It seemed to go on a long time.
“This bastard,” said Julian between gritted teeth, “will not die. Fuck if I’m—” He paused to give another fierce pull of the wire’s ends. “Fuck if I’m not going to pass out myself,” he finished.
At last, as Matthew stared down at the floor, there was a rattling sound, the slippers ceased their drumbeat of death and Julian said wearily, “That one nearly finished me.” When he stood up, he staggered and steadied himself against the wall. He caught Matthew regarding him with a measure of repugnance, and his mouth smiled grimly below the red-rimmed eyes. “It had to be done,” he said. “You know that as well as I. But if it makes any difference to you in your opinion of me—which I care not—I’ll start anew and afresh tomorrow.”
But tomorrow might never come, for there came the pounding of a fist on the door and a voice calling, “Hello? Hello? What’s going on in there?”
twelve.
An index finger, somewhat red and swollen from its long acquaintance with the wire, flew to Julian’s lips.
“This is the night manager!” called the man behind the door. “Open this instant, if you please!”
“Stand out of sight,” Julian said to Matthew. He called, “Coming, sir!” and as he walked to answer the knock he blotted his face with his sleeve and smoothed his hair. He unlatched the door and cracked it open to a florid-faced, heavy-set man in a gray suit and a dark blue cravat beneath his three chins. Behind him, almost hidden by the night manager’s bulk, was the young boy who’d brought the hot water to room twenty-six.
“What is going on in there?” the man asked. His furry eyebrows jumped up and down. “We have had a complaint from the next room and our lobby chandelier is swinging on its moorings!”
Julian stood so the night manager couldn’t see the body on the floor under a bloodied wig; he had opened the door just as Count Pellegar had, only enough for a face to push through. “I am terribly sorry,” Julian said. “I am Count Mowbrey, an interpreter for the Prussian delegation. I realize there’s been a disturbance.”
“I should say! Is someone destroying our furnishings in there? I feared the lobby’s roof would collapse!”
“Baron Brux!” Julian suddenly called into the room. “Count Pellegar’s condition has passed, has it not?”
It only took Matthew a couple of seconds to respond. “Ja!” he answered. What was the Prussia word for ‘passed’? He knew not, so he said, “Bitter!”
“Sir, if I may explain.” Julian slipped out of the room into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind him. He spoke as one reluctantly giving up a secret only because it was absolutely necessary. “Count Pellegar suffers from night fits. I’m sure you probably are aware of such, as many guests as have come through here.”
The night manager blinked. “Your mouth is bleeding,” he said.
“Oh. Yes.” Julian dabbed at blood in the corner of his mouth and looked at the smear on his fingers. “Count Pellegar struck me. You see, right on the chin. I’m going to have a terrible bruise in the morning.”
“Who did you say you were?”
“An interpreter for the delegation,” Julian repeated. “The young man there knows, and also your lobby clerk. My companion and I came in after the count and the baron and took room twenty-six…oh, and incidentally their missing bags turned out not to be missing after all. Both were inadvertently packed by a servant in the baron’s trunk.”
“Ah!” The night manager nodded, liking this information. “I knew our staff hadn’t misplaced anything! But…your Excellency…what is Count Pellegar’s current condition, and what of the Grand Suite?”
“There has regrettably been some damage. A table has been broken and that beautiful tapestry has been pulled from the ceiling. As to Count Pellegar, he is resting comfortably now, but I’ll tell you that it was a hard go. Sometimes—not very often, but occasionally—he awakens from sleep believing he is back on the battlefield leading a charge of grenadiers at the siege of Buda. Against the Turks, you know.”
“Of course,” said the night manager, whose overstuffed tone of voice told Julian the man did not know his world history.
“And therefore,” Julian went on, “Count Pellegar comes out of sleep desiring to fight every Turk on the battlefield…and, unfortunately, everyone he sees through his burdened eyes is a Turk. Even me.”
“Ghastly!” said the night manager.
“He has quite a punch. Baron Brux and my companion Mr. Spottle helped me subdue him, but not before he…well…did a bit of damage.”
“I’d like to inspect it for myself, if you please.”
“Certainly, but can’t that wait until later in the day? I mean to say…Count Pellegar is quiet now, and I wouldn’t wish to upset him from sleep again. It’s a rather tenuous situation. You see? And,” Julian continued before the other man could speak, “of course all damages—however slight—will be paid for in full, and for good measure I’m sure Count Pellegar will wish to pay double for his use of the Grand Suite, as His Excellency has already told me how much he prizes the quarters and that he wishes to be a regular guest here on his future visits.” Julian smiled, in spite of the cut inside his mouth, the three loose teeth his tongue had found and the fact that he was standing on sheer willpower alone.
The moment hung.
Then the night manager breathed a huge sigh that must have been relief. “Pardon my rather rude knock at your door, sir. The couple next door rang for the boy here and said it sounded as if ten men were fighting in there.” He lowered his voice. “Lord and Lady Turlentort are two of our favorites, but they are excitable.”
“I understand completely,” said Julian, his smile still firmly fixed in place.
Thus it was that after a few more apologies and pleasantries and wishes for the good health of Count Pellegar, the night manager and the servant boy withdrew, Julian returned to the room, closed the door and latched it again and stepped over the count’s corpse in search of the chain and key. An exhausted Matthew had slid down against the wall near the destroyed harpsichord, but as far away as possible from the corpse of Baron Brux without crawling into the next room. He had done some self-examination and determined that no ribs were broken but very soon he was going to become a blotch of bruises under his clothing.
“You all right?” Julian asked as he searched the floor. “You look like hell. Not about to be sick, are you?”
“I’m all right. And no, I’m not about to be sick.”
Julian nodded toward dead Count Pellegar. “This little bastard here nearly caved my chest in. And that shot to my chin…I swear before Christ I’ve never had a harder knock. Came close to swallowing my own tongue. Ah! Here it is!” He held up the chain and key, which he’d found when he lifted up the corpse’s left arm, as the item had slid across the floor during their battle and was hidden near the elbow. Julian winced as he stood up and it took him a few seconds to recover from a bout of dizziness. “My heart’s still laboring,” he said. “All right, let’s find out what’s in the satchel.”
Matthew watched as Julian picked up the case from the floor. “Damned heavy. More than important papers, for sure.” Julian inserted the key, unlocked and opened both snaps. Then he sat down on the floor across from Matthew, opened the satchel’s pouch wide and with a violent—nay, contemptuous—thrust expelled its contents upon the boards.
Out clattered ten gold bars, each one about the length of an index finger and two fingers in width.
They glistened in the room’s lantern light, as both Matthew and Julian stared at what had to be a very considerable fortune.
After a moment, Julian spoke. “How much do you suppose those are worth?”
“I have no idea,” Matthew answered, “but I imagine they would buy at least a year’s worth of Grand Suites. Maybe more than one Grand Suite.”
Julian retrieved the satchel an
d peered inside. There was an arrangement of ten leather pockets sewn to the interior’s dark gray leather lining. He pushed the satchel away. “Interesting that they brought gold bars, instead of coins,” Julian mused. “Why do you think that might be?”
Matthew had a thought. “The polar bear coat,” he said.
“What?”
Matthew was already struggling up. His first step almost sent him face-first to the floor again, but he maintained his balance and went into the bedroom where a marble fireplace burned logs. There on a gold-trimmed lounge chair next to the canopied bed with its ceiling-high headboard of a carved forest scene was the count’s bulky white fur coat. “Whatever Pellegar showed to the guard at the gate…he put back in his coat,” Matthew called to Julian. When he picked up the coat he marvelled that any man had the strength to wear such a beast. He went straight for the inner pockets. Only lint in the one on the right, but in the left his fingers found both the room’s key and a square of parchment paper as stiff as a gentleman’s greeting card. He withdrew the paper and took a look, aware that Julian had entered the room and was coming up beside him.
Written in a spiky penmanship were words in the Prussian language, which neither man could read, yet three items were clear to understand: the address, Number Fourteen Endsleigh Park Road, and a date and time, 20 December, 7:30 Abends.
“What’s that word mean? Abends?” Julian asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to assume this is an invitation to the house day after tomorrow at seven-thirty in the evening. I doubt these gentlemen were early risers.”
“So Pellegar showed this to the guard to get past the gate?”
“Yes. As you said, Pellegar and Brux had likely just arrived by ship and they went to the house to learn where they were staying for the night. And obviously they’re booked in here for the night of the 19th and likely the 20th and beyond.”
“Interesting,” said Julian. He took the parchment from Matthew’s hand and studied it though Matthew had already deduced there was nothing more to be gleaned. “So…the Owl has been recruited to provide security for…what? A meeting at that house between the Prussians and our mysterious admiral?”
“It would appear so.”
“But…why would security be needed? The Owl likely provided the guard at the gate and other guards we didn’t see. Why go to all that complexity for a simple meeting?”
Matthew said the first thing that came to mind. “It might not be so simple.” He walked back out into the sitting room and regarded the bars of gold upon the floor. “They brought a lot of gold for a simple meeting,” he said quietly, his eyes narrowed in thought, as Julian joined him with the invitation still in hand. “I wonder…if the Prussians were not the only ones invited.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, I don’t know, exactly. But the Prussians made a long and arduous journey bringing a satchel full of gold bars. With the Owl providing security, and that guard at the gate…showing his pistol to ward us off…it feels as if there’s something larger going on.”
“And what do you think it has to do with Cardinal Black and the book?”
Matthew nodded. “Now you’re getting somewhere.”
“Explain.”
Matthew turned to face him. “I may be wrong and it may have absolutely nothing to do with Cardinal Black and the book, but…the book would be of great interest—and worth—to many people in the underworld, and not just in England. Criminals, terrorists, assassins…even some heads of state might like to get hold of it, and certainly Fell’s name is known in those circles.”
“Agreed,” said Julian.
“I’m thinking that the Prussians have come here to buy it. The price is yet undetermined, which is why they brought all the gold bars. If that’s true, this must have been planned for many months. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken the Prussians to get here, but there had to be an exchange of messages that took a length of time, and arrangements to be made. This might have been Mother Deare’s task for over a year, to get everything planned for the attack. Then…” Matthew shook his head. “But I still can’t guess how our admiral got involved in this.”
“So you believe the book is in that house?” Julian asked.
“If not there, then somewhere near.”
“And the Prussians are expected at the house at seven-thirty two evenings hence to negotiate for the book?”
“If what I’m suggesting is a real connection, then yes.”
Julian said nothing more. When Matthew looked at him, he saw Julian staring fixedly at first the body of Count Pellegar and then dead strangled Baron Brux.
The idea hit Matthew like a washbasin of freezing water in the face, because he could tell what was going through Julian’s mind. “Are you mad? That would never work!”
“Why not? I’ll wager neither Cardinal Black nor the admiral have ever laid eyes on these two. The only one who saw Pellegar was the man at the door. It was a quick exchange, and you saw that Pellegar had a muffler over most of his face. Brux likely didn’t even get a glance. Pellegar is English-born, and if Brux only speaks the Prussian language, then you—”
“You?” Matthew interrupted. “How easily that’s said!”
“I was going to say…if Brux only speaks the Prussian language, then all you have to be is silent. I’ll do all the talking.”
“If you happened to notice,” Matthew said, “Pellegar had eyes as black as coals and he is completely bald. Now…the man at the door may or may not think he didn’t register the correct eye-color, but your mop of blonde hair might—just saying might, you understand—tip the game.”
“I’ll buy a wig on the morrow.”
“Fine. Then you’ll look even less like Count Pellegar.”
A cloud passed across Julian’s face. “Damn,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”
Matthew wandered over to another chair, where he could view both the bodies, and sank down into it. Was it possible? The size of clothing might be a problem. Definitely the boot size.
The style of clothing would have to be outlandish and so would the makeup, not just in keeping with the two original Prussians but as a way of preventing too close an inspection. No, it was impossible!
Or was it?
“You’d have to shave your head,” Matthew said after another few moments of reflection. “I would have to wear a thick white face makeup. If Cardinal Black is present at this meeting, he would recognize me…and certainly by my scar.”
Julian didn’t reply, but he was listening.
“I would be the one to wear the mile-high wig,” Matthew continued. “We could go through the luggage and see what might be used. I’m thinking we would both need to go buy new pairs of boots. And expensive ones. Ours are not fitting for titled Prussians. I would wear gloves to hide the Black-Eyed Broodie mark, which I’m sure Cardinal Black would also recognize. If anyone in that house speaks Prussian, we would both be dead. Any slip-up, however minor…we would both be dead. You understand that, don’t you?”
Julian levelled his slate-colored eyes at Matthew. “Do you understand it? I mean…really?”
Matthew drew a long breath and let it slowly out. His ribs protested. “I do,” he answered. “It seems to me there’s no other choice. Two dead men on the floor with an invitation to the admiral’s house, and we two alive to go in their places. And I have to say, after all the preparations we’ll have to make, it had better be the admiral’s house and not just someone who likes to play with ship’s wheels!”
“Now that would be an evil trick of Fate, wouldn’t it? Speaking of Fate, we’ll have to be careful going in and out. Our next-door neighbors are the Turlentorts.”
“Wonderful! Well, we can’t risk them seeing us. Your charm may have worn off them by now and they would go directly to the manager,” said Matthew. He spent a moment roaming in thought before he spo
ke again. “If there’s any chance the book is in that house, we have to go. But even if we can somehow get the book and get out of there, we still have to find a chemist who can decipher the formulas.”
“Correct,” Julian said. “But first things first.”
“Right.”
“And the very first thing,” Julian contended, “is to drag those bodies somewhere out of sight and out of mind. I don’t want my Grand Suite marred by such trash on the floor. Then I plan to stretch out on that sofa and sleep for a few hours like a newborn, and you can either have the bed here or go back to twenty-six.”
“I think I’d best stay out of the hallway.” Even so, Matthew didn’t care for the idea of sleeping in a majestic bed with two corpses rolled up in a tapestry and set in a corner like cordwood.
“Let’s get to it, then,” said Julian. “I’m very near passing out.”
By the time they dragged the bodies into a small closet off the bedroom both men were spent to rags. Julian staggered off to the sofa and Matthew crawled into the bed without taking off a single item of clothing. Rummaging through the trunks and cases would have to wait, for Matthew had no strength to lift a lid. Knowing the dead men were curled up about ten feet from him had no effect on the willingness of his brain to go blank, and he knew not what dreams—or nightmares—might come ravening after him in the darkness of his own refuge, but blessedly so to sleep with the fireplace cackling like a crone’s laugh.
thirteen.
“No!”
Matthew heard the half-shout, half-sob echoing in his head as he came up from sleep. He lay on the bed staring up at the canopy and watching the low shadows of the fire dance. His body was one huge ache. Were the two corpses really in that closet over there? Yes, they were, and much work was to be done to get into that house on Endsleigh Park Road.
He heard footsteps on the floorboards in the other room. What time was it? The bedroom’s lanterns gave off the same glow as before and it was difficult to tell how much of the whale oil had been burned. He felt as if he’d just thrown himself on the bed scant minutes before and he was still wrecked. But the footsteps meant Julian was moving about, and that cry meant…what?
Cardinal Black Page 14
