Paul Witcover - The Emperor of all Things

‘More … what?’ Quare asked, pulling free of Longinus’s grasp.

‘Cockneyans,’ came the first voice. ‘Morecockneyans, on account of ’ow we’re more cockney than the blasted Cockney.’

The second voice laughed. ‘We’re the original article, yer might say – been down ’ere since before the Great Fire, we ’ave. This is our kingdom, your lordships, and you may pass ’ere by our leave or not at all. Now, put out them torches and let’s ’ave a look at yer.’

‘Put out—’

‘Do as he says,’ Longinus interrupted. ‘They have become so habituated to dark that even the poor light of these torches blinds them.’ So saying, he let his torch fall to the ground and stamped it out. ‘Go on, Mr Quare. We’re perfectly safe, I assure you, as long as we behave in a manner befitting guests.’

‘If you think I’m going to— ow!’ Quare dropped his torch as what felt like a hornet’s sting pierced the back of his hand. In the seconds before Longinus stamped out the torch, he saw an angry red welt rising there. Then a darkness fell that was beyond any darkness he had ever experienced; it seemed to require another word entirely. He fumbled for his weapons, then froze as the tip of a blade pricked his throat.

‘Quare, is it?’ queried the voice that had laughed. It was not laughing now. ‘You’d best listen to your mate, Mr Quare.’

‘Gorblimey, if it ain’t the Grey Ghost, old Grimalkin ’isself!’ exclaimed the first voice meanwhile. ‘It’s been an age. I ’eard tell you’d retired.’

‘I had.’

‘A bit old ter be gallervantin’ about down ’ere, ain’t yer?’

‘No older than you, Cornelius.’

The voice chuckled. ‘Sharp ears for an old man.’

‘My blade’s grown no duller, either. Hello, Starkey.’

Quare felt the blade at his throat withdraw.

‘Grimalkin,’ came the reply. ‘Up ter yer old tricks again, are yer?’

‘You could say that,’ he answered. ‘Mr Quare and I are in pursuit of a certain timepiece.’

‘And who is Mr Quare at ’ome, eh?’ asked the voice of Cornelius. ‘Took on a ’prentice, ’ave yer? Never thought I’d see the day. You was always solitary as a cat.’

‘Mr Quare is a journeyman of the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers,’ Longinus said.

‘Oho,’ said Starkey with a laugh. ‘A regulator, you mean. One of the Old Wolf’s whelps, is ’e? Or does ’e answer to Master Mephistopheles?’

‘Master Magnus is dead,’ Longinus said.

Silence greeted this news. Quare, meanwhile, had begun to notice that all was not as dark as it had first appeared. A diffuse, pale glow, fainter than the first pale smudge of dawn, hung like a sourceless fog in the air, and though it did not exactly illuminate anything, it did place objects into a kind of relief, so that he was able to discern, though none too clearly, the silhouettes of the two Morecockneyans. Cornelius, it appeared, was a large, stout man, nearly as big as the Old Wolf himself, while Starkey was thin as a greyhound.

‘Dead ’ow?’ asked Cornelius at last. ‘Was it murder?’

‘Did the Old Wolf do ’im?’ Starkey chimed in eagerly.

‘I cannot say,’ Longinus replied.

‘Cannot … or will not?’ Cornelius demanded.

‘In truth, I do not know for certain how he died. I cannot explain it. All I know is that it involves the timepiece I spoke of.’

‘Worf a lot, is it?’

‘It does not even tell the time,’ Longinus demurred.

‘Then why are you and Mr Quare ’ere so innerested in it?’ asked Starkey in a sceptical tone.

‘For two reasons. First, it belonged to me once, and was stolen by—’

At this, Starkey guffawed. ‘What, the great Grimalkin robbed? There’s a larf!’

Longinus continued testily. ‘You can see why I wish it back. No self-respecting thief enjoys having the tables turned. And to add insult to injury, the churl who stole it did so in the guise of none other than’ – and here he sketched a self-mocking bow – ‘the great Grimalkin.’

‘The cheek of it!’ Starkey sounded delighted. ‘The rogue!’

‘Second,’ Longinus resumed, ‘the timepiece is of considerable scientific interest.’

‘Pull the other one,’ Cornelius objected. ‘You said it don’t tell the time.’

‘Neither does a cannon or a musket.’

‘What, is it some kind of weapon, then?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Longinus said. ‘Its mechanism is unique, to put it mildly. It is no exaggeration to say that whoever can uncover its secrets will gain considerable power thereby – perhaps even enough to decide the outcome of the war.’

‘What war?’

‘Come now, sir,’ said Longinus. ‘You cannot expect me to believe that you are ignorant of the fact that our country is fighting for its very life against the French and their allies!’

‘You surface dwellers are always fightin’ over somefin’ or other. It don’t make us no nevermind down ’ere,’ said Starkey with a shrug of his narrow shoulders.

Quare’s vision had continued to improve, and he saw now that the faint glow he had discerned earlier had its source in Starkey and Cornelius; or, rather, in a kind of pale powder that covered their faces and clothes. It radiated a sickly greenish light, giving them the aspect of mouldering ghosts. Cornelius had a nose like a warty potato above a beard like a tangle of moss, while Starkey’s face was gaunt, his nose sharp as a knife’s edge, his eyes sunk so deep in their sockets that their existence could only be inferred. And though Cornelius was fully as large as the Old Wolf, his bulk, unlike that of the corpulent clockman, was made up of muscle.

‘Whether you live above the ground or beneath it, you’re still Englishmen,’ Longinus said meanwhile.

‘We’re Morecockneyans first,’ Cornelius replied matter-of-factly. ‘We ’ave our own king, our own country.’

‘Maybe we orter ’ave a look at this timepiece, Corny,’ put in Starkey. ‘Might be we should take it to ’is Majesty.’

‘A capital idea, Starks.’

‘Gentlemen, the timepiece has already been stolen from me once,’ Longinus interjected. ‘I do not mean to put myself to the trouble and risk of retrieving it only to have it stolen again. Nor is it to be idly handled – poked and prodded like some common chronometer. That is what killed Master Magnus, or so I do believe. And if he could not handle the timepiece safely – he, the foremost horologist of the age – I do not think you, or any Morecockneyan, would be advised to try.’

‘What about you, then, eh? You fink you’re better than Magnus?’

‘On the contrary, I know my limits.’

‘Then ’ow—’ began Starkey, but Cornelius interrupted:

‘Mr Quare.’

Quare started; he had begun to think himself forgotten. ‘Yes?’

‘That’s why you brung ’im along,’ Cornelius continued, ignoring Quare completely. ‘You fink ’e can do what Magnus couldn’t and what you dare not even try. That’s right, ain’t it?’

‘Hardly. There may be one other in all of England who can discern the secrets of this timepiece, but that person is not Mr Quare. However, it’s true enough that my young friend has a certain … affinity with it,’ Longinus said. ‘I do not think it will kill him.’

‘’Ear that, Mr Quare?’ asked Starkey, more amused than ever. ‘’E don’t fink it’ll kill yer. ’Ow’s that for a vote o’ confidence?’

‘It’s not the watch I’m worried about,’ Quare answered.

‘So it’s a watch, is it?’ Starkey rejoined.

‘Of course it’s a watch,’ Longinus replied before Quare could add anything. ‘Did I not say so already?’

‘No, you did not,’ said Cornelius, measuring out his words. ‘What else ’ave you omitted to mention, I wonder? I thought we ’ad an understandin’, Grimalkin. An agreement. We give you the right o’ passage through our dark domain, and you give us bits o’ information and a cut o’ the swag from up top. Ain’t that always been the way of it?’