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“Hardly. Jian and I are the only ones who’ve got swords,” he said. “His are for his tricks; mine is from my past. Alas, we have more important things to discuss. Time is one law I cannot seem to break, no matter how much I beg, borrow, or steal, I cannot produce more of it. Any news on who has been murdering passengers? Investors are not happy, and I fear what the future will bring for the carnival. No other cruise liner will hire us if they think we’re harboring a murderer.”
I considered asking him about the tarot cards and why have each performer learn them, but didn’t want him to be suspicious of my motives. Nor did I wish to give away the fact I suspected both the tarot and playing cards were a cipher of sorts—their meanings clearly detailing the story of the crimes for anyone capable of reading it. If he was the murderer, then he might alter his methods of killing.
“Not yet, but I do have a theory I’m working on.” I wet my lips, hoping to not raise his suspicion by being too curious about his passing comment. “Whose sword is bigger? Yours or Jian’s?”
He stopped short, staring at me as if I’d disrobed in front of him and everyone else on this promenade. From the appraising glint in his expression, I didn’t think he’d mind if that happened. It took a moment for my brain to catch up with the innuendo I’d accidentally made.
“I—I mean,” I stuttered, “which is more finely crafted?”
“Hmm.” He started walking again, though that devious smile still curled his lips. “If I’m being honest? I’d say his. Nightsblade is a gorgeous sword, but Jian’s are works of art.”
Now I was the one who halted our procession. I hadn’t expected him to be anything other than cocky. “I thought men like you lied for sport.”
“Which makes it all the more fun for you to sort out the truth from my lies.”
He kept walking, not in a hurry or appearing suspicious. If anything, he seemed relaxed, his stride confident. We were nothing more than a young couple, strolling along the promenade. Except he wore a ridiculous mask and I wore a concealed blade, and most of the ship wore fear like a new overcoat.
A few times I caught him lifting his face as if to feel the sunshine, though the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. A storm was brewing.
“Jian had his swords crafted by an expert bladesmith from the Ottoman Empire during his travels,” he continued, though I hadn’t inquired. “The metal practically sings as it cuts through the air. You’ll have to come to one of his practices—you can hear it best when there’s not a crowd.”
“Does he sleep with his swords near? It sounds as if they’re worth a great amount.”
“Why all the curiosity about Jian?” He paused near a cabin in the middle of the deck. “Do you believe he’s keeping bodies in his sword bin?”
His question was light, but there was an edge in his expression that pricked my pulse.
“Can I not inquire over a singing sword without a motive?” I asked. “Not everything revolves around you, you insufferable thing.”
“Yes, but—”
“You know? I just had a tremendous idea! You ought to rename his show ‘Jian, the Sultan of Singing Swords.’ I’d wager people would love to hear that symphony. Perhaps you can engineer a way to enhance the sword song. Have you tried using the methods of an ear trumpet to amplify sound?”
Mephistopheles raised both brows. A feat I was always impressed by, since he never took off his mask. “Are you interested in turning your scientific mind into profit?” He held a hand to his heart. “Have I convinced you to join show business after only a few nights? I’m even better than I thought. And I thought quite highly of my wooing skills before, mind you.”
“‘Show business’?” I asked, relieved to have distracted him. “Is that what you’re calling the carnival today?”
“It’s what P. T. Barnum calls the circus, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
I scoffed. “I’ve heard rumors of him being unkind and a scoundrel. I’m not sure basing anything off of him is a wise idea.”
“He’s an opportunist, as are most businessmen, which doesn’t require respectability.”
Mephistopheles inserted a key, then pushed open the door, revealing a cabin unoccupied by anything other than tools and props. There was a faint scent of metal in the air, and, for once, it wasn’t due to spilled blood.
He flipped the light on, revealing ordinary-enough-looking things mixed with the improbable. Top hats with metal parts on the inside, bird cages with mechanical doves covered in real feathers that appeared so lifelike I had to touch them to be sure they were toys. I spied a tailcoat hanging on a hook, the entire inside of it stitched with metal and gearshifts. Raven feathers perched along the shoulders, sleek and shiny as oil.
Scattered across the vanity were screws a
nd bolts and plague-doctor masks. I shuddered as I drew closer to one, its leather beak a cream so rich it appeared to be carved from bone.
“These are…”
“Terrifying?” he supplied, picking one up and running a gloved finger over the large beak. I imagined his expression as thoughtful, though it was hard to tell. “Did you know that during medieval times, when plague doctors wore these, they placed aromatic scents at the tip of the beak? Rose petals, juniper berries, lemon balm, and mint. They helped keep putrid scents of death away.” He set it down. “They were also allowed to perform postmortems on the dead, though it was forbidden to others during those days. Someone such as yourself would have faced grave charges.”
“How does it relate to your carnival?”
Instead of answering straightaway, he turned and removed a black caped overcoat from a peg and donned it along with circular glass goggles and finally the plague mask. He slowly faced me, standing there, unmoving, dressed solidly in black except the bone-white mask. He reached for a small top hat, adding it to complete his look of a gentleman plague doctor come to call on the nearly dead.
