Paul Witcover - The Emperor of all Things

‘As he did me,’ Pickens said with a grin rendered ghastly by the green light and the bruises covering his face. ‘I know I used to tease you about being a regulator, Quare, but I swear it was only as a joke, to deflect any suspicion from myself! I had no inkling that you might really be one!’

‘Nor I you,’ said Quare, grinning himself.

‘Enough,’ Longinus interjected in Grimalkin’s growl. ‘There may be a way. But know this, Mr Pickens: if you betray us by word or deed – or even by thought – I shall know it, and I shall know how to repay it. In that case, you will be the first to die.’

‘I shall give you no cause to doubt me, I swear it,’ said Pickens.

‘We are about the business of the kingdom this night, Mr Quare and I, and the fate of crown and country may well hinge upon our success,’ Longinus said. ‘If you would aid us, then you must swear to obey me without question or hesitation, on your honour as a journeyman of this company, by the oath you swore to be true to His Majesty, so help you God.’

‘I swear it. So help me God.’

‘Very well.’ Longinus put up his dagger and made his way to the back of the cell. There he paused, examining the wall, though Quare could see nothing of note there, just blocks of heavy stone mortared into place. This cell was both smaller and less well appointed than the one in which he had been held: there was no desk, no pallet, no fireplace. Clearly, after his escape, the Old Wolf had intended to take no chances with Pickens.

‘I say, Quare, is it really the fabled Grimalkin?’ Pickens asked him meanwhile in a whisper.

‘None other,’ Quare said.

‘Who is he behind that mask?’

‘I cannot say,’ Quare replied. ‘He is a man of unexpected talents. A regulator, in fact, if you can believe it.’

‘I … scarcely know what to believe any more.’

‘I know the feeling.’

‘Ah, here it is.’ Longinus’s gloved fingers moved over the wall; with a sudden grinding sound that made Quare start, a single block of stone, at chest height, slid into the wall, leaving a hollow space. ‘Mr Quare, Mr Pickens, if you please, gentlemen.’

The two men glanced at each other and then approached Longinus.

‘I am no stranger to this place,’ he said, addressing Pickens. ‘As Mr Quare has told you, I, too, have been a regulator in my time, recruited, like yourself, by Master Magnus.’ As he spoke, he reached into the hollow, then withdrew his hand.

Pickens stepped back with a cry as a narrow section of wall, extending from floor to ceiling, pivoted in silence, like a door swinging on oiled hinges, to produce an opening where none had been before. Quare, who had by now almost come to expect such surprises where Longinus was concerned, looked on with curiosity. Was this another stair-master?

‘Every cell has its secrets,’ said Longinus. ‘The guild hall is riddled with hidden rooms and passages added piecemeal over the centuries by men whose names have been as thoroughly forgotten as their constructs – but not by me. Thus I have prepared these cells against the eventuality of my ever being imprisoned here.’ He stepped into the opening, taking the wan light with him, which dwindled and then winked out altogether.

Pickens’s voice wavered out of the dark. ‘Where has he gone, Quare? What the devil is he up to? Does he mean to abandon us?’

Grimalkin’s gruff voice replied from within the wall before Quare could answer. ‘Quiet, Mr Pickens. From this moment, you will say nothing unless it is in reply to a question I have asked you.’

The light reappeared, a distant, solitary star whose shine increased until Longinus emerged back into the cell. In his arms he carried a dark bundle. ‘Mr Quare, you will help Mr Pickens into these clothes.’

Pickens looked somewhat sceptical at this but did not protest or speak a word as, with Quare’s help, he dressed himself in the clothing provided . His torn and bloodstained clothes he handed to Longinus, who, pinching them between his fingers with evident distaste, flung them into the opening, where they vanished as if into an abyss.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Longinus when at last Pickens was fully dressed, ‘your masks, if you please.’

Quare tugged his mask into place; Pickens did likewise; and suddenly three Grimalkins stood in the cell where only two had entered.

Longinus studied Pickens thoughtfully. ‘You’ll do, Mr Pickens. I do not trust you sufficiently to provide you with a weapon, but if all goes well you shall not need one, and if things go badly the lack is not likely to matter much. Now, sir, have you heard or seen aught of an unusual watch in the possession of the Old Wolf – a hunter, in point of fact?’

‘N-no,’ stammered Pickens.

‘That watch is our objective,’ Longinus said. ‘It will likely be hidden, in which case an extra pair of eyes will not go amiss.’

‘What does it look like?’

‘Mr Quare?’ Longinus invited.

‘It appears at first to be an ordinary pocket watch,’ Quare said. ‘Its casing is of silver, but without outward embellishment or ornamentation. Yet two peculiarities are evident upon closer inspection. First, the watch is unusually thin. Second, it lacks a stem or indeed any winding mechanism. Should you find it, do not open it for anything.’

‘If you find it, Mr Pickens, you are to alert Mr Quare or me at once,’ Longinus added. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Absolutely … and yet not at all. What is the significance of this watch? Does it hold some secret message?’

‘Perhaps we shall take you more deeply into our confidence once you have proved yourself worthy of it. But that is all you need to know at present. And now, gentlemen, let us return to the matter at hand. I will take the lead; Mr Pickens, you will follow; Mr Quare, you will bring up the rear. Remember: not a word, not a sound. You will keep your dagger to hand, Mr Quare, and if it seems to you that Mr Pickens is about to betray us in any way, you will use it at once, without hesitation.’

‘I won’t,’ Pickens said.

Quare nodded, his mouth dry.

Longinus stepped past them, to the door of the cell, where he listened for a moment before opening it and slipping out into the hallway. Pickens followed, then Quare, who closed the door behind him. Regarding the grey shape before him, Quare drew his dagger, wondering if he could really stab the man in the back should it prove necessary. He hoped he would not have to find out.

Longinus led them to the end of the corridor, where a large, heavy door blocked their passage. He put his ear to it, and, after a moment, satisfied, produced the key that had opened the door to Pickens’s cell; it proved effective here as well. They passed through in single file, Quare again bringing up the rear and closing the door behind him.

In the excitement of finding Pickens, the song of the hunter had faded to the back of Quare’s mind. Now it surged forward again, louder and more insistent, as if some fresh urgency had arisen. He did not know how to communicate this to Longinus without speaking, and yet he did not dare say a word; they had entered a more frequently travelled area of the guild hall, one lit by candles burning in sconces, though this passage was deserted now. Ancient oil paintings and tapestries decorated the walls, their subjects faded to mere suggestions of shape and colour.

Longinus glided like a fog across the floor. Pickens could not match him but acquitted himself well enough, as did Quare, whose attention was divided between the summons only he could hear and the back of the man he might at any moment be called upon to murder.

They traversed one corridor, then another, then climbed a flight of stairs, all without encountering a soul. But just as they reached the top of the stairs and entered another candlelit hallway, this one lined with doors, a man came around the far corner, short and rotund, waddling with haste. It was Master Malrubius, the Old Wolf’s sycophant and shadow.