The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Three

When Trinket entered the kitchen early the next morning, she found Daphne already up and boiling water. She flashed Trinket a warm smile before turning to cough into her shoulder.

"Daphne, if you're still sick, you should've stayed in bed," Trinket said as she practically wrestled the jar of tea out of her hands.

Rolling her eyes, Daphne waved away her concern. But the way she rubbed her throat was unconvincing.

"You're as bad as Booker," Trinket mumbled, setting the jar on the table and fetching some teacups.

Daphne raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open in shock.

Trinket struggled to keep an amused smile at bay. "I daresay Mr. Larkin would be rather hurt by your offense at being compared to him."

"Who are we comparing me to?" Booker asked as he entered the kitchen tying his cravat.

Shaking her head, Daphne stationed herself beside him and moved her hand back and forth between the two of them. Booker furrowed his brow and looked to Trinket for a translation of what the tongueless woman meant, but she was too busy trying to repress her laughter. Daphne glanced up at Booker and shook her head once more, jutting a thumb at him.

"Would anyone care to explain what's going on?" Booker asked.

"I was just saying that Daphne here is almost as ridiculously stubborn as you." Trinket cast him a sidelong glance. "Almost."

Booker turned to Daphne and placed a hand on his chest in feigned offense. "My dear Daphne, I cannot allow you to steal my title as the most pigheaded one in the house. Which means I must be ten times as obstinate to reclaim my throne."

"By forcing us to eat breakfast at the Clocktower?" Trinket said.

The kettle whistled, and Daphne quit casting Booker dirty looks in order to take it off the stove. Booker joined Trinket at the table where she was scooping tea leaves into the strainers she'd set over the cups.

"I'm not going to force you to eat it," he said, stealing the spoon from her and adding a fourth heap of leaves to his cup. "I only request that you pretend to consider eating it."

Trinket sighed. "Your banter is too much to process in the morning."

Daphne approached with the kettle, and as she set it on the pull-out cutting board in the table, she raised an eyebrow at Trinket.

"It's no comment on your cooking," Trinket reassured her. "We're only dining at the Clocktower in hopes of finding another clue."

Now both eyebrows went up, and she looked between Trinket and Booker expectantly.

"A body appeared outside the alehouse last night," Trinket explained. "It wasn't mutilated like the ones from a few weeks ago, but it did have a number carved into its forehead."

"Nine fifty-seven," Booker said. "A message of some sort, I'm sure."

"We think it could be a time, so we're going to the Clocktower this morning to investigate."

Daphne furrowed her brow as Booker took out his pocket watch. She leaned over and tapped it with her finger, raising her eyebrows at him and Trinket.

Trinket tried to understand what she was asking, but with no success. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Tapping the watch once more, Daphne moved to the kitchen window and pointed outside. She motioned with her hand, as if slowly pushing something down.

Though it took a moment to process, Trinket finally got it. "What if it's not referring to the morning?"