Mere steps from the door, he froze. More magpies—
living this time—sat perched in a line on the branch of a tree. Twelve. All watching him.
Eleven is worse.
Twelve for a dastardly curse.
For the length of a breath, his heart froze. Twelve. Twelve.
No, he would not be undone by this. He would not give way to childish superstitions.
He pushed onward and through the museum doors. Amos stormed into the large display hall so forcefully that he nearly tripped over Jonty’s push broom.
“Watchya,” Jonty grumbled.
Amos might normally have pointed out the preposterousness of telling someone who had nearly tripped over a broom stretched across a doorway that he was the one needing to show greater care, rather than the one who had put the broom in the doorway in the first place. But he had larger fish to fry, as the saying went.
“What day are your deliveries?” he demanded the moment he reached William at the very window where he’d spotted him from the grounds below.
“We do not have a specific day.” William turned to him as he spoke. He was a patient man, as calm as Amos prided himself on being, but even his endurance was wearing thin. His frustration did not stem from thinking the mystery was taking overly long to solve—only four days had passed, after all, since he had recruited Amos Cavey—but rather the fact that he was finding himself the aim of Amos’s angry darts.
“How often have deliveries been made over the past fortnight?” Amos demanded more than asked. “How many were made by the same people? By people employed by the same people? Did they deliver with carts? Or wagons?” His questions came rapidly, almost without breath between. His wide eyes darted about.
“Are you unwell, Mr. Cavey?”
“Am I not permitted to be anxious in the solving of these thefts? Would you rather I shrug and leave you to face Mr. Carte’s wrath?” Had he been less overwhelmed, perhaps Amos would have recognized the unwarranted intensity in his questioning. He could not recall the last time he had failed in an intellectual endeavor. He hadn’t the least ability to endure it.
“A mere four days have passed since I first told you of our situation,” William countered. “That we do not yet have the answers is not a failure.”
“I do not fail,” Amos said. “Not ever.”
The man seemed horribly on edge. William judged it best to give the man room to breathe and calm himself. In a tone he hoped was soothing without being patronizing, he answered the earlier questions. “We had one delivery of note. It was a replacement pane of glass for a display case. That was brought almost exactly a fortnight ago, before these disappearances began. The courier did bring it on a wagon, but he and his wagon have not returned since.”
“Was anything taken from the case that needed the glass replaced?” Amos asked.
“No. Not a thing.” William had truly begun to worry about the man. He appeared quite rattled. “Perhaps you ought to return home for the remainder of the day. Rest a spell.”
“I am not unwell.” He took a breath, his jaw still taut. “The thefts are not occurring during the day. They must be the work of someone here at night.”
“No one is here at night,” William countered.
Amos pointed a finger in his direction. “No one you know of.”
“You suspect someone is sneaking in?”
“I am nearly certain of it.” Amos paced a few steps away before returning to where William yet stood. “I will stay here after closing tonight and watch. By morning, your mystery will be solved.”
“You sound very confident.”
Amos raised up to his full height. “By morning, you will have your answer.”
Not quite as sure of himself as he wanted to appear, Amos returned to his own home long enough to have a bite to eat and a cup of tea. His appearance, he knew, had grown haggard. In his eagerness to resume his investigation that morning, he had not stopped to shave, nor had he invested any effort into his appearance save running a comb quickly through his hair and remembering to change out of his nightclothes. He did not bother addressing the state of himself before returning to the Dead Zoo.
Mr. Carte was leaving the museum as Amos approached. The director was not meant to know about their situation, so Amos slipped behind some tall shrubs, shielding himself from discovery. Once the path was clear and he was no longer likely to be caught, Amos stealthily moved to the doors of the Dead Zoo.
William awaited him there. “Mr. Carte is beginning to ask questions. Please take care not to disturb any displays or leave behind any indication you have been here overnight. I would struggle to explain that without digging quite a pit for myself.”
“I am not entirely inept.” Amos’s defensiveness came as naturally now as his arrogance once had.
With a barely withheld sigh, William motioned him to the door, which he held open. “Best of luck, Mr. Cavey.”
“I do not need luck. I will use my mind.”
“Such as it is,” William muttered not quite loud enough to be overheard.
As soon as Amos was inside, William pulled the door closed and locked it.
Night had not entirely fallen. Dim light spilled through the windows, illuminating the rows of displays and glass cabinets. The galleries, though, were in complete shadow.
Amos lit the lantern he’d brought in anticipation of this difficulty. He climbed the stairs to the lower gallery and placed himself in a corner he had specifically chosen for its view of the museum. The vantage point wasn’t perfect, but he could see enough to spot someone making off with an animal or a skeleton. And he could see the doors.
He would catch the no-good thief. He would!
For more than an hour, he stood rooted to the spot, studying every shadow, every still form. His eyes darted about, quick to examine any movement, though his mind told him there was none. He was the one doing the watching, and yet he couldn’t shake the all-too-familiar sensation of the situation being reversed.
The museum was empty. He was the only living thing inside, and yet he didn’t feel alone. The Dead Zoo had an unnerving effect on the senses. Surrounded by death, by ani-mals captured in lifelike poses but with empty glass eyes, even the strongest of minds would struggle—did struggle.
His eyes might have been playing him for a fool, but he trusted his ears still. And his ears heard something below.
The lantern cast quivering light as he made his way down the stairs to the mammal exhibit. The sound was clearer now.
Scraping. Scratching.
Someone, he felt certain, was attempting to jimmy open a display or loosen fastenings as had been done before. He was about to find his culprit.