“Patience, little one,” Day said.
He scanned the woods, alert for the grey man and for the bird’s parents. But he was alone.
In a few moments, he fished the raisins out of the handful of water and squeezed them gently between his thumb and finger. They still seemed shriveled and dense, but the bird was shaking with hunger or anticipation, and so he poked a raisin into its beak. The raisin immediately disappeared down the bird’s eager throat. Its beak never closed. He gave it another one and waited to see if there would be any problems. He didn’t think magpies probably ate raisins in the wild, in the woods. But this one seemed to have an insatiable appetite for them, and so he poked the last raisin into its beak.
He sat cross-legged in front of the bird and watched it. The raisins had changed nothing. It sat trembling in the leaves, occasionally chirping, its beak open.
He found his flask in another pocket and opened it, tipped some of the brandy into his mouth. He held the half-empty flask out and showed it to the bird.
“I don’t suppose you’d care for a bracer, would you? No, I thought not.”
He smiled and plugged the top of the flask, put it back in his pocket.
“What happens to you if I go on my way, little chum?” he said.
He looked at the trees again, hoping to see a nest or an anxious adult bird, but of course he saw nothing. His visibility extended perhaps four feet into the trees.
“Will you learn to fly? Will your mother come to feed you?”
He sighed.
“We both know something will eat you. Or you’ll simply die here in the snow and then bugs will come when things warm up out here. Bugs are something, too, I suppose. So, yes, you will be eaten. That’s how it works, isn’t it? You’ve left the nest too early and now you’ll be a victim of. . of what? The forest, the world, the natural way of things?”
He reached down and gathered up the ball of fuzz. It was ridiculously lightweight. He turned it over and noticed that there were no feathers on its belly. The skin was nearly translucent, and he could see its heart beating, see its dark organs arranged within the compact globe of its body. He touched a fingertip, gently, to the smooth grey-pink casing and felt its pulse against his own.
“Are you supposed to have feathers there?” he said. “Are you sick? Were you kicked out of the nest?”
The bird closed its beak and kicked out with a twiglike leg. He turned it back over in his hand so that it could sit upright.
“Well, you’ll freeze to death out here, at any rate. Not a good idea to leave home without your feathers on a night like this. I’d best do something about you.”
He tucked the bird away into the empty pocket that had held the biscuit and he stood up. He checked to make sure there was room enough for the bird and arranged the flap of his pocket so that it could get air. He bent, carefully, and picked up the lantern by its handle, checked the trees once more for a nest, and continued on his way, listening for the random chirp of his new companion.
18
When Hammersmith, Campbell, and Grimes returned to the inn, it was just before dawn and smoke was already pouring upward from the twin chimneys. Grimes left the other two at the door with a promise to return after washing up and getting a bite to eat. Inspector Day had not been found, and the men were anxious to recruit more bodies to aid in the search. Campbell opened the inn’s door and waved Hammersmith through to the common room, where they were surprised to find Inspector Day sitting before one of the two fires, sipping at a steaming mug of cider, still wearing his quilted vest and heavy boots.
Day stood and greeted them warmly when they entered the room. Hammersmith was speechless, and Campbell seemed happier to see the inspector than either of them would have expected. Bennett Rose, looking sleepless and bleary-eyed, emerged from the door at the back of the room and counted heads, then returned a moment later with two cups of hot tea and a plate of tiny sweet cakes. The men stripped off their wet overcoats and hung them on hooks near the fire. They stacked their boots on the hearth, where they steamed. Hammersmith noticed a small wooden box filled with straw on the stones near the fire. He glanced at Day and saw the inspector watching him with a mischievous smile.
“What happened to your face, Sergeant?”
Hammersmith touched his cheek and winced. “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “But how are you here ahead of us?”
“I’ve been here for hours,” Day said. “Or perhaps it only seems like it’s been hours.”
“But I lost you in the woods,” Campbell said.
“Yes, about that,” Day said. “Why did you leave me?”
“I apologize. I thought I saw something and wanted a better look. I expected you to stay where you were, but you left me.”
“What did you see?”
“I’m sorry?”
“In the woods. What did you see that caused you to run off?”
“It was nothing.”
“What did you think it was?”
“There was nothing there, so what does it matter?”
“Was it a man with a hole in his face? More than a scar, a great gaping maw where his jaw might ordinarily be expected?”
Behind them, at the kitchen door, Bennett Rose gasped and dropped a cup. It clattered on the stone floor and rolled for an instant before shattering against the wainscoting. Rose dropped to one knee and began mopping up tea. Hammersmith jumped up and went to help, and Day noticed that the sergeant was covered in muck from head to toe.
“You do look as if you’ve had an adventure,” Day said.
“We’ve spent half the night looking for you.”
“I had my compass, my knife, a good pair of boots. You needn’t have worried.”
“We thought you were lost.”
“I was. But then I wasn’t. As soon as I heard the whoosh of flames from the furnaces, I knew I was close to the tree line, and I simply followed the noise out.” Day swiveled in his seat as Hammersmith returned to the fire. Bennett Rose was already on his way back to the kitchen, holding the fragments of the broken cup in the palm of one hand and a sopping dishcloth in the other. “Mr Rose,” Day said, “why were you surprised just now?”
“No time for talk, sir. I should take care of this mess.”
“Was it because you recognized my description of the man in the woods?”
“Man in the woods, sir?”
“Mr Rose, you surprise me. For an innkeeper, you’re a terrible liar.”
Rose shook his head and hurried away through the kitchen door. Hammersmith turned to Day and raised an eyebrow.
“Shall I follow?” he said. “I may be able to make him talk.”
“No,” Day said. “Let him be. He wants to tell us what’s troubling him, but he hasn’t quite got his courage up yet. Let him sleep on it and he may tell us about it in the morning.”
Hammersmith glanced back at the kitchen door. “It’s morning now, isn’t it? In the technical sense, I mean.” But he walked reluctantly to where Day and Campbell sat by the fire. He took a brocade-covered chair across from the inspector.
“I believe you’ve just now ruined Mr Rose’s chair, Sergeant,” Day said. “He may decide not to talk to us, after all.”
Hammersmith held his arms out in front of him and looked down at himself. “I’m dry. The mud should brush out of the upholstery without difficulty.”
“Ah, of course. You think of everything.”
“You seem a bit tetchy.”
“Not at all. But you did leave me in the woods, after all.”
“Actually, I believe you left us in the woods.”
“Quite so.”
“I only came back to refill the oil in our lanterns.”
“You were going back out tonight?”
“Couldn’t leave you there.”
“I’m touched.”
Hammersmith pointed to the little wooden box by the fire. He raised an eyebrow.
“Have a look,” Day said. “But be quiet. He’s only just settled down.”
Hammersmith stood and walked to the hearth. He looked down into the top of the box and then crouched to get a closer look. “It’s a bird,” he said. “Did you bring back a souvenir from the woods, Mr Day?”