THE SINGULAR & EXTRAORDINARY TALE OF MIRROR & GOLIATH from The Peculiar Adventures of John Loveheart, Esq., vol. I

Detective Sergeant White watched her coolly. “What do you know about Mr Tumbletee, Alice?”

 

 

“Well, I’ve seen him before. He’s been in the pub a couple of times. Very elegant dresser. A real gentleman. But he frightens off the girls ’cause of his face.”

 

“His face?” Detective Sergeant White remarked.

 

“Yes. He’s had the pox or something. Bad skin and white as the moon, sir. He left his business card with the landlord, said something about selling antiquities,” and at this she handed it over, exactly the same as the one I had been given.

 

“Did he mention his work, or where he lived in London?”

 

“He said he was a collector, sir, of unusual artefacts. Said he travelled a lot, mostly abroad, and had come back to England for some unsettled business.”

 

“Which was?”

 

“He didn’t say, sir. But he said he was lodging with a Mrs Pudding round the corner.”

 

At this remark Detective Sergeant White opened the door and called Constable Walnut in. He spoke quietly in his ear and then sat down again.

 

“You sending your hounds off to sniff him out, detective?” Mrs Butters asked.

 

“Something like that,” he replied. “Now what else do you know? Any small detail may be important.”

 

“What has he done, exactly, if I may ask?” she peered at him curiously.

 

“He’s someone with whom I would very much like to have a conversation.”

 

“He sounds like a bad boy to me. A very bad boy…” and she began to cackle, to laugh. That black mouth, with green gums and brown teeth. I felt ill looking at that mouth.

 

“Is there anything else, Mrs Butters?”

 

She kept laughing.

 

“Mrs Butters?” Detective Sergeant White repeated coldly.

 

The laughing stopped suddenly and those little dark eyes looked down at her own hands and played with the dirty brown lace over her fingers. “I would say he’s as mad as a hat. I really can tell you nothing more, gentlemen.”

 

She stood to leave, Detective Sergeant White escorting her to the entrance, down a long, narrow corridor. She stood by the door and turned to look at me sideways and bowed very low. And then, smiling like a wicked goblin, she disappeared out of the door and into the busy street.

 

I stood there, my feet planted in the carpet. Rooted to the floor. My brain dumb. And then I shouted, “IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM!”

 

But he was already lost in London.

 

 

 

 

 

VIII: December 1886

 

 

 

 

 

Tumbletee & Mr Fingers

 

 

 

 

 

My name is Ebeneezer Tumbletee and I am a puzzle box. I am an emporium of magic tricks. I am the saw that the magician cuts his assistant in half with. And then people wonder why she’s dead.

 

I am a nasty thing and as mad as scissors .

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Snip snip Snip snip

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tumbletee.

 

That is my name.

 

And you ask me, what is my story, where am I from? Am I even human? And I shall tell you. Yes, yes, I was once human, but I was never nice.

 

I was raised by a wealthy family in London. My father was a merchant in jewels and made a fortune travelling the world. I was an only child, independent and bright, and it was thought I would take over my father’s business when I came of age. My father would bring home pockets stuffed with pearls and emeralds as big as eyeballs. And I would juggle them – play with a king’s treasure like a court jester. I was given everything I could ever want and yet I still turned out wrong.

 

I killed all our family pets, threw their bodies in the sewers, but I kept the teeth as a souvenir. Stuffed them in the velvet jewellery boxes my father brought back from his trip to Paris. Diamonds were replaced by teeth. My collection was kept at the bottom of my wardrobe. Row upon row of little black boxes. Little magic boxes for a wicked fairy.

 

By the time I was ten years old I had killed my first human being. It was our serving maid. I pushed her down the stairs. ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA

 

It was easy enough. And her teeth were my prize. Despite my deformity of the mind, my family remained blissfully unaware. I sometimes wonder if they were completely stupid. I managed to commit seven murders before my fifteenth birthday, one of which included my cousin, Septimus, to whom befell an unfortunate accident. He slipped and fell off the roof. My foot firmly planted in his backside. Tee hee hee!! It was all far too easy and far too enjoyable for me to ever be able to stop.

 

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