Quare kept silent, following Longinus’s lead. But questions were swirling through his brain, clamouring to be asked.
‘Answer me, damn you!’ the voice cried angrily. ‘If you mean to kill me, come and try, you damned cowardly curs!’
At this, Longinus spoke at last. ‘Hsst! Quiet, man. I have no interest in killing you. I have no interest in you at all.’
Quare did not recognize this voice: a deep, intimidating growl. The voice of Grimalkin.
It did not intimidate the prisoner, however. ‘You’re not one of the Old Wolf’s gang, are you? Listen, if you get me out of here, I swear I won’t betray you!’
‘I could be a French assassin for all you know, come to murder your grandmaster.’
‘I don’t give a fig if you are! The bloody bastard means to murder me!’
‘You say you would not betray me, yet already you have offered to betray your country.’
‘This is not my country! I wasn’t born here, and I have no desire to die here. Let me out, damn you, or I’ll bring the whole nest down on your heads, I swear it!’
‘These walls are thick. No one will hear your cries.’
‘Let us put it to the test, shall we?’ And he began to scream: ‘Help! Murder! Help! Treason!’
‘Quiet!’ Longinus said. ‘Very well, I will see what I can do. Step away from the door.’
‘Gladly,’ said the voice.
The green light rekindled; by its glow, Quare saw Longinus approach the door of the cell. He hurried towards him. Longinus glanced at him and motioned for him to stay put. But he stepped close and laid a restraining hand on Longinus’s arm.
‘I know this man,’ he whispered. ‘It’s—’
‘Yes, there is no mistaking that uncouth accent,’ Longinus whispered back.
‘What do you mean to do to him?’
‘I’ll put him to sleep, as I did the Morecockneyans.’
‘We must question him first,’ Quare said.
‘There is no time.’
‘What’s going on out there?’ the voice demanded. ‘How many of you are there?’
‘I told you to step away,’ Longinus replied in the stentorian tones of Grimalkin. Reaching into another of the pouches at his waist, he produced an iron key and fitted it to the lock. There was a dull clank of tumblers turning. Then, after replacing the key, he drew his dagger. Quare drew his own. Stepping back, Longinus gestured for Quare to open the door.
The heavy door swung inwards; both men tensed, as if expecting the prisoner to hurl himself upon them, but no one emerged. Cautiously, the glowing vial held before him like a shield, dagger at the ready, Longinus stepped into the room; Quare followed, swinging the door shut behind him.
There, blinking in the weak light, stood Gerald Pickens.
Though Quare had recognized the voice and its bland American accent, seeing the man in the flesh was a shock. He had thought Pickens dead, murdered by Aylesford along with Mansfield and Farthingale that horrible night at the Pig and Rooster. But here he stood, very much alive – though the worse for wear. His once-fine clothes were torn and stained with what looked to be blood, and his once-handsome face bore the marks of a thorough beating. His left arm hung useless in a sling; the other was upraised as if to fend off a killing blow.
‘Who are you people?’ he asked now. ‘Why are you wearing those masks?’
‘You wound me, sir,’ growled Longinus. ‘Have you not heard of Grimalkin?’
‘I have … But I had not heard there were two of him!’
‘Who is to say there are not three, four, a hundred Grimalkins? But we mean you no harm,’ Longinus continued. ‘Who are you, and how did you come to be here?’
‘I’m Gerald Pickens, a journeyman of this company. As to how I came to be here, why, I scarcely know myself! But it seems I am a pawn in a larger game – a pawn about to be sacrificed.’
‘What do you mean? Quickly, now!’
‘Have you not heard of the foul murders that have set the whole city on edge? You called me traitor, but the real traitor is still at large somewhere in London!’
‘You mean Aylesford,’ said Longinus.
‘Aylesford?’ Pickens shook his head. ‘He is dead, another victim of the traitor, or so I am told.’
‘What traitor?’
‘Why, the infamous Quare, of course.’
‘What?’ The word burst from Quare before he could help himself.
‘Another journeyman of this company,’ Pickens explained. ‘A friend – or so I thought. But would you believe it, in the pay of the French all along. It was he who murdered Aylesford and the rest – including poor Master Magnus, God rest his soul. Only, don’t you see, the man has fled. To where, who can say? Back to his masters, no doubt. But now, with the city in an uproar, the powers that be require a scapegoat. You are looking at that unfortunate man. Quare attacked me at the Pig and Rooster – from behind, the blackguard! – and left me for dead, but I was only stunned. I survived. And this is my reward! I am to hang for the crimes of another man. My name is to be blackened, my family dishonoured. So much for the king’s justice!’
‘This is intolerable,’ Quare said.
‘There is naught to be done about it now,’ Longinus said.
‘Take me with you!’ Pickens cried. ‘I won’t give you away – I swear it! And I can help you navigate the twists and turns of this infernal labyrinth of a guild hall! I must be free to clear my name – to find Quare and bring him to justice.’
‘You have found him,’ said Quare, and pulled down his mask even as Longinus called out ‘No!’
Pickens sagged back as though struck a blow. Then, gathering his courage, he said, ‘So, traitor, have you come to finish the job?’
‘I am as innocent as you are,’ Quare said. ‘I, too, was meant to be a scapegoat for these heinous crimes, but I escaped … with the help of Grimalkin here – the real Grimalkin.’
‘Why would a thief help you escape?’
‘He is no thief, any more than I am a murderer.’
‘Then who …?’
‘Aylesford,’ Quare said. ‘He confessed as much to me across swords, but I was unable to dispatch him. He is the traitor – a Scottish loyalist in the pay of the French.’
‘Can you prove this?’ Pickens demanded.
‘Alas, no,’ Quare said. ‘I cannot yet clear my name – or yours, for that matter. The conspiracy against us goes beyond the Old Wolf, all the way to Mr Pitt … or so I am reliably informed.’
‘It is true,’ Longinus said. ‘It may well be that His Majesty himself, misled by others, has ordered your sacrifice, Mr Pickens.’
‘Then why have you come here,’ Pickens asked, ‘if not to clear your name? Do you mean to kill the Old Wolf after all?’
‘To answer that would be to unfold a story we do not have the time to tell – nor would you be likely to believe it in any case,’ Quare said.
‘The question is, rather, what shall we do with you, Mr Pickens?’ asked Longinus. ‘We cannot simply render you unconscious, as I had planned, since Mr Quare has revealed himself to you, and you would surely, whether willingly or not, reveal this in turn to the Old Wolf under questioning.’
‘You cannot mean …’
‘I should hate to murder a man in cold blood, especially an innocent man. But I will do so if there is no alternative.’
‘Take me with you,’ Pickens implored. ‘I may be injured, but I can still be of help. I dare say I know the guild hall as well if not better than Quare does, and if it comes to a fight, why, I am right-handed and not unskilled with a blade. I am – or, rather, was, as I have now been expelled from the Most Secret and Exalted Order – a regulator. I suppose it can do me no harm to confess that now.’
‘I, too, was a member of that order!’ Quare said. ‘Master Magnus, God rest his soul, recruited me.’
‘As he did me,’ Pickens said with a grin rendered ghastly by the green light and the bruises covering his face. ‘I know I used to tease you
about being a regulator, Quare, but I swear it was only as a joke, to deflect any suspicion from myself! I had no inkling that you might really be one!’
‘Nor I you,’ said Quare, grinning himself.
‘Enough,’ Longinus interjected in Grimalkin’s growl. ‘There may be a way. But know this, Mr Pickens: if you betray us by word or deed – or even by thought – I shall know it, and I shall know how to repay it. In that case, you will be the first to die.’
‘I shall give you no cause to doubt me, I swear it,’ said Pickens.
‘We are about the business of the kingdom this night, Mr Quare and I, and the fate of crown and country may well hinge upon our success,’ Longinus said. ‘If you would aid us, then you must swear to obey me without question or hesitation, on your honour as a journeyman of this company, by the oath you swore to be true to His Majesty, so help you God.’
‘I swear it. So help me God.’
‘Very well.’ Longinus put up his dagger and made his way to the back of the cell. There he paused, examining the wall, though Quare could see nothing of note there, just blocks of heavy stone mortared into place. This cell was both smaller and less well appointed than the one in which he had been held: there was no desk, no pallet, no fireplace. Clearly, after his escape, the Old Wolf had intended to take no chances with Pickens.
‘I say, Quare, is it really the fabled Grimalkin?’ Pickens asked him meanwhile in a whisper.
‘None other,’ Quare said.
‘Who is he behind that mask?’
‘I cannot say,’ Quare replied. ‘He is a man of unexpected talents. A regulator, in fact, if you can believe it.’
‘I … scarcely know what to believe any more.’
‘I know the feeling.’
‘Ah, here it is.’ Longinus’s gloved fingers moved over the wall; with a sudden grinding sound that made Quare start, a single block of stone, at chest height, slid into the wall, leaving a hollow space. ‘Mr Quare, Mr Pickens, if you please, gentlemen.’
The two men glanced at each other and then approached Longinus.
‘I am no stranger to this place,’ he said, addressing Pickens. ‘As Mr Quare has told you, I, too, have been a regulator in my time, recruited, like yourself, by Master Magnus.’ As he spoke, he reached into the hollow, then withdrew his hand.
Pickens stepped back with a cry as a narrow section of wall, extending from floor to ceiling, pivoted in silence, like a door swinging on oiled hinges, to produce an opening where none had been before. Quare, who had by now almost come to expect such surprises where Longinus was concerned, looked on with curiosity. Was this another stair-master?
‘Every cell has its secrets,’ said Longinus. ‘The guild hall is riddled with hidden rooms and passages added piecemeal over the centuries by men whose names have been as thoroughly forgotten as their constructs – but not by me. Thus I have prepared these cells against the eventuality of my ever being imprisoned here.’ He stepped into the opening, taking the wan light with him, which dwindled and then winked out altogether.
Pickens’s voice wavered out of the dark. ‘Where has he gone, Quare? What the devil is he up to? Does he mean to abandon us?’
Grimalkin’s gruff voice replied from within the wall before Quare could answer. ‘Quiet, Mr Pickens. From this moment, you will say nothing unless it is in reply to a question I have asked you.’
The light reappeared, a distant, solitary star whose shine increased until Longinus emerged back into the cell. In his arms he carried a dark bundle. ‘Mr Quare, you will help Mr Pickens into these clothes.’
Pickens looked somewhat sceptical at this but did not protest or speak a word as, with Quare’s help, he dressed himself in the clothing provided . His torn and bloodstained clothes he handed to Longinus, who, pinching them between his fingers with evident distaste, flung them into the opening, where they vanished as if into an abyss.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Longinus when at last Pickens was fully dressed, ‘your masks, if you please.’
Quare tugged his mask into place; Pickens did likewise; and suddenly three Grimalkins stood in the cell where only two had entered.
Longinus studied Pickens thoughtfully. ‘You’ll do, Mr Pickens. I do not trust you sufficiently to provide you with a weapon, but if all goes well you shall not need one, and if things go badly the lack is not likely to matter much. Now, sir, have you heard or seen aught of an unusual watch in the possession of the Old Wolf – a hunter, in point of fact?’
‘N-no,’ stammered Pickens.
‘That watch is our objective,’ Longinus said. ‘It will likely be hidden, in which case an extra pair of eyes will not go amiss.’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Mr Quare?’ Longinus invited.
‘It appears at first to be an ordinary pocket watch,’ Quare said. ‘Its casing is of silver, but without outward embellishment or ornamentation. Yet two peculiarities are evident upon closer inspection. First, the watch is unusually thin. Second, it lacks a stem or indeed any winding mechanism. Should you find it, do not open it for anything.’
‘If you find it, Mr Pickens, you are to alert Mr Quare or me at once,’ Longinus added. ‘Is that clear?’
‘Absolutely … and yet not at all. What is the significance of this watch? Does it hold some secret message?’
‘Perhaps we shall take you more deeply into our confidence once you have proved yourself worthy of it. But that is all you need to know at present. And now, gentlemen, let us return to the matter at hand. I will take the lead; Mr Pickens, you will follow; Mr Quare, you will bring up the rear. Remember: not a word, not a sound. You will keep your dagger to hand, Mr Quare, and if it seems to you that Mr Pickens is about to betray us in any way, you will use it at once, without hesitation.’
‘I won’t,’ Pickens said.
Quare nodded, his mouth dry.
Longinus stepped past them, to the door of the cell, where he listened for a moment before opening it and slipping out into the hallway. Pickens followed, then Quare, who closed the door behind him. Regarding the grey shape before him, Quare drew his dagger, wondering if he could really stab the man in the back should it prove necessary. He hoped he would not have to find out.
Longinus led them to the end of the corridor, where a large, heavy door blocked their passage. He put his ear to it, and, after a moment, satisfied, produced the key that had opened the door to Pickens’s cell; it proved effective here as well. They passed through in single file, Quare again bringing up the rear and closing the door behind him.
In the excitement of finding Pickens, the song of the hunter had faded to the back of Quare’s mind. Now it surged forward again, louder and more insistent, as if some fresh urgency had arisen. He did not know how to communicate this to Longinus without speaking, and yet he did not dare say a word; they had entered a more frequently travelled area of the guild hall, one lit by candles burning in sconces, though this passage was deserted now. Ancient oil paintings and tapestries decorated the walls, their subjects faded to mere suggestions of shape and colour.
Longinus glided like a fog across the floor. Pickens could not match him but acquitted himself well enough, as did Quare, whose attention was divided between the summons only he could hear and the back of the man he might at any moment be called upon to murder.
They traversed one corridor, then another, then climbed a flight of stairs, all without encountering a soul. But just as they reached the top of the stairs and entered another candlelit hallway, this one lined with doors, a man came around the far corner, short and rotund, waddling with haste. It was Master Malrubius, the Old Wolf’s sycophant and shadow.
Malrubius stopped short at the sight of them, as did the armed servant who stepped into view beside him an instant later. Quare and Pickens also froze, but Longinus accelerated.
Quick as lightning, two blurs shot down the corridor; each found its mark, and the two men stiffened and collapsed before they could cry out a warning or indeed make any sound at all
. By the time they hit the floor , Longinus was kneeling beside them to retrieve what he had thrown. He glanced up as Quare and Pickens arrived at a run, putting a finger to his mask for silence.
‘Have you killed them?’ Pickens demanded in a breathless whisper.
‘They are merely unconscious,’ said Longinus.
‘Good.’ With no more warning than that, Pickens drew back his boot and delivered a vicious kick to the unprotected face of Master Malrubius. And then another. Quare heard the crack of the man’s nose breaking. By which time he had resheathed his blade and locked his arms about Pickens from behind, pinning his arms to his chest and hauling him back.
‘Let me go!’ Pickens said, still whispering, though he did not struggle to free himself. ‘My arm—’
He fell silent as Longinus, who had risen to his feet, stepped up and laid the edge of a dagger against his throat.
‘You are making me regret my decision, Mr Pickens,’ he said.
‘You saw what that swine did to me,’ Pickens gasped out in reply. ‘He doesn’t deserve to live. Give me a dagger and I’ll finish the job.’
‘We have not come here to murder anyone if we can help it,’ Longinus said. ‘Personal vendettas have no place in our mission. If you cannot restrain your temper, I shall have no choice but to give you the same treatment I have already administered to these gentlemen.’
It was a moment before Pickens replied. He sighed, and Quare felt the tension drain from his body. ‘Very well, Grimalkin. I’ll put vengeance aside … for now.’
‘Let him go, Mr Quare,’ Longinus said. Quare did so. Yet Longinus had not removed his dagger, and thus Pickens did not dare to so much as twitch.
‘This is the last interruption I will countenance,’ Longinus said, gazing into the other man’s eyes. ‘You will follow my commands with alacrity, keep silent, and otherwise give me no cause to employ this dagger, for I assure you, Mr Pickens, I will not hesitate to use it, and you will not receive another warning before I do. The substance coating this blade will put you to sleep in an instant, and we will leave you behind, to the tender mercies of Master Malrubius, which you are already so well acquainted with. Is that clear?’
The Emperor of all Things Page 45
