I picked up a toy soldier’s wooden leg only to put it down again when I spotted train carriages lined up to be painted. They were wooden too, with a pull string for a young child to tug. A metal train set on the desk looked more interesting and I bent to have a closer look.
“How does it move?” I asked. “Can I look inside to see how it works?”
Mr. Trentham chuckled softly. His wife, serving in the shop at the front, had shown us through to her husband’s workshop before leaving us alone. We had not yet stated our business.
“It uses a simple winding mechanism.” Mr. Trentham held up a key and inserted it into a slot at the front of the engine. “Like a clock.”
“No wonder I was drawn to it.”
He cleared some space on the workbench and positioned the engine at one end. He turned the key and the engine whirred then moved forward two feet before coming to a halt.
“Marvelous,” I said, successfully keeping the disappointment from my voice.
“That’s without magic.” Mr. Trentham returned the engine to the end of the counter then spoke a spell very similar in timbre to Fabian’s iron movement spell. He turned the key, released it, and the engine shot forward. It lost power about half way along the counter and stopped before it toppled off the end.
I applauded, although I was still somewhat disappointed. The counter was only about five feet long.
Mr. Trentham gave me a sheepish look. “I’m afraid that’s it. The spell only works for a single use.”
“It’s still magical, Mr. Trentham, and all magic is marvelous.”
“You’re too kind. I know it’s not much. My magic is…not what it ought to be.”
“Mr. Charbonneau told me you think a curse was laid upon you and your magic,” I said.
He picked up the engine and studied it with a sigh. “A rival magician toymaker, Nicholas Mirnov, put the curse on me several years ago. Before the curse, that train would have traveled clean off the counter and landed gently on the floor. Now, not only can’t it reach the end, but it would break if it fell.”
“Your spell could control its flight?”
“I controlled its speed and direction with my mind. I had to concentrate very hard, but it almost always worked. Now, my magic is a shadow of what it once was.”
It was very much how I’d made the carpet fly so I knew he must be speaking the truth. “Tell me about Nicholas Mirnov.”
“Despite the foreign sounding name, he’s English. He sells toys from a cart he takes around the poorer streets of Bethnal Green.” He made a face. “He’s friendly with the foreigners in those parts, and is part gypsy, I believe. Filthy, sticky-fingered thieves, the lot of them.”
“Why did he curse you?”
“It wasn’t him, it was his wife, but she did it upon his urging, I’m sure of it. She’s full gypsy. Her family are travelers, living out of caravans and tents, but she and Mirnov settled down in London when they married.”
“You seem to know him quite well.”
“We’re both members of the Toymaker’s Guild. I identified him as a magician immediately I touched one of his toys and felt its heat. I thought we could become friends, but…” He shook his head. “He saw me as a rival. He wanted to be the best toymaker magician in London, without equal. Hence the curse.”
“And yet he sells toys out of a cart,” I pointed out. “Whereas you have this wonderful shop.”
“He wants to avoid detection from the guild, but I suspect he has plans to make something marvelous, something unrivaled, and is worried I’ll beat him to it. Or he was worried, before the curse.” He cast a forlorn look at the engine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt touching things on the desk, picking them up and putting them down without properly inspecting them. He was waiting for me to finish before he asked his own questions. Considering my questions had nothing to do with the task at hand and were more to satisfy my own curiosity about curses, I decided to end my interrogation and let him take over.
“We need to ask you some questions, Mr. Trentham,” I said.
“I’m honored.” He fought against a smile. “My magic is humble compared to yours, Mrs. Glass. I hope I may answer to your satisfaction. What do you want to know?”
I suddenly had reservations about what we were doing. Fabian’s instincts had sent us here, not solid clues. Accusing Mr. Trentham of theft seemed somewhat presumptuous given our lack of evidence.
Matt had no such qualms, however. “Where were you last night after Lady Hollingbroke’s soiree?”
The question startled Mr. Trentham. “Why?”
“Mr. Charbonneau was burgled.”
Mr. Trentham gasped. “That’s terrible. But…do you suspect me?”
“We’re asking everyone about their whereabouts last night,” I said quickly.
“Everyone?”
“Everyone with an interest in magic.”
“Was one of his magical artefacts stolen?”
Neither Matt nor I responded. Mr. Trentham’s gaze snapped from me to Matt then back again. Needing to avert my gaze so I didn’t give away too much, I picked up the automaton monkey.
“Was it something special?” Mr. Trentham pressed. “Perhaps something Mr. Charbonneau was working on with you, Mrs. Glass? Perhaps a new spell?”
“What new spell?” Matt growled.
“That’s enough speculation,” I said, snippily. The snippiness was for both his and Mr. Trentham’s benefit. Matt needed to know that Mr. Trentham was merely guessing, and neither Fabian nor I had mentioned our flying spell to him at the soiree.
Mr. Trentham put up his hands. “It’s an open secret among magicians that you were working on creating new spells. Many suspect you already created one before stopping your experiments. And since I asked a great many questions about it last night, Mr. Charbonneau suspects me of its theft. It explains why you’re here today.” When Matt nodded, Mr. Trentham sat heavily on the chair at the workbench. “I can assure you, it wasn’t me. I’m no thief.”
“Then you won’t mind answering the question,” Matt said. “Where were you last night?”
Mr. Trentham flipped open the lid of a paint pot. He picked up a paintbrush in one hand and a carriage in the other. “At home upstairs.”
“Your wife will confirm that?”
Mr. Trentham’s hand shook. “Of course.”
Matt opened the door leading to the shop and waited as Mrs. Trentham finished serving a woman and her small son. Once the customer paid, Mrs. Trentham came out from behind the counter and bent to the boy’s level.
“There you go, General,” she said, handing the boy a box painted with a battle scene on the lid.
His face lit up as he accepted it.
“Now remember to play with the soldiers every day or they get lonely. And be firm,” she said with mock sternness. “They require a strong commander, but one who is also understanding. Can you be that commander, General?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will and I promise to play with them every day.”
She straightened and saluted him. He saluted back, almost dropping the box.
Matt waited for the customers to leave before asking Mrs. Trentham to join us.