Paul Witcover - The Emperor of all Things

‘What of your preconceptions, then? Because you cannot entertain the possibility of a female Grimalkin, you spin hypotheses out of whole cloth!’

‘No, sir, no,’ the master repeated, giving the floor another thump with his stick. ‘Why, it were as likely for me to dance a jig atop this desk as for Grimalkin to be a woman! Put the notion from your mind. That was not Grimalkin you fought. And a good thing, too, else you would not have survived, much less come back in triumph, bearing the prize.’

Quare was not in a mood to be mollified. ‘If not Grimalkin, then who?’

‘That is precisely the question, Mr Quare. And you may rest assured that it is a question I mean to get to the bottom of. Not just the woman’s identity – and that of her accomplice, should he be proved to exist – but the identity of the person or persons who engaged them to steal that timepiece from Lord Wichcote. I do not believe they were common criminals. Far from it. They were in the service of England’s enemies, of that I have no doubt.’

‘Then perhaps they are allied with Grimalkin in some way.’

‘That is indeed a troubling possibility.’ Master Magnus adopted a severe expression. ‘You were wrong to try and keep this from me, Mr Quare , as you were wrong not to question the woman posing as Grimalkin. But I will forgive these wrongs, just this once, because you did bring the clock to me, after all, and played your part to perfection with the Old Wolf. Yet I must say, I find your account, even in its amended form, an odd one – so odd, in fact, that I cannot help but wonder if you are holding something back even now.’

‘I’ve told you everything, master – I swear it!’

‘We shall see,’ he answered, and his expression turned more ominous still. ‘You were not my first choice for this assignment, Mr Quare. Had a more seasoned regulator been available, I would have sent him. But with the French, Russians, and Austrians moving against us on the Continent, as well as in Scotland and in Ireland, to say nothing of the Colonies, I’ve had to dispatch my best men far and wide, and you – to be blunt – were simply the best of what remained. I was, I confess, somewhat apprehensive as to your chances. Nor has your success in securing the timepiece against all odds laid those apprehensions to rest – on the contrary, in some respects what you have just told me has exacerbated them. If you are to continue as my special agent, I must have your solemn oath that you are prepared to harden your heart, put conscience aside, and act in the best interests of your country and your guild as circumstances require. Can you do that, Mr Quare? Because I assure you, if you cannot, I can find another man who will.’

‘I am your man,’ Quare said, anxious to assuage the master’s doubts. It had not only been from a desire to draw closer to the mysteries of time that he had accepted Master Magnus’s invitation to become a regulator; the master had promised to utilize his intelligence network on Quare’s behalf, to uncover the identity of his father. He did not wish to jeopardize that promise now. ‘You have my word.’

‘Hmm … Perhaps there is someone I can assign to help you,’ Master Magnus said. ‘Someone with more experience …’

‘I thought all the experienced agents were on assignment,’ Quare said. ‘Anyway, I prefer to work alone.’

‘Your preferences do not concern me,’ the master answered. ‘There are regulators no longer on active duty but still competent enough to support you in the field.’

‘To spy on me, you mean.’

This the master did not trouble to deny. ‘Do we have an understanding, Mr Quare?’

‘It appears I have no choice.’

‘Quite.’

‘Then, yes, I agree, of course. Who will you assign to me?’

‘I must think on it.’ And with that, the storm clouds lifted from the master’s expression, and he looked younger, almost boyish – as if the flames dancing in his spectacles had burned away half a lifetime in an instant. The change did not make his appearance any more regular or pleasing to behold, yet it made Quare smile even so, for he had never yet witnessed this transformation in Master Magnus without being rewarded by some astonishing glimpse into the man’s fertile mind: a hint of some heretofore veiled mystery of time, or a wondrous invention like the stair-master, which put horological principles to unexpected use.

‘Now, my boy,’ said Master Magnus, a mischievous lilt to his voice, his stature seeming to grow straighter as he spoke, ‘would you care to have a look at the timepiece you have risked – and sacrificed – so much to procure?’

USING HIS WALKING sticks, master magnus pulled himself across the floor of the study. He stabbed one forward, then the other, dragging his legs along behind with sharp wrenchings of his hips, like a man toiling through drifts of snow. Once again Quare was struck by the strength of his arms and upper body. Mewling cats slipped in and out of his path, rubbing against the sticks and his twisted legs. He ignored them.

‘Word of what I am about to show you can go no further,’ he said. ‘Is that understood?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Quare, wondering what was about to be revealed to him. He would have risen to assist Master Magnus but knew from experience that any such attempt would meet with an angry rejection.

The master paused before Quare, his face shining with sweat. Now it was his own reflection Quare beheld in the dark spectacles; though he was seated, his eyes were nearly level with the master’s, so pronounced was the curvature of his spine. ‘Swear it,’ growled Master Magnus. ‘Swear it on your honour .’

There was more mischief than malice to the barb; still, Quare couldn’t help flinching as it struck home. ‘I swear it.’

‘One day I will perfect a set of mechanical limbs,’ the master said as he resumed his halting progress. ‘Think of it, sir. Legs for the legless. Arms for the armless. Hands as clever and supple as your own. Better, even. Stronger. Then cripples such as I will be envied instead of scorned.’

His destination was the bookshelves. A cluttered space Quare could have crossed in five seconds was for Master Magnus a labour of as many minutes, though he did not once complain of it. But at last he stood before the solid mass of books and papers, his misshapen back to Quare. The phlegmatic rasp of his breathing was the loudest sound in the room, but it did not drown out the purring of the cats; it seemed almost to rise out of those lesser rumblings, riding above them like the foaming crest of a wave. Quare felt an answering vibration in himself, transmitted through the air, or through the calico cat still curled on his lap, as if all his nerves, pulled taut, had been plucked like the strings of a guitar. He got to his feet (displacing the cat, which leapt to the floor) and stepped – or, rather, felt himself drawn – towards the shelves. Was the timepiece hidden there?

‘Bring a light,’ said Master Magnus, who must have heard Quare move, for he had not turned to look at him, his attention fixed on the shelves before him. He reached up with one of his walking sticks to stab at the fat, leather-bound spine of a nameless volume. There came a clicking sound, and a section of shelving slid away from the rest, scattering cats as it pivoted through one hundred and eighty degrees to bring into view a worktable outfitted with all the familiar accoutrements of the clockmaker’s trade … and some not so familiar.

Quare’s heart was beating fast as he joined the master, who motioned for him to set down the candlestick he had fetched along. This Quare managed with difficulty, as the surface of the worktable was strewn with disassembled or partially assembled clocks and watches – a spilled cornucopia of gears and gauges, wheels and wires and other glittery objects he would have given much to examine at his leisure. Though he had spent a fair amount of time in Master Magnus’s study of late, and had on occasion even assisted him in his researches, he had never before seen this hidden worktable, or so much as suspected its existence. How many other secrets were concealed here?