James Blaylock - The Aylesford Skull

He stood up again, turning toward Finn in a wild rage now. Finn had no intention of letting the man get near him, only to draw him away from Eddie. He picked up a smaller stone and threw it hard, the Crumpet shrugging aside as it flew past. He stood gazing at Finn now, his trouser legs torn open and water-soaked, his right knee bloody, his blue coat streaked with blood and filth. His face was dead calm, however, his one good eye unblinking, his other eye a closed, red weal. He drew out his knife and walked slowly toward Finn, picking his way back across the rocky stream as if he had time to spare after all. Finn backed away, thinking hard whether to chance more stones or to run.

In that moment Eddie appeared at a dead run. Ah, no , Finn thought, as Eddie picked up a small stone and threw it at the Crumpet, missing him by a wide margin. Eddie saw a tree branch, then, and picked it up, running toward the Crumpet’s back, the Crumpet completely unaware. Eddie swung the branch at the back of the Crumpet’s head, as hard as he could swing it. It glanced off, scraping down the Crumpet’s ear and shoulder. Eddie turned and ran again, the Crumpet turning toward him. Finn picked up another heavy stone and ran toward the Crumpet, who feinted toward Eddie but then turned back toward Finn, dodging the stone easily, nearly getting hold of Finn’s jacket. Eddie had vanished.

Finn broke and ran, back up the stream where he crossed to the path again, looking back to see the Crumpet coming on, not in a mad rush now, but with a calm determination, as if his life had narrowed to this one contentious goal. At least Eddie was safely out of sight, Finn thought, recalling his happy surprise when Eddie had picked up the branch. And then once again he was running.

" Please, sir, no more of your histrionics,” Lord Moorgate said. “I find them tedious in the extreme, and I’m anxious to be away.

I came here desiring to bring some sensible conclusion to last night’s abortive meeting. But now I find myself no further along and half a day wasted and having been shot at into the bargain. The boy has run off once again due to your stupidity, or something worse. You’ve failed me, Doctor, and I have half a mind to abandon you.”

They stood in the cellar once again, Lord Moorgate, Helen, and Narbondo, the three of them alone, Narbondo’s men dispersed – some of them searching the countryside, some of them loading barrels aboard the freshly painted steam launch.

“What’s in the other half of your mind, Lord Moorgate? As is true of you and your associates, I have far too much invested in the project to see it abandoned now because of your suspicions and timidity.”

“I warn you that you sail dangerously close to the wind when you accuse me of timidity, sir – a man to whom you owe your life, unless of course your life was never in danger in the first place. The lunatic with the pistol, after all, shot at me, not at you.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “The salient point is that I’ll find it impossible to explain to my business associates that the assurance I promised them has run away into the marsh. They’re impatient men, Doctor, and quite unhappy to throw good money after bad. Your own head will be forfeit; depend upon it.”

“What you explain to your business associates is of no concern to me,” Narbondo said. He smiled at Helen, who seemed to be listening keenly. “Unless of course the beautiful Helen is one of those associates. In that case my concern is very nearly boundless.”

“You jest once again, but to your own peril, sir. My suspicions are justified, I find. It’s remarkable that you clearly anticipated the appearance of the lunatic with the pistol just now. As you no doubt know, that same man attacked me on the street last night after I left your apartment in Spitalfields. Now here he is again, like the ghost at the feast, but carrying a pistol. He threatens to murder you, but was that his intent?”

“I anticipated his arrival because one of my men intercepted a missive that revealed his approach. He shot at you, it seems to me, because you shot him. I have no idea why he attacked you in London. I don’t care a groat for your suspicions.”

“Then I’ll come to the point. I’m willing to proceed, but on the condition that you supply the balance of the money that de Groot will pay to our man in the War Office. Then we’re equally invested in the project’s success. When you’ve finished your work with the boy’s skull and demonstrate its effectiveness, we’ll repay you. And don’t pretend that you’re not in funds, Doctor. I’m aware that you have a very deep purse.”

Narbondo nodded. “You bargain like a Scotsman, sir. But answer me this: why shouldn’t I cut your throat at once and take your money?”

“You’re not daft enough to think that I have the money with me?”

“To the contrary, I’m the very king of the daft, sir. I wonder whether Helen knows where the money lies, and whether she would betray you.”

“I might,” Helen said promptly. “I will be the one to deliver the money to de Groot. Lord Moorgate intends to be in York tomorrow morning, innocently visiting his cousin.”

“Which is entirely sensible,” Moorgate said to Narbondo. He turned to Helen and said, “You’d be wise to remain silent, Helen. I tell you this for your own good.”

“And what else has he promised you for your own good, my dear, now that your head is also in the noose? I don’t say what has he given to you, because our Lord Moorgate seems to be a man of promises, which are very like wind, when you come to think of it. Look at this, my lady.” Narbondo plucked a gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, displaying it in his open palm as he handed it to Helen, who gazed at it with evident appreciation and lust. It was an immense, jet-black pearl set in gold. The pearl had been hidden, turned backward in Narbondo’s hand until this moment. “A token of my esteem,” he said to her. “I possess another of the same, set in a necklace with diamonds.”

“You waste your breath,” Moorgate said. “Come, Helen, return the bauble to the Doctor. We’re finished here.”

Helen looked at Moorgate as if she weren’t at all finished, her eyes as black as the pearls that Narbondo offered to her. In that instant, having made up his mind about her, Narbondo sprang forward, his knife in his hand, the same knife that had dispatched Mary Eastman, and others before her. He swept the blade across Moorgate’s throat, and then at once fell back to avoid the spray of blood.

“Yes,” he said, “finished indeed.”

Moorgate’s eyes remained wide open in surprise. His crimson breath bubbled out of his throat, which he touched now with a palsied hand, toppling to his knees, pressing his hand more forcefully, trying to breathe and to staunch the flow of blood.

“Keep the bauble or return it, as you wish,” Narbondo said to Helen. “I have an entertaining suggestion, however, that will profit us both. You might want to hear it before you decide.” He gestured at Lord Moorgate. “There is always a choice, you see.”

The airship floated some six feet above the flat, sandy sward near Gilbert Frobisher’s vast Arabian tent – several tents, actually, as well as sun shades with their sides furled to let the sometimes considerable breeze slip through. The ship was moored fore and aft and along either side with heavy rope, long wooden stakes set deeply in the well-packed sand. A ladder made of rope and with wooden treads dangled from the open gondola door – more a gate than a door – the excess ladder piled on the ground.