Adam Drake - Blackout

“A useless night caretaker, eh?” Fairfax said, ruminating.

“Is there any other kind?” I said.

The folder contained nothing else of note except empty forms which were to be filled in as the case progressed.

“Not much here,” I said. “No details about the time of the burglary or the circumstances around it. He must not have gotten around to adding them yet.”

“Whatever progress he made is in that notebook in his pocket.”

“So,” I said. “We need to retrace his movements and see what can be found. At least now we know where to start.”

“And that is?”

I put the business card and piece of paper into the purse within my satchel, then held up the case file.

“Let’s take a trip to the museum.”

The High Garden Museum was on a grassy plot of land at the west side of town. A huge building, it was several stories tall and made of flat gray brick rock. It had been a supply warehouse during the last great war, but now served a much more useful purpose.

Several horse drawn carriages and auto buggies were waiting at its front entrance, and that is where Fairfax parked.

I eyed the building, then withdrew a small pistol from my satchel and checked it was loaded.

Fairfax arched a brow. “Expecting trouble already?”

I gave Fairfax a point for not asking if I always carried it around. With such a long and successful career of throwing criminals in jail, the odds only increased that, even after many years, one of them may seek revenge.

With the pistol back in the satchel I said, “I always expect trouble as a matter of course. But if that cat is right, whoever is responsible for Oswall’s death is here. Or associated with it in some way. Best be prepared.”

“Are those cats always correct?”

The question gave me pause. No, not always, I thought.

To Fairfax I said, “Think of them as giving us a nudge in the right direction.”

“If a nudge gets us Oswall’s killer, I’m all for it,” Fairfax said, and patted his holstered pistol with a grin.

We left the buggy and ascended the wide stairs to the entrance. Large columns lined either side and cast shadows across our path. I wondered at the cost of the place.

Cresting the top step we found the huge double doors of the front entrance closed. A stand in front had a sign which read ‘Closed for the day. Will be open tomorrow promptly at 9 a.m.’.

“Well, this isn’t helpful,” Fairfax said.

I noticed a bell rope in a nook next to the doors and pulled it. From within could be heard the faint sound of chimes. We waited.

A man pushing a broom rounded one corner of the building. He wore a simple brown janitor’s uniform with a flat hat. Upon seeing us he approached. “Ain’t no one inside now,” the man said.

“We’re here to see the Curator,” said Fairfax. “Is he around?”

The janitor leaned on his broom and pushed up his cap. “Sorry, Mister Othmar is in the Capital. Should be back by airship some time around afternoon tea.”

“Capital?” I said.

“Yeah,” said the janitor. “Got himself in a spot of trouble with the central museum there.”

“What kind of trouble?” I said.

“His big bosses wanted to rake him over hot coals on account of the burglary,” he said. Then he looked about and leaned closer. “If you ask me, it would do Mister Othmar good to have a talking to from his betters.”

“Why is that?” I said.

“Well, he’s a bit of snob, is all,” the janitor said. “Needs to be taken down a peg or two. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Not to worry,” I said. “We wanted to talk to him about the burglary. Were you here when it happened, by chance?”

The janitor’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared beneath the rim of his cap. “Me? No, not at all. Happened at night. I was home in bed then, I was. You can ask my missus if you don’t believe me. And that’s what I told that detective fellow when he was here.”

I offered a warm smile. “Are there any other employees here that we can speak with?”

He shook his head. “No ma’am. Everyone’s at home or getting into their drink. Just me here, unfortunately. Could use a drink myself.”

Fairfax asked, “Where can we find Winimar Hubertus? Do you know where he lives?”

Again, the janitor looked surprised. “The night caretaker? Didn’t the detective tell you? Hubertus is still laid up in the hospital, last I heard. Doubtful he’s recovered so soon.”

Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Hospital? Was he hurt during the burglary?”

“Nah, not hurt. Not really,” the janitor said. “He was asleep when Mister Othmar opened the doors in the morning. Sprawled out on the floor like a drunk soldier after the Victory Day celebrations. But it turned out he wasn’t drunk at all. Heard he was spelled to sleep. Been that way close to three or four days now.”

I glanced at Fairfax. It would have been nice to have that little detail in the report. To the janitor I said, “He’s at the Primary Hospital, I presume?”

“Yeah, that’s the only one with a Warding Master who can work the spell outta him.”

I nodded and said, “Very good. We will go see if the poor man is awake then. If you would be so kind as to inform Mister Othmar that we will call on him later?”

“Of course, Miss,” the janitor said.

After giving him our names we returned to the buggy. Once inside Fairfax said, “Spelled asleep? That’s peculiar.”

“And getting turned to stone is less peculiar?” I said.

“No, not what I meant,” he said, scratching his bushy mustache. “Why would this Hubertus be put to sleep, but Oswall turned to stone?”

“True,” I said. Then it hit me. “Unless we are dealing with two culprits working together.”

Fairfax gave me a look. “Or we have two separate and unrelated cases. You sure those cats of yours can be trusted not to lead us astray?”

I did not point out Fairfax’s unintentional pun. “They have given us our only lead. Or do you prefer to go back to the office and pick a case folder at random?”

Fairfax sighed and looked apologetic. “I don’t mean to be gruff, Mayra. Just concerned we may well be wasting our time.” He started the buggy and pulled out into the street.

It was then I realized two things. I’d moved a protective hand over the knitting bag while we spoke, and Fairfax had called me Mayra for the first time.

The Primary Hospital was of the same dull architecture as the museum, but much bigger with two wide wings and towered over four stories.

We parked out front and went in. A harried nurse directed us to the floor Winimar’s room was located. I found the stairs too steep for a hospital, or I was just getting too old to climb them.

His room was at the furthest end, and as we approached the sound of voices could be heard. “Ain’t right is what I’m saying,” said a woman. “He can’t just do that to you. Not after what you’ve been through.”

A man answered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get Blythe to smooth it out, okay?”

To Fairfax I said, “He’s awake?” Fairfax shrugged. We moved to stand in the open doorway.

Inside a man was lying in a small bed, the covers pulled up to his chest, and wearing a hospital gown tied at his neck.

Beside him, a short blonde woman sat on a stool. She was blue, or at least everything she wore was. Sky blue blouse, sky blue skirt, sky blue hat. Even her little purse was the same sky blue.

Both of them looked up at us in surprise.

“Beg your pardon, but is this the room of Winimar Hubertus?” I asked.

Both of them stared at us for a few seconds, neither speaking. As if trying to decide if they should answer.