The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Four

Booker didn't speak the entire way home, and as soon as they entered the house, he immediately went downstairs to the laboratory. Trinket stood by the door, clutching the key he'd given her all those months ago when she'd only been his assistant. When he'd shown her how much he trusted her. When all of this had truly begun.

But rather than use it to chase after him, she slipped it back into her pocket and made her way to the kitchen. He needed time. She understood that. Gin's death was still a fresh wound. For both of them, really, but certainly more so for him. Gin had been the first person he'd come to love since starting on this bizarre journey to impress Benedict. She was the only person he'd fully trusted in Tinkerfall. And the fact that his rash actions had played a part in her demise surely hung heavy on his shoulders. That sort of guilt did not easily go away.

Trinket knew that better than anyone.

The kettle was filled with water from earlier, so she lit the stove and went to fetch some tea. After their encounter with Scales, she needed something to settle her nerves. Bypassing Booker's strong black tea, she opted for her slightly less caffeinated green tea.

As she scooped the leaves into the strainer set over her teacup, she considered what the serving girl said about the theories people had concerning the number carved into the corpse's forehead. While Booker believed it too high to be an address, Trinket thought otherwise. From what he'd told her about his childhood, it seemed he'd spent very little time in the suburbs. And, seeing as he found the gentry to be dull compared to the residents of St. Spittel, he likely hadn't given the upper-class section of the city much mind.

But Trinket had grown up in just such a neighborhood, and the memory of it was ingrained in her head. She knew that even in her small hometown of Broadfall, the house numbers on some of the streets were quite high. The suburbs of Tinkerfall were still somewhat of a mystery to her, but there was a chance Booker had overlooked them when considering the meaning behind the number 957.

The kettle went off, and Trinket removed it from the stove, placing it on the cutting board to give it a moment to cool. She leaned against the kitchen table and drummed her fingers against the wood top as she stared at the shadows dancing across the wall. There were whispered voices in her head, and though she couldn't understand what they were saying, the combined effect of them and the imaginary silhouettes brought back the nostalgia of her childhood. She didn't want to go to the suburbs. She hated the memories they stirred up. But at this point, she wanted to find Benedict just as much as Booker did, if only to put an end to his reckless game.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head in an attempt to dispel the voices and poured water over the tea leaves. After letting it steep for a spell, she sipped at the slightly bitter but sweet tea. Booker was in too much of a state to bring along, and Daphne was still recovering from her cold. Besides, Trinket didn't want to leave the agitated scientist alone for fear he'd do something stupid.

If only Gin were here. She'd be the ideal companion with whom to infiltrate the suburbs. Clever and resourceful, she'd surely know the neighborhood like the back of her hand. But just the thought of the deceased urchin squeezed Trinket's heart like a vice, so she quickly moved on to other options as she took another sip of tea.

Who else might be willing to join her in this investigation? Someone who knew the city, perhaps even being familiar with members of the gentry. Someone who could charm their way out of trouble. Someone with skills and talents she herself did not possess.

Trinket froze as a name popped into her head. A smile tugged at her mouth, and she chuckled softly.

Yes, she would be perfect.

~

She found Grace milling about the market, casting alluring smiles at gentlemen when their lady companions weren't looking. It seemed she was taking full advantage of the upper-crust crowd the numbered corpse was attracting to the city center that morning. When she caught Trinket's eye, her coy simper drooped into a rather unbecoming grimace.