The Thief on the Winged Horse

by Kate Mascarenhas

  “I do hope you’ll accept, Larkin. I did think we were such friends.” Hedwig paused. “And – forgive me – you’re not in a position to bargain, given Cristofano’s testimony.”

  She was unlikely to be appeased by the reason for his refusal. Larkin offered a humble alternative. “The Sorcerers overstated my talent. Wax isn’t a natural medium for my skills. To persuade Conrad, you want a doll maker fully versed in that form.”

  Hedwig stood and placed some coal on the fire as she thought.

  “That’s a great disappointment to me,” she said eventually. “I’ll miss you when you’re dismissed.”

  “If I might suggest a compromise,” Larkin said hastily. “What if I were to make a personal recommendation – a forger who fashions wax with breathtaking skill, and will guarantee discretion? I know her very well, and would trust her with my life.”

  “Who?”

  “She operates under an alias, in London. You must go to a butcher’s shop on Brewer Street. The butcher is the intermediary – you must tell him you have instructions for Scarlotta Dahl, and he will pass on your requirements.”

  “I won’t be able to speak to the forger directly?”

  “It’s better if you can honestly say you’ve never met her, for your protection as well as hers. You don’t have to give your own name either, if it makes you feel more secure. She demands payment in cash to avoid a paper trail.”

  “I hadn’t counted on paying for the work at all. Why should I pay a stranger, when I could make you do the work for free?”

  So she was definitely intending to keep the gold for herself. Larkin filed this thought, and said: “Believe me, Hedwig – Scarlotta Dahl will mimic the Paid Mourner with far more style than I ever could. Isn’t it essential that the doll is convincing?”

  Hedwig contemplated the flames. Almost to herself, she said: “The doll needs to be perfect.”

  “Well, then—”

  “I’ll consider this Scarlotta. But Larkin, my dear; don’t think you’re off the hook.”

  He wouldn’t dare. But he had deferred his dismissal, for now.

  22

  The following morning was Monday, and Hedwig went to the workshop to gather sales information for Conrad. He hadn’t requested any such data, but she wasn’t going to be caught out if he asked to be briefed on his return. Persephone had phoned in sick; Cosima was covering the sales desk, and she fetched the ledgers at Hedwig’s request. Everything looked to be in order. Hedwig scanned for any missed sales deadlines or returns.

  “Cosima, do you know why this item was delayed?” Hedwig asked, tapping a fingernail on an entry for Interior Design. Framed lithograph, pursuant to completed diorama.

  Cosima shrugged. “No idea. They must have told Persephone. Do you want me to ring her?”

  “No, I can find out here.” Hedwig walked through to the Interior Design department. The atmosphere had changed, she thought, since her last visit; there were more people standing about and chatting rather than at work, and more laughter. Rieko, however, was intent on the room she was furnishing.

  “I know the lithograph you mean,” Rieko said when Hedwig disturbed her. “I caught a problem with it before it went out. The work had to be redone.”

  “How tiresome for you! What was the problem?” Hedwig pressed.

  “The customer had requested a perfect miniaturisation of a nineteenth-century picture called Gargantua, by Daumier. The replica was – imperfect.”

  Hedwig sensed Rieko was being evasive. “Let me take a look.”

  At the next table, Rumour Thornett, Daisy Gilman, and Raven Fleetwood had paused their chat to listen. Daisy was grinning, insolently.

  Hedwig said: “You oversee the picture making, don’t you, Daisy? Would you like to offer me a description of the offending lithograph?”

  “I can do better than that,” Daisy said. “I can show you.”

  She apparently took satisfaction in retrieving the picture from her work area. It was about the size of a postcard, in black and white. It depicted a sitting giant, with a ramp running to his mouth. Workers toiled along the ground. They carried offerings on their back, up the ramp, into the giant’s waiting maw. The giant had Conrad’s features.

  “Who was this gentleman meant to be?” Hedwig asked icily.

  “Louis Philippe II,” Daisy said gleefully. “It’s an old cartoon by someone who was unhappy with his king. Do you see how oblivious the king is to everyone working beneath him? I thought it was very fitting!”

  Rieko cut in: “I’ve impressed upon the women that it was highly unprofessional to even attempt to send this product to a customer. I would have discussed appropriate discipline with Conrad if he were available. Daisy has received a verbal warning, which I would have brought to his attention on his return.”

  “Be aware that in Conrad’s absence I continue to act as his representative,” Hedwig said. “This should have been brought to me, without delay. Daisy, your pay will be docked this month in addition to the warning you’ve already received.”

  The grin on Daisy’s face slipped. “You’re a fool, Hedwig. You don’t get it, do you? You think we’re all expendable, and you shouldn’t be. But he can get rid of you as easily as any designer. You’re one of us even if you throw your towel in with him. He won’t protect you.”

  “Thank you for the advice. Your pay will be docked next month as well.” Hedwig glanced around the room, smiling, to show she was unruffled. “I’m sorry I interrupted everybody’s work. Please, don’t let me delay you any longer.”

  *

  Hedwig caught the next train to London; from Paddington it was a brisk half hour walk to the Brewer Street Butcher. On arrival, she stepped through the doors and the air had the metallic tang of blood. There wasn’t much of a queue; just an elderly lady wrapped in a fox stole. Hedwig glanced around. The walls were cream tile with a red majolica border a quarter of the way up. They were chipped enough to be original features. A man in a vest and striped apron, with his hair beneath a kerchief, apportioned some tripe to the waiting woman and took her cash.

  “Yes?” he said to Hedwig. His teeth overlaid each other, as though there weren’t enough room in his muzzle for all of them.

  The old woman was still standing by the till. She returned her leather purse to her handbag, with her tripe secure in the crook of her arm.

  Hedwig checked the wares behind the glass. The first thing she saw was a tray of fat tail segments; each one had a perfect circle of white bone at the centre, with the red meat spilling away in petals.

  “A pound of ox tail, please,” she said. Before home, she would have to dispose of them. They would keep for the journey, the day was cold, but if the carriage was crowded she didn’t relish the idea of cradling a bag of offal.

  The butcher pincered the meat and dropped three pieces into his scales. The old woman, finally, left the shop.

  The bell above the door was still ringing as Hedwig leant across the counter. She needed to give instructions before another customer arrived.

  “I have work for Scarlotta Dahl,” she hissed.

  The butcher laid down his pincers and removed his gloves.

  “What do you require?” he asked.

  “An imitation of the Paid Mourner. An exact imitation, good enough to fool the owner.”

  “Scarlotta Dahl can faithfully replicate the doll’s appearance. I can assure you of that. When do you need it?”

  “As soon as possible.” Persephone could withdraw Briar’s alibi at any moment. There wasn’t time to be lost.

  The butcher laughed. “Have you heard the adage that if you want something good, cheap, and fast, only two of your requirements will be met?”

  “I do hope this doll will surpass all expectations. What can you provide in a week?”

  “The doll will be ready, and Scarlotta will happily accept ten thousand pounds.”

  “I only have three,” Hedwig said, feigning regret. She’d grown up around doll makers. Ten thousand poun
ds was ridiculous for a wood and wax doll with no enchantment laid on.

  “Three what? Three coconut macaroons? Any lower than seven thousand would be an insult.” The butcher tipped the pan of ox tail segments back into their tray.

  “Surely you should pass on the brief first. Scarlotta may feel differently.”

  “I handle business.” He was implacable. “Seven is my lowest offer.”

  “Six.” She had three of her own saved, and she could pressure Briar into matching her contribution. “That’s as very far as I could stretch; and it would be so heroic of you to accept.”

  “Six thousand, for a ten-day turnaround time.”

  “Done!” Ten days was longer than she felt comfortable with, but she suspected she’d already pushed hard enough.

  “The ten days will start on provision of model photographs, cash, and materials.”

  “Doesn’t Scarlotta have her own wax and wood?”

  “If you want an exact replica, you should use the very same source of wax and wood as the Paid Mourner.”

  Hedwig could see the sense of this. Getting hold of the right wood wasn’t impossible – the same tree that had been felled for the doll had been cut up for the workshop floor. She was unsure about the wax, but perhaps Briar could advise.

  “Let me see what I can do,” she said. “I’ll be back later in the week with the cash.”

  The butcher touched his forelock as she left.

  *

  She telephoned Briar as she walked to the station.

  “We’ll need to split the cost, fifty-fifty,” she said.

  “Three thousand pounds!” he roared.

  Hedwig took a deep breath. Briar was terribly self-indulgent. Unlike her, he came from a monied family, and his current poor finances were entirely down to bad management. Had he been less profligate he could have had a very comfortable life; even a luxurious one, surrounded by the kind of beauty Conrad took for granted.

  “Now Briar,” she said. “Borrow it from one of the other Kendricks! You can’t tell me you haven’t gone to them cap in hand before.”

  “Don’t you talk to me with that kind of disrespect. I told you, Hedwig. I need to see the doll’s good enough before I have anything to do with this. I’m not putting any money towards it before the doll’s even made.”

  “It’s only yourself you’re hurting. Don’t you see I’m acting for both of us? The moment Persephone gives you up, the police will be on your back. I’m saving you from a certain spell in prison.” A tremor of pleasure, at being needed, rippled through Hedwig. She was certain that without her help Briar was doomed. “You have a lot more to lose than me if I call this off now.”

  She let him think while she waited at a pedestrian crossing.

  “All right, I take your point. I can pay one thousand,” he said querulously, as the green man appeared. “That’s what I’ve got.”

  “I know you mean that you’ll pay three,” Hedwig corrected, “but you’ll give me one thousand now, and pay me instalments for the rest.”

  “All right, all right. I take your point.”

  She hung up. Five thousand up front would send her into debt. Hedwig was sure it would be worth it if the plan worked, but that only made it all the more imperative that a good forgery was in their hands as soon as possible.

  23

  The Tuesday after Briar hit Persephone, she returned to work. Bearing in mind her renewed ambition to improve her craft, Persephone had brought her three best dolls with her. She let Alastair know immediately that she wished to talk to him. But he told her he was busy in the morning, and it was mid-afternoon by the time he was able to see her.

  “I’ve only got ten minutes,” he said when he finally admitted her to his office.

  She sat down with the linen bag of dolls in her lap. He wouldn’t look at her directly, and it occurred to her that the cut on her forehead – by now the site of a lurid bruise – made him uncomfortable. All day, the cut had made people uneasy in just this fashion; and although she didn’t want their pity, she found it interesting they showed no sympathy. An injury to the head was confrontational. She was sure they suspected Briar of inflicting it. Perhaps they felt they should have intervened when she was younger. Looking at her made them feel guilty. So they looked away again.

  “So what’s the emergency?” Alastair shuffled some papers into a drawer.

  “I’ve always wanted to work on the top floor. Ever since I was a child.”

  “There aren’t any vacancies.” Alastair was decisive.

  “There were no vacancies when Larkin arrived.”

  “He showed exceptional skill.”

  “You don’t know my current skill level. What if my work shows promise, too?” She placed the bag on his desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “My work.”

  He grunted, and pulled at the drawstring to look inside. He squinted as he said: “It’s Conrad’s call to make.”

  “Conrad isn’t here. You are.” Her voice rose in frustration. “You have a daughter, Alastair. Do you never think about what she might want, and what doors are closed to her because she’s a girl? If she wanted to make dolls, shouldn’t she have that opportunity?”

  His lips tightened. “Now look, I know you might envy a happy family, Persephone, but—”

  “Envy?”

  “But don’t use my daughter as a prop for your resentments. What is it you’re finding so hard to understand? We can’t recruit someone just because she’s a girl and we happen not to have any girls on the top floor. We have to recruit on merit.”

  He stood, dropped the linen bag in her lap, and kept walking to the door.

  “You didn’t even take the dolls out of the bag,” she said.

  “I’m going to forget this episode happened. It’s obvious you’ve had things going on.” He gestured at her face. “I’ll see to that raise we discussed. An extra fifty pound should be all right.”

  “Stuff your fifty pound.”

  “Now look,” he said. “You keep telling me you want to make dolls. But who would trust you with enchantments, Persephone? You don’t have any self-control. It’s not your fault, it can’t be easy when your mother runs off while you’re still a child. But you can’t do this work when your emotions are all over the place. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

  The threshold for not having any self-control was so unjust. Four little words not to Alastair’s liking were enough for him to treat her like a hysteric.

  He was opening the door. She stood up, and loud enough for the Sorcerers outside to hear, said: “You condescending shit.”

  He shrugged, as if his point had been made.

  She walked past him, her head hot and the bag of spurned dolls in her fist. So absorbed was she in her rage that she didn’t notice Larkin was following her until he stepped into the paternoster with her.

  “What happened there?” he asked.

  “I gave him samples of my work, and asked if I could have an apprenticeship.”

  “And?”

  “He barely glanced at the dolls.” She was none the wiser as to whether they were any good. Clearly Alastair didn’t think so. She couldn’t trust his judgement, and fought against internalising his indifference to her work, but it hurt all the same. She covered her face with her hands. “My mother’s right. He’s never going to move me away from that blasted counter, and nor is Conrad.”

  The paternoster had completed a rotation with neither of them disembarking.

  “They won’t help me either.” Larkin was sombre. “I can’t teach myself sorcery, and I’ve failed, utterly, to persuade them I’m ready.”

  Persephone was tired of following Conrad’s rules. There were never any rewards; only punishments for transgressions. They disembarked on the ground floor. Persephone glanced down the hall, to see if anyone might overhear. No one was in sight.

  “I’ll tell you some things about sorcery,” she said. “But not here. Come with me into Oxford, after work.
”

  *

  They took their bikes, along the footbridge, as the moon rose. The temperature had dropped enough for their breath to mist. They cycled and neither of them spoke until they had left the eyot behind.

  Persephone began: “Before Lucy Kendrick, or any of her sisters, were born, their parents lived in the house Conrad owns now. The mother, Sarah Horace, miscarried four times. Eventually she left a note upon the threshold of the house, requesting the return of one unborn child, in exchange for her own death on the baby’s arrival. She deemed that a like for like exchange. The note was taken, and she expected the bargain would be fulfilled. But instead a week later the Thief left a reply on the same step. It was a request to meet in the orchard at dusk on Friday.

  “She arrived at the arranged time, and at first believed she was alone. But the Thief was there – dressed like a gentleman, with hooves instead of feet, and a grey winged steed. He was visible only when the sun was at the right angle in the sky. She asked whether her offer had pleased him, and he said: ‘No; I find it boring. There’s a better bargain to be struck. First, I offer you all four of your children.’

  “This was what she wanted more than anything in the world, but she still felt alarmed. If her death wasn’t a sufficient exchange for one lost life, she feared the terms he’d want for four.

  “‘What’s your price?’ she said.

  “‘Your sense of safety,’ he replied. ‘It will be mine from the second your eldest child takes breath.’

  “‘And the other three children will follow?’

  “‘They will.’

  “Things passed as he said they would. Lucy was born, and immediately Sarah was fearful. Her mind filled with the terrors of everything that might befall her child. The world never felt safe again.”