Paul Witcover - The Emperor of all Things

Then the platform slowed and halted, and there was Longinus, pulling him into a storeroom the twin of the one he had left behind, save that this one was lit by a solitary candle set in an iron brace upon one wall. Quare, standing beside Pickens, watched as Longinus reached behind the stack of barrels from whose hollow insides he had just emerged; another click, and the missing front of the stack swivelled around and back into place.

Longinus turned to them, his eyes hard and glittering as chips of flint. ‘Here is where it gets interesting, gentlemen,’ he whispered. ‘I regret to say that there is no secret entrance to the Old Wolf’s den. Or, if there is, even I do not know of it. Nor will my key unlock that door. I must pick the lock. While I am doing so, we will be at our most vulnerable. If we are discovered, and an alarm is raised, we shall have no recourse but to fight our way back out. I do not rate our chances highly in that regard. Thus, it is essential that anyone who stumbles upon us be silenced before they can give warning. As I will be otherwise occupied, and Mr Pickens is unarmed, that duty falls to you, Mr Quare.’

He nodded.

Longinus produced a watch from within the folds of his cloak. ‘It is almost three o’clock. I do not think we can safely tarry more than an hour.’

‘But what if the hunter we seek is not here?’ Pickens asked. ‘What if the Old Wolf has taken it to his chambers for the night?’

‘It is here,’ Quare said before Longinus could reply.

Pickens threw him a sharp glance. ‘How can you know that?’

‘Let’s just say I have a feeling. A very strong feeling.’

‘But—’

‘Enough,’ interjected Longinus. ‘Let us be about our business, gentlemen.’

He listened for a moment at the door of the storeroom before cracking it open and slipping out. Pickens followed, and Quare came after, emerging into an empty hallway. The candles in their sconces had been extinguished for the night, and the greenish light of the vial in his hand gave everything a murky, underwater glow. Pickens and Longinus held vials of their own. Longinus was already halfway down the corridor, heading for the door of the Old Wolf’s den, Pickens as close behind him as a shadow. Quare made to draw his blade, then, reconsidering, unslung his crossbow instead, armed it, and hastened after them, his heart keeping time with the song of the hunter, which had, once again, ratcheted up its intensity, as if sensing his approach.

Longinus reached the door and knelt before it. Pickens stood at his back, holding his vial up to illuminate the lock while glancing up and down the corridor, though little was visible beyond the nimbus of their chemically generated lights.

Quare’s skin prickled with the sense of unseen eyes upon him. He had always felt this way in the guild hall – and not without reason. But there was no obvious sign of observation now. The doors on either side of the corridor, as far as he could tell, remained closed, and no sound intruded on the hush of the great house or the music of the hunter that only he seemed able to hear. Luck, it appeared, was with them.

A faint click from the door announced Longinus’s success. He stood, tucking his lockpick away and then drawing his sword. He locked eyes with Quare and Pickens in turn. Then, with a nod, he cracked the Old Wolf’s door open just wide enough to slip through. Pickens pushed in after him, and Quare followed, once again shutting the door behind him.

The instant he did so, sparks flared out of the darkness. Suddenly torches were ablaze, revealing perhaps a dozen guardsmen with pikes – and, in some cases, pistols – pointed in their direction. Revealed as well was the Old Wolf, who regarded them from behind his desk with a smile of predatory satisfaction on his fleshy, florid face.

Quare took this in through senses dulled by the wild din of the hunter; its song had skidded into a shrill caterwauling that had him pressing the hand that held the vial to the side of his head as if its light might somehow penetrate and soothe his skull. It occurred to him that perhaps the hunter hadn’t been calling to him at all. Perhaps it had been warning him away.

Pickens cursed, at which the Old Wolf heaved himself erect.

‘Drop your weapons, gentlemen. I shall not ask twice.’

Longinus seemed to consider his chances for a moment, then complied with the command. Quare followed his lead, lowering the crossbow to the floor.

Grandmaster Wolfe’s smile widened, and he leaned forward over the wooden desk, his large hands, with their glittering rings, laid flat on its surface. ‘I had hoped my little trap might snare the great Grimalkin, but I did not think to catch three. How positively profligate! Is this all of you, or should I be expecting more?’

No one answered.

‘Remove your masks,’ the Old Wolf said. ‘I would see your faces.’ After a moment, he added: ‘Do it, or I will have it done, and none too gently.’

‘You mean to kill us in any case,’ said Longinus in the gruff voice of Grimalkin.

‘Of course. But not before you are put to the question. A good deal of unpleasantness lies ahead for you, I’m afraid. A good deal of pain and suffering. But it need not begin now.’

Longinus pulled off his mask and flung it defiantly to the floor.

‘Lord Wichcote,’ said the Old Wolf without batting an eyelid. ‘I cannot say I am surprised. Your involvement in this affair has been most suspicious from the start. You should have stayed ensconced behind the walls of your estate, my lord. Your title will not protect you here, nor will His Majesty intervene.’

It struck Quare that the grandmaster had not recognized Longinus, the servant, but saw only the lord. Class, it seemed, could be a more effective disguise than any mask.

When Longinus did not reply, the Old Wolf shifted his gaze to Quare and Pickens. ‘And what of these two? Who else have we caught in our web? Shall I guess? Nay, it is no guess. If Wichcote is here, Quare cannot be far behind.’

Quare tugged his own mask down.

‘The prodigal returns. Alas, I’m afraid I cannot welcome you with open arms, Mr Quare. No fatted calf for you. But never fear: you shall receive the welcome you deserve.’ He looked to Pickens. ‘And you, sir? I confess, I cannot imagine who you might be. The servant who spirited Mr Quare away? Or the real Grimalkin, perhaps?’

The mask came off.

‘Mr Pickens,’ said the Old Wolf, straightening up and seeming surprised for once. ‘I am disappointed to find you in such disreputable company. For all your protestations of innocence, it would seem you are a traitor after all.’

‘It is you who are the traitor,’ Pickens shot back.

‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, sir,’ the grandmaster growled, ‘or I shall keep it for you – in a jar.’ He addressed Longinus. ‘What game are you playing, my lord? Coming here dressed as Grimalkin like some urchin on Gunpowder Night! I suppose Mr Quare must have brought you.’

‘I am playing no game, I assure you.’

The Old Wolf chuckled, a phlegmy rumble. ‘Why, am I to believe that you are Grimalkin? A man of sixty or more? It is absurd on its face, quite apart from the fact that Grimalkin – the real Grimalkin – stole the very watch from you that you have come here to reclaim. Or was that theft a charade? Are you, perhaps, in league with Grimalkin? Is he likely to join us after all?’

Longinus shrugged but said nothing.

‘I have set guards outside this door, my lord. No one will be getting in – or out – unless I give the word.’ As he spoke, he gestured to one of the guardsmen, who began to move about the room, lighting candles from his torch; when he had finished, he extinguished that torch, as well as the others, so that the garish illumination was replaced by a more mellow flickering of light and shadow.