The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden
by Brogan Donnelly
Day Three
Amos had hardly slept. Such was the burden of one whose self-declared claim to fame was unparalleled intelligence but who had endured a monumental lapse in judgment. Burdened with questions of identity, Amos arrived at the Dead Zoo worse for wear yet unwilling to abandon the challenge he’d been issued.
The museum was not open every day. On this morning, no visitors would be admitted. Members of the Royal Dublin Society, however, had ready access.
If Amos were not so certain of his eventual success, he might have been ashamed to have not realized sooner the significance of thefts occurring while the museum was closed. Lord Baymount’s misleading conversation had planted in Amos’s mind a trail of thought he’d followed during the long sleepless hours of night.
For a collector of taxidermied, mounted, or skeletal animals, the Dead Zoo presented a treasure trove of possibilities. Someone without the preferred scruples might see in its displays a shortcut to the collection he desired. And who could wish for such a thing more than members of the society whose interest in such things had led to the Natural History Museum in the first place?
Still, he did not mean to storm into the mammal exhibit with accusations falling from his lips. He would build a case, gather proof. He would not be made the fool again.
William Sheenan was not the first to greet our unlucky detective upon his arrival. Amos’s path crossed Jonty’s first. The gruff man was not mopping as he had been that first day. Indeed, Amos had not seen him mopping since. On this day, he was dusting displays.
He grumbled as Amos passed, his words indiscernible but his tone unmistakable. He did not care for Amos, did not like him being there. The feeling was growing more mutual with every encounter.
William, however, was pleased at Amos’s arrival. Though he’d not cared for the near run insult of the day before and had needed to patch things up with Lord Baymount, the situation at the museum required greater and quicker effort than previously.
“Our colobus monkey is missing,” William told him.
“The long-haired, black and white one, yes?” Amos asked, unable to hide the hint of pleasure in his expression. Another missing specimen offered opportunity for more clues. Though he was reluctant to admit as much, he needed more information than he had if he was to avoid another embarrassing misstep.
He followed William to the display. Amos checked the now-empty display and found it just as the others had been: a bit scratched, a bit scuffed. Whoever had undertaken the theft had done so with more care than before, but only a very little more.
He froze. That same feeling—a horrid, unnerving feeling—of being watched seized him. Even more than his failure of the day before, this flaw in his reasoning caused him great distress. He was not easily overset. He was not intellectually weak. Amos Cavey would not give way to illogical whimseys.
He told himself he would ignore any magpies he should see. Surely there were no more displays than the two he’d already seen.
He was wrong. The nearest shelves contained more. Ten this time.
Eight for a wish.
Nine for a kiss.
Ten for a bird you must not miss.
It is all rubbish. Nonsense. This place oversets the mind, is all. I will overcome it.
With himself firmly in hand once more, Amos stepped back from the vandalized display and set himself to a study of his surroundings. He had, of course, made a thorough inspection the day before, but that had yielded nothing but near-disaster. Today, however, would be different.
The comings and goings were fewer and focused. His primary group of suspects were present and no one else.
He could not err today. He would not!
Two members of the society entered the room, both looking quite pleased with themselves. Amos had interacted with them before and had found them unbearably arrogant. He was not opposed to confidence of character, mind you—he possessed quite a lot of it himself, after all—but he did not approve when he saw it in those who had not fully earned it. Some members of the Royal Dublin Society had offered inarguable proof of their intelligence. Others, like Mr. McClellan and Mr. Kearney, hadn’t.
They crossed paths in front of the hippopotamus, something Amos made look unintentional. “Gentlemen,” he said with a dip of his head.
“You do realize the museum is closed to visitors,” Mr. McClellan said. “Only members of the society have access to the collection today.”
“Unless one who has chosen not to join the society has been particularly invited by the keeper of the mammals.” Amos watched them for any signs of worry.
They did seem to find that odd, but not in a way that seemed to alarm them. Curiosity appeared to be the crowning response.
“Why has William asked you to be here?” Mr. Kearney asked.
Amos allowed a pitying look. “Alas, if you do not already know, then you were likely not meant to.”
Far from felled by this subtle insult, Mr. McClellan and Mr. Kearney simply exchanged looks heavy with amusement and walked away. Oh, yes. The members of this haughty and insufferable society were prime suspects. Prime, indeed!
Amos meant to trail them as unobtrusively as possible. They would not suspect his efforts. If luck were with him, they would unintentionally provide him with incriminating evidence.
His pursuit brought him past Jonty, who watched him with obvious disapproval, though what he’d done to earn the man’s dislike, he didn’t know. Still, he could not be bothered with such things at the moment. His intellect was at work, and he would not allow himself to be distracted.
His quarry must have sensed him following them. Now and then, they stopped and glanced backward. If he were, in that moment, within view, he busied himself with studying whichever specimen was nearest at hand. If luck favored him and he were not visible, he simply tucked himself more firmly out of sight and waited.
It was during one of these moments of hiding that the sensation of being watched washed over him once more. Every time he felt the weight of eyes upon him, the feeling grew heavier and more difficult to explain away.
This time, his gaze sought out the janitor. But Jonty was nowhere to be seen. That, of course, did not preclude him being tucked away just as Amos was. The man had made clear his disdain and disapproval. It was, no doubt, his glares which Amos felt crawling up his neck.
Around the corner, Mr. McClellan, fully ignoring the card instructing otherwise, touched the skin of the moose on display. Such disregard for proper behavior. Oh, yes, these were his miscreants.
He stepped closer. Then came the sensation of someone stepping closer to him. He looked behind him. No one.
What was the matter with him? He never allowed his imagination to flourish, let alone run rampant.
Amos focused all his attention on the two suspicious men. They were very intent on the displays, but not in a way that spoke of true appreciation but rather amusement. They were in the Dead Zoo for entertainment, and what could be more entertaining than thievery to those inclined toward such things?
William was fast approaching. Now was Amos’s opportunity. He would denounce the men, insist William check their coats and pockets for something they meant to slip off with, and leave a hero. The Royal Dublin Society would ask him again to join. He would refuse again. But he would likely be invited to lecture and present and otherwise make even more of a name for himself. His prowess would see him praised not merely in Dublin, but in London as well.
He opened his mouth to begin what he anticipated would be a very impressive denunciation, but William spoke before he could.
“We’ve something else missing,” he said in a low voice. “I saw it was not in its display this morning but assumed it had been taken out by order of Mr. Carte. I have only just learned it was not.”
Something of panic lay in William’s words. That hadn’t been present before when he’d spoken of missing items. This, then, was different.
“What is it?”
With a shaking breath, William said, “Our hartebeest is missing.”
“Hartebeest?”
Amos quickly thought back to his previous wanderings in the Dead Zoo. He could picture the animal in his mind’s eye. An antelope, two- to three-hundred pounds in life. No doubt, lighter in taxidermied preservation, but still quite large. Too large for carrying off undetected. Not without assistance, and assistance beyond a single partner. One would have to have access to a cart of some kind. And it could not be done in sight of others.
A sense of foreboding settled over him. He’d nearly lobbed another accusation that would have proved humiliating. He’d nearly made an absolute quiz of himself once again.
How had he been so wrong twice? Twice?
What was happening to him? What dark spell was this place of death casting over him?
