Jackaby (Jackaby #1)(50)
“Oh, Marlowe, you’re being too kind.”
“Stuff it,” Marlowe growled. “And let me make this unmistakably clear. If you’re on this case, you report back to me. You do not withhold information. You do not conceal evidence. I know where you are and what you know at all times. You will respect the chain of command, and you will not question it. I am in charge. Is that understood?”
Jackaby smiled, and his eyes glinted. Somewhere beneath the atrocious knit hat and that unkempt hair, cogs began to whir into motion.
“Is that understood?” Marlowe repeated.
“How quickly can you assemble every member of the police force at the town square?” Jackaby asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Every member. Every link in the chain. Highest to the lowest. If we’re going to capture him tonight, we’re sure to need every one of them.”
“What?”
“You’re right, that isn’t quite enough. I’ll need a few books, as well! Just call them, all of them. Miss Rook and I will meet you at the town square in—shall we say—half an hour?”
“What?”
“I daresay, Marlowe, we should work together more often. This is brilliant!” With a manic grin, Jackaby flung the door open wide and vaulted the steps. “We shall have him this very night!” he cried, his scarf and coat whipping behind him as he flew into the evening.
Marlowe stood, speechless, in the lobby. I shrugged my bewilderment to him before chasing my employer down the street.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I could barely keep Jackaby in sight as we sped through the city streets. The wet cobblestones had chilled to glittering patches of ice, and my feet slid out from under me on more than one occasion as I tried to round sharp corners. By the time I reached the red door with its horseshoe knocker, I was sore and winded, and as baffled as ever. Jenny was hovering by the open door to the office as I came through the hallway. She looked to me for an explanation.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, and peeked inside.
The massive map had been stuffed to one side, and I noticed a few pins had managed to cling to their positions, dangling limply from the ruffled map, while the others must have been scattered across the floor. A book flew from behind the desk to land on the small pile beginning to collect in the leather armchair. Jackaby popped up, hurriedly flipping through the pages of another, and quietly cursing the lack of useful information he seemed to be finding.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Looking,” he managed, without glancing up. He tucked two of the tomes under his arm and leafed through a third as he brushed past me, back into the hall. Jenny scowled as he passed right through her shoulder before she had time to pull away.
“Haven’t you already been through all these?”
“Yes, but now I know what I’m looking for!” He zipped down the crooked corridor.
“And what, precisely, is that?” I was yelling after Jackaby, as he dashed out of sight. He either didn’t hear me or couldn’t be bothered to respond. I gave the still-scowling Jenny a quick apology. As I hurried out, I noticed that the frying pan had been removed from the wall. The rough hole it had carved still remained, and orange light from the sunset was trickling through it into the hallway. I found myself thinking that, all things considered, the poor ghost really was a remarkably patient roommate.
I caught up with Jackaby again halfway down the block. He was so buried in one of his books, I was surprised he was able to notice my arrival, let alone navigate the walk, but as I drew near, he pitched the other two books into my hands. His lips moved silently and rapidly as his eyes zipped over the pages.
“Jackaby—what are we looking for?” I demanded.
He pried his eyes slowly up from the page and caught my gaze. “Lead.”
“Lead? What—as in the metal?”
He dropped the last book into my arms atop the others. “That might help, at least. And some decent kindling.”
He picked up the pace again and hastened toward the center of town. It was all I could do not to drop his books or crack my tailbone on the icy roads as I struggled to keep up.
The sun was melting into a reddish haze behind the buildings and treetops, and I turned my collar to the biting cold. Here and there, stars were beginning to peek through the gaps in the dark sky, but the moon was nothing but a diffused glow behind the shifting curtain of clouds. It did little to illuminate the shadowy streets. Terraced with well-kept brickwork, a broad stretch of sidewalk opened ahead of us, forming a semicircle around a statue of an important-looking soldier on a rampant horse. A few large flower boxes had been erected at some point to lend color to the block, but the frost had long since finished off the blooms. Across the street sat the city hall, regal, white columns dominating its fa?ade and leaving the recessed entrance a sheet of inscrutable black.
Around the rampant statue, a crowd of a dozen or so uniformed officers had begun to collect. They milled about, some attempting to look alert and attentive, others unabashedly sitting on the edges of flower boxes and puffing away on cigarettes.
Curtains in the surrounding buildings darted open here and there, revealing the curious faces of residents taking notice of the gathering. A few passing workmen stopped to lean against the fence, passing a silver flask around while they waited for something interesting to happen. By the evening’s end, they would not be disappointed. I caught sight of a pair of ladies whispering and casting severe and condescending looks in my direction. One wore a bonnet overloaded with flowers, and the other was in a canary yellow dress.