Bookworm was looking through the shelves near the library door when she was startled by a knock at the front entrance. Her ghost friends were supposed to warn her when Theodore approached, or if someone suspicious was about, so she surmised that whoever was there must not be either. So she hurried to the door and opened it, though she couldn’t help but tense up.
She relaxed when she saw Jimmy Branagh standing on the step; there was another boy standing next to him, one who looked a bit older than Jimmy. “Hoy, Miss Book!” Jimmy exclaimed cheerfully, though both were shivering a bit in the chilly air.
“‘Ello, Miss,” the other boy said.
“Hello, Jimmy,” she replied, and smiled at the other boy.
“This is Floy… err, Fly,” Jimmy said, trying to mitigate his accent on the boy’s name. Fly grinned at him. “‘E needs some ‘elp wit’ a problem, an’ thought you moight help.”
“Please, come in out of the cold,” Bookworm said, gesturing for them to enter and follow her into the library. “I’ll be glad to do what I can.”
Jimmy took in his surroundings. “Noice,” he said appreciatively. “’Aven’t been ‘ere since ya got back.”
Fly, too, was looking around, curiosity foremost in his expression. “You sure have a lot of books!” he exclaimed.
Bookworm smiled, though it was a little sour. “Not as much as before the end of summer, but I’m getting there. Have a seat.” She indicated the couch placed in front of the fireplace, where the two of them would be able to soak in some of the fire’s warmth.
“Thenks, Miss Book!” Jimmy and his friend settled down, while Bookworm sat in the stuffed chair nearby. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
Jimmy tilted his head toward Fly, who regarded Bookworm soberly for a few seconds before he began. “Thank you for seeing me, Miss. My name is Fly Copperfield, and I am the adopted son of the famous Pirate Captain Copperfield.”
She raised an eyebrow at that name, having heard some stories from Mariah, but contented herself with a noncommittal nod.
“He had a daughter, whom I considered my sister and I liked her very much,” Fly continued. “Her name was Amnelys.”
‘Oh, dear,’ Bookworm thought, noting the “was.”
“One day our ship moored in Port Babbage, and Amnelys and I were allowed to wander around the streets for a bit. That is when we got lost in a maze of narrow alleys, and met that man.”
“Man?”
Fly’s face darkened. “Nicholas. I only know his first name. Rather tall and thin, dark hair, brown eyes, handsome I guess, smooth talker but a real bastard.” His angry recitation stopped abruptly. “Err… excuse my language…”
“I’m used to it.” Bookworm smiled wryly, as she reached into her pocket for a notebook and pencil, and quickly began scribbling down details. She listened intently as Fly told her a story that was, unfortunately, rather common–how Nicholas seduced Amnelys, and persuaded her to stay in New Babbage, against the entreaties of both Fly and their father. Nicholas then forced Amnelys into selling herself, as he’d done with other girls. But she wouldn’t leave him, still clinging to the hope that he loved her.
And then, Captain Copperfield’s ship was destroyed at sea, in an accident with a pirate airship. Fly was the only survivor from his father’s ship, and a girl–who turned out to be Myrtil Igaly–was the only survivor from the other ship. The two had built a raft from the floating debris, and managed to make their way to New Babbage. Once there, Fly had asked the urchins for help in finding his sister. They did, but…
Fly stared up at the ceiling, growing anger clearly visible on his face. “This all happened at this big opening party for the Wax Museum.” Bookworm sat up at that–she had still been out of town when that party occurred, and had only heard bits and pieces of the occurrence there. “Apparently she was there, and witnesses saw a fight between her and a man. Moments later, she stood up and complained about feeling sick, then fell on the ground, where she died. Those local detectives you have inspected her… body…” He paused, swallowing down emotion, “and the glass she had drunk from, and said she was poisoned.”
“Yeh, Mr. Holmes an’ Dr. Watson,” Jimmy put in.
“From the descriptions I got of the man she got into a fight with, I know it is Nicholas. And a torn letter was found, a letter that she was holding, and that the man did tear up. I *know* that’s him,” Fly said fervently. “And now…” He paused again, trying to calm down. “I want to find him. Jimmy helped me around this city, and I asked people. Yesterday we met this cat and the fox boy who spoke about you.”
Bookworm studied Fly carefully. “And if we find him–what then?”
Fly looked back at her, unblinking, and said in an emotionless tone, “I want to bring him to justice. Judge him, have him pay for what he did.” In a lower tone, he added, “And I would like him to explain me why he did that. Just… why.” He looked away again, and she could see him trembling a little.
She pondered his words for a moment. So far as she knew, no real progress had been made on this case, and it was past time attention was paid to it. She just hoped Fly’s notion of justice wasn’t too… draconian. “Well, I can investigate, of course. But I can’t guarantee anything. Even if I find him… while there seems to be some evidence against him, what you’ve told me seems circumstantial right now.”
“I would be very grateful if you decide to investigate,” Fly replied. “Just knowing that I won’t be the only one looking for him–needle in a haystack.”
Bookworm nodded. “I’ll do my best.” She questioned the two of them further, but they couldn’t really tell her any more, except that they thought Mr. Holmes might still have the glass and samples. Finally, the two boys rose from the couch, ready to leave.
Bookworm stood up and went to Fly. “I am sorry for your loss. I’ll do my best to find the truth. Understand, though–the truth may not be everything you want it to be. We’ll see.” She thought he was old enough, and experienced enough, to understand her meaning.
The boy frowned, but said after a moment, “If you bring me the truth, the real truth, I’ll take it as it is. That’s all I want.”
Satisfied, she nodded. “If you find or hear anything that might be helpful, do please let me know.”
“Of course.” Fly paused. “Thank you again for helping me; I really appreciate it. I don’t know anyone in this town besides Myrtil, Jimmy and their friends. It is nice to know I can count on someone else.”
“It’s my job to help with something like this.” Bookworm smiled at him, and gestured for the boys to follow her. She escorted them toward the front door, but then paused, sniffing the air. “Wait here a moment,” she said, and hurried into the kitchen. A moment later, she returned, carrying a napkin full of fresh, hot cookies, which she handed to Jimmy. “Enjoy,” she said, smiling.
“Mmmmmmm!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Thenks, Miss Book!” He handed one of the cookies to Fly, whose eyes had widened. “They do smell good,” he murmured.
Jimmy took a cookie for himself, and stuffed the rest into his coat pocket. “Oy’l bring back yer nakkin,” he said as she opened the door for them. “Noight, Miss Book!”
“Thank you, Miss,” Fly said as he exited.
“Good night,” Bookworm replied, watching them head up Fae Way. She ducked back inside, to the warm fire in the library, and sat for a moment, looking at her scant notes. Finally, she sighed. “Well, I’ll try stirring the bones,” she mused, “and see if I can put some flesh back on them.”
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