A Queer Trade (A Charm of Magpies World) by KJ Charles

Author:KJ Charles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, victorian, romance, paranormal
Publisher: KJC Books
Published: 2018-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

“Right,” Ned said. “And how are we doing this?”

Crispin had no idea either. He looked round, feeling the doom settling on his shoulders.

The Burfords had taken all Mr. Marleigh’s books and papers from every shelf, and crammed the lot into the little study of the house in Baldwin’s Gardens for Crispin to take, as though he had anywhere to put it all. It looked like Ned’s storeroom, filled floor to ceiling with books and papers. The desk, which Crispin knew to be six feet away, was completely obscured from view by the heaps.

They stood together in the doorway because they couldn’t get any further in. They weren’t even meant to be in the house; Crispin had used recludam to open the locked door. He hoped the Burfords weren’t coming back.

“I suppose it’ll be in the desk? If we move everything...”

“To where?” Ned waved an indicative hand. The narrow hallway was full of Mr. Marleigh’s old, heavy furniture: evidently it was all to be sold. The Burfords were losing no time in emptying the place of every trace of the old man. Crispin felt his throat tighten unexpectedly, and bit his lip. Ned frowned. “You all right?”

“It’s just... I only found out he was dead this morning. I came back from Cornwall, and he was gone and the house half emptied already. The Burfords can’t rid themselves of him fast enough. They’ve stripped the place of everything portable, the silverware and plates and everything down to the paper on the floor, and now this. Vultures.”

Ned shrugged. He saw it all the time, Crispin reminded himself, made a living of clearing dead words from dead people. “Condolences and all, but we got a problem here. This is a good few hours’ work to shift if there was even space to do it and there’s probably people on fire by now. Can’t you do something?”

Crispin wanted to say, Such as? He wanted to point out that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and writing four scripti had left him sick, drained and shaky. He also wanted to see the expression on Ned’s face again, the awestruck look when Crispin had written recludam and the door lock had clicked. He didn’t think Ned often let himself look impressed, and come to that, Crispin wasn’t used to being impressive.

Unfortunately he couldn’t think of a thing to do. There was no word of power that would shift that weight, or if there were, it wouldn’t leave a drop of blood in his body. Setting it on fire would very much not help. What else was there?

“We need the pen,” he said aloud, making himself focus. “The point isn’t moving the paper, it’s finding the pen. Mr. Marleigh could call it. He’d sometimes put it down and forget, he was very old, and he’d whistle and hear something. Ned, would you mind?” Ned made a face of reluctance but not refusal, so Crispin, with equal reluctance, reached for his own pen.

“Calamus,” he murmured to himself, scribbling the words.

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