The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(35)
“He does,” I said. “I can’t imagine why. She’s a nightmare!”
“Why don’t you take your own advice, then, Abigail. Try to see what Charlie sees. He’s not such a terrible judge of character, you know.” Jenny gave me an encouraging wink. “He did choose you, didn’t he?”
Chapter Thirteen
Out of respect for my employer, Chapter Thirteen has been omitted. Accounts of these hours can now be found in the Dangerous Documents section, but only if you really know where to look.
Chapter Fourteen
As the day wore on, the mythical menagerie of creatures pervading our house had begun to settle into their own idiosyncratic routines. The ladies of a feather sharing my bedroom flocked together to the duck pond after lunch for a quick birdbath. The satyrs alternated between sneaking up to peep at them through the bushes and slipping into the library to harass the nymphs. Several swarms of spriggans, pixies, and other wee folk had found their way into the walls by midafternoon, which kept the passages a bit less crowded but generated a near-constant chittering, skittering sound that occasionally ended in eruptions of plaster. By early evening, Chief Nudd had returned with a few members of his horde and they had joined the gnomes at their dice game in the foyer.
In addition to the steady stream of the furry, flighty, and fantastical, I was also pleasantly surprised to greet a few familiar human faces. I had been checking on Shihab when I heard Hank Hudson’s voice in the hallway.
“Mr. Hudson,” I said, stepping out to greet him. “You’re back. Lovely. Is Charlie . . .” I glanced up and down the hallway.
“He an’ that sister of his skedaddled upstairs to have a little chat. Said he’d be back down soon. Jackaby around?”
“Ah, of course. No, he’s still out, but we’re expecting him any minute. Did you two meet with any support while canvassing the city?” I asked.
“Loads!” Hudson said, brightly. “Surprising amount, actually, along with one story after another about stuff ol’ Jackaby had personally done to save a shop, or soothe some ailing granny, or rescue some kidnapped baby. Yer boss sure keeps himself busy, don’t he?”
“He’s not a fan of sitting still,” I agreed. “Ah, that may be him now. If you’ll excuse me.”
The front door closed as I came around the corner. It was not Jackaby, but Lieutenant Dupin. He was off duty, but still wearing his uniform and visibly nervous.
I thanked him for coming and finally shared with him the full details of Steven Fairmont’s unholy rise from the dead, as well as Charlie’s and my part in putting a stop to the creature. Dupin listened attentively, looking solemn and a little wan by the end.
“I know it sounds like lunacy,” I concluded, “but there you have it.”
“Lunacy has become reality in New Fiddleham of late,” Dupin sighed. “Thank you for your report, Miss Rook, and for your service. Will you tell Detective Cane—or Barker, or whatever it is now—will you tell him that there are still officers like me who have not lost faith in him as one of our own. Marlowe may not have put his support in writing, but he has his own sort of inner circle. Some of us are still loyal to his command over Spade’s. We will heed the call when you need us.”
“You can tell him that yourself if you would care to wait,” I offered. “He just nipped upstairs. I’m sure he won’t be long. Why don’t I just put a kettle on?”
Dupin smiled regretfully. “Your hospitality does you credit, Miss Rook,” he said. “But I think, perhaps, I have overstayed my welcome as it is.”
I glanced behind me to see what he was talking about. The gnomes and goblins were glaring daggers at Dupin, and I could see several pairs of eyes peering out from the doorway that led to the rest of the house. None of them looked welcoming.
“Good night, Miss Rook, and good luck.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” I scolded the house after he had gone. “He’s on your side. You’ve got ears, haven’t you? He wants to help.”
The sleepy giant sat up, which brought him to a modest looming rather than a full towering. He opened his mouth and rumbled something that sounded like a pride of French lions growling at each other from within the depths of a deep cave.
“Come again?”
“He said yon copper was nae much help when they was lockin’ up grannies an’ babes in irons,” Chief Nudd said. Violet hats bobbed behind him as the gnomes nodded their agreement. “Ye kinna blame folk for bein’ a mite skittish ’round a uniform.”
I scowled. “No, I suppose I can’t. But we can’t meet prejudice with prejudice, either. Like them or not, we will need all the help we can get.”
Another friendly face arrived shortly after Dupin had let himself out. Hatun walked like royalty in her rags, nodding amiably to the various figures around her. She was a woman with a unique view of the world—a view at least partially shaped by her perpetually shifting residence. Hatun had no house, but all of New Fiddleham was her home. She looked out for her city, and for everyone in it, from the wealthiest citizen in the tallest building to the lowliest troll under the darkest bridge. Truth be told, she preferred the company of the troll.
Hatun was met with a much warmer reception than the policeman had been. Though it probably should not have come as a surprise, I was taken aback by just how many of our paranormal lodgers seemed to know her by name, and how thoroughly unfazed she was by their appearances. Jackaby had once explained that at different times, Hatun saw the same world that everyone else saw, or the world as it really was, or the world as it really wasn’t. It was hard for Hatun to be certain which version was real at any given moment, so she had learned to appraise reality flexibly. In addition, as I had experienced firsthand, Hatun sometimes saw the world as it was going to be—which I found to be by far the most unsettling.