Paul Witcover - The Emperor of all Things

Quare kept silent, following Longinus’s lead. But questions were swirling through his brain, clamouring to be asked.

‘Answer me, damn you!’ the voice cried angrily. ‘If you mean to kill me, come and try, you damned cowardly curs!’

At this, Longinus spoke at last. ‘Hsst! Quiet, man. I have no interest in killing you. I have no interest in you at all.’

Quare did not recognize this voice: a deep, intimidating growl. The voice of Grimalkin.

It did not intimidate the prisoner, however. ‘You’re not one of the Old Wolf’s gang, are you? Listen, if you get me out of here, I swear I won’t betray you!’

‘I could be a French assassin for all you know, come to murder your grandmaster.’

‘I don’t give a fig if you are! The bloody bastard means to murder me!’

‘You say you would not betray me, yet already you have offered to betray your country.’

‘This is not my country! I wasn’t born here, and I have no desire to die here. Let me out, damn you, or I’ll bring the whole nest down on your heads, I swear it!’

‘These walls are thick. No one will hear your cries.’

‘Let us put it to the test, shall we?’ And he began to scream: ‘Help! Murder! Help! Treason!’

‘Quiet!’ Longinus said. ‘Very well, I will see what I can do. Step away from the door.’

‘Gladly,’ said the voice.

The green light rekindled; by its glow, Quare saw Longinus approach the door of the cell. He hurried towards him. Longinus glanced at him and motioned for him to stay put. But he stepped close and laid a restraining hand on Longinus’s arm.

‘I know this man,’ he whispered. ‘It’s—’

‘Yes, there is no mistaking that uncouth accent,’ Longinus whispered back.

‘What do you mean to do to him?’

‘I’ll put him to sleep, as I did the Morecockneyans.’

‘We must question him first,’ Quare said.

‘There is no time.’

‘What’s going on out there?’ the voice demanded. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘I told you to step away,’ Longinus replied in the stentorian tones of Grimalkin. Reaching into another of the pouches at his waist, he produced an iron key and fitted it to the lock. There was a dull clank of tumblers turning. Then, after replacing the key, he drew his dagger. Quare drew his own. Stepping back, Longinus gestured for Quare to open the door.

The heavy door swung inwards; both men tensed, as if expecting the prisoner to hurl himself upon them, but no one emerged. Cautiously, the glowing vial held before him like a shield, dagger at the ready, Longinus stepped into the room; Quare followed, swinging the door shut behind him.

There, blinking in the weak light, stood Gerald Pickens.

Though Quare had recognized the voice and its bland American accent, seeing the man in the flesh was a shock. He had thought Pickens dead, murdered by Aylesford along with Mansfield and Farthingale that horrible night at the Pig and Rooster. But here he stood, very much alive – though the worse for wear. His once-fine clothes were torn and stained with what looked to be blood, and his once-handsome face bore the marks of a thorough beating. His left arm hung useless in a sling; the other was upraised as if to fend off a killing blow.

‘Who are you people?’ he asked now. ‘Why are you wearing those masks?’

‘You wound me, sir,’ growled Longinus. ‘Have you not heard of Grimalkin?’

‘I have … But I had not heard there were two of him!’

‘Who is to say there are not three, four, a hundred Grimalkins? But we mean you no harm,’ Longinus continued. ‘Who are you, and how did you come to be here?’

‘I’m Gerald Pickens, a journeyman of this company. As to how I came to be here, why, I scarcely know myself! But it seems I am a pawn in a larger game – a pawn about to be sacrificed.’

‘What do you mean? Quickly, now!’

‘Have you not heard of the foul murders that have set the whole city on edge? You called me traitor, but the real traitor is still at large somewhere in London!’

‘You mean Aylesford,’ said Longinus.

‘Aylesford?’ Pickens shook his head. ‘He is dead, another victim of the traitor, or so I am told.’

‘What traitor?’

‘Why, the infamous Quare, of course.’

‘What?’ The word burst from Quare before he could help himself.

‘Another journeyman of this company,’ Pickens explained. ‘A friend – or so I thought. But would you believe it, in the pay of the French all along. It was he who murdered Aylesford and the rest – including poor Master Magnus, God rest his soul. Only, don’t you see, the man has fled. To where, who can say? Back to his masters, no doubt. But now, with the city in an uproar, the powers that be require a scapegoat. You are looking at that unfortunate man. Quare attacked me at the Pig and Rooster – from behind, the blackguard! – and left me for dead, but I was only stunned. I survived. And this is my reward! I am to hang for the crimes of another man. My name is to be blackened, my family dishonoured. So much for the king’s justice!’

‘This is intolerable,’ Quare said.

‘There is naught to be done about it now,’ Longinus said.

‘Take me with you!’ Pickens cried. ‘I won’t give you away – I swear it! And I can help you navigate the twists and turns of this infernal labyrinth of a guild hall! I must be free to clear my name – to find Quare and bring him to justice.’

‘You have found him,’ said Quare, and pulled down his mask even as Longinus called out ‘No!’

Pickens sagged back as though struck a blow. Then, gathering his courage, he said, ‘So, traitor, have you come to finish the job?’

‘I am as innocent as you are,’ Quare said. ‘I, too, was meant to be a scapegoat for these heinous crimes, but I escaped … with the help of Grimalkin here – the real Grimalkin.’

‘Why would a thief help you escape?’

‘He is no thief, any more than I am a murderer.’

‘Then who …?’

‘Aylesford,’ Quare said. ‘He confessed as much to me across swords, but I was unable to dispatch him. He is the traitor – a Scottish loyalist in the pay of the French.’

‘Can you prove this?’ Pickens demanded.

‘Alas, no,’ Quare said. ‘I cannot yet clear my name – or yours, for that matter. The conspiracy against us goes beyond the Old Wolf, all the way to Mr Pitt … or so I am reliably informed.’

‘It is true,’ Longinus said. ‘It may well be that His Majesty himself, misled by others, has ordered your sacrifice, Mr Pickens.’

‘Then why have you come here,’ Pickens asked, ‘if not to clear your name? Do you mean to kill the Old Wolf after all?’

‘To answer that would be to unfold a story we do not have the time to tell – nor would you be likely to believe it in any case,’ Quare said.

‘The question is, rather, what shall we do with you, Mr Pickens?’ asked Longinus. ‘We cannot simply render you unconscious, as I had planned, since Mr Quare has revealed himself to you, and you would surely, whether willingly or not, reveal this in turn to the Old Wolf under questioning.’

‘You cannot mean …’

‘I should hate to murder a man in cold blood, especially an innocent man. But I will do so if there is no alternative.’

‘Take me with you,’ Pickens implored. ‘I may be injured, but I can still be of help. I dare say I know the guild hall as well if not better than Quare does, and if it comes to a fight, why, I am right-handed and not unskilled with a blade. I am – or, rather, was, as I have now been expelled from the Most Secret and Exalted Order – a regulator. I suppose it can do me no harm to confess that now.’

‘I, too, was a member of that order!’ Quare said. ‘Master Magnus, God rest his soul, recruited me.’