The Emperor of all Things

by Paul Witcover

  ‘Quite.’

  Longinus put up his dagger. ‘Very well. I think it time that we take a less public route. Mr Pickens, you will keep watch. Mr Quare, if you would assist me …’

  Longinus unlocked one of the doors off the hall and pushed it open; then he and Quare, with some difficulty in the case of Malrubius, dragged the two bodies into what, it became evident, by the greenish light of Longinus’s vial, was an old and disused storeroom containing oak barrels caked with dust and rat droppings. Malrubius left a trail of blood across the stones of the floor, but there was nothing to be done about it now, Quare supposed. Pickens, meanwhile, looked on from behind his mask, dividing his attention between them and the empty hallway.

  ‘Come along, Mr Pickens,’ Longinus said at last from inside the room.

  Pickens stepped forward but balked at entering the storeroom, as if afraid that Longinus meant to leave him there after all, slumbering alongside Malrubius and the guardsman. Nor, Quare reflected, was that fear unfounded, for the room had no other visible exit. But he had experienced enough of Longinus’s surprises to feel confident another was imminent.

  ‘It’s all right, Pickens,’ Quare said. ‘One thing I’ve learned about Grimalkin: he always leaves himself a way out.’

  ‘Mr Pickens, if you please,’ Longinus said.

  Pickens entered the room. Longinus nodded to Quare, who closed the door behind him. They stood uncomfortably close in the small, ill-lit space, the two unconscious men sprawled at their feet.

  The guardsman was quiet as a corpse, but Malrubius was making small sounds of distress, rather like a piglet rooting in the ground; Quare thought his breathing must be impeded by his broken nose, or perhaps by blood draining into his throat. He had no more love for Malrubius than Pickens did, but neither did he care to stand by while the man choked to death. Kneeling, he repositioned the head so as to improve the man’s air flow.

  Longinus, meanwhile, had turned to rummage behind a stack of barrels that reached from floor to ceiling. A sharp clicking sound, and the front of the stack slid into the back, exposing a half tube, like a chimney, that rose into darkness. ‘Now we ascend,’ Longinus said. ‘I will go first. Then Mr Pickens. Mr Quare, you will bring up the rear.’

  Quare glanced up at this. ‘Shall we not first bind and gag your latest victims?’

  ‘No need,’ Longinus said with a shake of his head. ‘They will not wake for hours, and our own time grows most pressing; the bulk of the night is already behind us. Take this, Mr Quare.’ He passed over the glowing vial, which Quare, standing, accepted. ‘Gentlemen, I will await you above.’ With that, Longinus stepped into the half tube and turned to face them, arms at his sides. There was another clicking sound, and suddenly, to the accompaniment of rattling gears, he was rising, borne swiftly out of sight.

  ‘What wizardry is this!’ exclaimed Pickens.

  ‘No wizardry,’ Quare replied with a chuckle. ‘Merely common horological principles applied on a grander scale.’ Though saying that did not diminish the wonder he too felt.

  ‘Who built this mechanism?’ Pickens demanded. ‘And how is it that Grimalkin should know of it?’

  Quare shrugged. ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘I thought I knew the guild hall as well as anyone,’ Pickens said. ‘I see now that I was mistaken. About that … and other things.’

  As he spoke, the rattling sound returned, bringing with it the platform, empty now.

  ‘You next,’ Quare told him.

  ‘Is it quite safe?’

  ‘Grimalkin did not hesitate.’

  ‘That is far from reassuring. The man is rash and impulsive.’

  ‘He is also our only chance to get through this in one piece.’

  ‘Good point.’ Pickens stepped into the half tube just as Longinus had done. And was carried as quickly aloft.

  As he waited for the platform to return, Quare focused again on the song of the hunter. Its urgency was unabated, as was its beauty. How the music was made, how it reached him, and him alone, were mysteries he could not unravel; he knew only that the watch was a mechanism that made Magnus’s marvels seem crude by comparison. He had examined it, seen its workings stir inexplicably to life, experienced, for the briefest instant, the release of its uncanny destructive power – which, despite everything, he could not help thinking had been merely a fraction of what it was capable of, under the right conditions … whatever they might be. He imagined whole armies laid to waste in the blink of an eye, proud cities reduced to rubble. And here he was now, closer than ever to claiming it for himself … or, rather, he reminded himself with a sinking heart, for a creature of the Otherwhere, whose unwilling agent he had become. Like it or not, when he finally held the hunter in his hands, he would call for Tiamat … and he had no doubt that the dragon would come to claim its prize.

  The rattle of the returning platform roused him. He stepped in, then turned to face outwards, arms at his sides. He heard a click, followed by the ratcheting of gears, and felt the gathering force of the mechanism an instant before it engaged and lifted him more smoothly than he would have thought possible. The pallid green light of the vial he clutched in one hand slid upwards along with him like sap rising in the trunk of a tree.

  Then the platform slowed and halted, and there was Longinus, pulling him into a storeroom the twin of the one he had left behind, save that this one was lit by a solitary candle set in an iron brace upon one wall. Quare, standing beside Pickens, watched as Longinus reached behind the stack of barrels from whose hollow insides he had just emerged; another click, and the missing front of the stack swivelled around and back into place.

  Longinus turned to them, his eyes hard and glittering as chips of flint. ‘Here is where it gets interesting, gentlemen,’ he whispered. ‘I regret to say that there is no secret entrance to the Old Wolf’s den. Or, if there is, even I do not know of it. Nor will my key unlock that door. I must pick the lock. While I am doing so, we will be at our most vulnerable. If we are discovered, and an alarm is raised, we shall have no recourse but to fight our way back out. I do not rate our chances highly in that regard. Thus, it is essential that anyone who stumbles upon us be silenced before they can give warning. As I will be otherwise occupied, and Mr Pickens is unarmed, that duty falls to you, Mr Quare.’

  He nodded.

  Longinus produced a watch from within the folds of his cloak. ‘It is almost three o’clock. I do not think we can safely tarry more than an hour.’

  ‘But what if the hunter we seek is not here?’ Pickens asked. ‘What if the Old Wolf has taken it to his chambers for the night?’

  ‘It is here,’ Quare said before Longinus could reply.

  Pickens threw him a sharp glance. ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘Let’s just say I have a feeling. A very strong feeling.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Enough,’ interjected Longinus. ‘Let us be about our business, gentlemen.’

  He listened for a moment at the door of the storeroom before cracking it open and slipping out. Pickens followed, and Quare came after, emerging into an empty hallway. The candles in their sconces had been extinguished for the night, and the greenish light of the vial in his hand gave everything a murky, underwater glow. Pickens and Longinus held vials of their own. Longinus was already halfway down the corridor, heading for the door of the Old Wolf’s den, Pickens as close behind him as a shadow. Quare made to draw his blade, then, reconsidering, unslung his crossbow instead, armed it, and hastened after them, his heart keeping time with the song of the hunter, which had, once again, ratcheted up its intensity, as if sensing his approach.

  Longinus reached the door and knelt before it. Pickens stood at his back, holding his vial up to illuminate the lock while glancing up and down the corridor, though little was visible beyond the nimbus of their chemically generated lights.

  Quare’s skin prickled with the sense of unseen eyes upon him. He had always felt this way in the guild hall – and not without reason. But
there was no obvious sign of observation now. The doors on either side of the corridor, as far as he could tell, remained closed, and no sound intruded on the hush of the great house or the music of the hunter that only he seemed able to hear. Luck, it appeared, was with them.

  A faint click from the door announced Longinus’s success. He stood, tucking his lockpick away and then drawing his sword. He locked eyes with Quare and Pickens in turn. Then, with a nod, he cracked the Old Wolf’s door open just wide enough to slip through. Pickens pushed in after him, and Quare followed, once again shutting the door behind him.

  The instant he did so, sparks flared out of the darkness. Suddenly torches were ablaze, revealing perhaps a dozen guardsmen with pikes – and, in some cases, pistols – pointed in their direction. Revealed as well was the Old Wolf, who regarded them from behind his desk with a smile of predatory satisfaction on his fleshy, florid face.

  Quare took this in through senses dulled by the wild din of the hunter; its song had skidded into a shrill caterwauling that had him pressing the hand that held the vial to the side of his head as if its light might somehow penetrate and soothe his skull. It occurred to him that perhaps the hunter hadn’t been calling to him at all. Perhaps it had been warning him away.

  Pickens cursed, at which the Old Wolf heaved himself erect.

  ‘Drop your weapons, gentlemen. I shall not ask twice.’

  Longinus seemed to consider his chances for a moment, then complied with the command. Quare followed his lead, lowering the crossbow to the floor.

  Grandmaster Wolfe’s smile widened, and he leaned forward over the wooden desk, his large hands, with their glittering rings, laid flat on its surface. ‘I had hoped my little trap might snare the great Grimalkin, but I did not think to catch three. How positively profligate! Is this all of you, or should I be expecting more?’

  No one answered.

  ‘Remove your masks,’ the Old Wolf said. ‘I would see your faces.’ After a moment, he added: ‘Do it, or I will have it done, and none too gently.’

  ‘You mean to kill us in any case,’ said Longinus in the gruff voice of Grimalkin.

  ‘Of course. But not before you are put to the question. A good deal of unpleasantness lies ahead for you, I’m afraid. A good deal of pain and suffering. But it need not begin now.’

  Longinus pulled off his mask and flung it defiantly to the floor.

  ‘Lord Wichcote,’ said the Old Wolf without batting an eyelid. ‘I cannot say I am surprised. Your involvement in this affair has been most suspicious from the start. You should have stayed ensconced behind the walls of your estate, my lord. Your title will not protect you here, nor will His Majesty intervene.’

  It struck Quare that the grandmaster had not recognized Longinus, the servant, but saw only the lord. Class, it seemed, could be a more effective disguise than any mask.

  When Longinus did not reply, the Old Wolf shifted his gaze to Quare and Pickens. ‘And what of these two? Who else have we caught in our web? Shall I guess? Nay, it is no guess. If Wichcote is here, Quare cannot be far behind.’

  Quare tugged his own mask down.

  ‘The prodigal returns. Alas, I’m afraid I cannot welcome you with open arms, Mr Quare. No fatted calf for you. But never fear: you shall receive the welcome you deserve.’ He looked to Pickens. ‘And you, sir? I confess, I cannot imagine who you might be. The servant who spirited Mr Quare away? Or the real Grimalkin, perhaps?’

  The mask came off.

  ‘Mr Pickens,’ said the Old Wolf, straightening up and seeming surprised for once. ‘I am disappointed to find you in such disreputable company. For all your protestations of innocence, it would seem you are a traitor after all.’

  ‘It is you who are the traitor,’ Pickens shot back.

  ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, sir,’ the grandmaster growled, ‘or I shall keep it for you – in a jar.’ He addressed Longinus. ‘What game are you playing, my lord? Coming here dressed as Grimalkin like some urchin on Gunpowder Night! I suppose Mr Quare must have brought you.’

  ‘I am playing no game, I assure you.’

  The Old Wolf chuckled, a phlegmy rumble. ‘Why, am I to believe that you are Grimalkin? A man of sixty or more? It is absurd on its face, quite apart from the fact that Grimalkin – the real Grimalkin – stole the very watch from you that you have come here to reclaim. Or was that theft a charade? Are you, perhaps, in league with Grimalkin? Is he likely to join us after all?’

  Longinus shrugged but said nothing.

  ‘I have set guards outside this door, my lord. No one will be getting in – or out – unless I give the word.’ As he spoke, he gestured to one of the guardsmen, who began to move about the room, lighting candles from his torch; when he had finished, he extinguished that torch, as well as the others, so that the garish illumination was replaced by a more mellow flickering of light and shadow.

  ‘You will answer my questions truthfully,’ the Old Wolf said meanwhile. ‘If not here and now, then later, in circumstances much less pleasant … for you.’

  ‘Your threats do not frighten me,’ Longinus rejoined. ‘I have faced far worse in my time. It is you, Sir Thaddeus, who should be afraid.’

  This elicited another chuckle. ‘What, of a toothpick like you? Why, I could snap you in half with my bare hands! As for your associates’ – he gestured to the guards – ‘I think I may rely on these gentlemen to protect me.’

  ‘I am speaking of the watch,’ Longinus answered. ‘The hunter.’

  ‘Yes, the watch. A most intriguing timepiece. I confess I have been unable to unlock its secrets.’

  ‘Then you should count yourself most fortunate,’ said Longinus. ‘Be wise as well, Sir Thaddeus, and return the watch to me. It is my property, after all. No real harm has yet been done. Let me take it back and keep it safe.’

  ‘I think not,’ the Old Wolf said. ‘If the watch is a weapon, as Mr Quare avers, and as I do believe, then it belongs to England, especially now, in her hour of need. If you were a patriot, my lord, you would see that and help me discover how to use it.’

  ‘It is because I am a patriot that I do not.’

  ‘Bah. I do not think you know the first thing about this watch, despite having had it in your possession. I think it defeated you as much as it does me. But it did not defeat Magnus, did it?’

  ‘No.’ Quare spoke up now, ignoring the clamour in his head. ‘It killed him.’

  ‘But not, I suspect, before he communicated the secret of its operation to you.’ He nodded, and six guardsmen stepped forward as one to take hold of Quare, Longinus and Pickens while the remainder of their brethren kept pistols aimed at them. Pickens struggled, to no avail, as did Quare, though Longinus offered no resistance. Grandmaster Wolfe, meanwhile, opened a drawer of his desk and produced a small leather-bound tool kit. He laid this out on the surface of the desk and then stepped to one side, nodding again to the guardsmen. ‘Bring him,’ he said.

  The pair of guardsmen who had taken charge of Quare frogmarched him around the desk and pushed him down into the Old Wolf’s voluminous chair. They remained standing to either side of him. Longinus and Pickens were similarly flanked.

  ‘Now, Mr Quare,’ the grandmaster said, stepping forward again. ‘I find I have been too lenient with you in the past. I shall be taking a firmer hand now.’ As he spoke, he took a pocket watch – the pocket watch, as Quare saw at once – from his waistcoat and turned it in his pudgy fingers, the silver casing winking like a coin. ‘Strange to think that such a small thing could possess power enough to win a war. I have examined this watch most thoroughly, and a more curious and confounding timepiece I have never encountered. It appears to be nothing more than a child’s toy. It lacks a winding mechanism. It has no recognizable numbers painted upon its face, only sigils of arcane significance. My finest tools could not prise open its casing – yet behold how that same casing springs open of itself when the hour and minute hands are properly aligned.’

  Quare looked on with a s
ense of mounting dismay as the Old Wolf manipulated the hands of the watch just as he himself had done in Master Magnus’s study … and with the same result. The fact that those hands were carved in the semblance of a wingless dragon had taken on a new and decidedly sinister significance, reminding him – were any reminder necessary – of Tiamat.

  Another nod from the grandmaster, and each of the two guards flanking him grabbed one of Quare’s arms, lifted it over the top of the desk and slammed it down, then held it there in a grip of iron. The Old Wolf set the opened watch face-down on the table before him, between his arms. ‘Let us begin with the workings. Of what are they made, sir? Wood? Bone? Some new substance heretofore unknown to science? I confess I cannot say.’

  ‘No more can I,’ Quare answered, shuddering at the sight of the gears, wheels and pinions packed so elegantly into the tight interior of the hunter, all of a silver so pale as to be almost translucent. He recalled all too well how his blood had made the inert workings bloom with fiery incandescence and take on for a brief moment a sickening semblance of life. Yet at the same time, he felt the sovereign pull of the timepiece, and he knew that if his hands had not been immobilized, he would have snatched it up. The roaring in his head grew louder.

  ‘Thus far I have come, but no further,’ the Old Wolf said. ‘I have searched Master Magnus’s notes in vain for the means of powering the watch. Yet I know – we both know, Mr Quare, do we not? – that such a means exists. What is it? Tell me.’

  ‘No.’

  Grandmaster Wolfe nodded, as if he had expected no other reply. He leaned forward and calmly opened the tool kit he had placed upon the table. Within were not implements of the horologist’s art, as Quare had expected, but the shining, sharp-edged tools of a surgeon. Quare’s eyes widened; he felt his heart quail.

  ‘I am going to ask you again, Mr Quare,’ the Old Wolf said as he removed a scalpel from the kit. ‘Each time you refuse to answer, or respond with a lie, I will remove one of your fingers.’