He scrutinized Octavia with his sharp, almond-shaped eyes, then clicked his tongue. “This floor’s marked off limits, innit? Even to employees of the company. Now, sling yer hook. Go home.”
“I am Octavia de Reine. I’m a detective investigating this matter at Mrs. Smile’s request.”
“Detective?” he pronounced slowly, scowling in suspicion, then scratched the back of his neck. “First there’s a doll like something out of an ’orror story, and then a phantom thief. Now, you’re telling me there’s a detective? You’re ’avin’ a laugh.”
“You must be Inspector Baker, the one who’s in charge of this investigation.”
“Inspector?” Raven declared.
Octavia frowned. He did look rather young, for an inspector.
The man produced a police notebook from the inside pocket of his shabby jacket, then opened it and showed it to them. Ashton Baker. There was a small black-and-white photo of him, alongside which his department and rank were clearly written.
“Satisfied now, Lady Detective?”
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. That’s very impressive for such a young man.”
“Thanks. And what about it? If you want to play detective, can’t you do it somewhere else, young lady? Me, I’m working here. This isn’t a game!”
“She’s working as well.”
Raven showed Ashton the letter of introduction from Mrs. Smile, but he only responded with a snort of laughter.
“An’ who’re you?”
“Raven L. Osvard.”
“Osvard. Ah, so you’re the high and mighty marquis everyone’s been talking about.” Ashton took out a cigarette, lit it, and then blew smoke in Raven’s direction. “I wasn’t brought up right, see. Can’t quite wrap me brain around the lofty games of the aristocracy.”
“I see,” said Raven, after a pause. “I feel like you and I will get along well.” Raven continued smiling—the corners of his mouth curled up even more—but the look in his eyes was not nearly as friendly as his words.
“Stop it, Raven. Sorry, Inspector Baker. We don’t mean to get in your way. We’d just like you to let us have a look at the doll. Would you mind?”
“And if I say no?”
“I think you’ll soon find yourself to be very busy. There might be an explosion somewhere, or a series of robberies,” Octavia said with a straight face.
Ashton’s eyes widened.
This was not a very big town. It was hard to imagine that there was anyone besides Inspector Baker in charge of criminal cases. There was nothing else for it—in order to draw his attention away from the doll, they’d have to create “unsolved cases” all throughout the town, albeit without causing any casualties.
Ashton burst out laughing. “What are you on about? Are you announcing a crime spree? Well, if it’s just a look at the doll you want, that’s fine. I’d like to hear what His Lordship the marquis over there has to say, anyway.”
“I don’t believe I have any business with you,” Raven retorted.
“Oh, but weren’t you the one who gave her the doll?” Ashton’s tone was casual, but there was no smile in his eyes.
Neither was there any in Raven’s, even as he grinned in response. “I suppose I was.”
“Raven—”
Hat cut her off. “Octavia, leave him be. If we stand here listening to these fools, we’ll be here until the sun sets.”
What Hat said was absolutely right. Octavia gave up on interceding between the two men.
She spun around, surveying the hall. She discovered a display case at the back of the room and approached it. Underneath the relatively large glass case was a solitary doll, posed so that it was sitting down.
It was about the size of a baby and looked like a little girl. Above its wide blue eyes was a head of curly flaxen hair. It wore a bonnet with a black ribbon tied underneath its chin, and a black dress decorated with white frills covered its body. Perhaps it was only because of all the black, but the doll’s attire put Octavia in mind of funeral-wear. Even its tiny leather shoes were black.
“Octavia, this isn’t one of them.”
“Right.” Octavia muttered what Hat wanted to say: “It’s not an Imperial Heirloom.”
“What did you say?” Ashton, who had followed after Octavia, raised his voice.
Raven, who stood beside him, also furrowed his brow. “What is the meaning of this, Octavia?”
“This doll is not an Imperial Heirloom. Nor is it a Demonic Heirloom, naturally.”
“Huh? How can you tell?” asked Ashton.
“My grandmother taught me how. Haven’t you heard of the Lady Detective, the Earl of Reine? I’m her granddaughter.” If anyone asks you, give them this answer, her grandmother had said, and Octavia had replied with the very words she had taught her.
“So that’s why you’re a detective,” groaned Ashton, who must have been aware of her grandmother. Her grandmother had been a woman of great repute, owing to her work with the Demonic Heirlooms; it had even brought her toe to toe with the inquisition. Ashton would no doubt mistake her ability to identify an Imperial Heirloom at a glance as evidence of the wisdom that her grandmother had bestowed upon her.
Octavia shot a glance at Raven, who was standing next to him. “At the very least, it would appear that you didn’t foist an Imperial Heirloom upon this child.”
“Of course I didn’t! But then, what about those supernatural occurrences?”
“Though it isn’t an Imperial Heirloom, some kind of curse seems to have been placed on this doll. That may have been what caused it to move on its own.”
“Now, now, wait a minute, wait a minute, you two,” interrupted Ashton, who had been listening to their conversation from the sidelines. He grabbed each of them firmly by a shoulder.
Raven looked displeased. “Having my shoulder touched by a man is really not to my taste. Also, take your other hand off of Octavia.”
“Now, look here. I don’t believe in such rubbish as Demonic Heirlooms, in the first place.”
“Is that right?”
Now that Raven had yanked Ashton’s hand back off her shoulder, Octavia was able to turn and face the inspector again.
“Well, of course not,” he said. “You expect me to believe there are tools from a country that collapsed hundreds of years ago, with powers that modern science can’t explain? Not only that, but they can drag us into the world of the dead? That’s too much even for a fairy tale. I even doubt whether our queen really has wings growing out of her back.”
“You’ll be executed for treason.”
“I don’t believe in anything but what I can see with my own eyes. If you don’t like what I’m saying, complain to the angels. They hardly ever come down and show themselves to our lot below, anyway.”
“But don’t you believe in the foundation myth of the Kingdom of Angelus?”