The carriage slowed to the tune of neighing steeds and the rough call of “whoa.” Inside the vehicle, a nattily dressed tall man with dark-set eyes reclined against the leather interior, his gleaming black boot propped up on the doorjamb. His wool topcoat was as dark in color as his raven hair. Simon Archer stirred from his repose and opened the cab’s door, holding out a hand behind him for Kate Anstruther. Tall and regal, she accepted the offered hand and exited smartly. Kate tugged her cropped leather jacket down and strode toward the church’s thick-columned portico with Simon beside her, his cane clicking sharply on the stone walkway.
They entered the dim interior of the church. Only a few candles placed around the square nave lit the high space. In the center of the church, they saw a figure. As they approached, they realized it wasn’t who they expected. A muscled workman wore plain twill and held his hat respectfully in his hand.
“Good evening, sir. Miss.” The sexton bobbed his head. “Or good morning, I should say. I was told to expect you by Mr. MacFarlane.” He pointed to the east apse.
Simon and Kate saw that the enclave was thick with a collection of candles on the floor illuminating the macabre scene of a figure lying spread-eagle. Crimson blood was everywhere, staining everything. A sheet had been draped over the body, but even from a distance, the figure was unmistakably female.
The sexton whispered, “The poor thing was naked as a plucked bird. We covered her out of decency. What with the men about. You being the exception, miss.” He nodded at Kate, but it didn’t stop him from frowning at her unladylike attire.
“I made sure he left everything else as it was,” came a thick Scottish voice from one of the pews. A figure rose in the shadows a few rows ahead. “You made good time.”
“Malcolm!” Kate exclaimed. “Good God. What happened to you? Did you stumble on more werewolves?”
Malcolm’s face was bruised, with dried blood caking his forehead. His normally tied-back hair was undone in spots. “Just a fracas with some fellows keeping watch outside to prevent me walking in on this deed. I … questioned them thoroughly, but they have no idea who paid them, nor what was being done.”
Simon peered at Malcolm’s forehead. “That looks deep.”
“Go have a look at the poor lass. See what you can see.”
Simon went to the draped body and drew the cloth back from the victim’s face. She was a delicate blonde with near-porcelain features. Blood speckled her young face and there remained a look of odd pleasure still in the curve of her lips.
Simon glanced at Malcolm. “How did you stumble onto this?”
“Just look at her,” the Scotsman retorted. “Don’t worry about what I do.”
Simon took a candle and bent to study the dead body. Kate leaned in close with him.
“Notice the lack of pox scars and the light dusting of powder on her cheeks,” Simon said.
Kate noted one of the girl’s hands. “And her nails are well cared for.”
Simon gave the girl a silent apology before pulling the cloth completely off her naked body. Both he and Kate gave quiet gasps. The victim’s chest was cut open. A flap had been sliced around her left breast and the flesh and muscle were peeled back to reveal ribs and organs beneath. Simon swallowed bile at the sight.
Malcolm stood behind them. “Knife wounds.”
“Specifics would be nice.”
“A bloody big knife,” came the terse response.
“Better.”
“Serrated knife,” Malcolm added. “About twelve inches long. Four strikes encircling the heart.”
Simon scowled. “My human anatomy is not strong. That is the heart, yes?”
“Yes.” Malcolm pushed between Simon and Kate, pointing down at the girl’s exposed insides. “Have a close look.”
Simon gave the Scotsman a sour glance and leaned closer to the discolored heart. He saw what appeared to be dark marks on the mottled surface of the organ. “What is that? A burn?”
“Aye. Symbols have been branded onto her heart.”
“I don’t know that I would’ve even noticed that,” Kate said. “How can you see it?”
“I’ve butchered plenty of animals,” Malcolm replied. “And I’ve seen bodies butchered by animals.”
“Can you draw what you see?” Simon offered a small pocket book along with a stub of a pencil that he always carried. The Scotsman knelt over the girl and began to draw. After a moment, he tossed the pad back to Simon, who studied the page along with Kate.
“Looks like Egyptian hieroglyphs,” Kate said.
“Agreed,” Simon replied. “Nothing I know. But I bow to your language skills.”
Kate shook her head. “I can’t make sense of it.”
The sextant called out from the entrance. “Begging your pardon, but I’ll need to summon the police now. If someone comes and finds you here, and I’ve not summoned a constable, it could mean my head.”