25. Sam Criminal Enchantment
Sam: Criminal Enchantment
It is the same with thews themselves. A murdered woman cannot become a thew.
What we do not know are the limits of culpability.
Is a nurse who fails to administer the life-saving draught a murderer?
What of the stable hand who carelessly fastens a saddle which results in a fatal fall?
Or the cook who inadvertently passes her own illness on to others in the food she prepares?
—Eugenio Orrua Olivares, The Art of Securing a Thew
The message on Clementine’s arms had left me no choice.
More urgent action was needed. I thought I might, at last, send Maxwell to apprehend Simeon, but Commonwealth’s darling had been suspiciously studious.
As with all qualities, studiousness is relative, and Simeon was incapable of sitting at a desk for hours at a time.
But he did read through a paper that he’d paid his classmate to write for him, and then he spent almost forty minutes devising an illusion that would allow him to cheat on the philosophy exam, and then he journeyed to the library to plagiarize a page of text from an obscure journal.
Although they were intended to obviate the need for actual studying, all these class-related tasks took time, and they kept him from engaging in other activities for which Maxwell might find cause to question him.
I returned repeatedly to Commonwealth, thinking I would finally catch him, but he indulged only in his ordinary vices. I would have to find another way.
On Wednesday evening, Clem dove headlong into the books Wister had given her, emerging only briefly for dinner with Rosetta. She fell asleep after four in the morning with the Villasenor volume for a pillow and woke at seven. Over breakfast, to Rosetta’s amusement, she kept reading.
At eight the doorbell rang. Rosetta moved to get up, but Clementine rose quickly from her seat. “I’ll get it, Rosie,” she said firmly. Clementine skittered down the steps and opened the door cautiously.
Constable Roy Maxwell stood on the sidewalk.
I considered him, attempting to see him as Clementine would, a stranger on her doorstep.
He had an air of brooding melancholy about him.
A great black coat, frankly quite unnecessary on this warm September morning, hung off his shoulders.
He held himself very still, with an attitude that was neither imposing nor timid.
Despite his youthful face, he had the bearing of a man who had abandoned childhood long ago and remembered none of the customs of that far-off place—whimsy, spontaneity, mischief.
His face held an expression of practiced restraint, and his dark eyes regarded Clem with the same air of deliberate reserve.
I was long accustomed to how his eyes bored into things, pensive and thoughtful, but it’s possible he seemed more menacing than observant.
“Miss Quinn?” he asked politely, removing his hat.
“Yes?” Her voice betrayed nothing. She was still behind the door, perhaps imagining that she could shut it quickly should the need arise.
“I am Constable Maxwell, of the Salem City Marshal’s Office. I investigate criminal enchantment.”
Clem didn’t move the door. “I’m aware of the City Marshal’s Office.” Her indifference had grown a shade colder.
Maxwell examined her for the space of a second.
“Very good,” he replied quietly. “I’m here to inquire about the events that occurred on Tuesday at the Salem courthouse.
They were reported by Judge Richardson and confirmed by more than one official.
And, as it happens, I myself was present.
I’d like to investigate the alleged assault and, if possible, discover its author. ”
“I see,” Clementine said. “The papers.”
“Precisely.”
“Who is it, Clem?” Rosetta called down to her, as she came down the steps.
“A constable investigating what happened at the courthouse,” Clem called back over her shoulder.
“Let me speak to him!” Rosetta said, hurrying down. Reaching the landing, she pulled the door open wide. “Constable,” she said firmly. “I’m very glad you are here. My sister was attacked! In front of everyone. This is a serious matter that needs looking into.”
Constable Maxwell nodded his greeting to her attentively. “I agree. Your sister was just about to tell me her version of what happened.”
“If you were there, then you’ve seen as much as I did,” Clem said curtly. “The papers rose up from my lawyer’s desk. They whirled around near the ceiling and then came down toward me.”
“It was quite vicious, Constable,” Rosetta jumped in. “They were folded into sharp points, like daggers.” She looked earnestly at Maxwell. “I’ve no doubt that the enchanter meant her serious harm. Had the judge’s thew not intervened, Clementine would have been badly hurt.”
“It was only paper,” Clem said quietly.
Maxwell listened to these interpretations without comment. “Have there been any other circumstances like this one?” he asked, inviting them both, at a glance, to reply.
“None,” Rosetta said quickly.
“I’ve never been attacked with flying papers before,” Clem said.
Maxwell considered her for a moment. “Have you been attacked with other objects?”
There was a brief silence. “Do you have a particular object in mind?” Clem asked.
Maxwell looked at her intently. Clem’s face was a closed door; no thoughts, no warmth, no light of interest in her eyes. I gave Maxwell a push of encouragement. “I do, as it happens.” He paused. “Stones.”
“ ‘Stones’?” Rosetta echoed. She frowned. “But stones…that would be quite painful, even—Clem!” Her eyes widened with sudden awareness. “Remember that Cassandra—”
“I’ve never been attacked by stones,” Clem said shortly, interrupting her sister.
I was incensed! I wanted to shake her. Since I couldn’t, I sent her a burst of furious indignation, which she responded to by frowning. It was the most outrageous lie by omission!
Maxwell studied the sisters with interest. “I see,” he said quietly.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He paused for a moment, seeming to consider.
I pushed him again. “I’m investigating a series of cases,” he said with a newly pensive tone.
“There have been five such crimes already this year, all of them against young women. All of them fatal,” he added quietly.
“How dreadful,” Rosetta whispered.
Clem did not reply.
“Perhaps you’re aware that injuries inflicted at the time of death don’t cause bruising—bruises are made as the body recovers from a blow.”
“Oh,” said Rosetta, recoiling. She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Constable Maxwell,” Clementine said in a firm voice.
“This conversation is taking longer than I expected. I need to be somewhere by nine. You may either speak to me as I walk or I will come to your offices at another time. There’s no need to discuss this on our doorstep with my sister—she’s not involved. ”
Maxwell nodded. “I apologize. I wouldn’t trouble you if the circumstances were less serious. I’ll gladly walk with you.”
Clem nodded curtly. “Please wait here.” She herded Rosetta up the stairs. Maxwell waited on the sidewalk, letting the morning sun fall on his face. A minute later, Clementine rejoined him. She carried her satchel weighed down by the three books. “I’m walking south,” she said, gesturing.
“That suits me fine,” Maxwell said agreeably.
They started off in the direction of Keel House, Clem on the narrow sidewalk and Maxwell beside her in the street.
As they walked in silence, I felt a faint flicker of hope.
Clem had wanted to conceal her injuries from Rosetta; perhaps now, in private with Maxwell, she would reveal the truth.
I sent her a current of stern admonishment as she shifted the heavy book bag.
She shook her head. This was meant for me, I had no doubt, but Maxwell took it as a gesture of disapproval.
“I apologize for upsetting your sister,” Maxwell said.
“I doubt very much that you mind upsetting her,” Clem said flatly. “Your interest is in the case.”
Maxwell took a moment in silence. He may well have been wondering how to summon sympathy for a person of such unrestrained rudeness.
Or perhaps he understood that among some people—myself, certainly, when I was alive—officers of criminal enchantment didn’t elicit much in the way of trust. I pushed some fortitude upon him.
“You’re right, Miss Quinn,” Maxwell said.
“I didn’t mean to be insincere. The investigation is a matter of greatest importance.
While I don’t wish to upset people, and I don’t relish it, doing so may be necessary at times if I’m to pursue the investigation. ”
“I congratulate you for your single-mindedness.” Well. The apology, and a pretty one at that, hadn’t softened her one bit. I pressed some patience upon her, hoping that she might look past the uniform. She gave a little huff, but I was not to be deterred. Nor was Maxwell.
They’d reached the square, and now the two walked side by side along the graveled path. Maxwell seemed to be considering his tack. “Let me get to the heart of the matter,” he said doggedly. “I was saying that bruises caused at the time of death don’t appear in a natural death.”
“I do recall.”
“The cases I’m investigating are stoning deaths, Miss Quinn. Perhaps you have read about them—there have been one or two newspaper accounts.”
Clementine walked a few steps in silence. “No. I had not heard of them.”
“Five young women. In each case, the stones are animated and cast by people unseen. They are cast by enchantment, which is why the matter falls in my hands.”
“Are there witnesses?” It was the first time Clem had indicated any interest in what Maxwell had to say, and I could see him making note of it.
“In some cases, yes. There’s one account that particularly disturbs me. A witness who knew the victim saw her in the company of her mother; she was following her into the woods near their home.” Maxwell paused. “The mother has been dead more than a year.”
Clem glanced at him sharply. “A thew in disguise?”
Maxwell nodded. “It seems likely to me. In other cases, where I have witnesses of the stoning itself, they describe movements—shapes and configurations—made by the stones before they are hurled.”
“And the papers at the courthouse seemed similar to you.”
“Exactly.” They paused at the edge of the square to wait for a passing coach. “Miss Quinn, the cadavers show signs of bruising—bruising caused by the stones. And that should not be.”
“Perhaps it’s another aspect of the enchantment.”
They crossed the road together and began walking northeast along Essex Street. “I’ve no doubt that it is,” Maxwell agreed. “Because the bruises are not arbitrary. They make deliberate markings.”
Clem stopped on the sidewalk. “What do you mean?”
Maxwell paused beside her. “Writing. The bruises make writing.”
“What writing?”
Maxwell took a deep breath. “I can’t say.”
“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”
He hesitated. “Letters. The bruises write letters upon them. I’ve not yet been able to understand what they mean. They are incomplete words, or initials, perhaps.”
“Where do the letters appear?”
“Generally on the back.”
“I see.” Clementine resumed walking, her steps slower than they had been. Did she? Did she perhaps finally see why I’d been warning her repeatedly, why I’d driven Maxwell to her door? She looked pensive rather than concerned, but it was a start.
Maxwell forged on. “I hope you can also see why I’d be concerned about the papers. I’ve not before had a chance to speak with any of the young women prior to death. It may be that they, also, experienced attacks with less lethal objects beforehand.”
They had reached the corner of Hardy Street, and Clementine paused her steps. “Constable, I understand the possible connection. I’ll be attentive. If I have anything to add, I assume I may find you at the Salem station.”
Maxwell made a small bow. He was being dismissed. “Yes. Thank you. Miss Quinn, if I may ask…” He hesitated. “Have I perhaps offended you without intending to? I’d be glad to make amends; it’s important to me that I have your trust, considering that your safety may be at stake.”
Clementine looked at Maxwell. “You haven’t offended me, Constable.
But your profession has. My mother was killed by an enchanter six years ago.
No one in the police force could be persuaded that her death merited any attention.
She was deemed a suicide, contemptible and pathetic.
She was left to her fate, and we were left utterly without recourse.
So I’ll heed your words, and I’ll take precautions, but it’s unlikely that you’ll have my trust.” She looked him in the eye, her expression unyielding.
I was stunned. Maxwell, too, seemed caught off guard, for he didn’t reply at once. He gazed back at her unflinchingly, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I see,” he said finally. His voice was somber. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and for the inexcusable neglect of my department.”
“I doubt you were part of it, six years ago.”
“No. I joined just two years ago.”
“I hope for the sake of those five women that you’ve improved the department.” Clem gave a brief nod. “Good morning, Constable.”
“Good morning, Miss Quinn.” He watched her go, a thoughtful expression on his face, until she had disappeared down English Street.
I was thoughtful as well, but I was also hopeful. I had managed, through my reliable Maxwell, to give Clementine a warning in the clearest terms possible. Surely, I thought, surely now she would heed it.