“Please!” someone shouted, from where I couldn’t quite see. “Return to your cabins. Do not run, and do not panic. I assure you all I will keep you safe.”
“Like you kept her safe?” a passenger shouted back, earning cries of approval from those closest to him. “None of us are safe out here on the water. We’re trapped!”
“Now, now,” the first man called, “everything will be fine. Remain calm and return to your cabins!”
Thomas, using his added height, maneuvered us closer. Captain Norwood stood on a crate, motioning for crew members to disperse the passengers. My gaze traveled around him, searching out the cause for alarm.
Then I saw it.
A woman, strung up by her ankles, hung from the rafters of the promenade deck. Her skirts fell over her head, covering her identity and leaving her underthings exposed for the world to see. That would have been horrific enough, had she not also been run through with multiple swords stuck in a myriad of crazy angles all over her body. Blood slowly dripped onto the deck from each exit wound, the sound akin to water dripping from a faucet. Even with the noise of frightened passengers, all I could hear was that sinister drip. It was the single most horrendous sight I’d ever witnessed, and I’d been present for the discoveries of many of the gruesome Ripper slayings.
I held a hand to my center, forcing my breaths to come in even intervals. Rope creaked as the body twisted like a fish caught on a line. I’d thought Miss Prescott’s death was terrible, but this was an entirely new level of monstrous. Wind barreled down the open-air corridor, sending the corpse swaying serenely above us. I tried to focus on anything other than the blades as blood arced around the floor.
“Oh. Dear God above, look,” I said, pointing to a frayed bit of rope. “If we don’t get her down soon, the ropes will snap.” And the swords would be impaled even deeper, possibly decapitating her before our very eyes. My stomach flipped at the image. This poor victim did not deserve one more ounce of indignity or trauma to befall her.
Thomas scanned the crowd. “Your uncle is over there, we ought to go to him.”
We stood near the railing, the wind thrashing about in fury. I rubbed my hands over my arms, only just realizing I’d not only forgotten to grab my cloak, but had also lost the knife. Thomas dropped his suit jacket over my shoulders, though he never took his gaze from the murder scene. Once the crew had managed to remove most of the passengers, Uncle motioned for us to head over.
“Please go back to your rooms.” A deckhand blocked our path. “Captain’s orders.”
Thomas ran his gaze over the young man. “We’re to assist with the body.”
The deckhand’s focus flicked to me. “Both of you?”
“Let them through, Henry!” Norwood barked. “And someone fetch that bloody ringmaster for me. If one of his damned performers did this, I’ll string him up!” The captain turned on my uncle, hands fisted at his sides. “We can’t leave her here indecent all night; I’ll give you twenty minutes, then you can do the rest inside.” He started moving down the line of crew. “Go to the cabins and see if anyone is missing a relative. This young woman didn’t travel alone. Someone has to be worried by now. Oh, and make sure to send brandy to those who seem the most distraught. We don’t need a full-fledged panic on our hands. Go!”
Uncle caught my eye before walking around the body. For a horrifying moment I imagined it was Liza hanging there, run through by the very blades she’d helped wield earlier. Then my logical senses took control, and I actually looked at the facts before me. The woman wasn’t wearing a carnival costume. I couldn’t see her face, but she appeared to be larger in height and weight than my cousin.
I took a deep breath, but it did nothing to steady my pulse as I moved toward the victim. Up close, the rope creaked as the body twisted in the breeze. The sharp scent of copper mixed with the brine of the sea, a smell I’d not soon forget.
Thomas walked around the body, face cold as the winter air around us. It was hard to imagine how he was the same person who’d been filled with such heat a few hours before. He pointed to a lifeboat that was half lying on the ground. “Someone cut the rope off one end and used it to haul her up. See?”
I moved forward and crouched down. “That might indicate this wasn’t planned. If it had been, I imagine the murderer would have brought rope with him.”
“I respectfully disagree, Wadsworth. That’s what he hoped to portray. But look there… he used another length of rope and looped it through the piece he’d cut and then threw it twice around the rafters. There would have been plenty for him to cut the length from.” He nodded to where the rope pooled on the ground. “Why go through the extra hassle of cutting the lifeboat down, and risk drawing attention?”
That was a question I had no answer to. I turned my attention back on the horrific detail of the swords. One thing was certain, whoever had run her through had to have a decent amount of strength. An oddity struck me about the whole scene.
“Why didn’t anyone hear any screams? Surely she had to have cried for help. I cannot imagine standing quietly by while being impaled with a sword, much less…” I counted them, stomach souring. “Much less seven of them. There has to be a witness.”
Uncle took his spectacles off and buffed them on his sleeve. I imagined he was anxious to bring the body into our makeshift laboratory. “I’m sure our examination will answer some questions. I’d like each of you to change and meet me in the laboratory.” He turned, then hesitated. “Thomas, please see to it that Audrey Rose is accompanied. And be sure to leave Liza under Mrs. Harvey’s watch. I’d have everyone accounted for this evening.”
“Yes, Uncle.” I took one last look at the scene.
“Seven of Swords,” a cool, deep voice said, startling me. Thomas and I both lifted our attention to the new arrival. Mephistopheles stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled. “Reversed. Never a good sign. Then again, that’s quite apparent, isn’t it?”
“What are you on about?” I asked, already annoyed by his presence. He hadn’t even bothered to take his mask off, heaven forbid the world see his true face. “What does that mean?”
“Honestly, have none of you noticed she’s been made to look exactly like the Seven of Swords tarot card?” At our blank stares, Mephistopheles dug around inside his coat and removed a deck of cards. He flipped through them, then snatched one out with a flourish that didn’t belong at a crime scene. “Does this appear familiar to anyone? Wait. Something’s not quite right… oh… here you are.” He turned the card upside down. “The Seven of Swords when reversed, or turned upside down, is a tricksy thing. Deceit. Shame. It can also mean someone thought they’d gotten away with something.” He jabbed a finger toward the body. “Someone fashioned this scene very carefully.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “You’re awfully flippant when your carnival boasts of using the tarot for its acts.”
Mephistopheles tucked the cards back into his jacket, then patted the pocket. His gaze drifted over to where I’d been staring, trying to find the bulge in the material. He tugged his coat tighter and grinned. “Care to look for the cards? I guarantee you won’t find them, but the search would be fun.”
I gripped my hands at my sides. “Perhaps the captain ought to toss you in the brig.”
“That would be most unfortunate,” the ringmaster said. “You see, I reported some objects stolen before the show began tonight. Rope. Tarot cards. And… what were those other things…” He scratched his chin in mock contemplation, then snapped, “That’s it. Swords. A whole bunch of them. In fact, they no longer appear to be missing. Though I doubt Jian will want them back now. Death is bad for business.”
“You’re despicable,” I said, unable to contain myself a moment longer. “A woman is dead, slain in a most brutal manner before you, and you’ve managed to make her a complete mockery.”
Mephistopheles stared at me, as if truly noticing me for the first time beyond surface appearances. “My sincerest apologies, miss. I have
no further information to offer other than what I’ve given. It is most unfortunate that another woman has been slain, but my carnival has nothing to do with it. I cannot afford to have people start believing—or fearing—to attend my shows. Many people I employ depend on it to live. I suggest you turn your sights elsewhere.”
He took one last look at the staged body, then strode down the deck. I tugged Thomas’s coat tighter. When someone professed innocence so loudly, it made me contemplate their guilt.
“Come,” Thomas offered his arm. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”
As we made our way to my room, I glanced out at the water and regretted doing so. At night it was a dark, undulating beast. Light glinted from the sliver of moon—a thousand tiny eyes watching our procession, winking and blinking as we moved along. I wondered what else the silent water might have witnessed tonight and what other secrets it might be keeping. How many other crimes might it have aided by swallowing the bodies whole?
SEVEN
A MURDER MOST BRUTAL
AUDREY ROSE’S QUARTERS
RMS ETRURIA
2 JANUARY 1889
Thomas deposited me at my chambers with a promise to return shortly for our postmortem. When I walked into my room, I found Liza sprawled on the bed, her nose crinkled at one of my forensic journals.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, dearest cousin, but how do you sleep at night?” she asked, pointing to a rather graphic dissection. “This is quite gruesome for bedtime.”
“Liza… what on—”
“Honestly,” she said, lifting her brows at the title. “‘A Case Study of Blunt Weapons and Lacerations’?” She thumbed through the book, stopping on the pages with illustrations. “It’s macabre, Cousin. Even for you. Is that someone’s intestines?” She stuck a finger down her throat, doing her best impersonation of gagging.
“Your mother is an absolute wreck,” I said, not commenting on my normal nighttime reading, though I was impressed by her knowledge of anatomy. She deposited the book on my nightstand, then stood. “She and Father have circulated rumors of you being unwell. I believe everyone’s under the impression you’re recovering at Thornbriar. Though my father believes you might be dead.”
“Couldn’t they have at least come up with something a bit more romantic?” Liza made a face. “Your father’s country estate is grand, but makes a dull story. I should write to Mother and offer up a few suggestions of my own.” She picked up the Ace of Clubs from my nightstand. “Did you know that the four suits are also associated with elements?”
“I did not.”
She grinned—a rare, goofy sort of smile that made me think something especially sugary was about to be served. “Harry is a wonder with creating grand tales. I swear, he makes the most ordinary things seem extraordinary. He claims there’s power in how you sell something. Why call something perfume when it can be a love mist?”
“Harry?” I sat on the bed beside my cousin, fiddling with the folds of my skirts. “About that… what in the name of the queen possessed you to run off with a man you scarcely know? I hope he didn’t spin you a story too good to be believable.”
“Most stories are too good to be true. That’s what makes them enchanting.”
“And dangerous,” I muttered.
Liza laid the card down and leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder as she used to do when we were children playing in the gardens at Thornbriar.
“I have so much to be grateful for—so many opportunities that others will never even know, and yet each time I tried on a new gown for my coming-out ball, it felt as if I were being strangled. Living life, but not enjoying it. I was dressed in silks but might as well have been covered in thorns.”
I sighed. It was a feeling I knew all too well.
She nestled closer to me, voice catching. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else? If only for a short while. Or maybe not someone else, maybe you longed to be your true self. To live exactly as you pleased without consequence or judgment. I know this might all be a terrible mistake—an illusion more elaborate than those in this carnival, but for the first time, I am the master of my fate. I feel as though I’ve been freed from a cage and I can finally breathe again. How can I give up this freedom?”
Guilt sank its crooked teeth into me. I knew exactly what it was like, feeling chained by expectations set upon me by someone else. Everyone deserved to live freely and in honor of themselves. A basic right should not be a luxury. I wrapped an arm around my cousin and leaned my head against hers. “So… tell me about the King of Cards. I want to hear all the details while I get ready for the postmortem.”
“Well, then I suppose I ought to start from the beginning.”
I could hear the smile in my cousin’s voice as she recited all the ways Mr. Harry Houdini had made her senses disappear. I was thrilled for her, though worry gnawed unpleasantly the more she spoke. I did not share her sentiments about a man who’d potentially ruin her on a whim, especially since no promises of marriage had been made. It seemed Houdini had nothing to lose, and my cousin had much to forfeit. I tried pushing my unease away, wanting to be as supportive as she was of me. She talked and talked until Thomas arrived and promised to finish her tale once I’d returned.
I made to leave, then turned around. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Of course it is, silly. I’d wager life was utterly dull without me. Now go on.” She smiled, lifting my anatomy journal as if she intended to study it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I moved to the door, then froze. “Liza? Have you noticed anyone in the carnival troupe acting oddly?”
“You’re not implying one of my new friends is to blame for these atrocities, are you?” She sat up straighter, eyes narrowed. “No. I haven’t heard or witnessed anything except their own terror.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Go solve this horrid mystery for all of our sakes. I swear I’ll be here when you return.”
She crossed her heart and I hoped she’d actually keep her word.
I couldn’t help but think the light above our makeshift postmortem table sounded like a dying bee. The slight buzz and flicker did nothing to improve my mood as Uncle folded the shroud down, revealing the victim.
I studied her wheat-blond hair, the peaceful look upon her face. It was hard to imagine she’d died in such a violent manner—that was, until my attention dropped lower. There were a total of fourteen holes in her body, two in each arm, two in each leg, and ten throughout her torso. Entry and exit wounds from the swords. I wanted to close my eyes, but hiding wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be deceased and I’d still need to find any clue that might lead to why. I shuddered a bit, recalling how her death had been staged after a tarot card.
“Begin your examination now, Audrey Rose.” Uncle had already finished washing his hands and handed Thomas the journal and a pen. “Start with wounds this time, please.”
“Yes, sir.” I cleared my throat, then walked around the body, observing. “Skin around both ankles has a slight rash, though there’s no indication of rope burn. If it had been present, that would indicate she’d been alive and struggling against her bonds. Since it is not, it is likely she was not struggling and therefore already deceased.”
“Good. What else?”
I stared at her face again, biting my lip. There was something too serene about her. She had kohl around her eyes, but there weren’t any smudges. Odd for someone who’d been murdered in a heinous way to not have shed any tears. I pointed to the clue.
“Victim’s kohl is perfectly intact,” I said. “Either the perpetrator applied it postmortem, which I do not believe, or we might find an elixir in her system. I doubt this woman was conscious when she was attacked.”
“Brilliant.” Thomas lifted his attention from his note-taking, and looked at me. “Her nails are also unbroken. There are no signs of any defensive wounds.”
“Which also explains why she hadn’t screamed,” I
said, building off our examination. “She was already either deceased or incapacitated when she’d been hung upside down.”
Uncle hovered above one of the wounds. “I believe the facts are lining up with that theory. Look at the cuts. What story do they tell?”
I joined my uncle, leaning in to get a better look. At first I was unsure… they were horrendous cuts, then it hit me. There was blood, but no bruising. “The swords were likely inserted after death.”
“Very good. Cause of death?”
I stopped seeing a deceased young woman. Before me lay a puzzle waiting to be put together. I pulled her eyelids back. “There’s no petechial hemorrhaging. No bruises on the neck.” I moved around the table. “She certainly wasn’t strangled. Until we open her up, I’m afraid we can’t be sure of cause of death. Though, given the lack of other signs, we might be looking at a poisoning.”
Thomas stood abruptly, dropping his notebook as he lifted the victim’s arm. He leaned close, then set it back down, face grim. “It appears as though she’s been administered a shot. Or has had some bloodletting done. Look there. A small syringe might have made that mark.”
My heart rate jumped. “We know of at least one doctor aboard this ship.”
“One who had a connection to our first victim,” Thomas added. “And he was none too keen on having us anywhere near his next patient.”
“Dr. Arden admitted to giving Chief Magistrate Prescott an elixir.” I had a growing feeling of dread. “And both Prescotts were absent from the dining saloon.” I’d imagined they’d chosen to remain in their rooms, mourning their daughter. But what if they were unable to leave? “I know he’d said he wouldn’t be attending, but did either of you notice Dr. Arden during the show tonight?”
Uncle shook his head. “I didn’t see him. And Chief Magistrate Prescott didn’t answer the door when I called on him again before supper. In fact, the room sounded empty. No one so much as shifted. Odd if they were both in the room as they’d claimed they’d be.”