14 February 1875 of the 6th Era, The Iron Giant

  “What I find insightful is the fact that Mr Flint and Lady Flowers called each other rather unfit for the outside world,” Charlotte remarked.

  Professor O’Neill was taking his time with ascertaining the whereabouts of Professor Stein, so Charlotte proposed to go over their observations. Not that there was much to discuss, but the chatter was helping to fill the awkward silence between Antony and Dorian.

  I really could use Greg’s help. He has a way with people, she inwardly sighed.

  “And both of them are right, albeit for different reasons,” Dorian replied begrudgingly. “I haven’t had any dealings with Lady Flowers before. But I take it you’re acquainted, given how you treated her just now?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest as to who she is. That is, apart from the fact that she is a baroness, but behaves as if she were a marchionness, or perhaps even a dutchess.

  “Andrew has not participated in any social events in Stolberg in two or three decades, and even before that he preferred Ledavia’s crowd. Less pretentious, in his opinion, though I would argue it’s just a different kind of pretentious. As Lady Flowers stated herself, she rarely leaves Stolberg, so there would be no way for us to interact.”

  “Trying to pull on her nerves was a spur of the moment decision,” Charlotte added. “I just happened to notice how Lady Flowers talked to those she thought were lower in social standing than her. Antony was of the same opinion, and proposed a calculated gamble. We’re both foreigners, from a country with clearly different customs. She couldn’t be certain if this was just standard procedure, and wouldn’t dare oppose me.

  “Thankfully, this did not backfire, and Lady Flowers behaved exactly how we hoped she would. I’m certain she would not have said a few things were she properly in control of her emotions.”

  “She only tolerated this because she was fairly certain you and I were friends,” Antony briefly recounted the conversation during yesterday’s card game. “Quite an interesting character, I must say. Very short temper, but does her research diligently, unlike, say, the Longfellows or the Welzes. Mr Flint is grossly mistaken about her. She’s all about practicality, and her mind isn’t divided between a hundred tasks. Her finances, now, are a wholly different matter. Those dresses cost a small fortune,” he looked through his notes again, then examined the carriage plans Professor O’Neill had compiled. “She did make one interesting observation. I, too, am growing more and more curious about the list of passengers. While some are expected names, such as Charlotte’s father, Cardinal Whitesand, or Mr Styles, others leave me completely baffled.”

  “Some are oddballs, indeed. Hopefully Mr Perkins can shed some light on the matter,” Dorian agreed.

  The door opened and Professor O’Neill finally returned, accompanied by an unconsolable Professor Stein. He showed her to a vacant armchair and took his place, looking almost as distraught.

  “Apologies,” Professor Stein took out a handkerchief and wiped away the tears. “Poor Beatrice. The silly child never deserved this. Really, she didn’t. And it’s all my fault.”

  Charlotte placed her hand on the moon-shaped brooch on her chest, closing her eyes in a silent prayer.

  “I take it you knew her well?” Her voice was oddly melodic as she asked the question.

  “She studied under me. One of my brightest students in the past century. Both a brilliant poetess and researcher. Even after she had graduated, she still kept in touch with me, and we often met at different events. I dare say we were good friends,” Professor Stein paused, hiding her face in her hands as she continued to cry. “Who could have done such a thing?”

  “This is what we, too, want to find out. Professor Stein, mind telling us about Ms Glancy? What kind of person was she?”

  “Caring. Thoughtful, but also quite mischievous,” Professor Stein tried to muster a smile. “Fascinated with ghosts, spirits, and the Other World. So much so that she made friends with a fair few members of the church you belong to, Lady Dawntreader.”

  “Lady Flowers and Mr Flint both mentioned that about her. She even tried to communicate with spirits, if I understood them right?”

  “Oh, yes. There were several students in her year who shared her fascination. They held a few seances. Nothing forbidden, of course,” she continued to spit sentences. “Just genuine curiosity of the youth. Lady Dawntreader, please, don’t think of them badly. While they tried a few things here and there, they were never successful. Only one of the group wasn’t deaf to the Source, and he was a mage with affinity to illusion magic from what I remember.

  “Beatrice’s final thesis was on the depiction of the Prophet’s vengeful spirit in Act III of The Lord of the Storms. Not that it is of any importance now.”

  “Do you know who might have created the illusion we saw yesterday?” Charlotte asked instead, writing down a few thoughts in her notepad.

  “I fear not. Do you think it was meant for Beatrice?”

  “She did react somewhat tensely to it,” seeing Professor Stein shake the head again, Charlotte decided to shift the topic. “Professor Stein, forgive me if the next question is somewhat tactless. I was told that the award Ms Glancy received was very prestigious. Yet, no one present recognised Ms Glancy as someone famous. Not even those who are interested in poetry. Why is that?”

  “Not tactless at all. She is the author of In Blooms Do We Meet.”

  Professor O’Neill sharply raised his head, alarmed, “You mean to say that Ms Glancy… Oh dear.”

  “That title does sound awfully familiar,” Dorian was frowning.

  “The author of that tome is none other than Frederica Willow.”

  Dorian’s face immediately darkened, while Professor Stein lowered her head, ready to once again burst into tears. Antony tried to show confusion, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. The only one who did not react to the news in any way was Charlotte. She sat there, expecting them to explain the sudden mood shift.

  “I take it the name is somehow infamous. Mind explaining why?” She broke the lingering silence.

  “Did Lady Flowers or Mr Flint know about that?” Dorian hurriedly asked instead. “Or Mr Perkins?”

  “Mr Perkins probably knew. I cannot imagine why else he would have invited her. Lady Flowers and Mr Flint… No, I don’t think so. I never told Lady Flowers that Beatrice was the author of that book. And Beatrice herself never mentioned her old writing. Only read a few of her new poems.”

  “The name isn’t infamous at all. It’s all about that book,” Dorian turned to Charlotte and Antony. “It wasn’t big when it came out, or otherwise outstanding. Until a review appeared in one of those literary magazines claiming that one of the poems was about an actual unsolved murder and contained clues to the means and the killer. Of course, as these things go, it did not mention which poem, or which murder. No one was even sure if it happened within this century. But the way it was worded, it attracted the attention of a couple of Stolberg news outlets, and from there, the fascination spread across all of Enua.

  “There were dozens of theories. The murder mystery was hidden in To Henry, or maybe in the Old Street We Wandered. Some claimed that it was one of the sonnets towards the end of the book, or even that the entire collection was a masterful retelling of the case. Ms Willow refuted all of these claims, but she also never outright denied that there wasn’t a poem about an actual murder.”

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  “Did you try looking into it?” Antony asked.

  “Of course I did, but I found nothing. The more I think about it, the more I am inclined to believe that it was nothing more than a clever advertising campaign,” he looked at Professor Stein, who shrugged in return.

  “I asked Beatrice about it, but she gave me a mysterious smile and asked what I thought. She really was mischievous. Although,” he clasped her hands, blinking quickly, then made a rather silly grimace. “Maybe there was something more to it, I’m not sure.”

  “Could you elaborate?”

  “Now that I think about it, a few months ago Beatrice did say something odd during one of the poetry gatherings. When we were sharing our recent achievements, she suddenly smiled in that mysterious fashion and said that she was visited by a spirit of someone lost to the sands of time. And that spirit granted her inspiration for her next collection of poems. She added that with that, she could become the next Ms Willow.

  “Of course, everyone remained sceptical. She quickly laughed it off, reminding us that she was deaf to the Source.

  “With what happened, I cannot shake off the feeling that she was only half joking. Could she have really managed to talk to the spirit of someone long gone? Could she have written down what that spirit told her? Made a poem out of it? Is this what led to her death?

  “Oh, Beatrice,” she covered her face with her hands, unable to hold back tears anymore.

  “Talking to ghosts is exceptionally taxing. Getting anything coherent from them… Only the Avatar of the Lady of the Dead Moon is capable of such a feat, and she is but a legend nowadays,” Charlotte gently shook her head.

  “We will never know if Ms Glancy was making fun of everyone or if she truly knew something, nor does it matter. What does matter is the possibility that someone believed her words, or recognised something that wasn’t there,” Antony added.

  Charlotte waited for Professor Stein to calm down, then asked, “How many people receive that award each year?”

  “A dozen, in different categories. Do you think me mentioning it yesterday–”

  “I do not believe you saying anything yesterday led to Ms Glancy’s demise,” Charlotte assured her. “Forgive me for not explaining why I draw such conclusions, but I am all but certain, your remark played no role in this.

  “None of you happen to have that book with you, I take it?.. Oh, well. I guess finding a bookstore will be our first errand tomorrow morning,” she looked at Antony, who firmly nodded. “However, let us for a moment assume that the culprit killed Ms Glancy for some other reason, unrelated to her pen name. Professor Stein, has Ms Glancy shared any worries with you? Or could she have upset one of the passengers?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” the reply did not come immediately. “Unless, of course, her teasing of Mr Flint drove the man to murder.”

  “Do you mean the curse that supposedly befell him?”

  “Yes. Mr Flint had the unfortunate idea to criticise one of Ms Glancy’s good friends in a most unflattering way, from what I understood. For a while now, she has been looking for an opportunity to get back at him.”

  “Was she the one who arranged for all these knocking sounds and ghostly shapes?”

  “She did not arrange for anything. Merely used Mr Flint’s lively imagination to her advantage. She was mischievous, my lady, but not vengeful. If that makes sense. She merely brought up the ravens and the,” Professor Stein frowned, trying to recall something, “and the black cat. Mr Flint did the rest. Not sure about any ghostly shapes, though. Could… Could it be that Mr Flint really is cursed?”

  “He isn’t, don’t worry. One final question. Yesterday, Ms Glancy had a notebook on her, but we found no such thing among her belongings. Someone said that they saw her write down some names and numbers in it. Do you know anything about that? Or where she could have hidden it, for example?”

  “Right. That went missing after dinner yesterday,” Professor Stein quickly said. “I completely forgot about it. Beatrice did ask me if I had seen it, and even went back to the restaurant carriage, but I guess she wasn’t successful.

  “As for names and numbers… I’m not sure what that is about. Maybe a list of patrons, or potential publishers?”

  “She didn’t owe anyone money, did she?”

  “I’m not privy to her financial dealings, I’m afraid, but I wouldn’t describe her as a spendthrift. She didn’t have problems with gambling or alcohol, either, or with any other substances.”

  “And her family?”

  “A simple background, from what I know, but we never talked about them.”

  “I see. Thank you. That would be all for now, but I might have more questions for you later. Could you please write down your address for me?”

  She nodded, accepted a page from Charlotte’s notepad and a pencil, then quickly jotted down the requested information.

  Charlotte watched the door close behind Professor Stein, then leaned back, frowning.

  “Is something wrong?” Antony asked.

  “It’s just that Professor Stein boarded the train three days ago, but she and Ms Glancy never talked to each other until yesterday.”

  “Maybe they thought that yesterday’s debate would be more surprising that way?”

  She shrugged, unconvinced.

  “Do you really want to pick up this investigation?” Dorian asked after a pause. “With this new information, who knows where this will lead and how long it will take.”

  “I guess I could hand it over to the Nightmare Poets once we arrive in Stolberg,” she unhurriedly replied, now flicking through her notebook.

  She heard Antony sigh. Having known her for two centuries, he learned to recognise the smallest shifts in her tone of voice, and surely noticed all the right tells in that offhand phrase. Especially the additional, barely perceivable stress she just put on “could”.

  “There I was, hoping I’d finally get to spend time with you,” he grumbled, almost staring daggers and Dorian.

  “Did you really expect me to drop this case?”

  “The way you looked at that black dress in the morning, I was certain of it.”

  “Fair. When Mr Holmes woke us up, I wanted to tell him to go to hell,” she leaned back in her armchair and stretched. Three cups of coffee definitely helped improve her mood.

  Yes, had Dorian dared ask her the same question in the morning, when she had to drag herself out of Antony’s embrace and out of bed, she wouldn’t have thought twice before agreeing to pass it to someone else. But that was back then. Now, having just heard the intriguing piece of information about Ms Glancy’s alter ego, she was more than determined to see it through. She resembled a cat that was making its rounds in the house when its ears picked up the characteristic squeaking of a mouse behind the wall. Either she would catch the mouse or it would flee. But until then, there was no stopping her or deterring her from her goal.

  She did have some regrets, however.

  Once again, we find ourselves chasing after criminals and wasting the night away while trying to establish motives and means. Hopefully there will still be some time for sightseeing. I was really looking forward to the trip.

  “I’d like to continue if no one has any objections,” she confirmed. “For one, I’m already here, so might as well make myself useful. Handing over the case is a huge hassle.”

  “It’s not that–”

  “Oh, come now. You know what I’m implying by this, and I’m certain you had experienced the feeling when something similar landed on your desk.

  “Also, this is just too intriguing. Something tells me that if you were given the same choice, you, too, would’ve decided to see this through, if only to know where it leads.”

  “Alright. I am at your full disposal. Though with Antony at your side, I’m not sure how much help I can be.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, as Mr Levy isn’t here,” Antony winked and adjusted his glasses. “And if you were referring to me, my knowledge of the country and her people is just as limited as Charlotte’s. Perhaps even more so, as she at least has the Greenforests to talk to, and a few more of our nobles that are friends with Leopold.”

  “Unless, of course, Mr Dahl, you lied yesterday,” Dorian reminded him. “You know, the way the three of them reacted when you said that you were a private detective still bothers me.”

  “It does raise a few questions, doesn’t it? But even if I did lie and know a bit more about Enua than I let on, you’re the best information broker I know. Well, second best, maybe, but first if I need reliable information.”

  “Second?”

  “The walking Encyclopedia Enua and rumour mill that is Lord Andrew Blackwater,” his voice was perfectly flat when he said that. He sighed again and turned to Charlotte. “I won’t stop you, of course, but I wish we actually got more time to ourselves.”

  “You knew what you were signing up for. Mr Holmes mentioned something about remembering the old times,” she chuckled. “It is a bit nostalgic, no?”

  “In a way. I guess it can’t be helped,” Antony took out his pocket watch and checked the time. Charlotte noticed his finger glide along the polished silver casing, stopping just below the middle point. This often happened when he was in deep thought, and he indeed spent a good minute ruminating on something. Finally, Antony shook his head and snapped the lid shut, then looked at his companions. “Four more hours till Stolberg, so just enough for one or two more interviews. Let’s talk to Mr Perkins. I really do want to know how a few of these people ended up on the train.”