Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

Reynolds's thin cigar, quivering on his lower lip, stopped dead as the house's doorbell rang throughout the ground floor hallway. His narrow eyes shot straight to the open drawing room door, to the lifeless body of the house's true owner. Lying with his feet protruding into the hall, the dead man's face was grey, and purple-brown bruises marked his neck where Reynolds had squeezed the life out of him.

'Sorry, old chap,' Reynolds said as he picked up the old man under his armpits. The carpet ruffled under the dead body's heels as Reynolds dragged him into the room out of sight. 'Highly undignified, I know, but needs must.' The man had been dead for two days by this time and carrying his rigid corpse was like dragging a wardrobe.

Reynolds stepped out of the drawing room, straightening his neckerchief in the hallway mirror. As he strode to the front door, through the misted glass panes, he could make out the unmistakable silhouette of a policeman standing on the doorstep. He checked the carriage clock on the nearby reception table, and pulled open the door swiftly.

'Ah…Constable Jennings,' Reynolds said. 'You're early. I wasn't expecting you until lunchtime.'

'Morning, sir, I 'ad a bit of business nearby, so I thought I'd kill two birds, like. Actually, I wasn't sure I 'ad the right address. I mean…didn't old Mr Lehman used to live 'ere? The old Polish chap?' asked Constable Jennings, examining the number painted on a plaque affixed to the outside of the house.

'He still does live here, Constable,' said Reynolds hastily. 'He's my uncle. In a bad state of health though, bless him. The poor fellow is simply dead on his feet.' Reynolds flattened down his hair. 'So…you didn't come all this way for a social visit, I trust? You have some news for me, as per our agreement?'

'Yes, sir. Well, you see, we've 'ad some developments in town. There was another murder late last night. A young girl this time, down by the docks, it was. Real nasty stuff, I saw it myself. Folks at the station're pretty worried, let me tell you.'

Reynolds's cold face forced a brief smile. 'Really? Well, thank you for the information, Constable Jennings, here's a little token of my appreciation,' he said, as he pulled his wallet from his inside breast pocket. 'Same fee as usual, I trust?'

'Um, well, actually, sir…there's something else,' Jennings gulped, his young face as white as a sheet. 'That other thing you wanted to know about-that circus magician? A strange looking fellow in a cloak and top-hat you said, right? Mop of curls on his head?'

'Yes, yes! What of him, boy?'

'Well, he's been to the station, just like you figured he would. He left there with some weird little Eskimo geezer about ten minutes ago. Thought I'd come and tell you right away, sir.'

'Did he indeed?' said Reynolds, rubbing his finger over his top lip. 'Thank you, Constable, thank you very much indeed. Now, I shan't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're busy. Good day to you,' Reynolds said, closing the front door.

Once he had seen the outline of Jennings step away from the front of his house, Reynolds rested himself against the thick, oak door and slumped down onto the floor. He slid his tongue across his teeth as a broad smile manifested itself on his face.

'Well, well, well. So…Cornelius Quaint has arrived in Crawditch, and is getting his hands dirty already, eh? That certainly makes things a little more interesting.' He tapped his front teeth with his fingernails. 'It will be such a great pleasure watching him die.'

AS ITS NAME IMPLIED, Dr Marvello's Travelling Circus would be nothing without the means to travel. The steam train that carried all the circus equipment and crew was stationed a few miles away from the borough of Crawditch, at Grosvenor Park train station-a modestly sized, smoke-filled structure with a slatted glass roof and an atmosphere of grime and dust hanging persistently in the air.

The massive steam engine and its four carriages were gaudily painted bright green with red swirling trimmings, and a yellow lightning flash adorned its sides. Alongside all the rather more sombre engines and carriages housed at the station, it stood out like a jester at a wake. Quaint was a firm believer in tradition, and he was loathe to repaint the extravagantly decorated train. It wasn't proper for a circus train to be drab; it was a part of the show's character all to itself, there to offer the public a glimpse of the spectacle to come-and Dr Marvello's Circus thrived on spectacle. In fact it was renowned for it across many parts of Europe. The perfect synergy of traditional circus acrobatics, magical displays, feats of endurance, and the strange and the fanciful. The circus had performed to the likes of sultans and tsars, kings and queens, and always thrilled an audience. Of course, there was no such person as Dr Marvello. It was merely a theatrical pseudonym created to add an air of mystery to the circus. Cornelius Quaint had inherited the name when he inherited the circus, and he was quite unwilling to change it.

The man himself was sitting in his office in a loose white cotton shirt and black waistcoat. An array of twenty or so colourfully dressed folk sat around him in a semi-circle as he held audience. His office near the front of the train was usually a warm and inviting room-with theatrical posters on the walls, old magicians' equipment and costumes, keepsakes and heirlooms from his career. On this day, however, its atmosphere was dominated by an abundance of tears, sniffles and subdued silence as Quaint relayed the information about the loss of Twinkle, and of Prometheus's fate. As he had imagined, this double blow tore right at the heart of his family.

'I wish I had more to tell you, folks, but that's it,' Quaint said, elbows on the table in front of him, bridging his fingers into a steeple.

He took a long, slow look around the room at the faces of those he had come to admire and respect. Every one of them had a vital part to play in his circus; every one was an essential cog in the machine. But Quaint was entertaining a thought that would see many of their abilities tested.

'However…I must tell you that tonight I intend to visit Crawditch myself and launch a search for the fiend who murdered Twinkle. This task will be fraught with danger, and I envisage conflict with the locals, the police…or both. I cannot ask any of you to come with me on this venture.'

'Nor could you stop us, Mr Quaint,' chirped a Chinese fellow from the back of the office. His identical twin sat next to him, and patted him on the back in firm agreement with his brother.

'Thank you, Yin…I hoped you would say as much,' Quaint said.

'It's Yang, sir,' said the Chinese man.

'My apologies, Yang. I do wish you two would wear name badges,' Quaint said warmly, his black eyes twinkling in the half-light. 'It would make identifying you somewhat easier!'

A beautiful woman with dark-brown tresses and large dark-brown eyes, wearing a peach-coloured sequinned dress, raised her hand in the middle of the room.

'Mr Q, I've got a question. It's about what happened to Twinkle,' she said, her voice faltering as she spoke. 'I don't understand…of all people, why do the police think that Prometheus did it?'

'Because they have no other suspects, Ruby,' replied Quaint. 'As far as they're concerned, they have their murderer-now all they have to do is find the evidence.'

Ruby raised her hand again. 'Just tell us what we can do to help, Mr Q. Anything you need us to do, and we'll do it. We're a family after all, right?'

'That is very sweet of you, Ruby, thank you. In fact, I aim to take you up on it,' Quaint nodded sharply, his affection for his team reaffirmed. 'Our first task this night is to be reconnaissance only. I don't have enough confidence of our footing to do anything more risky. We have a starting point, my friends, but we will need to act with haste if we wish to find anything that could help Prometheus.' Quaint stood up from his chair and clapped his hands loudly. 'Now, if you would please return to your duties.' Quaint watched his troops depart his office until only a handful was left, and then he stepped in front of the door. 'Not you, Ruby, Jeremiah, Yin and Yang-I need a word.'