31
Detective Bart Romanski rapped on the door of Dr. Hitch Baker. The door was ajar, and it eased open at his touch. The doctor was expecting him, but Romanski still felt intrusive as he stepped inside. A ding resounded in the house as his feet crossed the threshold.
“Bart, you can’t justlet yourself into other people’s houses,” his husband, Nick Wu, exclaimed from behind him.
“Dr. Baker told me to. Said he’d be gardening out back.”
Nick tentatively stepped halfway through the door after him, and Romanski grabbed his hand and pulled him the rest of the way in. The door’s mechanism dinged again, which Romanski hoped alerted the historian to their presence.
“Calm down. You’re always an anxious mess, babe,” Romanski said with a wink, squeezing his arm. Normally, Bart would not have brought his husband along on semiofficial CBI business, but Nick had begged and pleaded to have a tour of what he called the “Jack the Ripper museum.” He had always had a gruesome imagination.
Nick crossed his arms, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. “Got to keep you out of trouble.”
Dr. Baker entered the house through a back door, brushing at the dirt caking the front of his bib overalls. He was a plump fellow, with a congenial air about him that put Romanski at ease. His cheeks were ruddy and his nose was threaded with a web of veins that spoke of drink. He waddled forward with a grin emerging from the center of a bushy white beard.
“Hello, hello!” the man said in a jolly tone of voice. He held out a filthy hand for Romanski to shake.
Romanski stared at it, hesitating.
Nick strode past him to shake the doctor’s hand. “Nick Wu. This is my husband, Bart. Thank you for seeing us today.”
“Of course, of course.When you learn, teach; when you get, give,”
Dr. Baker intoned, and raised his eyebrows at Romanski expectantly.
He stared blankly back.
“Dr. Maya Angelou,” said Nick.
Romanski was suddenly grateful he had brought his husband along.
“Excellent!” Dr. Baker said as if praising a student. “So,” he continued, eyes glinting with interest and sliding to each of them in turn, “you’d like to know more about the Spanish Inquisition and its devices, eh? A fraught subject. Makes a man wonder what for? Curse of being an academic, ever curious—some might call itsnoopy.”
Romanski hesitated. The fact that a Spanish boot had been used to torture the victims hadn’t been released to the public. “It’s just part of an investigation we’re doing, looking into a few things.”
“A few things… Very well then,don’ttell me why you’re interested. I understand. You are here to see my, shall we say, cabinet of curiosities. Are you familiar with the concept?”
Romanski shook his head.
“There are many books depicting such cabinets. The bookOrigins of Museumsis a fascinating historical account of sixteenth-and seventeenth-century cabinets. Then there isThe Cabinet of Curiosities, a fictional version. A thriller.” Dr. Baker turned his nose up slightly. “I don’t usually read them, plagued with cheap thrills and tropes, and that trash book is no exception.”
“Right.” Romanski cleared his throat, not caring to hear more about thriller writers or history books. “Could we see your, ah, cabinet?”
“Follow me.”
They threaded their way through the home. It was a rambling, endless old place.
Baker unlocked a door in the back. “Many of these objects are quite valuable,” he explained.
They stepped through the threshold.
Romanski looked around, feeling like he was being transported back to the Middle Ages. An orange glow from the early-morning light lit up a bizarre collection of artifacts, relics, bijoux, and odd-looking antiquities. A medieval book of hours stood open on a pedestal in a glass case, and Romanski paused to admire the vibrant hues, gilding, and sweeping strokes of ink that decorated its pages. A full-sized suit of armor stood at attention in the corner. A marble bust was engulfed in a tapestry next to it.
Dr. Baker led them through the room and down a hall lined with books, past a bookcase housing old pottery shards, and into a dustier section of the house.
“Ah, here’s something you might like.” He stopped in front of an old scroll framed on the wall. It depicted a mechanical woman covered in spikes, stalking down a cobblestone street while peasants cowered in fear. “The Apega of Nabis. A machine the king of Sparta made in the image of his wife, which patrolled the streets of the city to extort money from citizens. If they refused, it would hug the victim, impaling them with spikes. Marvelous, isn’t it? I believe this to be one of the earliest depictions of a robot—excluding of course the mechanical bird powered by steam proposed by Archytas of Tarentum in the fourth century BC.”
“How romantic,” Nick murmured. He slid his arm through Bart’s and propelled him forward.
