Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(55)

He hesitated. "You should stay out here."

"But we both know I'm not going to."

His lips flattened. "Then prepare yourself."

I stood back while he entered, then followed. I wish I'd taken his advice to prepare myself more seriously. The mortuary wasn't what I expected. Bodies didn't lie on tables and shelves but on the floor, wherever there was a space large enough. Nor were they covered for modesty; they lay naked and exposed. I wondered if the wealthier parishes treated their dead in such a shabby manner.

I counted six bodies, some quite decayed and four of them grossly bloated, their skin pulled tight over swollen bellies and faces. Those four must have drowned, a common cause of death this close to the docks. The only woman had her head smashed in, and the sixth body belonged to our man from Mr. Lee's. He was in the best condition of the lot, but was extraordinarily thin. His skin was like worn paper, and it was a miracle the bones didn't protrude through it.

I drew in a sigh when I saw him and instantly regretted it. The smell of rotting flesh was much fouler than the butcher's cellar. I covered my nose and mouth but it was too late. The putrid odor clogged my throat. I gagged.

"Charlie, are you—?"

I raced out of the mortuary and threw up in the bushes. To my horror, Lincoln's warm hand touched the back of my neck. I pulled away, not wanting him to see me like this, and certainly not wanting his sympathy. I should be used to death by now. I was a necromancer and had seen death up close numerous times; I’d even touched decomposing bodies. My weakness appalled me.

"My apologies," he said.

I held up my hand. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I should have made you wait outside."

I accepted the handkerchief he passed to me over my shoulder and dabbed my mouth on it. I couldn't return it to him in that state, so I tucked it into my reticule. "I would have looked in anyway," I told him.

"There's no need for you to go back inside. I have the name."

"You do? How?"

"It was written on a card, along with the names of the next of kin, where the body was found, who reported it, and the likely cause of death. Either Lee lied, and he did keep records of his clients, or there was some identification. My guess is the latter. I'm not sure Lee cares for record keeping."

I drew in a breath, grateful for some fresh air. "I'll summon him, but I won't ask him to enter his body, if you don't mind. Considering the lack of clothing, it seems rather insensitive. But that means you won't be able to hear his answers."

"I don't need to hear them. You're capable of reporting what he says to me."

"What is his name?"

"Bertram Purley."

I looked around to make sure no one could overhear me, then said, "Bertram Purley, I summon you to me. The spirit of Bertram Purley, show yourself."

I thought the mist was a low lying cloud at first, until it coalesced into the form of the dead man from Lee's garret. He scowled at me and then at Lincoln, who was watching me.

"He's here," I told him.

"You again," the spirit growled. "What do you want?"

"To know the name of the man known as the captain. The one who spoon fed a liquid to you."

"Who cares? I'm dead now. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. It matters if we can save other lives. It matters if you'd like your body to stay buried."

The latter argument rather than the former elicited a response. Up until then, he’d looked both bored and irritated. "I told you his name last night, stupid girl."

And to think I'd felt some sympathy for him in the mortuary. "I can't recall what you told me last night. The opium affected me. Kindly repeat it."

"He told me his name was Jasper."

"First or last name?"

"I don't know. Captain Jasper, I called him." The mist swirled around me and up into the sky, only to swoop down again like a bird on its prey. He bared his teeth and snarled. "Why can't I go?"

"I must release you."

"Then do it!"

I looked to Lincoln and repeated the name Bertram Purley had given me. "Do you have any questions for him?"

"No," Lincoln said.

"Go, Bertram Purley. Return to whereever it is your spirit resides."

"I'm stuck in the waiting area," he said as he swept away again. This time he didn't return.

"He's gone," I said. "He had nothing else to tell me."

Lincoln held out his arm and I took it, but before we could leave, the vicar emerged from the rear of the church. He swooped down on us like a black robed version of Purley's spirit.

"You there!" he shouted. "Halt! What are you doing?"

Lincoln drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He was considerably taller than the vicar, but the clergyman didn't back away.

"That is none of your affair," Lincoln said.

I tightened my hold on his arm. "Don't snap, Brother dear," I said sweetly. "He was simply asking a question." I felt Lincoln bristle beneath my hand. I hoped he had enough imagination to go along with me. "We're visiting your charming churchyard," I told the vicar. "We'd heard of a distant relative who might be buried here, some years past, but alas, we weren't able to find his headstone."