was get out there and start asking questions. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. The Clocktower would be filled with drunk patrons by now. Perhaps he would be able to pick up on some prime gossip.

Getting to his feet, he tugged on his jacket and made his way upstairs. He wasn't all that hungry, but dining at the Clocktower rarely had anything to do with food. Even so, he knew he had to eat every once in a while to stave off malnutrition. Not that the Clocktower's stew was all that nutritious.

As he emerged into the main part of the house, he noticed smoke trailing down the hallway from the kitchen. He furrowed his brow, wondering what Trinket could be doing in there when there was a sudden crash. Flashbacks of Song being burnt by the boiling pot of water sent him into a panic, and he nearly tripped over his feet as he rushed towards the kitchen.

There was no spilled pot of boiling water nor was there an injured maid on the floor. But there was smoke. Lots of it. He coughed and waved it away as he moved further into the room, searching for Trinket.

"Blasted flies," mumbled a voice from the scullery.

Booker peered inside and found Trinket standing before the sink, waving away the steam that was rising from it. "Good Lord, what's happening in here?" he asked.

Trinket glanced over her shoulder. "I was attempting to make a stew for dinner, but that didn't exactly work out," she said, gesturing to the still steaming pot.

He leaned over her to get a better look and laughed when he saw the gooey, burnt mess in the pot. "Well, it's certainly not inedible, but it does seem a bit overcooked."

"I'm sorry. I know I haven't been doing very well with regard to meals."

"I hardly eat anyhow. Your crumpets and toast have been sufficient for me. Besides, I was just about to go out to the Clocktower. We can dine there tonight."

She turned to him, her brow furrowed. "'We'?"

"Of course. I can't have you stuck here eating burnt stew now, can I? What sort of an employer would I be if I allowed that?"

"A normal one?"

A smile threatened to break over his face, but he held it back and gestured for her to follow him. "Come, I insist."

Trinket trotted after him. "But what about the mess I made? I should really clean it up and do something with the stew."

Booker donned his coat and hat and handed Trinket her coat as he waved away her concerns. "No need."

Taking her arm and linking it with his own, he led her outside and called out to Madison who was on the opposite side of the street. The young urchin came scurrying over. "Yes, sir?" he panted.

"Is Gin about?" Booker asked.

"Yes, sir, just down the street playing cards."

"Good. Go get her and a few more of your mates. There's some stew in the scullery. A tad burnt but still edible, I'm sure. Have Gin lock up when you leave."