Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'No need to say sorry, Prom. I can imagine it is hard for you. And yes, Butter certainly is priceless. I only hope he makes it safely back. We need Destine up to speed when we see her. Come on; let's make tracks whilst we've still got an advantage.'

'We've got…an advantage?' asked Prometheus dryly. 'That makes a change.'

'Of course we have, man!' said Quaint. 'Whoever sent those men to kill me knew the name Cornelius Quaint. Now, I don't know who or why, but hopefully my enemy now thinks me dead. There's no greater advantage than that, trust me-and whilst we're on the move you can explain to me how a man who's been mute his whole life can suddenly speak, hmm? Not to mention how the hell you knew where to find us?'

'The tale o' how…me voice returned…is one for another time, Cornelius,' Prometheus said, his heavy eyes lowered to the ground like a chastised dog. 'I got…more…important things. Been…hidin' out…along docks for a while. Tell me…what've they found out? Police, I mean…'

'About what? About your escape?'

'Forget me…escape, man!' growled Prometheus. 'M'talkin' about Tom Hawkspear! Are they any…closer t'findin' 'im?'

'Ah…' Quaint puffed his cheeks, trying to find the right words. 'To tell you the truth, my old friend, I don't think they have even begun to look for him. They have a much larger target in mind. No, I think that if this Hawkspear demon is to be found…we shall have to get our own hands dirty!'

'I won't…let her death go unpunished, Cornelius,' muttered Prometheus. 'I just won't! Even if…I have t'dredge the depths o' hell meself!'

Quaint slapped his hand upon the giant's vast shoulder. 'Then you will have my company in your task, my friend. She was a unique young woman,' he said, his bottom lip floundering as he clenched the emotion behind his gritted teeth. 'And I loved her like a daughter. She will not go unavenged, Prometheus…I swear to you.'

AN HOUR LATER, after weaving their way through the labyrinthine backstreets of Lambeth, Quaint and Prometheus had made it to the near end of the Vauxhall Bridge, and they were close to their destination, crouched behind a large outbuilding.

'So, what's next?' asked Prometheus, trying his best to squat down into the shadows. 'Or are you on the…run from the…law now, same as me?'

'We need Destine's advice as to which direction we need to take,' Quaint said.

'A plan? That's not like ye, Cornelius,' said Prometheus, with a knowing wink. 'Surely, the plan is…I go t'Crawditch and speak t'the Police. I need t'hand meself in, Cornelius! Clear up this…mis…understandin', do ye not understand?'

Quaint bit at his bottom lip, and stared at his Irish friend. It was confusing hearing Prometheus talk, and how tentatively each word was delivered, in such a contrast to his physical bulk. On more than one occasion the Irishman had begun a sentence, only to clamp his mouth shut and keep silent. But he was slowly getting his confidence back, and renewing his acquaintance with his voice. Quaint was biding his time, waiting for Prometheus to explain how it had miraculously reappeared. He had never heard his friend utter so much as a single syllable in all the time he had known him, and yet somehow the deep Irish twang was how he'd imagined Prometheus to speak. He was transfixed, watching the strongman's big beard and moustache twitching from one side to the other like a ventriloquist's dummy as Prometheus spoke.

'I need t'hand meself in, clear up this mis…Er…misunder…misunderstandin'!'

'Commissioner Dray has the weight of Scotland Yard bearing down on him at the moment,' Quaint said. 'He may decide to make a scapegoat out of you, and he's certainly made it clear that my past friendship with him won't sway the balance in your favour. If anything, it'd work against you.'

'But, Cornelius…I can speak up for meself now…just about.'

'Yes, I'd noticed that…and I have been waiting…'

'Ye're probably…wonderin' how that…came about, right?'

'Amongst other vexing questions swimming around my head, yes,' said Quaint. 'Such as: how on earth did you get out of prison? I thought I was supposed to be the magician, and here you are performing not one, but two miracles in one day.'

Prometheus had known this conversation was coming. There was little point in trying to sidestep it. Like a wart on the end of his nose, there was no avoiding the attention. A seven-foot-plus mute giant who could now miraculously speak was sure to be a conversation starter.

'Which…which one d'ye want t'hear first, eh?' he asked Quaint.

'The police station,' replied his friend. 'Forget just why you were stupid enough to escape when I had specifically told you to let me handle things…I want to know how you managed it. I inspected the bars on the window grate myself…they had been eaten away by acid. Now…how the hell did you get hold of acid in a bloody police station?'

Prometheus rubbed a thick hand over his bald head. 'Well, the…um…the answer to why I was so stupid…and how I escaped…is the same.' He tensed as he heard a rustle in the building behind them, and Quaint's hand darted out and grabbed his arm. The two hunched men relaxed as a ginger cat came scurrying out from the shadows, and they exchanged relieved glances. 'Cornelius…I don't don't know…if this is the right place for this. It's not easy…hearin' me own voice, for a start!'

'I'm in no rush, and it's a long walk to Hyde Park,' Quaint said, with a grin. 'Did you suddenly get a visit from angels bestowing the gift of voice upon you, or something?'

'There was…nothing angelic… about it, man,' Prometheus answered. 'Cornelius…m'not sure…how much sense I'll make,' he said, slumping his backside down onto the stony ground. 'The truth is…it ain't some miracle how I got…got me voice back…'cos it never really went away.'

'What are you talking about, man?' asked Quaint. 'No pun intended.'

Prometheus's defences relaxed as he saw the glint of friendship in Quaint's black eyes. He exhaled noisily, his beard fluttering in the breeze, and he sighed a mournful sigh, as if he were unburdening a lifelong secret-which of course, was exactly what he was about to do.

'Well, the thing is…I…I chose not to speak.'

'I think you're getting your words confused,' said Quaint. 'What do you mean, you "chose" not to speak?'

'I thought…it was…for the best…at th'time, anyways. Started out…like somethin' to protect meself…next thing I knew…it was a dec…decade later. Think…I almost…convinced meself I was a mute.'

Quaint's brow furrowed. 'You mean…all this time, all these years, you could have spoken…and yet you didn't? But…why?'

'It goes back t'years ago…back home in Ireland…someone very…close t'me…she was killed. Her name was Lily, an' me an' her got on just grand…the problem was, her family weren't as…keen on me, 'specially her two brothers.'

Prometheus took a deep breath, as he laid out his past before Quaint. 'They tried t'separate us time an' again, 'til one day…it all came to a head.' He paused, catching the look of anguish on Quaint's face. 'Don't you be lookin' like that, mate,' Prometheus said, almost tenderly. 'I ain't about…t'blub all over ye. I need to exorcise this demon…once and fer all. Y'see…Lily's two brothers…they trapped her when I was out workin'. They…they locked her up in a barn…threatened t'set it on fire. I got home…only t'see 'em waving bloody torches aroun' like some sort of witch-hunt. Lily's youngest brother…Tommy…said somethin' about me being a…a "freak against God" or somesuch nonsense…I punched him so hard, damn near took his head off…he threw his torch into the barn…said he would rather…watch his sister burn than be wi' a monster like me. I'm too busy fightin' t'hear Lily's screams…'