Setting his mouth in a vicious sneer to complete the street-gang look, Billy walked over to the bar. “I’m looking for Razor,” he growled. “I’ve got a job for ’im.”
“You won’t find him here, pal,” said the barman.
Billy took his penknife out and began to pick at his fingernails in what he hoped was a menacing way. “Try again,” he said.
“Razor’s left town,” said the barman. With a twitch of his head, he indicated a table in the corner. “You could try askin’ Mac the Knife, he did some business with Razor.”
Billy looked over. Everything about Mac the Knife was big. Big hands for hitting. Big shoulders for carrying stolen goods. Big scar across his face. Presumably a big knife somewhere.
Billy strolled over and sat down opposite him, keeping up his own hard-man act. “I’m Billy Flint,” he said, letting the criminal reputation of his family talk for him. “I’m after my cousin, Razor.”
“He’s gone away,” grunted Mac. “Got scared.”
Billy frowned. It would take something very scary to frighten cousin Razor. “Scared of what?”
“I can tell you,” said Mac, “on account of you being family.” The big man leaned forward to share his secret. “Razor gets things for people, right.”
“Steals to order, you mean.”
“Yeah, well, he had this client.”
“A client who paid him with a very expensive gold bird’s-claw kilt pin,” said Billy.
Mac nodded. “Anyway, this client was strange, called himself the Sandman, and he wanted some very unusual things.”
“Go on.”
“Razor wanted me to help him get them,” said Mac. “He had this list.”
“Do you remember what was on it?”
“I’m not likely to forget,” said Mac. “Milk from a black cow; the paw of a white cat; a mandrake root; the coins from a dead man’s purse; a phoenix egg – whatever the heck that is – and…” Mac swallowed hard. “A fresh human heart.”
Billy was stunned. “Did you get them all?”
“All but two,” said Mac. “The egg…and the heart.”
“What happened to you?” asked Charley as Billy pushed his way through the indoor jungle and into the crime lab. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Seen a ghost,” squawked Queen Victoria from somewhere in the tree canopy.
“Of course I have,” he said. “We’re S.C.R.E.A.M. It’s in the job description.”
“You know what I mean,” said Charley. “Has something happened?”
Billy ran his hands through his hair. “This case gets worse and worse… It’ll end in murder if we can’t stop it.” He told her about the list.
“A phoenix egg?” said Charley. “That’s got to be impossible to find.”
“It’s the human heart I’m worried about.”
Charley rubbed her back with both hands, trying to ease the pain. “And did you get a name or a description of Razor’s mysterious client?”
“Mac the Knife never met him, but he did have a name, or an alias anyway – the Sandman.”
Charley gasped. “The warning note on the train was from the same person who is shopping for a heart.”
“Exactly,” said Billy. “Mac couldn’t describe the Sandman, but Razor used to meet him at the Last Drop Tavern.”
“The Last Drop Tavern?” said Doogie, appearing with a tray of sandwiches.
“Do you know it?” asked Billy.
“Oh aye,” said Doogie. “The most haunted place in Edinburgh.”
“Stands to reason,” said Billy. “How about your investigation, Charley? What did you turn up?”
“Mrs Whisker, the housekeeper, was like the cat who got the cream,” said Charley. “Lady Tiffin has gone to London to recover from the shock of the burglary and it is clear that Mrs Whisker hasn’t done a stroke of work since her mistress left.” Charley smiled. “That worked to our advantage though – the lazy woman hadn’t even tidied up the crime scene. She hadn’t so much as swept up the sand…”
“More sand!”
“Yes,” said Charley, “and there were more of those hieroglyphics that you found at Lady Fitzpatrick’s. Including the two characters that were missing before!”
“So we’ve got the full message?”
“Oh yes,” said Charley as she drew the symbols on the blackboard, the chalk squeaking. “At least I think so.”
Billy looked at them. “A sort of bird and a block thingy? Do you know what they mean?”
“Not yet,” said Charley. “I also need to find out what the Sandman wants those horrible ingredients for.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ve got some reading to do.” There was a mountain of leather-bound books in front of her. “The answers are in here somewhere.”
“Right,” said Billy. “That settles it. While Charley does the brainwork, you and I are going to the pub, Doogie.”
“What for?” asked Doogie. “Sir Gordon will be furious if he thinks I’m going for a drink.”
“No drinking,” said Billy, pulling on his coat. “We’re looking for a different sort of spirit.”
Doogie looked confused.
“A ghost.”
“It’s called the Last Drop because it’s where all the hangings used to take place,” said Doogie, as he and Billy rode together in the carriage, the zebras struggling in the wind and rain. ‘Angry Annie’ has haunted the tavern for years, so they say.” The young lad was brimming over with enthusiasm. “I can’t believe I’m solving crimes with a real policeman.”
“You realize this is serious, don’t you?” said Billy. “You haven’t come along for a ride. You’ve got to be my backup.”
Doogie’s forehead furrowed.
“I’m going to try to make contact with a ghost,” said Billy. “It’s a stupidly dangerous thing to do. My life and soul are on the line, literally. So if I get into trouble, I’ll need you to help me.”
“How?”
“All police get issued with special equipment—”
“Like truncheons and handcuffs?”
“Sort of.” Billy opened his satchel. “But S.C.R.E.A.M. detectives carry these.”
Doogie peered inside the satchel with a confused expression. He pulled out a thorny stick. “You’ve got weeds in yer kit bag.”
“That’s hawthorn,” Billy explained. “It can be used as protection from witchcraft. That one is garlic in case I meet a vampire, and that other plant is wolfsbane, which deters werewolves. I’ve got holy water in glass capsules, which I can fire using a catapult; I’ve got a crucifix to defend myself against demons and an iron box to trap sprites.”
Doogie listened, enthralled. Or terrified. It was hard to say which.
“Anyway,” said Billy, “this is what I’ve got for you.”
“A bell, a book and a candle?” said Doogie with slight disappointment. Clearly he had been hoping for the catapult. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
“A ringing bell represents purity,” said Billy. “It can cast out certain unclean spirits. The book is a book of prayers, and the light of the candle can guide me home if I get…lost.” Billy handed him the satchel. “Hopefully we won’t need any of them.”
The carriage halted outside the Last Drop Tavern. It was a dingy-looking building in the shadow of Edinburgh’s great castle, on the same street as the White Hart Inn. Plucking up his courage, Billy led the way, running through the rain. Inside, he ordered two ginger beers from the barman and found a table next to the open fire. Billy put his hands towards the flames, enjoying the warmth.
The drinkers at the Last Drop certainly seemed to be a shady crowd. There were about twenty or so men, huddled in small shadowy groups beneath the low beams of the ceiling. The conversations were whispered, and when there was laughter it somehow sounded harsh and spiteful. Razor Flint would have been right at home.
“This is where my cousin Razor met the Sandman.” Billy took a swig of his ginger beer. “Charley and I are convinced that the Sandman is the real villain we’re up against, and he’s using the mummy to do his dirty work. If this pub is haunted like you say, Doogie, then we might have found our perfect witness.”