Chapter 12 #2
Meaning it had been exposed to her often.
As a dark-skinned woman, I didn’t doubt it.
In the short space of time we’d been together, I’d seen the way some people looked at her.
I couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d experienced in her lifetime.
Oscar and I had faced evil in the form of Lord Coyle, but Miss Wheeler might have faced it much more frequently.
I felt foolish for being so na?ve. “I apologize, Miss Wheeler. You’re right. Redmayne may be hiding his true nature. Kinloch, too.”
“We shall see,” was all she said.
I hoped stopping for a light luncheon hadn’t been our downfall, giving our suspects time to make new plans to cover their tracks.
If Mr. Kinloch or Redmayne somehow learned that we’d made inquiries at the station about the paintings, they might move to create false alibis to throw us off their trail.
I was about to mention this when a flash of metal in the shadowy recess further along the alley caught my eye. At that moment, a gunshot rang out.
I dropped to the pavement, but Oscar and Miss Wheeler did the opposite.
They ran toward the recess. I was about to shout at them to take cover when I realized the gunman had left his hiding place and was running toward the bright daylight at the exit of the lane. Even so, it was madness to chase him.
My worst fear came to fruition. The gunman raised his arm and aimed the gun over his shoulder at his pursuers.
“Oscar!” I cried.
Oscar dove at Miss Wheeler, slamming her into the brick wall. It may have saved both their lives if the gunman had fired another shot. He did not. Two people entered the alley ahead of him. He ran straight past them, and neither took any notice of him as they laughed at a shared joke.
“Idiot!” Miss Wheeler shoved Oscar. “Move out of the way!”
In a swift, practiced act that took less than a moment, she’d removed a leather pouch from her skirt pocket, whipped off her right glove, and dipped her bare hand into the pouch.
She removed a fistful of something, then spoke some words that I couldn’t hear as she opened her fist. White dust lifted off her palm and darted after the gunman.
No, not dust. Chalk. She was a chalk magician.
Oscar ran to the end of the alley only to stop at the exit. He shook his head and waited for Miss Wheeler and me to join him.
I picked up his hat and her umbrella on my way—both forgotten in the excitement—and ran to catch up to Miss Wheeler. “Are you all right?” I asked her.
“Yes, yes.” She’d already returned the pouch of chalk dust to her pocket and was in the process of thrusting her hand back into her glove.
So that was why she wore them at all times.
She couldn’t go around with chalk on her hands.
Indeed, the fact that she kept chalk dust on her in anticipation of using it as a weapon was wise.
She continued past Oscar, her strides purposeful. “Hurry along, both of you. We have him now.”
Oscar and I exchanged glances. Then we trailed after her, dodging tourists and other pedestrians ambling along the Royal Mile, until we finally caught up to her as she passed a tobacconist shop.
I wasn’t sure she noticed us. Her singular focus was dead ahead, yet no matter how much I strained to look, I couldn’t see anyone who looked suspicious.
Indeed, what was I even looking for? The gunman was neither short nor tall and had worn men’s clothing.
There was nothing to distinguish him from the hundreds of others in the busy vicinity.
“Can you see your chalk dust on someone’s clothing?” I asked her.
She didn’t respond, too intent was she on her quarry.
“I doubt it reached him,” Oscar said, his tone apologetic. “I’m sorry I pushed you out of the way, Miss Wheeler. I didn’t know what you had planned. I didn’t know you were a chalk magician. If you’d told us—"
She put up a hand to stop him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Then slow down.”
“Do you want your umbrella?” I held it out to her.
“Not yet.” She lifted her face, as if feeling the air on her cheeks and nose, then suddenly turned into a side street.
Oscar had watched her, frowning, but now his face cleared. “You weren’t trying to dust his clothes with it, were you?”
“No,” she said. “I was trying to create a trail to follow him.”
“But we can’t see the chalk,” I said.
“You can’t, but I can. Well, I can sense it, is perhaps a better way of putting it.”
“Impressive,” Oscar said.
“No thanks to you,” Miss Wheeler shot back. “I almost didn’t get the chance.”
“I didn’t know you could send a chalk dust trail to follow a particular target, let alone follow that invisible trail.”
“Not invisible. Not to me.”
Oscar didn’t seem cross at being chastised.
Indeed, he continued to glance at Miss Wheeler as he kept pace with her.
It was clear he was impressed by her skill, perhaps even in awe of her.
I also suspected he was wondering if he could incorporate any of the words from her spell into his ink one.
He could make his ink float, but as far as I was aware, he couldn’t make it follow someone and then follow its trail merely by using his magical sense.
There were fewer people in the side street but it was still busy, being so close to the Royal Mile.
I couldn’t make out who we were following, but Miss Wheeler didn’t break stride.
She was confident we were heading in the right direction, and that boosted my confidence.
The swift pace was beginning to take its toll on me, however.
My breathing was more labored, my brow damp at the hairline.
I removed my hat so it didn’t become sweaty at the band.
My two companions didn’t seem to be affected.
“I knew it!” Oscar touched his right ear. “I felt something pass my ear when the cannon went off. I think it was a bullet. The shooter must have timed their shot with the cannon.”
Good lord. If the bullet hadn’t missed… Oscar could have… I reached out a hand to grasp onto him lest I succumb to the dizziness that suddenly overwhelmed me.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Miss Wheeler asked Oscar.
“You distracted me.”
“How?”
“You asked me to take a good look at you. Anyway, it was you who said you knew someone was following us, so I’m not the only one who didn’t act on their instincts.”
“At least I mentioned it.”
I cleared my throat to get their attention. “Er, may we concentrate, please. Miss Wheeler, do you still have the chalk’s scent?”
“I do.” She pointed down another lane and we all headed that way, our pace somewhere between a rapid walk and a trot. We turned again, and I could have sworn we were heading back to the Royal Mile.
“Considering you thought we were being followed after we left Mr. Kinloch’s residence, he should be our number one suspect.” I sucked in a breath to steady my nerves and refill my lungs. I wasn’t used to so much exertion. “Redmayne wasn’t there, so we can exclude him.”
“We only have Kinloch’s word on that,” Oscar pointed out.
Miss Wheeler turned again and headed up a set of stairs that went on and on, eventually narrowing into a covered close.
It was so narrow I could stretch out my arms and touch the cool stone walls.
The air smelled dank with an underlying putridity of sewage, and I hated to think what was making the cobblestones slippery underfoot.
Miss Wheeler suddenly stopped, raising a finger to silence us even though neither Oscar nor I had uttered a word. The only sound came from my labored breathing. There was no one there.
We’d lost the gunman.