by G. P. Taylor
Tara stepped forward to walk with Malpas without even turning to Solomon.
“I don’t think that will be a good idea,” Solomon said, quickly grasping the sleeve of her coat. “My wife should stay here. This is between you and me, Malpas,” he said arrogantly.
“Would you like to discuss the matter with my men? They could soon come in and see you, I am sure they would enjoy the exchange,” Malpas said curtly as he took Tara by the hand, pulling her from Solomon’s grip.
“If it is put in such an eloquent manner, then I cannot refuse,” Solomon said begrudgingly. He looked at his trembling hands.
“I will swap the dagger for Tersias!” a sudden voice shouted from the minstrel gallery above their heads, taking them by surprise.
“Who in—” exclaimed Solomon as he looked up at the shadowy figure leaning on the stone balcony high above them.
“Who I am is of no consequence, what I have is of importance. In a distant place, far away from here, is a dagger that is the key to the stone that you crave, Lord Malpas.”
“How did you get in?” shouted Solomon, caring not for the man or his words.
“Quiet, you fool!” Malpas said as he jerked Tara towards him, pulling a small dandy gun from his jacket and aiming at the dark figure that peered down at him like a vulture. “What would stop me from killing you and taking the knife?”
“You would be a fool. If I die, then the knife is to be cut into fragments and melted down and the gold given to the poor. I am sure you would hate that, for charity is not one of your virtues. I am a messenger, a harbinger of good news. Fear not, I say, and good will to all men, for that is the only thing my heart desires. My good will to you, Lord Malpas, is to give you the dagger in exchange for Tersias, and you will never see him again. In return I promise to take him far from this city and never allow another word of fortune to come from his lips.” Malachi spoke boldly, the strength of his words sending shivers up his spine.
“And those are your terms?”
“Bold and true,” Malachi replied.
“What is to stop me from capturing you and torturing you for the secret you hold?”
“Honour is not completely dead in your heart and you need the Alabaster and the dagger more than I need life. I am no stranger to death, it is a friend I welcome heartily. So, do what you will.” Malachi gripped the cold stone of the balcony. “What’s it to be, Malpas? Name a time and a place and I will be there.”
“You know the neighborhood of my house? There is a fayre, a small circus encamped in the gardens of St. James. I will meet you there in two hours. There is an elephant, Ozymandius. He stands every night chained to a large elm tree. Meet me there and we will give our exchange.”
“But . . . but . . . ,” quibbled Solomon behind him.
“Then it is done?” Malachi asked as he stepped into a strand of light, his face seen for the first time.
“Tell me, sir, to whom shall we speak? Your face looks familiar.”
“That, Lord Malpas, is impossible, for my life in this land has only just begun,” Malachi said as he slipped silently through the door to the stairs, his words echoing in the chamber.
“Quickly!” Solomon shouted as he ran to the door of the room. “He has gone to the back stairs. Your men can find him, my men—”
“Leave him,” Malpas said irately as he pulled Tara behind him. “He is better left alone until he comes with the dagger. I have built a gallows in that place where we shall meet. They are for the fayre hangings, and he shall be the first to try the noose upon his neck.”
XXV
THE ELEPHANT AND THE ELM
Malachi ran from the Citadel and into the alleyway. It was cold, dark and filled with the Thames’s mist. He could hear the slamming of carriage doors at the front of the Citadel and the protests of Solomon as Tara was taken away with Lord Malpas for safekeeping.
“I will be there soon, Tara, don’t fret,” Solomon said quickly, his voice shrill and filled with worry. “Campion, my coat—disciples, follow on. . . . We must follow Tara to Thieving Lane. Bring the Alabaster, Campion . . . CAMPION!”
Malachi leant back into the shadows and sniggered as he listened to Solomon barking orders to a night that wasn’t listening. There was a sudden and doleful thud of the front door of the Citadel and the scampering of many feet across the fine white stone steps. Then all was silent, nothing stirred but the mist about his feet. Malachi waited for Jonah, hoping that his companion would soon be with him.
In the depths of the alleyway came a sudden and bitter creaking as if an old iron door swung heavily on rusted hinges. A dark figure scurried like a long thin rat along the wall. Malachi froze back into the darkness as he crouched down, hoping that he would not be seen by whatever stalked him from the Citadel.
“Malachi . . . Malachi,” came a recognisable whisper as the shadow got closer.
Magnus Malachi raised his long, thin hand from the mist, beckoning for Jonah to cross the alley to his hiding place. The shadow ducked into the fog, then like a jack-in-the-box Jonah appeared by his side, a broad smile emblazoned across his face.
“Where did you go? I told you to wait,” Malachi scolded the boy.
“I couldn’t resist . . . I saw something in the room, and as I was making my escape from the Citadel, I found a door and waited until Solomon and Malpas had gone, then I sneaked into the room. Honest, Malachi, I only went in to look—and then I saw them, they were so beautiful, I had to take—”
“And what did you take?” Malachi asked, despairing of the boy.
“Creatures . . . seven of the finest creatures you have ever seen, wrapped in a thick linen bag and ready to be set free . . . at the right time.”
“I heard Solomon talking of locusts that will kill, is that what you have?” Malachi asked cautiously as Jonah dangled a black sack in front of his face.
“The same—locusts the size of nightingales . . . and they have teeth that could chew your arm off given half the chance.” Jonah stopped his excited chatter and looked at Malachi. “I heard what you said to Malpas,” he said quietly. “We will swap the dagger for Tersias?” he asked.
“Yes, we meet Malpas in an hour at the circus on St. James’s Field, an elephant called Ozymandius shall be at the place, tied to an elm tree,” said Malachi. “This is our chance to get Tara and the boy.”
“She would rather stay with Solomon, her days with me are long gone,” Jonah said angrily.
“You need to understand that Tara is bewitched. She has no mind to think for herself. We will take a decision for her life and carry it through until the end.”
“And you know how we shall do all these things?” Jonah asked as he looked to the clear night sky.
“Somehow . . . somehow I am beginning to believe that all our days are foretold and that if we push at a door, it shall be opened. All I know is that this is the right thing to do—and in that I have my peace.”
“Then in peace, let us go and make war upon Lord Malpas and bring an end to these troubled days.”
“And to Ozymandius, king of kings, let his greeting be upon us all . . .”
“We meet again,” a voice said, and a man stepped from the darkness of a small ginnel that lay unseen by their side. “Your job is not yet done? I see no boy—does he still await rescue?” Danton asked.
Malachi almost jumped from his skin. “You are like a ghost that rattles its chains on Christmas Eve. . . . Do you lurk everywhere, or are we the victims of a conspiracy of the companions?”
“I was taking the air, freshening myself for a day ahead. My carriage is nearby and in this chance meeting I would offer you a lift to anywhere I could take you at such an unpleasant hour . . .”
“You spy upon us, Mister Danton. Do you take away our free will, too?”
“No, no . . . think of me as a friend whose life is crossing your own and our paths are suddenly intertwined.” Danton laughed as he urged them to walk on with him, putting his hand to Malachi’s back.
“I sense a wiser hand in all of this, Jonah. It is the game of chess, and she said that she was a pawn and not the player.”
“Then you will take my carriage to the circus?” Danton asked.
“If we were to refuse, then the sky would open and a hand would lift us from this alleyway and drop us in that very place, me-thinks,” Jonah said as Malachi laughed. The three turned from the alleyway and into the street outside the Citadel, where a large barouche stood silently waiting, its four gleaming black horses standing stock-still.
“You travel well, Mister Danton,” Jonah said as he took to the footplate to step upon the high seat at the back of the fine carriage with its shining black panels and silver handles.
“And tonight, Jonah Ketch, you will travel inside with Magnus Malachi. I will be your coachman,” Danton said as he opened the door to the carriage and gave a genteel bow like a servant to his master.
Jonah stepped into the carriage and sank into the soft leather seat as Malachi pushed in behind.
“Never travelled in one of these all my life, then suddenly twice in one night, Jonah. Things must be looking up for old Malachi,” he said as the carriage lurched forward.
Onwards the wheels rolled as they trundled the long mile from Covent Garden to St. James’s Field. Jonah clutched the dagger as he fought with himself to give up this prize in exchange for another. He looked around the carriage with its fine silk blinds and glass shutters with their lacquered handles. A small candle-lamp lit Malachi’s face as he stared at the passing streets. Jonah smiled to himself—an unlikely friend, he thought, but a friend he had become. Their shared adversity had drawn them like two melting rods smashed by a smithy hammer. He wondered what had touched the old magician’s life at Strumbelo and melted his bitterness. Whatever, Jonah said to himself as the carriage rattled along Parliament Street, it had been for the good and not only for Malachi but for him as well. He settled back into the soft couch and felt the locusts crawling feverishly about the sack that he gripped tightly shut with both hands.
The smell of the circus hung over the streets as the coach approached the park. An encampment of brightly coloured tents greeted them. All had long, narrow flags strung from high centre poles and streamers that billowed and blew on the fresh breeze; black cast-iron braziers lit each doorway, keeping out the chill of the night and giving light to the multitude of strange creatures that had been gathered from the four corners of the world.
The carriage turned and drew slowly to a halt as the horses pulled it towards a large elm that towered high above them. Under its empty branches Ozymandius sat in a putrid pile of straw. His shaggy wrinkled skin that had once fit tightly now dangled in swags from its heavy bones. Two longs tusks scraped the ground as a long purple tongue drooped over a pair of worn brown teeth.
Jonah reached to open the coach door to better glimpse the beast. It was then he realised that there were no handles on the inside.
Danton nimbly jumped to the ground and twisted the door latch. He saw the look on Jonah’s face. “Gentlemen should never have to open a door—so all my carriages have handles on the outside. When you travel with Mister Danton, you travel in style. Kudos, esteem and reputation are what my fortune has been built upon.”
“It has been an undoubted pleasure and you have been a true friend,” Malachi said warmly as he held out his hand to the man and smiled. “I take it that the chess will continue and you will appear again in our future?”
“I thought I would peruse the circus—I am always looking for the next starlet to grace the stage.”
“Then we are in good hands, and the pawns shall be on their way,” Malachi said sprightly. “There is something useful in my new life. I cannot say what it is, but I experience feelings that have not shared my thoughts for many a year. I suspect I once called it happiness, and even in what is to come I can find an ounce of joy.” He looked to Jonah. “We have a deal to keep and a life to save, Jonah. It is time I took the knife.”
Jonah dug his hand deep into his pocket and clutched the handle of the dagger. It felt warm and soft; the gold seemed to mingle with his fingers. He looked to the ground and then to Danton.
“It’s often hard to give up that which we feel we will never have again,” Danton said softly. “The great thing in giving up is that it is always replaced, overflowing in abundance.” He smiled as he nodded to Jonah, his kindly stare encouraging the boy to hand the dagger to Malachi.
Jonah hesitated, his hand clasping then releasing its grip on the hilt of the knife. It was as if it spoke to him, chided him for even thinking of handing it willingly to Malachi. He tried again to pull the blade from his pocket, but it was no use. His arm stuck fast, his fingers gripping tight to the point of snapping.
“Willingly . . . ,” Danton said. “Think of Tersias—the dagger for the boy.”
Jonah thought of Tersias and Tara. He thought of them dressed in fine purple, with shaven heads and cockroaches cut in their foreheads. He saw Solomon fawning over them and Malpas grinning like he had on the night when this madness had started. Then he thought of a different future, one where he and Tara had their own home, with Maggot and Tersias there, too.
“Give me the dagger,” Malachi said again as he held out his hand.
Jonah looked at him eye to eye. From the depths of his soul he pulled the blade from his pocket and slowly and hesitantly held it towards Malachi.
“Willingly . . . ,” Danton said again as he stepped into the shadow of the coach and tethered the carriage horses to a tent post. “It has to be willingly or else it will follow you all of your life and you will always want to have it back.”
“Willingly,” Jonah replied quietly as he handed the knife to Malachi, who grasped it firmly in his hand.
Ozymandius gave a long, loud moan that quivered the elm tree as the beast turned towards them. A thick leather strap cut deep into its neck, chaffing the skin away to a deep sore that exposed the raw flesh beneath. It looked at Malachi with eyes that seemed to ask for help.
Malachi turned quickly, the blade cutting through the cold air and sending sparks splintering towards the night sky. “It has to be done,” he said, stepping towards the elephant, dagger outstretched. “You can’t leave a beast to suffer, it’s better off dead than tethered to the tree.”
“NO!” shouted Jonah as Malachi plunged the blade towards the creature, and with one swift slash the leather strap fell from its neck and was pulled to the ground by the heavy chain that had kept it prisoner for so long.
“I’m not for killing the beast,” Malachi said as Jonah took his hands from his eyes. “I just want to free it.”
The elephant swung its trunk back and forth excitedly as it got to its hind legs and raised itself from the ground.
“See!” said Malachi with the freshness of a youth in his voice. “My chains have been taken from me and so shall it be for this creature, then Tersias and Tara will follow.”
“I never said anything about the girl!” Malpas stepped towards them with the captain of the militia by his side. “I was only going to deal with the boy. Now I have you and the knife and Tersias into the bargain. In fact, I now have everything I desire. Take them,” he said to the guards, who drew their swords.
“You agreed, Malpas,” Malachi said as he stepped towards Ozymandius. “The knife for the boy.”
“Oh, I remember some foolish words that fell from my lips. . . . You would call them lies. I would call them getting what I want. Guards!” Malpas shouted loudly. “Take them all away until I can decide what to do with them.” He took one step forward and looked at Malachi. “Well, well, well. If it is not Magnus Malachi. The look suits you—if it hadn’t been for the smell, I would never have recognised you.”
XXVI
GALLOGLASS IN GALLIGASKINS
“Skullet, Skullet!” shouted Malpas as he walked proudly along Thieving Lane at the head of the militia as they dragged Malachi, Jonah and Mister Danton along the dark streets. “Open the door, Mister Skullet, we ha
ve even more visitors.”
The door to Vamana House opened slowly and Skullet peered suspiciously out into the night. “More people?” he said angrily. “The house is full of strangers, why do we need more?”
“These are no strangers,” Malpas replied as he stepped joyfully up the marble steps. “These are the ingredients for the broth of life, the cream sauce and brandy butter. Oh, the bittersweet touch of fate! I know we will see great things, great things, dear brother.”
Skullet opened the door as Lord Malpas strode past him, dagger in hand, rolling it in his palm as the metal glowed.
“They are in the Great Hall,” Skullet said. “I put them with the girl. They have brought a coffin, dragged in by several lunatics and the biggest man I have ever seen. Solomon wants to leave, but I have insisted he wait until you arrived with the knife.”
Malpas walked on, his eyes fixed on the doors of the Great Hall. “Let them be a party to what we do tonight. Guards, bring them here and keep them by the wall. If one of them but twitches, run them through.” He pushed open the doors and stepped into the room, holding the dagger aloft as if it were a power beyond all powers. “Hear me, Solomon, hear me. I have the key to the future. We will change the world. One day I will escape death and you will have all the madmen you need to fill a thousand citadels and give you all their money.”
Solomon shuddered as he slowly crept towards Tara, who sat like a queen in a tall stone throne built upon a marble pedestal. She was wrapped in a heavy woven swath of finest red cloth that fell from her shoulders, covering her to her feet, the tips of her purple shoes poking through the folds of material. He bristled that she should be enfolded in something other than purple—it would take the glory from her, the transformation would not be complete. It would offer no protection from the plague.
