The Equivoque Principle Read Free Page B

Berry watched his men handcuff the giant and place Twinkle’s corpse upon a body-carrier, something caught his eye down in the gutter. It was a small, crumpled piece of notepaper. Berry’s natural detective instincts kicked in, and he picked it up. His grey eyes skirted from side to side across the paper, and he traced his fingers across the lines. ‘What’s all this then?’ he said quietly under his breath. ‘
“I will unleash a terror unlike any seen before, and the corpses of your loved ones will litter the streets.
”’ Berry cursed, and folded the note into his pocket. ‘Oh, the Commissioner is just going to be cock-a-hoop about
this!’

CHAPTER IV
The Quaint Introduction
    A T CRAWDITCH POLICE station, circus proprietor Cornelius Quaint pushed hard on the double doors with intended force and they parted easily, crashing against the stout wooden frame. The man’s flowing black cloak was cast behind him like a shadow, billowing open to reveal a dark, velvet three-quarter length jacket over a white ruffled shirt. Well into his sixth decade, Quaint’s face was hardened and well-lined, proudly displaying every year of his adventurous life, as well as a few more besides. Beneath the brim of an indigo felt top-hat, Quaint’s obsidian-black eyes drove into focus under the woollen mass of grey-brown curly hair that surrounded them.
    Following in the man’s wake was a diminutive Inuit dressed in a long, oilskin anorak. His dark-skinned face peered cautiously from beneath a fur-lined hood, swathes of rich black hair poked out in tufts onto his forehead, and he walked cautiously a few paces behind Quaint, more because his tiny legs could not keep pace with the locomotive of the man than as a sign of servitude. The men’s arrival demanded instant attention, and the policeman who manned the enquiries podium just inside the station had little choice but to stop what he was doing and simply gawp open-mouthed as they approached him.
    ‘Good day, Constable…
Tucker,’
Quaint proclaimed loudly, spying the small name plaque on the policeman’s desk. ‘I am Cornelius Quaint, conjuror and proprietor of Dr Marvello’s Travelling Circus, currently situated over the river in Hyde Park. My companion here is my deputy manager and squire, Butter.’
    The Inuit peered from behind Quaint’s cloak and doffed an imaginary cap.
    ‘Um…hullo to you,’ said the policeman, as he looked with interest at the two unorthodox men standing in front of him. One was a barrel-chested mule of a man, with broad shoulders and a steely temperament, and the other was an unobtrusive fellow who looked like he had just stepped off a ship from the Arctic Regions. A strange couple, to be sure, and Constable Tucker found himself wondering what on earth these two could be doing mixing in the same circles. ‘That’s an odd name, isn’t it? Butter? What is he…some sort of farmer or something?’
    ‘Hardly, Constable—the fellow comes from Greenland. He’s an Eskimo. His body is gifted with a remarkable immunity to the cold, and he’s a marvellous secretary. No one can juggle the books like Butter here. His real name is virtually unpronounceable, so I won’t embarrass him by trying to say it. Folk just call him “Butter”…as in, “Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”’ Quaint grinned. ‘Which, of course…it wouldn’t.’
    Constable Tucker was still agog, the explanation not serving to elucidate him. ‘Right, well, there you go then. So, what can the Metropolitan Police do for you two gents this morning?’
    ‘I am searching for a couple of my employees, Constable; a mute, bearded, seven-foot-tall giant of a man and a dwarf female with a shock of blonde hair. This borough was their last known location. Neither arrived for work this morning, and…if I know Prometheus, in these circumstances he is nearly always incarcerated by the local constabulary—quite mistakenly, of course,’Quaint sang, his voice shifting melodic gears from