Page 52 of Disturbing the Dead
“I would agree, particularly as it is the victim’s brother-in-law we need to speak to, and not his wife or children. We will do so while intruding as little as possible on the family’s grief. I would suggest we catch a hansom to the Christie house, as it will look more proper than walking up in dusty boots.”
“Catch a hansom to Sir Alastair’s house?” a voice says behind us. “Mind if I tag along? I would love to see the inside of that place.”
We turn to see what appears to be a young man, average height and very slender, dressed in the typical garb of a working-class youth—second-hand trousers, an ill-fitting jacket, and a shirt with sweat stains. It’s Jack. From what I can gather, she doesn’t present as male because she identifies as male. It’s just a useful disguise. She still goes by “she”… at least to those who know she isn’t actually a teenage boy.
I turn to her. “Since you’re here, we aren’t going to Sir Alastair’s. Do you want to talk at a public house? Or in your quarters at Halton House?”
Her brows lift. “What makes you think I live there?”
“Uh, the fact that it took you…” I consult my pocket watch. “Six and a half minutes to catch up to us. That’s just enough time for Elspeth to decide she’s not getting a bribe and walk upstairs to fetch you. Also, your red cheeks suggest you ran, as much as you’re trying to modulate your breathing.” I glance at Gray. “How’d I do?”
“Excellent. Also, her cap is askew. You might want to adjust that, Jack, before your hair falls and gives you away.”
She makes a face but still tucks her curls up under the newsboy cap. “Just because I came from Halton House does not mean I live there.”
“You have obviously pulled on your trousers over several layers of undergarments,” Gray says. “Also, you are wearing women’s boots.”
Jack looks down and lets out a curse.
I laugh. “Nice. I missed that. You were in a hurry and grabbed whatever was at hand. The fact you grabbed the wrong boots means you were in the place where you keep all your clothing. In other words, it’s where you live.”
She adjusts her trouser cuffs to hide more of the women’s boots, which no one would notice without a close look.
“World’s End,” she says. “Meet me there in ten minutes.”
SEVENTEEN
We head to the pub, which is up on the High Street, along the Royal Mile. The pub’s name—World’s End—comes from the fact that the pub’s walls were once part of the Flodden Wall, meaning the pub marked the edge of Edinburgh. The end of the world, at least for those living within it in centuries past.
As Gray and I make our way through the narrow pub, I look around. We settle at the farthest table, and I say, “Wow. This place hasn’t changed much.”
His brows arch. “I do not believe it ever changes. When were you last here?”
“Mmm. Two years ago, I think. I came to Edinburgh to visit my nan, and one of her friends insisted I meet her grandson in this pub. I thought it was just a meet-up. Turns out to have been a blind date. Guy spent the entire time snarking about how touristy this place is… and he’s the one who picked it. The bar was the only interesting part of that evening.”
Gray’s brows go higher. “You meant that the public house hasn’t changed much between now and your time. Where it still exists.”
“Most of the buildings here exist, but this one is a pub with the same name, though I seem to recall it’s been a few other things along the way.”
I twist around. “In my time, that’s the kitchen behind us. Also…” I nod to the next table, where two working-class men drink pints. “The glasses are much cleaner.”
Gray sighs. The state of drinkware in this world is an ongoing issue with me, at least in these Old Town pubs, where I suspect it’s been weeks since the glasses met soap.
Jack arrives, tipping her hat to the bartender as she slips past to our table.
“It’s been a while,” she says as she slides in. “I will not mention that you ignored my request for an interview after the incident at the Leith docks.”
“There was nothing to be interviewed about,” I say. “It was a minor adventure.”
“You set a boat on fire. With some sort of incendiary device.”
“It was an old boat, infested with human traffickers. Once they get in, you need to burn the whole thing down or you never get rid of them.”
“Human traf…?” She trails off and then shakes her head, as if she figured out the term in context. “You ignored my request because you were still angry with me for running out on you at a bad time. But now I suppose I have been forgiven, because you need something.”
“We don’t need anything. We would like an audience with Queen Mab. We know where to find her, but showing up doesn’t seem the polite way to handle this, so we’re asking you to act as intermediary again.”
“And in return my friend gets exclusive information on the Christie case?”
