Dark Matter

This surprised me, for the law against multipliers—as were called those alchemists who tried to make gold and silver—had not been revoked until 1689, but seven years before, until when, multiplying had been a felony and therefore, a capital offence. I was somewhat troubled that such a man as he should have admitted his former felony with so much ease; but even more so that he appeared to believe such arrant quackery.

Newton began to examine the cadaver’s teeth, like a man who intended to buy a horse. “You seem a little disconcerted, Ellis,” said he. “If you intend to vomit, then please do it outside. The room smells quite bad enough as it is.”

“No sir, I am quite well,” I said, although my chaw was beginning to lighten my head a little. “But are not many alchemists in league with the devil?”

Newton spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the cellar floor as if he hoped my opinion might be lying there.

“It is true,” he said, “that there have been many who have tried tocorrupt the noble wisdom of the magi. But that is not to say that there be no true magicians.” He paused and, averting his face from close proximity to the corpse for a moment, drew a deep breath before coming close to the open mouth of the skull; then stepping back he breathed out again, and said, “This man lacks the molars in his upper left jaw.”

“What is a molar?” I enquired.

“Why, the back grinding teeth, of course. From the Latin molaris, meaning a millstone. I have also observed that the second and third fingers of his left hand are missing.”

“There’s a great deal that is missing from this poor fellow,” I offered. “Ears, nose, eyes … ”

“Your powers of observation commend you, Mister Ellis, however, both amputations have occurred in precisely the same location, that being the tip of each finger. It is very singular to this individual. As is the modus mortis. For the condition of the chest is most extraordinary. The ribcage has been quite crushed, as if he was broken by some great compression. And do you see the strange position of the legs? The lower legs pressed onto the thighs, and the thighs up toward the belly?”

“Indeed it is curious,” I admitted. “Almost as if he had been rolled up into a ball.”

“Just so,” Newton murmured grimly.

“Do you think it is possible — No, it will only vex you, Doctor.”

“Speak, man,” he exhorted me.

“It was merely an hypothesis,” said I.

“You will allow me to be the judge of that. It may be that you will have confused it with an observation. Either way, I should like to hear what you have to say.”

“I wondered if this be not another poor victim of the Mighty Giant. Indeed, I heard one of the warders utter the same thought.”

This Mighty Giant was a most notorious and as yet undiscovered murderer who was much feared, having killed several men by crushing their bodies horribly.

“That remains to be demonstrated,” said Newton. “But from what I have read of his previous victims, the Mighty Giant—if there be such a man, which I doubt—has never thought before to dispose of a body, nor indeed to bind the feet with rope.”

“Why do you doubt he exists?” I asked.

“For the simple reason that giants are so few and far between,” said Newton, continuing to inspect the body. “By their very definition they stand out from the crowd. A man who has killed as often as the Mighty Giant must then be rather more anonymous. Mark my words, Mister Ellis, when that particular murderer is apprehended, he will be no more a giant than you or I.

“But what is here undeniable is that this man was killed with great cruelty. It is as plain as the truth of alchemy here demonstrated.”

“I do not understand,” I admitted. “How is that truth of alchemy to be demonstrated from a corpse, master?”

“To be explicit, the living body is a microcosmos. Having lived out its span of life, permeated by heat and air, it comes back through water to final dissolution in earth, in the never-ending cycle of life and death.”

“There’s a merry thought,” I said. “I wonder who he was.”

“Oh, there’s no wonder about it,” said Newton, and grinning at me now, he did add, “This is your predecessor. This is George Macey.”

Before leaving the cellar, Newton bade me say nothing of this to anyone for fear that the information should further delay the recoinage in the Mint.

“There is enough silly superstition among the moneyers already,” he declared. “This would only confound them further and put them in greater fear, for they are the most damnably credulous men I ever saw. If the identity of this poor fellow were generally known, all reason would cease at once. And this place should grind to a halt.”

I agreed to say nothing of what he had told me; nevertheless I was somewhat disturbed by the alacrity with which my master lied to Mister Osborne and the other Tower warders, when we were outside the cellar again.

“I owe you an apology, Mister Osborne. Alas, the fellow is much too decomposed to say anything about him, except that it was not the Mighty Giant who killed him.”