“He was in debt to me and my associates, and to reconcile his pitiful affairs he turned bellwether, and drew other young bravos of his acquaintance down the same dreary path. I imagine if you had not disliked him, he would have snared you also, sooner or later.” Only now did the old man show signs of tension and agitation, as his hand swept back and forth, back and forth before him. “But some stray comment, some late-night encounter on the shores of the Pentlow between him and my bankers, since he had taken to low haunts, aroused his curiosity, and he was damnably tenacious in satisfying it. I daresay he thought to improve his advantage in all their dealings. He had my men followed by men of his own, common footpads he picked up around the stews, set spies against me and my interests, and by chance found the path to the Bellstrom. He sought, thereby, to threaten us with exposure. A debtor, locked up in the Bells, holding paper against a dozen of the wealthiest families in Airenchester? It was scandalous, unsupportable. He wrote me insinuating, sneering letters, addressed me, a gentleman, as a felon. And he would not answer unless I wrote to him in return, in my own hand.”
“And so you had cause to murder him, and fix the blame to me,” said Grainger, coldly.
“It was convenience, sir, convenience and your own folly. I admit, it pleased me greatly that the son of Clarence Grainger would fall so easily to hand. Your father was cold in my company, disdained my friendship, dismissed my pastimes. How such a bloodless man came to hold the affections of your flawless mother I cannot comprehend. So be it. But, when I fell into my difficulties, when I was beset on all sides by creditors and accusers, he used his influence and urged my arrest and trial. But he never advanced me credit, nor asked credit of others, and in the probity of his business there was no flaw I could discover, and he alone evaded my grasp and so contrived to drown himself in some highland flood. To have his son, heedless of the risk, wander within my domain seemed too ideal for design. For when you were arrested, all thoughts of another motive, and investigations into our affairs, were ended, and the little business between Mr. Massingham and myself was buried.”
“Do you condemn yourself in your own words, then, for perjury and murder?”
A grin more apt to the wolf than the lamb touched Ravenscraigh’s lips. “You are hasty, Mr. Grainger. Mr. Massingham made an appointment with me. Naturally, the place was a quiet and remote one. Mr. Massingham never presented himself.”
Grainger frowned. “And still, if you caused your thief-taker, your lawyers, your judges, the jury even, to lay the guilt on me, why was I spared the gallows?”
“Consider the advantages: the example of the gallows is moving but ephemeral. Dead and mouldering, you would be out of fashion and out of mind all the sooner. But to have the living son of Clarence Grainger always before me, to have you here, under my hand, a gentleman to condemn or release at my pleasure, there is a very material lesson that is not so soon disregarded!”
Briefly, Grainger had rested his head on one hand, on the corner of the table. Now he straightened again. His features were calm and resolved. “I do believe you are so deep wrapped in lies, that but a flash of the truth shows forth each time you writhe and turn. Let us have no more of these falsehoods between us.”
“Very well, Mr. Grainger. Let us speak plainly: what is your business here?”
“This letter that I bear, the seal that it carries, is suggestive, certainly, and would be damaging to your interests if it were to be released, but it is not sufficient to bear me out of this place, given the obstructions placed before me by you and your agents.”
“Very well.”
“Yet you hold an interest in its recovery, else it would not discomfort you.”
“That damnable seal!” exclaimed Ravenscraigh, with a strange suggestion of levity. “I rarely commit myself to paper—the reasons are plain enough. When I came here, I took with me my desk and some old family seals: the winged crest of the Ravenscraighs, for which I had done such ill-service. But I could hardly use that under my new circumstances. And then one day, as I was pouring the wax, that accursed raven came fluttering about the window and got into my cell (I was in a much less satisfactory room at the time). He scattered my papers and spilt my ink and quills, and put his foot into the spilled wax. Then the idea came into my mind of making that black bird my emissary.”
“You have sealed too much death and suffering by that mark,” said Grainger.
“Be that as it may,” returned Ravenscraigh, unperturbed, “what terms do you offer for its return?”
“Produce the confession. It is the dying testament of the man who stood by Mr. Massingham when he was murdered. It will earn me my freedom. The rest of the matter need trouble no one.”
Ravenscraigh nodded deeply. When he rose from the chair he was contemplative, like a man in his library, trying to recall the place of a novel that his neighbour’s daughter might borrow. He went to a sideboard near the window, where there was still enough light from the bruised and lowering sky to see plainly. Grainger, dazed in that instant by the prospect of freedom, did not move to impede him. The drawer was unlocked. The old man reached in and nimbly plucked out a small, neat pistol.
Grainger started to his feet. He remained there, fixed, while the pistol trained itself on his heart. Blood surged in his ears and seemed for a moment louder than all sounds of riot and disturbance below. Yet he did not stir. He heard himself say, as if at a great remove, “Is this how you intend to conclude our agreement?”
“I merely reflect that, in a riot, an elderly debtor, alone in his cell, may perforce defend himself against a desperate young murderer, a former gentleman, driven to a frenzy by his sense of persecution and wrong, breaking in to seek monies and perhaps some other means of escape. You are green indeed, if you thought I would but idle away these hours, while those beasts went raving through my prison, without some protection at hand!”
There was absolute stillness between them, a singularity of intent and attitude, for the room had gown dark, all edges reduced to folds and smudges, and only the two standing, breathing men were apparent.
“And yet you hesitate to fire. Even here, a pistol shot will surely bring in many others. The horse-guard are gathering at the gate, and require but a single order to break in and suppress the riot.”
“I have little to fear from the authorities. Let them restore order to the prison and see what I did to protect myself.”
“But I expect you would rather not have the watch trampling through your domain.”
“Be plainer, sir.”
“I have lodged certain papers and confidences with friends outside the gaol, that they will act upon in the event my safety is compromised.”
“You mean that scribbler, Quillby. I do not think he will be much believed.”
“I mean, the Captain of the Watch. He has not forgotten the man who devastated his sister’s prospects. Captain Grimsborough would be pleased to make your acquaintance anew!”
“I have no great concern in the case of Captain Grimsborough. I have kept him dutiful, bound, and blind these many years, and will hold him so many years more. He is an upright man.”
Grainger did not dare a step, nor more than the slightest gesture of the hand. “I tell you again, in plain terms: this will not stand. If you fear not the watch, then consider the rioters. You have described them to me in these terms: fickle, violent, brutal, and ignorant. You know them as such, for you have ruled over them so for thirty years, through suggestion, deception, and terror. And you have coolly despatched them, one by one, to the gallows, when it served your darker purpose. Consider, therefore, that this storm is roused because Dirk Tallow, their captain, was betrayed to the gallows, and ask yourself if another prisoner dies at your hand, if you and your thief-taker are exposed for impeaching him, whether men like Dan Cleaves will long consent to bend the knee before your shabby throne.”
“You have grown a capable advocate, sir, but what is your argument?” growled Ravenscraigh.
“Only this: that I will not move anothe
r inch until the pistol is set aside. Shoot me, if you will, and let the dogs run and howl! Or I will have my freedom, when this is settled between us. But I will not bargain under restraint.”
The two men were motionless; the plain, grey prison room was all stillness, rising above a sea of noise. And, as the walls grew dimmer, the figure of the man hunched before the barred window seemed to grow vast and black and terrible. Ravenscraigh stirred and sighed. The pistol did not waver, but Ravenscraigh reached into the same drawer again and drew out a key. He weighed the heavy length of iron in his palm and then returned the pistol to the same drawer. “You mistake me. I do not plot to make an end of you, Mr. Grainger. But, as you seem to have the advantage of me, in youth and strength and passion, I require a little security.”
“I have no intention of playing your judge or your executioner. Now, let us continue.”
With a light tread, Ravenscraigh passed to a slight door, panelled in a tawny wood, barely wide enough to let a man through.
“I see!” exclaimed Grainger. “I have often wondered what lay above this chamber in the tower.”
Under his breath, Ravenscraigh said, “You are the first, in a very long time, to form that conjecture or walk this way.” He turned the key in the lock. “Be so kind, Mr. Grainger, as to light one of the tapers on the board, there. There is no light on these stairs.”
Quickly, Grainger lighted the little candle. Ravenscraigh took it from his hand and led the way up the narrow and precipitate stairs beyond. The Bell Tower was the tallest in the prison, but Grainger had never yet scaled it so high. Ravenscraigh went before him, outlined by the mild glow of the candle. The old man went easily, as every depression, chip, and strange angle in the steps was familiar to him. The stairs turned, following the corner of the tower. Ravenscraigh paused, and unerringly unlocked and opened another door. With a sardonic gesture, he beckoned Grainger through.
This was the last chamber in the Bell Tower. The ceiling was high, showing raw planks and beams, and the walls tapered in. The bell-ropes for the great bell of the fortress had once hung down here, but they had long since been cut, and the opening boarded up. Barred windows with iron shutters stood in the centre of each wall, as though to give a vantage point to all four points of the turning world to those who kept the watch in former days. Along all sides there were countless niches and shelves, carved or built into the walls. They were covered with hoary stacks of papers, strongboxes, caskets, scrolls, portfolios, ledgers, massed by crumbling ribbons. In every corner and opening, more papers were folded and inserted—and yet all was calm and orderly as an archive.
“Remarkable,” said Grainger, moved against his will.
“No other man has stood here for more than twenty years,” said Mr. Ravenscraigh. “You could read here for a year and a day and still not fully comprehend the scale of my influence. I have here deeds and titles to the highest estates in Airenchester. I take rents from the lowest rookeries of The Steps out to warehouses in Staverside and estates on Haught and Flinders Hill. I hold notes of credit against the sons of peers, and I take my cut from every shuffle of the cards in the stews of Stittlehatch Corner. There is not a whore in Virgin’s Lane who does not commit her grubby coin to me; nor a lordling’s mistress not clothed in my silks; nor a footpad lurking by Steergate, nor a burglar breaking windows in Marholme, that does not render their dues to me. The constables, courts, lawyers, and magistrates are my servants, and find as I please.”
“Passing strange, to mew it all up in a prison.”
“On the contrary, as you have proved, there is no safer place, no closer stronghold nor stronger lock.”
Grainger shook his head in doubt and dismay, and with a seed of revulsion growing also. “It defies belief and good sense that if you rule this city like a conquering prince, you consent to be immured here, a prisoner in a prisoner’s narrow cell.”
Ravenscraigh chuckled, but his eyes lighted greedily on the walls, on the neat stacks of papers and ribbons, and he spoke with the same air of distant mockery and cold, immeasurable knowledge. “Think you I require a fine house, servants in livery, jewelled mistresses with fans, proud horses, and heavy carriages to make a show of my triumphs? I could pile fortune upon fortune for display only. But these are but mean achievements, the trappings and baubles of petty minds, besides what I have done. I am fed and clothed here. I have no want of plain comforts or delicacies. I am respected, and you, sir, have engaged and diverted me often, in excellent conversation. Indeed, the company in my house is distinguished and varied! Thieves and lords sup at my table! The prison-house touches all, encompasses all, catches all, from your drunken rioter to your thief, to your gamester, to your whore, to your highwayman, your murderer, your weaver and shoemaker and carrier, all your debtors, all classes and occupations—these are the fish that come to my nets for regulation and correction. Should the fisherman house himself far from the shore? Let your merchants huddle in their counting houses and fear pilferers—not I. I am master within and without these walls, unseen, unsuspected, unspoken. For where I am not known I cannot be questioned or halted.”
“Pray enough!—no more,” said Grainger, for he felt that, through all the layers of stone and wood that lay beneath him, the cold mazement of the prison chill and the fatigue of long readiness and struggle sat heavily upon him. “Give me the papers I require, and we shall part.”
Ravenscraigh moved in the half-light of the tower-room. He went to a narrow shelf and fetched some more keys that he tossed in his hand so that the metal sounded against metal. “Forgive my curiosity, but once you have the account and confession, what would you then?”
“Why, then I would be free,” said Grainger.
“There you surprise me, Mr. Grainger. You were, if I may say, always hasty in your judgements. Do you think yourself free if you are beyond the Bellstrom gates? Will you be free with all those who were persuaded you were a murderer? Will you be free among the remnants of your estate and your good name? You have something of an attachment to that pretty girl who visits so loyally and so often. Aye, I see that it is so. Will you be free to marry her, against all the frowns and prejudices of society? Decidedly not, I imagine.”
Grainger shifted uneasily. “What do you imply?”
“Imply? Nothing. But I may advance this proposal. You are a clever fellow, Mr. Grainger. You have hounded me to my lair, and you are the first to do that and survive. Mr. Massingham had not your resources. And I will admit that though I engaged you in the first instance in order to test your intentions, and reasoned that it was wiser to keep you close than give you a free rein, you have proved yourself within the prison. You have been cunning, sharp, ruthless. Aye, you were the ruin of Mr. Starkey. You trod him down in rising; but then, he overreached himself. I have need of able lieutenants. Dirk Tallow was a fool who thought to swindle me. You are a gentleman, and will treat with me as a gentleman. Do not think I mean to keep you in the Bells. I will secure your freedom. I will provide you with an excellent house. You may use any name you wish. Let that fine girl be your mistress! I, for one, would not deny you. All you need do, in return, is protect my interests in town, and my secrecy.”
“You are the Devil,” said Grainger. “Would you tempt me?”
“My dear Mr. Grainger, I cannot tempt you. I can only urge you to be guided and enlightened by your own self-interest.”
But Grainger was already laughing, not in astonishment, but in the clean surety of the discovered truth. “You are a devil, to tempt me with what you cannot hold, and ransom me to my own estate. Should I accept, would I be found in my closet room, dead, with a pistol by my side? Nay. I will be pardoned and keep the name of Grainger and walk where I will.”
Ravenscraigh shrugged his lean old shoulders beneath his worn black coat. “That is regrettable, and, I may say, a great inconvenience to me. But you are young, and the young do not appreciate the world. Come closer, Mr. Grainger, and hold the candle higher. I cannot see the lock.” So saying, as Grainger
took the light in hand, Ravenscraigh slipped one key into the lock of a tall, rickety cabinet that was propped up against the wall and opened one panel. He extended his hand and rummaged inside. “The papers that you seek cost me a great deal to recover. They were, of course, quite fatal to my interests and quite useless for anything else.”
Ravenscraigh turned with a few folded sheets of paper, which he passed to Grainger. Grainger stood back and raised the candle to read the faint lettering on the covering sheet. As he did so, Ravenscraigh reached out to run his hand across another shelf behind him and plucked down, in a cascade of loose letters, a smallsword, a switch of oiled steel that caught a gleam from the candle. “For that reason,” he continued, “they were burnt and the ashes scattered as soon as they came to me. What you hold there are a few trifling deeds.”
“Do you mean to murder me?” said Grainger.
“I think your friends will not reach you here before I can reach them, and that many are wounded, or worse, in prison riots.”
“You forget our position.”
“On the contrary, I think if you had lodged enough evidence to unseat me, you would not be here now. I put that proposition to the test.”
“You are correct,” said Grainger ruefully. “I have not the means to depose you. At least, not yet. My words were intended to draw you out; for if you were intrigued enough, or alarmed enough, you might reveal yourself. But with the confession of Dirk Tallow and the letter that set the trap, I need only a sample of your hand, or perhaps the raven’s seal itself, to close the circle of implication and bring the scaffold of your intrigues and ventures tumbling down.”
But pride and vast ambition, subtlety and defiance, were all so blended in the old man to make him a creature of such self-assurance that the blade in his hand did not falter, but drew closer to the other’s throat. “I cannot oblige you, Mr. Grainger. And I do not see that you can do much to make your case, in the current circumstances.”
Grainger laughed, gently, and answered with a terrible smile. “On the contrary, you have played me false, but I am perfectly contented to see at last your old hoard, and all the scraps and rags of your wickedness.”
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