The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Three

 The burlap sack in Trinket's hands felt heavier than it actually was as she wove her way through the crowds of servants and street sellers in the market, careful to avoid the pick-pocketing urchins. Did any of them suspect what was inside her parcel? Most everyone in Tinkerfall knew by now that she worked for Booker, and while some may have still believed he was a simple doctor and surgeon, the majority of the denizens were privy to his unconventional practices and interests. She doubted any would be surprised that she was bringing the remnants of a mutant wolf to the knacker.

There was a shout nearby, and she turned towards the sound. A scuffle in the middle of the muddy street. Two young men were grappling with each other, throwing punches and spewing curses. A small circle of onlookers had gathered, a mix of horrified gentry and curious servants. Several shopkeepers lingered in the doorways of their stores, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the excitement. A few street children were even taking bets on who would win.

Out of the corner of her eye, Trinket noticed a young urchin slip through the crowd, dipping their hands into the pockets of the distracted bystanders and stealing what goods were inside. As they drew closer, she recognized them despite the large bowler hat hiding both their dark, tangled hair and their thin, brown face.

The urchin turned in her direction and froze. Trinket smiled and waited for the thief to approach her.

"Gonna lecture me?" Gin asked, her eyes darting back and forth amidst the crowd.

"Would it make a difference?"

"Not a lick."

"Then no. Are you working with them?"

Trinket nodded to the wrestling boys who were now being separated by two burly men. The police hadn't shown up, but she suspected they were still preoccupied with the body of the mutilated woman from that morning.

"Yep," Gin said. "It's a basic maneuver. Distract and subtract."

She held up a shiny silver pocket watch and grinned.

"Clever," Trinket admitted.

Gin replaced the watch in the pocket of her oversized, threadbare jacket. "So where're you off to? An errand for Booker?"

Trinket's grip on the sack tightened. "Something like that."

Gin followed her as she continued down the road. "Did he hear about that lady in the alley?"

"Indeed. We were there when she was discovered."

"I figured as much."

"What have you heard?"

"Same as everyone else." Gin eyed her suspiciously. "Why? Should I have heard something?"

Trinket considered the urchin for a moment. It was almost surprising Booker hadn't already interrogated her about the incident. She had a wealth of information and was always ready to assist him, no matter how gruesome the task.

"There was something strange about her fingers."

"What were they like?"

Trinket's mind returned to the dead woman lying in the cold, snow-covered alley. Her ashen skin. Her wide, lifeless eyes. And her birdlike fingers. Long and almost scaly, ending in sharp, curved talons.

"Like a bird's," she said.

"Like a sparrow? Or a chicken?"

"No. They were more predatory. Like a hawk."

Gin stroked her chin and pursed her lips in thought. "Interesting. I take it Booker is obsessed?"

"A woman with talons for fingers? How could he not be?"

"I'll see what I can find out for him. So far there's been nothing. I mean, folks in Tinkerfall are usually really good with gossip. Stuff spreads like wildfire 'round here. But no one seems to know who the dead woman is. Or was."

They were nearing the knacker, and relief flooded Trinket's chest at the thought of disposing of the bag in her hands. "Yes, Booker found that odd as well. Hopefully the police will be able to identify her."

Gin gave a snort of a laugh. "Fat chance. Anyhow, I'd better get back to those boys before they think I ran off with all the loot. I'll check in with Booker later to let him know if I find anything out."

Trinket watched as the girl scampered off and expertly disappeared into the crowd. She then turned to the knacker's shop and took a deep breath before entering the tiny building.

It smelled like death inside. Tufts of fur floated in the air, and, despite the fact that most of the slaughtering took place out back in the yard, there was blood splattered across the stone floor. Mounds of body parts were hidden by sheets of canvas, some pieces still managing to peek out from underneath. The majority of them appeared to be from horses, though a few were likely from the stray dogs that wandered about.

The knacker was a thin but muscular man. Blood stained the sleeves of his faded white shirt, rolled up to the elbows to reveal tanned, hairy arms. He looked up from his ledger as she entered and tucked his pencil behind his ear. Wiping his palms against the thick apron that hung from his neck, he approached her with an outstretched hand.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Trinket stared at the brown stains on his palm. "Ah, yes," she said, offering him the burlap sack in place of a handshake. "I have some pieces to dispose of."

Obviously not offended by the slight, he took the bag and glanced inside. His eyebrows shot up, and he eyed her skeptically. Averting her gaze, she focused her attention on a horse leg covered in flies in the corner.

"This a dog?" the knacker asked.

"Does it matter what it is?"

"How did you get it?"

"It's from my employer. I'm just delivering it."

"Who's your employer?"

"Booker Larkin."

Silence. Curious, she dared to face him once more. He was staring into the bag, his expression growing more unnerved by the second. Finally, he closed it up and heaved a sigh.

"Best not to ask too many questions with that one," he said.

She suppressed a smile. Booker's reputation preceded him once again. "I was unable to carry the rest with me. I was hoping you could pick it up?"

"Of course." The knacker tossed the bag onto one of the piles. "I'll be over there later today."

"I'll be sure it's ready on the front steps."

He nodded and retrieved a large knife. Trinket turned away and hurried out the door before she could see what he was using it for. Granted, it couldn't be any worse than what Booker did in his laboratory. However, here such tools were used for death. With Booker, he was giving people a new chance at life.

The image of the dead woman in the alley flashed through her mind again.

Her pale skin.

Her empty eyes.

Her mutilated fingers.

She stopped and steadied herself against the brick wall of the knacker's shop. Perhaps that's how Booker's friend had started out as well. Experimenting with the idea of helping others, creating life.

But look where it had led him.

Was Booker headed down the same path?