The Emperor of all Things

by Paul Witcover

  ‘Whether you live above the ground or beneath it, you’re still Englishmen,’ Longinus said meanwhile.

  ‘We’re Morecockneyans first,’ Cornelius replied matter-of-factly. ‘We ’ave our own king, our own country.’

  ‘Maybe we orter ’ave a look at this timepiece, Corny,’ put in Starkey. ‘Might be we should take it to ’is Majesty.’

  ‘A capital idea, Starks.’

  ‘Gentlemen, the timepiece has already been stolen from me once,’ Longinus interjected. ‘I do not mean to put myself to the trouble and risk of retrieving it only to have it stolen again. Nor is it to be idly handled – poked and prodded like some common chronometer. That is what killed Master Magnus, or so I do believe. And if he could not handle the timepiece safely – he, the foremost horologist of the age – I do not think you, or any Morecockneyan, would be advised to try.’

  ‘What about you, then, eh? You fink you’re better than Magnus?’

  ‘On the contrary, I know my limits.’

  ‘Then ’ow—’ began Starkey, but Cornelius interrupted:

  ‘Mr Quare.’

  Quare started; he had begun to think himself forgotten. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That’s why you brung ’im along,’ Cornelius continued, ignoring Quare completely. ‘You fink ’e can do what Magnus couldn’t and what you dare not even try. That’s right, ain’t it?’

  ‘Hardly. There may be one other in all of England who can discern the secrets of this timepiece, but that person is not Mr Quare. However, it’s true enough that my young friend has a certain … affinity with it,’ Longinus said. ‘I do not think it will kill him.’

  ‘’Ear that, Mr Quare?’ asked Starkey, more amused than ever. ‘’E don’t fink it’ll kill yer. ’Ow’s that for a vote o’ confidence?’

  ‘It’s not the watch I’m worried about,’ Quare answered.

  ‘So it’s a watch, is it?’ Starkey rejoined.

  ‘Of course it’s a watch,’ Longinus replied before Quare could add anything. ‘Did I not say so already?’

  ‘No, you did not,’ said Cornelius, measuring out his words. ‘What else ’ave you omitted to mention, I wonder? I thought we ’ad an understandin’, Grimalkin. An agreement. We give you the right o’ passage through our dark domain, and you give us bits o’ information and a cut o’ the swag from up top. Ain’t that always been the way of it?’

  ‘Might be it’s time to renegotiate our agreement, Corny,’ put in Starkey.

  ‘I was thinkin’ the very same, Starks.’

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ Longinus said, exasperated. ‘Gentlemen, I assure you, our need is urgent. More urgent than you can imagine. As for the agreement to which you refer, neither you, Mr Cornelius, nor you, Mr Starkey, has the right to renegotiate so much as a syllable. Do not forget that I saved your king’s life once. I dare say he has not forgotten.’

  ‘There you would be wrong,’ Starkey said. ‘King Jeremiah ’as grown rather forgetful of late, I regret ter say.’

  Cornelius added, in a voice edged with mockery, ‘Come now, sir. You cannot expect me to believe that you are ignorant o’ the fact that King Jeremiah is no longer among the livin’.’

  Longinus drew in a sharp breath. ‘Jerry dead? When? How?’

  ‘That don’t concern you,’ said Cornelius. ‘But there’s a new king on the mushroom throne. And ’e might not feel ’isself bound by any agreements entered into by ’is predecessor – kings is peculiar that way, I find.’

  ‘You know what I fink, Corny?’ piped up Starkey.

  ‘What’s that, Starks?’

  ‘I fink we should bring our guests to meet ’is Majesty.’

  By now the conversation had undergone so many twists and turns that Quare was positively dizzy. Whether the ‘Morecockneyans’ were friends or enemies or something in between, he didn’t know, but he did know that he had no desire whatsoever to meet their so-called king. And the same, it was apparent, was true of Longinus.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said as if speaking to guests in his own drawing room, ‘you know me. You know what I can do. That I have not thus far drawn my sword is a measure of my friendship with your late king, and my belief that the agreement between us was still in effect even after so many years. If that is not the case, I shall feel justified in defending myself.’ And here he did in fact make to draw his sword; seeing which, however indistinctly, Quare did likewise.

  The effect was electric. ‘No need ter be so ’asty,’ said Starkey, backing off a step.

  ‘Indeed not,’ Cornelius said. ‘We was only tryin’ ter be ’ospitable like. But I can see yer in a ’urry. Yer can always meet ’is Majesty some uvver time.’

  ‘Then our agreement is still in effect?’

  ‘’Course it is,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll just—’

  ‘Very well,’ Longinus interrupted with a satisfied nod. ‘Then by the terms of that agreement, I require your assistance, gentlemen.’

  ‘But—’ began Starkey.

  Faster than Quare could follow, Longinus’s sword was out of its scabbard. ‘You will accompany us to the guild hall of the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers,’ he said. ‘That way we can travel without the need for torches. Your vision, after all, is considerably better than our own down here. Though never fear: I can see well enough to employ this’ – he flourished the blade – ‘if we should run into any trouble along the way.’

  ‘That’s … comfortin’ ter know,’ Cornelius said after a glance at Starkey.

  ‘Mr Starkey, you will oblige me by joining Mr Cornelius at the head of our little group. Sword sheathed, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Wiv pleasure,’ he grumbled, sliding his sword back into its scabbard as he pushed past Quare, who only now drew his own blade, feeling slow and clumsy.

  ‘Now,’ Longinus said, ‘let us resume our journey in silence, for we would not wish to alert our enemies above – or, for that matter, our friends here below, who might misconstrue the situation. I trust we would all prefer to avoid such misunderstandings, eh, gentlemen?’

  ‘Assuredly,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘By all means,’ Starkey agreed.

  ‘You would do well to remember that I know the route as well as you, if not better. So you will oblige me by avoiding any short cuts or other unpleasant surprises along the way.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Starkey said.

  ‘Do you really mean to proceed without torches?’ Quare asked, not quite believing what he had heard.

  ‘The Morecockneyans, as you have surely noticed, employ a fine powder made of the crushed spores of phosphorescent fungi specially grown for the purpose,’ Longinus said. ‘You’ll find the light sufficient to travel by … or fight by, if it should come to that.’

  ‘It won’t,’ Cornelius said with assurance. ‘No surface dweller can move as quiet as a Morecockneyan, or ’ear us if we don’t wish to be ’eard. Present company excepted. Everyone knows the Grey Ghost ain’t no ordinary surface dweller.’

  ‘Ain’t no ordinary ’uman bein’, yer ask me,’ Starkey opined.

  ‘Nobody did ask, so shut yer ’ole,’ Cornelius responded with a snarl. ‘What I mean to say, Grimalkin, is that we’ll get the two of yer safely up to the guild ’all, never fear. But that’s as far as me and Starks is prepared ter go, agreement or no.’

  ‘I had not thought to presume upon you one step farther,’ Longinus said. ‘Now, pray, lead on. And remember: not a word, not a sound.’

  The two Morecockneyans set off, followed by Longinus and Quare. At first their pace was brisk, but Longinus soon called them to heel. The light emanating from the Morecockneyans, while sufficient to illuminate the way, if only just, gave the already dreamlike surroundings an even stranger aspect, so that Quare felt more than ever that he had slipped back into the Otherwhere. Everything seemed created out of nothing an instant before they came to it, and then, as soon as they were past, to dissolve again into the primordial soup that had spawned it. Quare
, after some moments, had sheathed his sword, concentrating on avoiding the obstacles that emerged as if out of thin air; at the same time, he was intent upon any hint, however faint, of the hunter’s ethereal touch. His heart pulsed; his skin tingled; his every nerve was pulled taut, vibrating like a violin string. The discordant ticking of the timepieces he carried in his clothing, a constant soft patter of sound, set him further on edge.

  But as Cornelius had promised, they encountered no one, and soon enough they stood at the entrance to a passage that, according to Longinus, led into the lowest levels of the guild hall. Quare had no idea how much time had passed since he and his mentor had begun their subterranean journey, but it seemed impossible that it should still be night. Nevertheless, Longinus appeared unconcerned.

  ‘Gentlemen, thank you for the guidance,’ he said. ‘We are in your debt.’

  ‘Quite all right,’ whispered Cornelius. ‘I reckon you can find yer own way from ’ere.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ he said.

  ‘I guess we’ll be ’eadin’ ’ome, then,’ Starkey said. ‘Best o’ luck to yer both.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow that,’ Longinus said, already moving as he spoke, a shadowy blur.

  Quare heard two surprised exhalations, so close in time as to be almost a single sigh. Cornelius and Starkey sank to the ground. He gaped like a schoolboy.

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ Longinus hissed. ‘Help me move them.’

  ‘Are they … dead?’

  ‘Do you take me for a cold-blooded murderer?’

  ‘No – a regulator.’

  This drew an appreciative chuckle. ‘Touché, Mr Quare. But they are not dead, merely rendered insensible by a salve on my dagger point. They will regain consciousness in a few hours, none the worse for wear. By which time we shall either be long gone … or it will no longer matter.’

  ‘But why …?’

  ‘Surely you could see that they were not to be trusted. Things are different down here. I have been absent too long. Jerry – that is, King Jeremiah – is dead. I confess, I hadn’t expected that. From the sound of it, I do not think my old friend died peaceably in his sleep. He had no heir, only a gaggle of bastards – no offence, Mr Quare. But it seems plain that Cornelius and Starkey serve whoever it is that now sits upon the mushroom throne. Had I allowed them to depart, they would have reported back to him and then returned here with others to wait for our exit. They would have set upon us, stolen the timepiece, and left us for dead. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind.’

  ‘Well, you have made an enemy of them now … and of their new king, whoever he may be.’

  ‘Regrettable but necessary. With luck, I shall have time to make amends, if warranted, though in truth I have shown our friends here more mercy than they would have given us, had they not been too intimidated by the reputation of the Grey Ghost.’

  ‘Another of your aliases?’

  ‘A nickname bestowed by King Jeremiah. I am most sorry to learn of his death. He was a giant in stature and in heart – every inch a king. When we have finished here, I shall look into the manner of his death. If it be murder, I will see that justice is done, one way or another. I swear it. But that is for later. The hunter awaits us, and time is short. Come, sir – let us be about our business.’

  With that, he laid hold of Cornelius’s bulky form and, again evidencing his surprising strength, dragged the man into the passage; Quare did likewise with Starkey, who was as light as a bird. Beyond the narrow opening, the passage widened considerably, and they were able to deposit the bodies off to one side, leaning the two men against the rock wall, their legs stretched out before them, heads lolling, so that they resembled two sentries napping on the job.

  ‘Should we not bind them?’ Quare asked.

  ‘No need,’ Longinus assured him. ‘One way or another, this will be over by the time they regain their senses.’

  ‘Still, I should rather be safe than sorry.’ Quare cut strips of cloth from the Morecockneyans’ clothing and secured their hands behind their backs. ‘That will slow them down at least, if they awaken sooner than you expect. I would not like to find them waiting for us when we return. Perhaps we should take their weapons as well …’

  ‘And dispose of them where, precisely? Caution is commendable, but what is required now, Mr Quare, is speed and stealth. From this point on, not a word unless absolutely necessary. We shall endeavour to escape detection and to avoid violence for as long as possible; with luck, we shall be in and out without any bloodshed. But if we are not so lucky, do not hesitate – strike to kill. Do you understand?’

  Quare, however, did not reply.

  ‘Mr Quare, do you understand? What has come over you, sir?’

  And indeed, Quare had not heard a word Longinus had spoken. Instead, he was listening to another voice: faint but insistent. It called to him like a siren’s song. Not at all the brutal invasion he had experienced earlier, as of invisible talons clawing at his heart. This was a gentle suasion, an invitation, a seduction. If this was the hunter, then what had assailed him before?

  ‘Mr Quare!’

  He blinked, recalled to himself. ‘The hunter is here,’ he said. ‘It calls to me.’

  ‘I hear nothing,’ Longinus returned.

  ‘As you said, I have an affinity with the timepiece.’

  ‘Can you discern its location?’

  Quare pointed upwards.

  17

  The Song of the Hunter

  LONGINUS ASKED NO more questions but drew his grey scarf over his mouth and nose. It was astonishing how the man vanished behind the mask; Quare could not have guessed, had he not already known, the age or even the sex of the person who stood before him. Longinus was gone: there was only Grimalkin, a lithe, shadowy figure exuding quietly coiled menace. As Quare drew his own mask into place, he wondered if he presented a similarly forbidding aspect.

  Now, from one of the pouches at his belt, Longinus produced a glass vial whose contents were aglow with the same greenish light that emanated from the powder coating the unconscious Morecockneyans cap-a-pie. He gave this a shake, at which the light brightened; holding it upraised before him, he set off down the passage. From Quare’s perspective, trailing close behind, it was as if they were being led by a flitting firefly, or perhaps a fairy.

  The latter association seemed all the more fitting in that the call of the hunter continued to beckon him onwards, or rather upwards, growing clearer and more enticing with every step, so that he had to keep himself from rushing ahead. The song was like no music he had ever heard; it was closer to birdsong, he decided, in that it seemed the spontaneous expression of a nature shaped to give voice to just that sound and no other; there was joy in it, a wild and carefree delight in being that lifted his heart on echoing swells, but there was also urgency, as if the watch were calling out for something needful, whose lack left it incomplete.

  He recalled the words of Tiamat: It is just what you have called it: a hunter. It hunts . Was it hunting him? And, if so, for what purpose? It will answer to you now , the dragon had said, protect you … but do not imagine yourself its master. It is a weapon, a very great weapon – too great to be left in the hands of men . But was there ever a weapon that sang so sweetly?

  He would not have stopped or turned back now even if it had been possible, impelled as much by his own curiosity as by any geis laid upon him by Tiamat or the hunter. Anticipation grew in him with every step. He felt that he was advancing to meet his destiny. I am coming , he thought, wondering if the hunter could hear him or sense his approach somehow. Perhaps his thoughts, too, made a kind of music.

  At last, after a steady but not precipitous upwards climb, they reached a solid wall of packed stones. Longinus put his ear to the wall and listened. Then, satisfied, he set the glowing vial upon the ground to one side and began to prise out certain of the stones. Though they had appeared to be tightly wedged together, the stones slid out with ease, and soon there was room enough for the
two men to crawl through, which they wasted no time in doing, Longinus still leading the way, the vial once again held before him.

  The passage on the far side of the barrier looked no different than it had before, yet Quare sensed they had entered the precincts of the guild hall. The oppressive atmosphere lifted; it was as if they’d left a dense and gloom-ridden forest behind and, though still among the trees, had reached the outskirts of civilization. Perhaps, he thought, it was a subtle change in the hunter’s song that communicated this knowledge to him; he could not say for certain, but he did feel that the song, though wordless, had meaning … just as birdsong had its own meaning, hidden as it might be to human ears.

  Longinus set a faster pace now, though he continued to move with the stealth and silence of his feline namesake. Quare, try as he might, could not match him in either respect, and he winced more than once as an errant footfall broadcast his presence. But no voices were raised in challenge, and he saw no glimmer of torchlight from ahead, just the lambent glow from the vial, preceding them like a will-o’-the-wisp.

  The rough stone of the passage gave way to cut stone, and then to the long corridor of cells he’d last visited little more than a day ago – it seemed another lifetime! The corridor, too, was lightless, nor was there any hint of illumination behind any of the cell doors. He wondered if Longinus meant to make use of the same stair-master by which the two of them had escaped to the rooftop, but it appeared not, as the man passed cell after cell and made straight for the doorway at the end of the corridor.

  ‘Hsst! Who goes there?’ came a quavering voice from the last cell on the left.

  Quare froze, as did Longinus; the green light winked out in an instant.

  ‘Who’s there?’ the shaky voice repeated from out of the dark. It was a voice Quare recognized but had not thought ever to hear again.

  Receiving no reply, the voice grew louder, edged with panic. ‘For God’s sake, say something! Stop this damned torture and show yourself!’