Jackaby (Jackaby #1)(25)

“Oh no. Quite real. This is his bridge. He’s a diminutive thing, but all the more nasty and ill-tempered for his size. He has brought an untimely end to more than a few lost house pets and unfortunate local fauna. He seems to have a fondness for cats, though—rides a stray orange tabby when he needs to get about.”

“A troll?” I said. “Seriously?”

“Scoff if you like, but if you’re keen on keeping all of your digits and extremities, you would be well advised to steer clear or pay him an offering.”

“All right.” I suppressed my skepticism again—an exercise I was finding necessary more often than not while working for Jackaby. “Well, trolls . . . eat people, don’t they? Could Hammett be our killer?”

“Interesting thought. I can’t see a full-grown troll leaving a body without at least gnawing the bones a bit first. It’d be as if you or I ate an orange peel and left the fruit in the center. As for Hammett, he’s not exactly a menacing figure, for all his pugnacity. He would be happy to crunch the lot of us between his teeth, but I’ve seen him lose in a fair fight with a particularly robust badger. So . . . doubtful.” He turned his attention back to Hatun, who had tucked the fishing pole under the little bridge and come across to meet us.

She stood a foot shorter than I, with curly gray hair tied back in a sloppy bun, and the wrinkled face of someone who had weathered many years outdoors. She was dressed in bulky layers of shirts, petticoats, and wraps, all tattered and faded into complementary shades of soft pastels and subtle grays. She stood with a proud, erect gait, and an expression of benevolent confidence, looking almost stately in spite of her rags.

“Hatun, I would like you to meet my new associate, Miss Abigail Rook. Miss Rook will be working closely with me on cases for the foreseeable future. Feel free to speak openly before her.”

Hatun looked squarely and a little suspiciously at me, and then shuffled a half step to one side and then the other. She watched my eyes intently during the exercise. “Hmm,” she said. “Well, then. Nice to meet you, missy. I expect you two are looking into that business at the Emerald?”

I glanced to Jackaby, who seemed unperturbed by her behavior or her accurate guess. “Yes, in fact,” he answered.

“How did you know?” I meant it as a proper detective’s question, but I’m afraid it came out as an awed whisper, instead.

“Of course she knew.” Jackaby gestured impatiently back toward city. “There are at least a dozen uniformed men and scores of pedestrians making a noisy scene not three blocks from where we stand. If that mill weren’t in the way, you could probably see them from here.”

“Oh, think you know so much?” Hatun shook a finger at the detective. “Well, I’ll have you know I saw a lot more than boys with badges and a lot of silly rope. I was by there last night, and I looked the devil in the eyes, I surely did. I’m guessing you saw it, too, eh? Can’t ignore what you see with your own eyes, can you? Not you.”

“You saw him?” Jackaby’s eyes widened. “Hatun, you mean to say you actually saw the murderer last night?”

“Murderer?” Now it was Hatun’s turn to look surprised. “Oh dear. I guess must have, at that. I hadn’t realized. Who did he get?”

“Bragg,” I answered. “Arthur Bragg. A newspaperman. Did you know him?”

She shook her head. “No. Poor soul. But I’ll say a few words tonight.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Marlowe or any of his officers yet?” asked Jackaby.

“Oh no. Been keeping to myself. Kept my shawl on all tight all night, didn’t want anyone finding me after what I saw.”

“You were hiding in your shawl?” I asked.

Hatun gave the pale blue knit shawl around her shoulders an affectionate tug. “Only street folk can see me in this, beggars and homeless, like. Never had much cause to watch out for them—they’re good souls, the most of ’em. For everyone else—well, it doesn’t make me invisible or nothing, just impossible to notice.” She smiled proudly.

Jackaby and I exchanged glances.

“Erm, I found you,” said my colleague.

Hatun gave him a knowing wink. “You don’t exactly follow the rules when it comes to finding things, though, now do you, Detective?”

Jackaby looked to me again. “Miss Rook? Are you able to . . . ?”

“Yes, of course I can see her.”

Jackaby turned back to Hatun. “I’m afraid it may not be working properly,” he said with a pitying look. “Now, what is it you saw at the Emerald Arch last night, precisely?”

“Oh, stuff it with the snooty faces.” Hatun closed the gap between us and looked me up and down. “Young lady, that’s a lovely dress.”

“Thank you, I—”

“Where do you live?”

“Well . . .” I hadn’t yet found proper lodgings, and having only had gainful employment for a matter of hours, hadn’t yet felt up to asking Jackaby for a week’s advance. “I’m working on that.”

The woman stuck out her tongue at Jackaby. “See? Homeless. It’s working fine.”

Jackaby raised an eyebrow in my direction, but persisted with the matter at hand. “The Emerald Arch, Hatun? What did you see? Be specific.”