Free The Equivoque Principle by Darren Craske

maudlin conversation.
    ‘So…why do you not tell me of the night’s adventures? I would so much like to hear of them. Make sure you begin at the beginning, dear, if you don’t mind,’ said Destine calmly. ‘And do not leave out any tales of fisticuffs, for I am far from squeamish and you know how much I
love
to hear tales of you clobbering bad people.’
    Quaint nodded, reluctantly giving in to his companion’srequest. He regaled her with the night’s visit to The Black Sheep tavern, and Destine hung on his every word.
    ‘And whilst Jeremiah, Ruby and myself worked the floor downstairs, Yin and Yang searched the landlord’s residence. I was actually hoping that they’d find something…
incriminating
, some titbit of explanation. But aside from a lot of unpaid bills, bad debts and a few bawdy love letters to a beau named Mary, the twins found nothing. However…downstairs in the bar, the landlord told Ruby and I that an Irishman had given him money to pass the drugged whisky to Prometheus,’ Quaint said. ‘The landlord had never seen him before, or since.’
    ‘We have been here for only two days and already we have made an enemy who is prepared to kill,’ Destine said, resting her top lip upon the ridge of her cup. ‘Things move fast in this town, Cornelius.’
    ‘Yes, well…Prometheus has always had a knack for attracting trouble, hasn’t he?’ Quaint said, recollecting more than one occasion when he’d either had to fight, bargain or plea for Miller’s life in one country or another over the years.
    ‘And how many times has he truly been at fault? He cannot help the way he looks, Cornelius. Prometheus is certainly no lover of conflict. Some people are magnets for trouble, whereas others seem to seek it willingly, like a wasp to jam,’ Destine said, catching Quaint’s eyes. ‘Sound familiar?’
    Quaint tried to look innocent, playing with the buttons on his shirt. ‘Not really. The only connection that I’m pinning my thoughts on is that this bloke was apparently Irish, as Prometheus himself is. Perhaps this is what triggered the conflict?’
    Destine nodded.
‘Probablement
.’
    ‘Which beggars the question: how do you pick an argument with a mute? And if you wished to…would you do so with one who looked like Prometheus?’ chimed Quaint.
    ‘And why not use a knife or a pistol rather than poison?’ agreed Destine. ‘You know that I am extremely sensitive to the emotions of others, Cornelius, and I know that it is usually emotion that is the trigger for murder. As you can testify; emotion and common sense are not mutually exclusive—or need I remind you of your tryst with the Hungarian premier’s wife a few years back?’
    A smile (and one that balanced the delicate line between amusement and embarrassment) skirted briefly across Quaint’s face, as his memory recalled the incident to which Destine referred. ‘That was years ago, but even now my lower back still aches on a cold day. Duchess Ariadne took a fancy only to my stage magic and illusion, Madame, not to me. She had such spirit, and such a voracious appetite!’
    ‘You may paint that particular mental picture for someone else, Cornelius, I am a lady, and do not forget it,’ Destine said, sipping her tea. ‘We need to speak to Prometheus again. We need to try and find the connection, if there is indeed one to be found.’
    ‘The police said there have been two other murders the past few nights, oddly enough, all since our arrival. To me it’s nothing but coincidence, but to the police…it’s too
much
of coincidence to
be
one. Tell me, Madame Destine, oh great and wonderful reader of fortunes, what does your foresight tell you about this chaos? I mean, all this has just come from nowhere, as if we have stepped into a theatre performance half-way through an act. Something must be at its root, but what is it?’
    ‘Ah, Cornelius…what a question, and therein lies the mystery,’ Destine said with a thin smile, crows’ feet