We nodded and said our good-byes, and the trapper was on his way. When we were inside, I planted myself in front of Charlie. “You see? I should have expected he would find his way here. You really must be careful.”
“I have been careful, Miss Rook. If the tracks he’s following are mine, they’re not recent. Besides, I’m sure you are worrying over nothing. Mr. Hudson is a personal friend of Mr. Jackaby’s, is he not? If he were to uncover the truth of my . . . my family history, he seems like the sort of man that would remain discreet, don’t you think, Detective?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes—Hudson can be quite circumspect.”
Charlie looked back to me. “I appreciate your concern, and I would certainly prefer that my little secret remain a private one, but I don’t think I need to be afraid of Mr. Hudson.”
“I wouldn’t go quite so far as that,” Jackaby said, hanging his coat and hat by the door. “Hudson is a remarkable man, and a valued associate, but he and I don’t exactly share the same philosophies on sentient freedoms.”
“Come again?” I said.
“He had a fish for many years, lovely golden thing he called Jinny. It could speak, when it raised its head above water. It had a surprisingly deep voice for such a little thing, although it spoke only Mandarin Chinese. Hudson copied down the little creature’s words phonetically and took his notes to a few shop owners in the Chinese district, claiming the words were from an old book or some such. He determined that the fish was called Jinyu—hence the name Jinny—and it was offering to grant him any wish he might desire. It could turn his hovel into a palace, or transform every brick into solid gold.”
“I heard a story like that in Romania once,” said Charlie, “only the fish offered the old man three wishes.”
“Yes, the golden fish is a timeless folktale in many traditions. Invariably, the fisherman asks for too much and learns some trite lesson about greed or compassion.”
“What did Mr. Hudson wish for?”
“Nothing. He just kept the thing in an oversized aquarium until the day it died.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Not that he mistreated the creature. Scarcely any other fish in all the world could have claimed a better master—although I suppose scarcely any other fish in all the world could have claimed anything at all, which is why he wanted it in the first place. I cannot speak Chinese, but the thing looked content enough whenever I saw it. I did find it rather morbid when he had the body mounted after Jinny passed away, but I suppose the fish wasn’t using it any longer, and we all deal with mortality in our own ways.”
Charlie blanched. “He had it mounted?”
“He likes a rare breed,” said Jackaby.
“It might not hurt to err on the side of caution,” Charlie conceded. I nodded my agreement. “On the subject of keeping secrets,” he continued, “have you made any progress on our ulterior investigation?”
Jackaby shook his head. “Mrs. Brisbee’s killer seems to have left very little for us to find. The body in the morgue was several days cold—as is our trail.”
“Body in the morgue?”
“Denson,” said Jackaby. “I have his tooth.”
“Oh,” said Charlie. “Is that . . . helpful?”
“Not enough. I’m tired of chasing shadows. I would be back in New Fiddleham pursuing more prominent leads already, but there’s something we’re missing here—and not knowing what is driving me mad. Before we’re through, I intend to know precisely what’s really lurking in the deep dark woods.”
Jackaby let the thought hang in the air for a moment before bidding us a curt good night and vanishing into his room.
For the rest of the night, my ears pricked at the slightest noises from the forest outside my window. I longed for the hum of city life, the occasional clatter of hooves on cobblestones or drunken singing as the pubs closed for the evening, but instead my mind made monsters out of every chirp and rustle. I had to keep telling myself that nothing nefarious was taking place in the shadows beyond my curtains—a deeply inaccurate sentiment, I would come to learn, but one that brought me what little rest I could find.