Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Inspector Brackenreid’s head was spinning. He could use a drink. The bombshell that Miss Goldstein had dropped and her prompt disappearance had left him reeling. It took every ounce of his military training and Yorkshire hardiness to pull himself in check. He was totally surprised that Dr. Ogden and William Bloody Murdoch of all people were taking these outlandish revelations in stride. Was this some sort of prank? He didn’t think Murdoch was the sort to be involved in a prank.
In truth, Brackenreid realised that Miss Goldstein’s frank and abrupt method of sharing the information shocked him into action - if he stopped a moment, he’d probably go into a panic. He didn’t give himself the time to even process what had been said. He was barely keeping himself calm. The barmy Barebone bint wasn’t making things any easier.
She was insisting about witches and Evil of Biblical Proportions ...He shuddered internally. Normally he would dismiss her outright as an absolute nutter. Now... He really could use a drink.
* * * * * * *
In almost no time, they found Nick. It was no surprise at all to Newt who glared at the creature through the glass of the jewellery store window. To Watts and George, Nick appeared to be a cross between a beaver and a platypus.
He was rather cute , thought George as he looked at the little devil, currently attempting to shove as many shiny things into his pouch as he could. He hadn’t yet noticed Newt who rapped on the glass sharply with a knuckle. The creature looked up and froze, an expensive-looking ornate ring halfway in his pouch. He gave what could only be described as a creature equivalence of Newt’s sheepish grin before scampering. Newt sprinted into the store after him.
“Wait,” called out Watts, far too late. Crabtree winced as he watched Newt push past the flustered shopkeeper and climb up over the display case to look for Nick.
“Should we go after him?” asked Crabtree nervously… “We have to stop him! He will get into so much trouble.”
Watts cocked his head to the side, thinking furiously. “Hold on a moment.”
George’s panic grew as he watched Newt catch sight of Nick in a display case of priceless pocket watches. With a wave of his hand, the display case shattered, and Nick shot across the air into his outstretched hand. The jeweller was apoplectic. He shook his fist at Newt, and appeared to be shouting at the top of his lungs. An assistant triggered the burglar alarm.
George groaned. He made to rush into the shop, but Watts held him back.
“Trust me.”
They watched as Newt gingerly held Nick by the hindpaws and gave him a good sharp shake.
Troves of gold and jewels rained from Nick’s pouch. A mound of jewellery - amounting to a small fortune - slowly accumulated on the shop’s counter like falling snow. The jeweller’s face shifted from rage to shock in the blink of an eye.
“Now,” said Watts, and he casually strolled into the store. Crabtree followed bewildered.
Watts flashed his badge to the shopkeeper who looked, if possible, even more confused. “I’m Detective Llewellyn Watts, Toronto Constabulary, and this is Constable George Crabtree,” he said nodding at George.
“...and THIS man is an infamous jewellery thief,” Watts said, grabbing Newt roughly by the arm.
“What are you doing?” muttered Newt with a furrowed brow.
“Play along,” hissed Watts into Newt’s ear. Newt made sure he had a firm grasp on Nick. Cottoning on, George spoke up, addressing the shop keeper and the customers while making his way to the counter: “The Constabulary thanks you from the very bottom of our hearts. Toronto can rest easy tonight, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve done a great service for your city!” He switched off the burglar alarm.
“We’ve been on his trail, waiting to get our hands on him for months,” proclaimed Watts, and he gave Newt’s arm a squeeze and cleared his throat slightly.
“Ah right...er...Drat! I would have gotten away with it if not for the diligence and dedication of the Toronto Constabulary,” said Newt. Watts raised his eyebrows, George winced.
“Looks like my criminal days are behind me..." continued Newt, utterly unconvincingly, "Bad to the bone I am...heading directly to jail for life. What an end to a life of sheer debauchery-”
“THANK you for your assistance, Sir,” said George, to the jeweller, cutting Scamander off, “You’ve helped to bring a notorious jewel thief to justice!”
“Notorious?” asked the jeweller taking in Scamander’s mismatched clothing and kicked-puppy expression.
“Don’t let his appearance fool you, this man is a vicious criminal genius,” said Watts earnestly.
“Oh so criminal! Very vicious!” said Newt nodding in agreement.
Watts looked at him disbelieving and bit the inside of his lips in effort to not laugh.
“Cuff him, George,” Watts finally managed to say.
“Right, Sir.” They made an exaggerated show of arresting Newt to the applause of the customers. Crabtree and Watts led Newt to the door with a final “thank you” to the jeweller who seemed to come back to his senses. He shouted at their retreating backs, “Hang on a tick! What about my bloody display case!?”
He ran out after them, only to find the street deserted.
* * * * * * *
Newt, Crabtree, and Watts were a little winded - a common side-effect of slide-along apparition.
“That was awful, Sir,” he said after a few shuddering breaths.
“Apparition is always like that. You kind of get used to it after a while,” said Newt sympathetically, “Slide-along is particularly unpleasant, especially in a high-stress situation. Honestly, I’m surprised I managed it.”
Watts was still holding on to Newt’s arm as he gathered himself.
“With all due respect, Sir,” said George, awkwardly, “I don’t know if that was the best way to go about retrieving Nick - it was rather - public.”
“If I hadn’t intervened, Nick would have made a right mess of that shop. Nifflers are lovely creatures, gentle and friendly for the most part, but they’re not meant to be kept indoors, especially not in a shop with so many shiny and breakable things. It would have been pandemonium.”
Watts chuckled to himself slightly, and met Newt’s eyes with his warm brown ones. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised we got away with that - Mr. Scamander, you are the least convincing criminal I have ever encountered. The Diligence and dedicationof the Toronto Constabulary…What an end to a life of sheer debauchery, indeed.”
Newt blushed. Watts still hadn’t removed his hand from Newt’s arm, and Newt found himself not minding all that much. There was something he found comforting about Watts's presence. He was so warm and alive. Newt was never one for much physical contact or affection...when Newt was a child, father had been affectionate, but he’d died when Newt was rather young. Mum wasn’t one for outward signs of affection - especially not after Father died. With the exception of his hug-happy brother (who always made Newt feel somewhat suffocated) the only cuddles he ever gave or received were from his creatures. He was surprised that he didn’t mind Watts’s touch at all. Being near him had a calming effect on Newt, and he was perfectly happy to allow it to go on forever.
The handcuffs on the other hand.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Constable, would you mind?” He nodded down at his bound hands.
“Right, Sir! Sorry, Sir,” said George, and he quickly unlocked and removed the cuffs. Watts let his hand fall back down to his side. Newt rubbed his own wrists a moment as he tried not to miss the warm contact of Watts’s hand. Then, he quickly dropped down to his knees on the ground to unlock his case. He pulled a sheepish Nick out from his coat pocket and placed him in the case. “That will have to do temporarily - I’ll get him settled properly lat-.”
He was interrupted by a sharp screech and the arrival of a gigantic bird which landed directly on Newt’s head.
“Good LORD!” exclaimed Crabtree as he and Watts jumped back in surprise.
“Are you alright Mr. Scamander?” asked Watts nervously.
“I think Miss Goldstein has made good on her promise, Constable…” said Newt weakly as the owl extended a sharp talon towards George. Tied to its leg was a scroll of parchment.
“What in the world?” he asked, totally dumbfounded.
“Owl post,” said Newt, “Rapid, reliable, and incidentally, great for rodent control - it’s our main method of magical communication.”
“How does one remove the post without getting clawed?” asked George nervously.
“It’s addressed to you, Constable, the owl won’t attack you. Post owls are incredibly intelligent.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of…” muttered George. Still, he bravely - if cautiously - strode forward and untied the scroll from the owl’s leg. The owl cocked its head and watched George with its intelligent amber eyes.
“I think she’s awaiting a response,” said Newt, standing carefully so as not to dislodge the owl.
“Am I supposed to...talk to the owl?” asked George nervously.
Newt chuckled and fished into his pockets. He pulled out an old-fashioned quill and a piece of parchment and handed it off to George. Then, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a dry biscuit.
At Watts’s raised eyebrows, Newt smiled sheepishly and said, “Always carry owl treats with you...they never go to waste!”
He clicked his tongue, and the owl leapt off his head and onto his shoulder. He fed the biscuit to the owl.
The owl carefully nuzzled against his cheek and then began preening Newt’s hair. Newt chuckled good-naturedly.
“Well, what does she say, Constable Crabtree?”
George looked at Newt utterly confused, “The owl, Sir?”
“Miss Goldstein ,” he said nodding at the scroll.
“Oh right, of course.”
Dear George,
It was nice meeting you today! I hope you aren’t too rattled by discovering our world. If you’d like to, maybe we can grab a butterbeer sometime soon? Just the two of us. We could get to know each other better. I'd like to get to know you better!
I have some information I would like to share with you and your friends. And Mr. Scamander as well. It might be helpful for your investigations.
I hope to see you soon! Please send your response with Zillah, she’ll know where to find me.
Yours,
Queenie
“Zillah,” said Newt affectionately extending his hand towards the owl, she nuzzled it gently with her beak, allowing him to stroke her feathers, “A lovely name for a beautiful owl - Great Grays are rare as post owls in England - they’re native to these parts.”
“Zillah, I believe that’s ‘shadow’ in Hebrew,” said Watts, approaching the owl carefully.
Newt beamed, “Fitting indeed!” Watts cautiously strode the owl’s chest feathers. The owl relished his attention and crooned happily.
George watched Scamander and Watts befriend the predatory bird in disbelief, shaking his head slightly.
“Your answer, Constable,” prodded Scamander gently. He again nodded at the quill and parchment. “The quill is self-inking.”
George shook himself out of his stupor. He quickly scrawled a message, paraphrasing only the last paragraph aloud to Watts and Scamander.
Dear Queenie,
It was nice meeting you today as well. I must confess, your world is strange and fantastical - it has left me quite shocked, but not in a bad way. I eagerly look forward to learning more!
What is a butterbeer? No matter, I’d be happy to try anything if it means a chance to get to know you better!
We are on our way to the station house now to meet with Detective Murdoch. Perhaps you could meet us there as well this afternoon? If not...let me know what would work best for you?
I look forward to seeing you soon!
Sincerely yours,
George
* * * * * * *
The New Salem Society was once again proving to be a waste of time. Murdoch swallowed back his frustration as he watched Julia try to speak with Miss Barebone who was refusing to speak to her on account that a “woman doctor” is too close to a witch for her liking.
“Oy, this is a murder investigation, Miss Barebone. Your participation is not optional,” snapped the Inspector.
“There is no investigation needed, it was witches that did this to Ebenezer, and they set the explosion at City Hall - they’re trying to sabotage our work.”
“How did the witches do that Miss Barebone?” asked Julia patiently. Miss Barebone ignored her.
“Oh for the love of…” snapped Brackenreid, “Did you hear her? How did the witches kill your cousin and set the explosion?!”
“With their devilish powers and witchy wiles.”
“How does one stop a witch?” asked Julia.
At Miss Barebone’s silence, Murdoch breathed a sigh, “How does one stop a witch?”
“You command her to stop in the name of the Lord. Witches can’t speak scripture. They can’t go to holy places or touch religious relics. That’s how you always find them out. Then, once she is found, she must be put to death. Burning or hanging, that’s the way to deal with witches.”
“Have you killed any witches, Miss Barebone?” asked Julia softly.
“Answer her question,” snapped Murdoch, at Miss Barebone’s silence.
Miss Barebone shot him a look of pure distaste.
“I haven’t caught one yet - they’re too tricky. But I’ve been preventing them from grabbing hold of the children. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I do not allow the children to engage in any soul-damaging behaviour.”
This really was getting nowhere.
Brackenreid walked out of the office where Murdoch and Dr. Ogden were still interrogating Miss Barebone. Total nutter - he doubted they’d get anything useful from her.
As he crossed the pulpit, he was surprised to find a little girl standing quietly in the gloom. Her sickly pale face glowed in the darkness. Brackenreid nearly jumped out of his skin, but he quickly contained his shock. There was something - off - about the girl.
“Hullo, what’s your name?” he asked in his friendliest, most fatherly voice. The girl just stared at him. He felt his skin crawl.
“Modesty! Don’t bother the gentleman!” Came a voice from the alcove that functioned as a kitchen.
Brackenreid looked to his left and saw another girl, frightfully pale and thin, diligently stirring a large pot on the fire.
Modesty didn’t blink.
“Come here at once!” insisted the older girl. Modestly turned, still unblinking and obediently made her way to the kitchen.
Brackenreid followed.
“Sorry, Love, I didn’t catch your name” he said to the older girl.
“Chastity Barebone. This is my sister, Modesty.” Brackenreid nodded politely, “Pleased to meet you Miss Barebone. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
“Ma don’t like us talking to strangers,” she replied nervously.
“I’m not a stranger, I’m Inspector Brackenreid of the Toronto Constabulary. I’m trying to find and punish those responsible for the murder of the Reverend Winters, and the explosion at City Hall today. Many people have been killed, we’re just trying to bring justice.”
Chastity blinked, clearly conflicted.
“Do you know anyone who would have wanted to harm Reverend Winters?” he asked.
“The witches,” said Modesty.
Chastity elbowed her in the side.
“The Reverend was a good man. He was doing the Lord’s work,” said Chastity, “But he was a hard man, determined and devoted. I wouldn’t be surprised that evil people would want him gone.”
“Do you know what he was doing out last night?”
Chastity looked concerned. She glanced towards the back room to make sure Miss Barebone was still occupied. Then she looked down at Modesty and said, “Modesty, place the Literature on the tables. The street children will be here soon for supper.”
She handed the little girl a large stack of pamphlets from a box on the floor beside her. Modesty looked at her with unblinking eyes before taking the stack and skipping off, chanting softly to herself “Witch number one, drown in a river, witch number two, got a noose to giver her, witch number three, gonna watch her burn, witch number four, flogging take a turn…” Brackenreid felt his stomach turn.
Seeing her sister occupied, Chastity whispered quickly to the inspector, “Reverend Winters would wander the city at night, hunting for witches. It was his dream to catch one, and make an example of her...showing the world that witches are real, getting folks riled up, and then executing her in the public square, like in Salem...they’re descendants, you know? Of the witch finders.”
“Do you think he ever hurt anyone?”
“I don’t believe he’s ever caught a witch, Sir.”
“That’s not what I asked."
“He was a hard man, Sir. Fire and brimstone. He believed in corporal punishment, and thought it was the best way to keep us in check. Do I think he killed anyone? I don’t think so. I think he would have told us if he’d caught and killed a witch.”
“Do you honestly believe in witches?”
“It’s not my place to say, Sir. All I know is, I’m not surprised that someone went and killed him.”
* * * * * * *