The stair-master came to a halt. The door slid open, revealing a corridor lit by candles burning in bronze sconces upon the wall. Longinus gestured for Quare to step out. He did so, and his host came out behind him.
‘Follow me, Mr Quare,’ he said. ‘I am about to show you something no one else has ever seen.’ The corridor was lined with doors on both sides; a hodge-podge of timepieces cluttered the walls, gleaming in the candlelight. The corridor ended in another door, which Longinus opened with a key produced from a pocket in his robe. Quare, looking over Longinus’s shoulder, saw the vague outlines of a room but could make out nothing of its dimensions or contents in the wavering light from behind. Then, plucking a candle from one of the sconces, Longinus entered the room, where he lit other candles, revealing all.
‘Behold Grimalkin’s lair,’ he said with a theatrical flourish.
The room was smaller than his room at Mrs Puddinge’s establishment but far more luxurious in its appointments. Yet it was not the furnishings that left him most amazed. A veritable armoury covered one wall: swords and daggers, crossbows, pistols, and other, less ordinary weapons: a pair of sticks joined by a chain; a sharply hooked, flat but wide wooden blade something like the hands of a clock frozen at the hour of three; a flute-like instrument with tiny feathered darts alongside; small, thin silver discs like gears with teeth as cruel as a shark’s. Everything was immaculate: the metal shone, the wood gleamed. On the adjoining wall, to Quare’s right, hung items of clothing – breeches, shirts, boots, cloaks, hoods, kerchiefs … all in the same shade of ash grey. A long table of dark wood against the wall to his left displayed as many glass vials and clay pots as an apothecary’s shop or an alchemist’s laboratory. Interspersed with everything on the walls were still more clocks, all of them ticking busily, none of them showing the same time.
‘Come, sir,’ said Longinus. ‘Let us dress and arm ourselves. Then we shall be off!’
Quare stepped into the room. ‘So it’s true,’ he said. ‘You really are Grimalkin.’ He had not entirely believed it until now.
‘Was,’ Longinus corrected. ‘And will be again, for tonight, at least. As will you; we shall both be garbed as Grimalkin, the better to— Why, what is so amusing?’
For Quare had begun to chuckle. ‘How strange!’ he said. ‘When I told Master Magnus of my rooftop encounter, and revealed that the great Grimalkin, as I thought then, was a woman, he advanced a hypothesis I considered most unlikely – so unlikely that I argued against it … with as little success as, knowing him, you may imagine.’
‘What was this hypothesis?’ inquired Longinus with an expression of interest.
‘Magnus believed you had been confronted by not one but two Grimalkins . The real one and a disguised confederate, the object being to sow confusion and apprehension in their target – that is, in you. And now here we are, adopting the very strategy ourselves!’
Longinus did not appear to share Quare’s amusement. ‘A coincidence, no more. Or less even than that, for two generals, after all, may employ the same means to achieve an objective; it is the circumstances that dictate a particular tactical approach. Magnus may have been wrong in his hypothesis – though strictly speaking he was not, for there were two Grimalkins in the attic that night: myself and the imposter! – but the logic behind his reasoning was sound. Grimalkin has a fearsome reputation, as you know. He is rumoured to be a ghost, a devil. No walls can keep him out; no weapons, it is said, can harm him. That reputation will aid us, giving us an advantage over our adversaries, even if it is only a matter of seconds. In such situations as we are about to enter, Mr Quare, life or death, success or failure, hinges upon seconds. The one who best exploits them will almost invariably win.’
‘You speak as if it were a game.’
‘Why, and so it is – like a game of chess, which can be won in an instant, through checkmate, or the sudden capture of a queen, or more slowly, by the accumulation of lesser pieces, even lowly pawns. Gain enough pawns, or seconds, as the case may be, and victory becomes that much more likely.’
‘A game of time,’ Quare said; then added bitterly: ‘Only, we are not the players. We are the pawns.’
‘That is so,’ Longinus agreed. ‘But do not forget that pawns may be promoted.’
‘To other pieces,’ said Quare. ‘They cannot become players themselves.’
‘In chess. But this is not chess, Mr Quare. In this game, as you have seen, we can rise up from the board and move into the world beyond it, the world of the true players: the Otherwhere. Once there, why should we not become players? It is our right, as thinking beings and as Englishmen, to determine our own destiny, or at least to have a say in it, just as our representatives in Parliament act as a check on the powers of the king. Tonight we take the first, indispensable step towards that goal.’
Quare was unimpressed. ‘You think that gaining possession of the hunter will make us the equal of Doppler and the others?’
‘Obviously not,’ Longinus granted. ‘But it will, at the very least, improve our position.’
‘Or simply make us more of a target than we are already.’
‘Faint heart never won fair lady, Mr Quare! To do much, one must dare much. When Corinna held the hunter in her hand, neither Adolpheus nor the dragon Hesta dared to strike us down: the one with an army at his back, the other mightier still. There is power in that watch, a power feared even by those we must regard as nearer to gods than to men. Should we, for that reason, bow our heads meekly and offer up our surrender? No, sir. That I will never do! Not while I have the strength and wit to seek a better outcome.’
Quare felt ashamed. ‘I am merely trying to be realistic.’
‘It is our plain duty to deny this infernal device to anyone who might trigger it, whether purposely or by accident. Doppler seeks it still. The Old Wolf possesses it – who can say what mischief he is up to even now? Nor is it likely that the French have given up their pursuit; the villain who stabbed you and murdered eight people in cold blood is still at large. Doppler I fear because of his knowledge; the others because of their ignorance. No, Mr Quare. I mean to have that watch – with your help, if you will give it, but alone if I must.’
‘And once you have it – what then? Anything we attempt with the hunter is as likely to have a catastrophic as a beneficial result. We do not know how to use it safely, or, indeed, how to use it at all, beyond the fact that it has a taste for human blood. I, for one, do not care to give it any more of mine than it has drunk already.’
‘We do not need to do anything with it,’ Longinus persisted. ‘Possession alone will give us a seat at the game … and guarantee our safety as well.’
‘How so?’
‘We know that there are at least three factions vying for the hunter: Doppler and his risen angels; another group of angels – let us call them rebels – who oppose him; and a third party, whose identity and interests we do not precisely know but whose existence we have inferred from certain hints dropped by the false Grimalkin, who may or may not have been sent by them. If we possess the hunter, and any one of those parties should seek to move against us, the self-interest of the others must compel them to intercede on our behalf, so as to maintain the status quo. The logic is impeccable, Mr Quare.’
‘Is it? Men are not logical creatures, Longinus. We do not act according to the cold dictates of reason, nor out of enlightened self-interest – not in the small events of our everyday lives, and still less in the pursuit of such power as this. It has always been thus. And, from what you have told me, and my own small experience, I judge that things are no different among the angels, risen or rebel.’
‘I would be a fool to deny it,’ Longinus said. ‘Still, I will go regardless. Are you with me, Mr Quare? You have misgivings, it is plain. That is understandable. But if you mean to withdraw, do it now. If that is your decision, I will respect it – though I confess I would think less of you.’
‘I will go,’ he answered, feeling again the iron compulsion
laid upon him by Tiamat. ‘I have no choice.’
‘Good man.’ Longinus grinned. ‘Master Magnus would be proud.’
Quare knew better, but could say nothing.
After they had dressed – Longinus transferring from his old clothes to his new ones the array of timepieces he always carried, and supplying Quare with ten watches he had brought for that specific purpose; shirt, breeches and boots all had pockets sewn to hold them – the two men regarded themselves in a full-length mirror.
‘Why, we are as alike as two peas in a pod,’ Longinus exclaimed, delighted.
Indeed, with hoods raised and masking kerchiefs in place, the two Grimalkins reflected in the glass were indistinguishable. In height, there was not an inch of difference between them; in build, both were slender as whippets; the eyes that peered out beneath the hoods were the same ghostly greyish blue. Longinus had divested himself of his powder and beauty mark, so even the exposed skin of their faces was the same pale hue.
Faced with this resemblance, Quare experienced a sudden and shocking surmise. ‘Longinus,’ he said, then paused and removed his mask. He took a breath and began again. ‘Lord Wichcote … forgive me, but there is no discreet way to ask, and I must know. Are you my father?’
At this, Longinus removed his own mask. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You said yourself we are alike as two peas in a pod,’ Quare said.
‘But why should that make you think I might be your father?’ Longinus seemed baffled. ‘Many men resemble each other without there being a drop of blood between them.’
Quare could not keep a tremor of emotion from his voice. ‘Surely you must know that I am a bastard – it is no secret. All the guild knows. But Master Magnus once told me that my father was still alive. Indeed, he promised to help me find him if I agreed to become a regulator. Now I cannot help but wonder if that is why he sent me here, to you, for my first assignment. Why, before his death, he had planned to bring us together – you told me so yourself!’
‘That is true. But I am sorry, Mr Quare … Daniel. I would be proud to have such a son as you. And if somehow you were my son, and I had been in ignorance of your existence, I would make up for it by acknowledging you before the world, gladly and without hesitation. Yet the fact remains that I am not.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘Do you recall what Corinna told me as we were making our escape from Märchen? She warned me to be careful of what I said, because words spoken in the Otherwhere had a way of coming true. And so it has proved. I swore to her that I would desire no other woman, and that is exactly what has come to pass. I am not your father, sir. I am no one’s father and shall never be. I am impotent, you see – and have been ever since my return from Märchen.’
Quare studied the man’s face, but there was no hint of anything there but sincerity. He swallowed his disappointment. ‘I am sorry, sir.’
‘I am sorry as well,’ Longinus said, still holding his gaze. He laid a gentle hand on Quare’s shoulder. ‘I meant what I said about being proud to have you as a son. Any man would be.’
‘Save for my father, apparently.’
‘In fairness, he may not know. I have no doubt that Magnus would have uncovered the truth, had he lived. But I am not without resources of my own. I will look into the matter, sir. I give you my word.’
Quare, unable to speak, nodded.
Longinus returned an encouraging smile and clapped him upon the shoulder. ‘Now, sir, let us arm ourselves.’
Longinus took a sword, a dagger and a crossbow, strapping the latter, with a brace of bolts, across his back. He took a handful of the silver stars, which he explained were for throwing, and the flute-like instrument with its collection of small, feathered darts; this, he said, was a blowpipe, a weapon he had come across in his travels. The darts were tipped with a poison that would swiftly paralyse their target. The throwing stars, blowpipe and darts he tucked into the underside of his cloak. Finally he took down a pair of pistols and slid them into holsters strapped to his thighs. These trim guns were unlike any Quare had seen before.
‘Another of Magnus’s inventions,’ Longinus said. ‘They require no priming and are always ready to fire, even in the most inclement weather.’
‘No primer? How, then, does the pistol discharge?’
‘The primer is already added, part of the projectile itself. What’s more, each pistol can fire four shots without reloading.’
‘Why aren’t His Majesty’s troops equipped with these weapons?’ Quare wondered. ‘They could turn the tide in the war.’
‘As to that, you must ask Mr Pitt. But I can hazard a guess. The problem with such innovations as this is that they represent a kind of Pandora’s box. If we were to make thousands of these guns, and equip our soldiers with them, it would not be long – perhaps even before the first shot was fired on a battlefield, for England is riddled with spies – before the enemy had learned of it, analysed the mechanism, and introduced an equivalent or even superior weapon. I believe, then – though I have no first-hand knowledge of it – that we are holding this and other, similar inventions in reserve, in case the French cross the Channel in force. I certainly hope that is the case. For if that should ever come to pass, we would be in desperate straits indeed.’
Turning to the table, Longinus filled a number of glass or clay containers with an assortment of powders and liquids, which he then slipped into small grey pouches and attached to his belt; here were smokescreens, bomblets, gases to burn the eyes and the lungs.
‘You seem prepared for any eventuality,’ Quare said, impressed.
‘One endeavours to anticipate,’ Longinus said. ‘But one invariably encounters the unexpected. No doubt that will be as true tonight as any other night, if not more so. I dare not supply you with any of my potions or powders, Mr Quare; you would be as likely to use them accidentally against us as against any enemy we may encounter. The same goes for my more exotic weapons. When we have sufficient time, I will train you in their use. But for tonight, you will carry only your sword, a dagger and a crossbow. And, if you like, one of Magnus’s pistols.’
‘I should like that very much. Only, I hope I shall have no cause to fire it.’
‘As do I. But if the need arises, do not hesitate. You will find the recoil somewhat more than you are used to, but the accuracy substantially improved.’
Once Quare was fitted out – this included pouches attached to his belt, each filled with another pocket watch, so that his appearance matched that of Longinus in every outward detail, at least upon casual examination – Longinus drew a close-fitting pair of grey silk gloves onto his hands, completing his transformation into Grimalkin, then presented another pair of gloves to Quare, who found them a tight squeeze but no impediment to his manual dexterity.
‘Now let us pay the Old Wolf a visit,’ Longinus said with a grin.
Quare nodded, his mouth dry.
Longinus returned to the full-length mirror, as if to inspect himself once more. He touched a corner of the frame, and the mirror swung open, revealing the small candlelit chamber of another stair-master.
‘Why, is there a room in your house that does not contain one of these devices?’ asked Quare.
Longinus said nothing. He gestured Quare into the chamber, then followed him inside. He closed the door, tugged the pull, and the stair-master began to descend.
Quare counted the seconds to himself. When he reached twenty-two, the stair-master slowed; at twenty-eight it stopped. The door slid open, revealing what appeared to be, at least as far as Quare could judge in the weak light, a fissure carved out of solid rock, scarce wide enough for two men to stand side by side. He could not see very far before a curtain of darkness descended, but he felt a whisper of cold, damp air that suggested the fissure extended a good distance ahead.
‘What is this place?’ he whispered, as if standing on the hushed threshold of a cathedral.
‘You shall see,’ Longinus answered in a whisper of his o
wn. He gestured for Quare to step out and then followed him out of the chamber, lifting two candles from their sconces. One of these he passed to Quare.
As the door closed behind them, Longinus led Quare into the depths of the fissure, which narrowed as they advanced, until they were walking single file. The path zigged and zagged, following a gentle but steady decline. The chill in the air grew more pronounced, and Quare smelled a damp mineral tang. The words walls , floor and ceiling were too suggestive of civilization to describe what surrounded him; this passage, he realized, had not been carved or even extended by the hand of man but instead had been cut into the bedrock of the earth by Nature herself in some ancient paroxysm of violence that had sundered stone from stone. The rock was slick with moisture, and there was a sound of dripping, eerily magnified, that wove in and out of the sounds of their own footsteps and breathing: a sound very much like the ticking of the clocks in the rooms above, as if Longinus’s temporal shield extended even below the surface.
‘How deep are we?’ he asked, still whispering.
‘A quarter of a mile,’ said Longinus.
‘Does this passage lead to the guild hall?’
‘Not this passage, no,’ Longinus said. ‘We must go deeper for that.’
‘Deeper? How far does this fissure descend?’
‘Why, we have barely scratched the surface,’ Longinus said, sounding amused. ‘Did you not know that the netherworld of London is honeycombed with such spaces as this? Here one might see Nature’s rough draft of Magnus’s internet.’
As he spoke, the fissure widened. Longinus used his candle to light a torch that lay, along with a supply of others, against the rock face to their right. The flame sprang up, and the darkness fell back, revealing a vast chamber whose full extent was impossible to judge. Quare lit a torch of his own and raised it, gazing about in awe. ‘Incredible – we might almost be standing beneath the dome of St Paul’s!’
The Emperor of all Things Page 42
