Multiplication

 Bookworm Hienrichs was just leaving Militia headquarters when she saw a small figure running up the street.  As it drew closer, she saw the waving fox tail that told her it was Tepic Harlequin.  Closer yet, and the grim expression on his face told her this was no pleasure run.  He waved urgently at her, and called, “Miss Book!”

She hurried forward to meet him.  “What is it, Tepic?”

“A body, Miss Book,” he replied, panting.  “I found a body outside the city walls.  It’s bad, miss. Real bad.”

“Show me.”  Bookworm followed Tepic at a trot, listening intently as he told her the story of his discovery.  It didn’t take long, which was good–they soon both needed to save their breath for maintaining their pace.

Finally, they floundered through the snow outside the walls and below the elevated train tracks, until they reached the location of the body.  Bookworm winced; Tepic certainly hadn’t exaggerated the condition of the body.  It had been a young man, twenty years old or so.  There were many claw marks on the body, including some that cut deep into the throat, slicing through the jugular.  Bookworm carefully brushed around the snow, finding frozen blood all around the body, especially the neck.  Evidently, whatever had killed him had done it here, and must have done it some time ago, for the body to freeze so thoroughly.

[img_assist|nid=6633|title=|desc=|link=popup|align=left|width=640|height=441]

 

 

 
Bookworm gingerly lifted one of the young man’s hands.  There was blood caked on it, including under the nails, and his lower fingers were broken.  “Looks like he didn’t go without a fight,” she mused.  She continued to search the body, finding a few oddities, including a name that made her frown with confusion.

Bookworm sighed as she finished her examination of the body.  There wasn’t much to go on at this point, though there was one avenue of inquiry–if only she scould figure out where to start that inquiry.  She glanced over at Tepic, who had stayed nearby.  “I don’t suppose you know who this is?”  Tepic shook his head.  “Well, thank you for summoning me,” she continued, standing up.  “I’ll make sure this is taken care of.”

‘This is going to be a long day,’ she thought as she began the trek back to Militia headquarters.

——–

It had, indeed, been a long day, and a frustrating one, as she had so far made no progress in her investigation.  Finally, she gave up for the night, returned home to a late dinner, and crawled into bed.  Not even the sound of a strong wind howling outside kept her awake for long.

Bookworm was awakened from a deep sleep by a feeling of being shaken.  She stirred, cracked open her eyes, and saw Mariah standing over her.  “Bookworm, wake up,” she said grimly.  “There’s a body.”

“Of course there’s a body,” Bookworm mumbled, turning over onto her side.  “That’s what I was investigating all day yesterday.”  But then, something in the tone of Mariah’s voice struck through her sleepiness, and she turned back over onto her back, staring up at Mariah’s sober face.  “Wait–*another* body?”

Mariah nodded, and Bookworm asked, “Where?”

“In the garden just outside,” Mariah replied with a tilt of her head toward the back of the house.

“What?!”  Bookworm sat bolt upright at that.  She reached for the nearest clothing–the dress she’d worn yesterday–and pulled it on quickly.  Shoving her feet into boots, she followed Mariah downstairs, grabbing up cloak and hat as she hurried to the back door.

Outside, Mrs. Sawyer and Mrs. Pritchard were standing by the door, waiting for them.  “Who found it?” Bookworm asked.

“I did,” replied Mrs. Sawyer.  “I was taking some trash out when I saw several cats pacing around and around something out in the garden.  When I saw what it was, I hurried back in to fetch the Captain.”

Bookworm nodded absently as she hurried toward the fallen figure in the snow.  As she drew close and saw it better, she had to swallow back a wave of nausea.  This body looked worse than the first.  It, like the other body, had apparently been in its resting place a while, buried in the snow.  The wind of last night, remnants of which still tugged at her hair and cap and froze her cheeks, must have uncovered it.

[img_assist|nid=6634|title=|desc=|link=popup|align=left|width=640|height=441]

 

 
“How could anyone have been killed here without us knowing about it?” Mrs. Sawyer asked from her spot several feet away.

“I don’t think he was killed here,” Bookworm replied as she brushed away at the snow.  “There’s not enough blood here.  He must have been killed elsewhere and brought here.  But why?”

“Well, it is relatively secluded,” Mariah said.  “Especially as we aren’t using it now, what with the snow and cold.  If it hadn’t been for last night’s wind, we wouldn’t know about it even now.”

“True.  And, of course, no point in trying to look for tracks now.”  Bookworm took a closer look at the body.  This man was older–perhaps in his late thirties.  He, too, had been savaged by claws, with some wounds apparently having been inflicted even after he had died.  She noticed one of his hands was grasped around something, and carefully prized it open.  She held up to the light a bloody hank of black fur.

“A wild animal?” Mariah asked.

“Animal, yes,” Bookworm replied, an uncomfortable thought forming in her mind.  “But not wild.  Neither this one nor the other body show any signs of being eaten at all.”  She handed the fur to Mariah to hold, and took a look in the man’s pockets.  There was money in one pocket, and in the other, an invitation to the last night of the Mariners’ Revenge pub.

“Hmmm.  This should help.”  She held up the invitation to Mariah.  “Who used to frequent that pub?”

Mariah half-lidded her eyes as she thought.  “Nymlet and her cronies,” she said.  “Employees from the Steamweaver Aeroworks.  And workers from the Asylum, both the construction people and the orderlies–well, former orderlies, now.”

Bookworm looked up sharply at that.  “Interesting,” she said slowly.  She squatted a few minutes more by the body, lost in thought, then abruptly stood up, took the hank of fur back from Mariah, and hurried into their house.  Finding a pen and paper, she scribbled a quick note.

“Mariah, could you do me a favor and take this over to Militia headquarters?  They need to know about this.”  She handed the note to her.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to the Asylum and see if Arnold is there.  If he is, and if this man did work there, Arnold should be able to identify him.”

Mariah gave her a keen look, but only nodded as they both left through the front door.  Their ways soon diverged, though, and Bookworm was left alone with her thoughts.  She couldn’t help but remember a rather uncomfortable conversation she’d had with Arnold during the summer of last year, and one statement in particular:

“If you ever do find someone clawed to death one day, and it was at night that the deed happened, feel free to suspect me.  I won’t remember if I’m guilty or not, but I might be.”

Had that grim prediction finally come true?  Bookworm truly hoped not, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility.