Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(20)

"You can manage it," he assured me.

"But I don't know any names."

"Gordon Moreland Thackery was inscribed on the headstone of the latest victim."

"Oh. Well done." I pulled my cloak tighter around my neck to keep out the chill. "Take me to the body."

"I picked the lock earlier," Lincoln said as he pushed open the door to the butcher's shop. It was as dark as his eyes inside and he didn't light a candle.

"I can't see."

His hand slipped into mine and he led me down a short corridor. The door clicked closed behind me. Our footsteps echoed on the floorboards and my breath sounded loud in the dense silence. He stepped on a creaking board and stopped. He let go of my hand and a sudden surge of fear bubbled inside me. I huddled in closer to him and was relieved when he struck a match and lit a candle that had been placed on a small recessed ledge at the top of a flight of stairs.

He returned the box of matches to his inside coat pocket then, of all the odd things, he fussed with my hood, ensuring it was pulled low over my forehead and around my ears. He was clinical, his gaze not meeting mine.

"Keep warm," he said, lowering his hand.

"Is the body down there?" I whispered.

He nodded. "Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"Prepare yourself."

We went down the steep narrow staircase and Lincoln slid back the bolt on the door at the base and pushed it open. A blast of cool air hit my face and I shivered. He stepped into the room first, blocking my view, but I entered close behind, not wanting to be left alone in the dark corridor.

He raised the candle high and I gasped. Behind the carcasses hanging from hooks suspended from the cool room ceiling was not one human body, but four. And they all stood upright, staring back at me with empty, dead eyes.





CHAPTER 5


"Are you sure they're dead?" I whispered.

"They are. I checked earlier." Lincoln angled himself between the pig carcasses and gripped the arm of one of the human bodies. He swiveled it around to show me the large hook gouged into the back of the cadaver's neck above the jacket collar. The toes of its burial shoes scraped the packed earth floor, and the rest of the clothing hung loosely from the emaciated figure.

My stomach rolled and I pressed a hand over my nose and mouth, although there was no smell in the cool room. "That's vile." They were being treated the same way as the pigs, as if they would be carved up for meat and served to a customer in the shop. At least some dignity had been preserved by keeping the bodies clothed.

"How long do you think they've been in here?" I asked.

"Two months, perhaps. I'd say that's the first one they took, most likely from Highgate the day you spied them." He pointed to the body of a short man on the end. In life, he would have been perhaps thirty or so, but now his flesh was gray and sagging, and much of his hair had fallen out. "The blocks of ice can only preserve them for so long."

I noticed the wooden crates containing ice set around the small room for the first time. They were stored beneath the marble shelves and behind the feet of the bodies themselves. I pulled my cloak tighter.

"Do Jimmy or Pete work here?" I asked.

"I don't know yet, but tonight was the first time since we began watching them that they visited. They must be associated with this place somehow."

"I wonder what the butcher wants with them." I ventured closer, avoiding looking at the pig carcasses and instead focusing on the last human on the right. His skin wasn't as decayed as the others and he still had most of his hair. He looked only a little older than me. He seemed to be the most recent addition to the cool room, so he must be Gordon Thackery.

"Are you ready?" Lincoln asked.

"No, but I doubt I ever will be." I stood a few feet from Thackery and blew out several breaths. Lincoln set the candle down on a shelf nearby and slid a knife from his sleeve. I wasn't sure why, since I could control the soul after I'd raised it.

"Gordon Moreland Thackery, can you hear me?" My voice echoed around the small room, although I'd kept it low and quiet. "The spirit of Gordon Thackery, I need you to join me here in the world of the living again." When nothing happened, I added, "I summon you."

A white mist coalesced out of the air above the body. It drifted back and forth then formed the shape of Gordon Thackery, right down to the bent nose. "Who're you, and what do you want?"

My pulse quickened. Despite knowing I controlled spirits, raising the dead still alarmed me. "My name is Charlie," I said. "I wish you no ill."

"Then let me return."

"I can't. I need your help. Someone has removed your body from its resting place." I nodded at the dead figure in front of me.

The mist swirled around the body, shimmering in the candlelight. Its ghostly hand reached for the cheek, but didn't touch. "What is this?" He shot toward me, stopping so close to my face that I had to lean back or be covered in spirit mist. "Have you done this?" He raged. "Him?"

Lincoln moved up beside me, his arm touching mine. He couldn't see or hear the spirit, and it must be difficult to follow a one-sided conversation, but he didn't ask me to repeat Gordon Thackery's words. His solid presence was reassuring.