The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden

by Brogan Donnelly

Day Two

Amos did not begin his investigative efforts until the day after being asked. He’d told William Sheenan that would be the case but hadn’t confessed that there was no reason for the delay. Truth be told, Amos simply wanted to seem quite in demand. A reputation was only as impactful as one made it, after all.

With an air of casual authority, he stepped into the expanse of the collection of death. From a scientific perspective, it was the very height of anthropologic intrigue. To one who possessed even a modicum of superstition, it was the very height of horror. Amos Cavey’s logical mind was never permitted to have greater say than what he considered his inferior tendency toward anxiety.

The museum was not empty, but neither was it bustling yet. This was the perfect opportunity for gathering clues. Amos had armed himself with a small notebook and a lead pencil sharpened to perfection. With both firmly in hand, he began a slow, pointed circuit of the first floor where the mammals were displayed, along with a few oddities from other corners of the animal kingdom. He chose to overlook how utterly sloppy a bit of work that was. He had been asked to solve a series of thefts, not teach the keepers the proper classification of species.

All seemed well around the largest displays. Nothing appeared amiss with the rhinoceros or American bison. He walked slowly around the open-air display of a walrus. All was well. A bit of dust hung about the zebra.

The wooden frame of the glass case surrounding the seals was a bit beaten up. The museum really ought to place their older cases in lesser visited corners of the room, not on full display such as this.

Mr. Carte had gone to such lengths to build the reputation of the Dead Zoo. Carelessness would only undermine it. Then again, so would knowledge of the thefts Amos had agreed to try to solve. He ought not be surprised to find other flaws beneath the veneer.

His investigation took him up the stairs to the second-story balconies where the museum housed its display of birds and fish. Amos spotted a gap in the display of birds and made directly for it. Not seeing a placard indicating the specimen had been removed for repair or cleaning or such, he studied the spot more carefully.

As with the case that had once housed the now-missing rodents, this case containing the display of birds boasted a bit of injury, precisely what one would expect after someone had quickly and inexpertly used a tool of some sort to loosen the bindings. The scratches he saw were not scattered in every direction, as one would expect from the natural wear and tear of years of visitors, but concentrated, repetitive. Someone had removed this bird without the precision one would expect from the keepers of this odd zoo who valued their animal population.

A disconcertingly familiar sensation—that of being watched—tiptoed over him just as it had the day before. It set his neck hairs standing on end. He swallowed, but not without a little difficulty. There were far too many eyes in the museum, not all of them human, not all of them seeing, for some sensation of being observed not to be felt. He told himself it was merely a trick of the mind.

But his eyes fell upon a murder of magpies—made still by death—watching him. Seven. Seven magpies.

One for sorrow.

Two for joy.

Three for a girl.

Four for a boy.

He could not stop the rhyme from echoing in his thoughts.

Five for silver.

Six for gold.

Seven for a secret, never to be told.

Seven for a secret.

Amos pushed down the feeling of foreboding. He would not allow himself to be ridiculous.

William arrived at his side not a moment later, no doubt the real reason for Amos’s premonition. He had been observed by the man who had asked him to be there. With his logical nature firmly in charge once more, Amos felt himself far more on solid ground.

“You should know that this bird has also been pilfered,” Amos said. “The display shows the same subtle damage, the same pattern of gouging.”

Though the keeper was, understandably, a bit embarrassed to not have realized the issue extended beyond the mammals exhibit, he did not grow offended. “I ought to have realized the thefts would not be limited to only my section of the zoo. Please tell me if you find any other specimens you believe we have lost to this unknown criminal.”

“He will not be unknown for long,” Amos said. “I can assure you of that.”

William dipped his head. “There is a reason I asked for your participation in this.”

It must be remembered that the Dead Zoo was run by none other than the Royal Dublin Society, the members of which were not precisely dunces. To not ask one of their membership to oversee a matter such as this was a good indication that either the mystery was indeed an exceptionally difficult one to solve or William Sheenan was particularly keen to keep the matter a secret. It is for the astute reader to ascertain which was, in fact, the case.

Amos continued his searching circuit of the museum, first on the second story, then making his way to the galleries on the third. He found in his perusal a number of missing items. Some showed not the least indication of having been tampered with. Others, however, were scarred with the same careless marks as the other hapless dead creatures. All totaled, he found eight specimens had been taken.

Seating himself upon an obliging bench at the far end of the mammal exhibit, Amos acquainted himself with all his notes, searching for the connection he knew he would find there. Visitors glided in and out, each awed by the displays and most filled with amazement at the collection. Few paid him the least heed. He did not mind.

Nine missing.

One feline.

Four rodents.

One fish.

Two birds.

One bicolored lobster.

All were small enough for an enterprising individual to tuck under a jacket or shawl. These thefts, he grew more and more certain, were not the work of a particularly gifted thief. Perhaps the items were taken by youths challenging one another to undertake what they saw as a lark. Perhaps it was a person with a propensity toward thievery for reasons even they could not explain; he had read that some people could not help the inclination. Perhaps someone wished to undermine the museum.

He rose from his place of pondering and meandered amongst the visitors, listening in with a degree of subtlety he felt quite proud of. None, he felt certain, would realize he was investigating them.

The mother and child peering at the whale skeleton were quickly eliminated. To undertake something like this in the presence of a child would be difficult indeed.

He hovered just beyond a group of young students from Rathmines as they spoke at length of how very bored they all were.

“We’d not be seen if we slipped off and moved a few things about,” one lad said. “Could pose the animals for a rugby match or some lark like that.”

His friend shook his head. “They’re likely all bolted in. And the museum man said once the animals are put on display, they don’t get moved about.”

The boys, then, were certain the specimens couldn’t be stolen or moved from their spots. They’d not think that if they were the ones making off with them.

Amos realized, of course, that the perpetrator might very well not be present that particular day and at that particular hour. But the museum was open only three days per week. For so much to have gone missing in so short a time, he reasoned, the person must have been coming in every open day to make off with something new.

On he wandered. As has been established already, he was not one to admit to any insufficiencies in his intelligence. And he certainly wasn’t likely to admit defeat after a single morning.

His footsteps took him past the polar bear once more. It was really a magnificent animal. Something in its eyes was more realistic than the other creatures strewn about. The glassy expressions one saw in all directions made clear how very dead the Dead Zoo really was. But this bear somehow gave a person pause. Perhaps it was simply the decision to have him perpetually watching the animal that might once have been his dinner. Even the least scientifically inclined visitor could understand hunger at a glance.

Amos wandered on, listening in on every conversation. Back up the stairs. Past the fish. Back to the birds. He ignored as he went the eyes that were deceptively upon him. He knew better than to believe the trick this place played on the senses.

Two gentlemen stood near the ostrich skeleton, having a lively conversation. A quick assessment of their attire told Amos they were relatively well-to-do. Their manner of speaking confirmed that evaluation.

“A remarkable specimen,” the taller of the two said to the other.

“Indeed,” was the response. “And the mounted birds are quite exquisite, as well.”

“Have you observed the penguins?” The taller gentleman indicated the birds in question by pointing at them with his cane. “I find myself quite envious. Something of that caliber ought to be in my collection.”

“Indeed.”

“There is, you understand, but one thing to be done.” The man’s mustache twitched. His silver brows arched haughtily.

“Indeed.”

“I must have a penguin of my own. I will not rest until I do. I have certainly managed to add to my collection of late.” The man’s tone was both self-satisfied and suspicious. “It would be a small matter to do so again.”

And with that, the miscreant sealed his fate.

“Sir, if you will be good enough to follow me.” Amos assumed his most demanding, unwavering tone.

“I beg your pardon.” The man eyed him disapprovingly.

“The keeper of the mammal exhibit requires a word with you.”

“Does he?”

Amos motioned him toward the stairs, counting on the man’s good manners to prevent a scene. He often depended upon people doing what he thought they ought. He was both cynical and trusting by nature, and he was not always a good judge of when to employ which. In this instance, he chose correctly.

William was easy to find. He seldom left his precious mammals, and there he was found.

“Mr. Sheenan, I have solved your mystery.” Amos held himself in a proud and defiant posture. “Your collection is the envy of many, some to the point of abandoning their good breeding to obtain what you have that they wish to possess.”

William looked from Amos to the tall gentleman and back once more. His confusion was lost on the self-assured detective, who was quite proud of having so easily solved a question that had baffled others. Had he paid greater attention, he would have noticed that William and the gentleman did not seem at all surprised to see one another. Neither had they asked for an introduction.

Confident in his conclusions, Amos pressed forward. “This man wishes for one of your penguins to be part of his collection. He spoke of it in quite strong terms, almost foregone terms. I contend that—”

“Pray pardon the interruption, Lord Baymount,” William hastily said to the man at Amos’s side. “I hope you will continue to peruse the collections here at your leisure.”

“Lord or not,” Amos resumed, undeterred. Oh, the follies one reaps when unwilling to give ear to others. “He spoke of his collection—”

“With pride, I hope,” William quickly interrupted. He knew the path Amos meant to trod and intended to save him from it. “Do go look them over.”

He breached protocol so much as to nudge his lordship away, desperate as he was to avoid the humiliation Amos had very nearly caused.

“You did not allow me to finish.” The intellectual was all wounded dignity.

“And for that you are quite welcome.” William pointed to the back of the retreating lord. “He has contributed a great many specimens to our museum. His ‘collection’ of items are on display here. That he saw the penguins and wished one were part of his collection was not a threat of thievery but a determination to add something of equal intrigue and significance to those items he has already donated.”

Few times in his adult life had Amos experienced the odd sensation of being embarrassed. It was a feeling he had as much experience with as being wrong. That he’d experienced both at once would astonish anyone who knew him.

His pride whipped up a frenzy of determination. He refused to be defeated by so simple a task. And he further refused to be humiliated again. The mystery would be solved, and it would be solved by him. His worth would be proved to William Sheehan, to the haughty Lord Baymount, to himself.

And, if it were the last thing he did, he would find a way to shake the unnerving weight of an unseen gaze that followed him all around the Dead Zoo.