32
You note teeth marks around the head and shoulders of the toy soldier, and when you hold it to your nose you detect a bitter odour that you recognize immediately. It is the aroma of graveweed—a deadly poison.
With one swift blow you strike the head of the toy against the carriage door and snap it off, releasing a stream of black powder from its hollow body. ‘This is the cause of your son’s sickness,’ you say. ‘It is powered graveweed.’
