The publican and the nurse looked up, startled. Then the publican summoned up a firm but distracted smile.
“Sorry, we’re closed. Yes, I know there wasn’t a sign, but you can’t be in here because, as you can see, it’s filled with corpses. Come back tomorrow, good day.” The publican stepped toward them, as if he’d shoo them out like bumblebees who’d wandered in, drunk on spring pollen. Van Helsing scowled and crossed his arms. Hel stared him down, the gaslight reflecting on the black lenses of her spectacles. Sam waved with an uneasy smile. Mysteriously, the publican pulled up short. “Jonny, what on God’s earth are you doing out there? We said to keep it clear.”
“I would,” Jonny’s voice came from outside, “but I’m just so parched, I wasn’t able to scrape the words past the barren desert that has become my throat. Perhaps if you saw fit to water it, just a trickle?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Jonny.” The publican’s voice was as exasperated as Van Helsing’s had been.
“We’re private investigators,” Sam interrupted quickly, pulling the publican’s attention back before things could get any worse. “I assume you heard of Mr. Enfield’s death three days ago?”
“Private investigators.” The man’s brow rose. “And you think he has something to do with it? Is the poor lad a murderer now?”
“We think the murders of these men might be connected,” Hel said. “And that he is the only witness.”
“And you come from where? Galway, America,andthe Netherlands? Some sort of crack team, are you, all to look into this Mr. Enfield’s death?” the publican demanded, arms crossed. “What kind of private investigation service is this?”
“Private,” Hel said dryly, and the serious-looking nurse’s lips quirked.
“We just want to ask him a few questions,” Sam hurried to assure him, as the publican’s frown deepened. “Examine the bodies for similarities, that sort of thing.”
The publican glanced at the nurse, who raised a shoulder.
The publican sighed. “Fine. I suppose you can’t do much harm that hasn’t already been done. Go ahead then. You have until the fairy doctor can get here. Though I’ll warn you, the lad’s not in much of a conversational mood.”
A fairy doctor.Sam and Hel’s equivalent amongst the Irish. It was said they’d gained their power from the Folk themselves, that they could never charge for their services or they’d lose their powers. They were, to Sam’s understanding, more common in the rural parts of Ireland?—much like the Folk themselves.
The nurse and the publican retreated to the bar, and the three of them turned to the dead. Sam pulled out the box camera. It was a little worse for wear. Her fingernail slipped under the peeling cardboard, swollen from the spray on the ferry.
This close, Sam could make out details on Mr. Pearse: the ragged cut on the bridge of his nose, which was swollen, as if he’d hit something hard. The bruising beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping. The eyes that weren’t actually black, but grey as mist, the pupils so blown they were ringed only by a thin layer of iris.
The others, well. There would be no lying to God about whether they were dead or not.
Their skin marbled in a way that put Sam uncomfortably in mind of meat, the flesh bloated, the coins closing their sunken eyes a mercy. Yet Sam could still make out the soft features of Mr. Hayes, the lump of a book in his pocket. The Duke’s wire-framed spectacles and silver rapier. His fierce, thin brows, which had been furrowed in concentration for as long as Sam had known him, relaxed. The Viscount’s silver-chased ivory-handled revolvers. Without the customary amusement animating his round cheeks, Sam could almost convince herself it wasn’t him.
Almost. The world closed its hand around her throat as she took their final photographs.
“Mr. Pearse, can you hear me?” Van Helsing asked. The man stared straight through him, not even blinking as a droplet of blood from a cut on his nose rolled into his eye, limning the white in red.
“Tried that one,” the publican called.
“I’m sure you did,” Van Helsing said flatly, before turning to Mr. Pearse again, his voice louder now, as if the problem were with the man’s ears and not what was between them. “Who did this to you?”
“That one too,” the publican said again.
Van Helsing rounded on him. “Are you planning on offering commentary the whole time?”
“Just thought you should know,” the publican said, all innocence. “You beingprivate investigatorsand all.”
Van Helsing made a frustrated sound in his throat and turned back to Mr. Pearse. “How did you end up in the sea cave?”
“Oh, hadn’t thought of that one,” the publican said. “Wait, no, I did.”
“Did someone attack you?”
“Didn’t ask that one, actually,” the publican said thoughtfully, before confiding to the nurse, “It seemed a bit obvious.”
Van Helsing sounded, by this point, thoroughly exasperated. Sam should channel while he was distracted. But she glimpsed her shadow and stilled.
“Isn’t there something else you could be doing?” Van Helsing demanded of the publican as Hel peered into Mr. Pearse’s eyes, some sort of additional, smaller lens fitted over her spectacles. Heathcliff’s nose was working overtime.
