Peter Lovesey - The Tick of Death

‘What was that?’

‘The senior members of the Clan are most particular about one of the rules regarding descent. Everyone presented for membership has to have the Irish blood, you see.’

‘Now that’s a problem,’ said Cribb.

‘It might have been. I told them your mother was born in Skibbereen and that silenced them.’

‘It’s silenced me,’ said Cribb. ‘Where the devil is it?’

‘In County Cork. It’s one of the southernmost towns in Ireland. Carse comes from Dublin, so it’s unlikely that he knows Skibbereen. You don’t mind the deception, do you?’

‘I’ll square it with my conscience somehow. One needs to bend the truth occasionally in my profession.’

She smiled her thanks. ‘That was a darling of a demolition, Mr Sargent. We’ll not waste your second bomb on a folly, I promise you. It’ll be a deadly serious thing next time. If it does its work as well as the first, you’ll be the toast of all Ireland. There should be no worry, for the machines are identical, are they not?’

‘Like two peas from the same pod, Rossanna,’ said Cribb, speaking the truth.

At the house, he was instructed to wait in the hall while certain preliminaries took place in the drawing room. After some fifteen minutes, Rossanna came out with a black mask, like the one her father wore, except that it had no eye-spaces. ‘Do I have to wear that?’ he asked.

‘It’s part of the ritual,’ she explained, as she tied it firmly in place. ‘But you will be perfectly safe. The ballot for your membership has taken place and you got no black balls. You will be among friends. I shall hold your arm to guide you.’ She gave it a reassuring squeeze and led him forward.

He felt his feet leave the tiles and move on to carpet. The door closed behind him. A deep voice that he recognised as Millar’s spoke close in front of his face. ‘What is your name, friend?’

‘Sargent.’ There was no response to this, so he shrewdly added, ‘Michael Sargent.’

‘Very good. Tell us the names of your father and mother.’

He felt a slight pressure from Rossanna. ‘John Sargent and Molly O’Doherty.’ He paused for effect. ‘Of Skibbereen, in County Cork.’

Someone nearby grunted in satisfaction.

‘My friend,’ said Millar over a rustle of paper, suggesting that he was reading from a text, ‘you have sought affiliation with us animated by love, duty and patriotism.’

‘Not to say the Skirmishing Fund,’ murmured a voice in the background, possibly Devlin’s.

‘Stow your jaw, mister!’ said Millar, before continuing, in priestlike tones, ‘We have deemed you worthy of our confidence and our friendship. You are now within these secret walls. Those who surround you have all taken the obligations of our Order, and are endeavouring to fulfil its duties. These duties must be cheerfully complied with, or not at all undertaken. We are Irishmen banded together for the purpose of freeing Ireland and elevating the position of the Irish race. The lamp of the bitter past plainly points our path, and we believe that the first step on the road to freedom is secrecy. Destitute of secrecy, defeat will again cloud our brightest hopes; and, believing this, we shall hesitate at no sacrifice to maintain it.’

Cribb felt a hand fasten on his shoulder.

‘Be prepared, then, to cast aside with us every thought that may impede the growth of this holy feeling among Irishmen; for, once a member of this Order, you must stand by its watchwords of Secrecy, Obedience and Love. With this explanation, I ask you are you willing to proceed?’

‘Answer,’ whispered Rossanna.

‘I am willing,’ said Cribb.

‘Approach the President, then,’ ordered another voice. It belonged to Carse.

Rossanna piloted him in that direction.

‘My friend,’ said Carse, without a trace of affection, ‘by your own voluntary act you are now before us. You have learned the nature of the cause in which we are engaged-a cause honourable to our manhood, and imposed upon us by every consideration of duty and patriotism. We would not have an unwilling member among us, and we give you, even now, the opportunity of withdrawing, if you so desire.’

Cribb thought it politic to shake his head at the suggestion.

Carse went on, ‘Everyone here has taken a solemn and binding oath to be faithful to the trust we repose in him. This oath, I assure you, is one which does not conflict with any duty you owe to God, to your country, your neighbours, or yourself. It must be taken before you can be admitted to light and fellowship in our Order. With this assurance, will you submit yourself to our rules and regulations and take our obligation without mental reservation?’

‘I will,’ said Cribb. With an assurance like that, a man could promise anything.

‘Place your right hand on this flag of free Ireland, then, and say after me. .’

Cribb repeated the oath phrase by phrase, ‘I, Michael Sargent, do solemnly and sincerely swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will labour, while life is left me’-(an inauspicious phrase, he thought) ‘-to establish and defend a republican form of government in Ireland. That I will never reveal the secrets of this organisation to any person or persons not entitled to know them. That I will obey and comply with the Constitution and laws of the United Brotherhood, and promptly and faithfully execute all constitutional orders coming to me from the proper authority, to the best of my ability. That I will foster a spirit of unity, nationality and brotherly love among the people of Ireland.

‘I furthermore swear that I do not now belong to any other Irish revolutionary society antagonistic to this organisation, and that I will not become a member of such society while connected with the Brotherhood, and, finally, I swear that I take this obligation without mental reservation, and that any violation hereof is infamous and merits the severest punishment. So help me God.’

Two loud raps followed.

‘Brothers and sister!’ said Millar’s voice. ‘It affords me great pleasure to introduce you to our new brother.’

Another rap.

‘Now take off your blindfold, Sargent, and let us get down to the serious business of the meeting,’ said Carse.

Cribb blinked, accustoming his eyes to the gaslight. As he had estimated, the meeting was taking place in the drawing room. His newly acquired sister and brothers were ranged round him in a circle of high-backed chairs which included McGee’s invalid-chair. Carse, the senior man present, wore a chain of office with a silver pendant in the shape of a shield. On it was engraved a harp, two sides of which formed the arched body and wing of an angel.

‘Sit down, tenderfoot. We’ve finished with you,’ Carse told him brusquely.

He found a place between Devlin and Rossanna.

‘Now, Sister,’ Carse continued, with a thin smile directed to Cribb’s right. ‘We shall be obliged if you will deliver your father’s report on the work in hand.’

A familiar perfume was wafted Cribb’s way as Rossanna stirred in her chair. A small pulse at the base of her neck was throbbing visibly. Cribb had the strong intimation that she regarded Carse and Millar as potential enemies. ‘Well, gentlemen, the good news is that everything is ready. We have all been witnesses this evening to the devastation wreaked by Brother Sargent’s machine. An explosive device of identical construction, clock-timed and watertight, is waiting to be put into use. It requires only to be activated.’

Carse nodded. ‘That’s all in order then. But what about the Holland project? The bomb’s no use if that’s not finished. You’ve had a year to put it together and God knows how many dollars to pay for it. Is it ready as your father promised?’