The Emperor of All Things (56 page)

‘Put out—’

‘Do as he says,’ Longinus interrupted. ‘They have become so habituated to dark that even the poor light of these torches blinds them.’ So saying, he let his torch fall to the ground and stamped it out. ‘Go on, Mr Quare. We’re perfectly safe, I assure you, as long as we behave in a manner befitting guests.’

‘If you think I’m going to— ow!’ Quare dropped his torch as what felt like a hornet’s sting pierced the back of his hand. In the seconds before Longinus stamped out the torch, he saw an angry red welt rising there. Then a darkness fell that was beyond any darkness he had ever experienced; it seemed to require another word entirely. He fumbled for his weapons, then froze as the tip of a blade pricked his throat.

‘Quare, is it?’ queried the voice that had laughed. It was not laughing now. ‘You’d best listen to your mate, Mr Quare.’

‘Gorblimey, if it ain’t the Grey Ghost, old Grimalkin ’isself!’ exclaimed the first voice meanwhile. ‘It’s been an age. I ’eard tell you’d retired.’

‘I had.’

‘A bit old ter be gallervantin’ about down ’ere, ain’t yer?’

‘No older than you, Cornelius.’

The voice chuckled. ‘Sharp ears for an old man.’

‘My blade’s grown no duller, either. Hello, Starkey.’

Quare felt the blade at his throat withdraw.

‘Grimalkin,’ came the reply. ‘Up ter yer old tricks again, are yer?’

‘You could say that,’ he answered. ‘Mr Quare and I are in pursuit of a certain timepiece.’

‘And who is Mr Quare at ’ome, eh?’ asked the voice of Cornelius. ‘Took on a ’prentice, ’ave yer? Never thought I’d see the day. You was always solitary as a cat.’

‘Mr Quare is a journeyman of the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers,’ Longinus said.

‘Oho,’ said Starkey with a laugh. ‘A regulator, you mean. One of the Old Wolf’s whelps, is ’e? Or does ’e answer to Master Mephistopheles?’

‘Master Magnus is dead,’ Longinus said.

Silence greeted this news. Quare, meanwhile, had begun to notice that all was not as dark as it had first appeared. A diffuse, pale glow, fainter than the first pale smudge of dawn, hung like a sourceless fog in
the
air, and though it did not exactly illuminate anything, it did place objects into a kind of relief, so that he was able to discern, though none too clearly, the silhouettes of the two Morecockneyans. Cornelius, it appeared, was a large, stout man, nearly as big as the Old Wolf himself, while Starkey was thin as a greyhound.

‘Dead ’ow?’ asked Cornelius at last. ‘Was it murder?’

‘Did the Old Wolf do ’im?’ Starkey chimed in eagerly.

‘I cannot say,’ Longinus replied.

‘Cannot … or will not?’ Cornelius demanded.

‘In truth, I do not know for certain how he died. I cannot explain it. All I know is that it involves the timepiece I spoke of.’

‘Worf a lot, is it?’

‘It does not even tell the time,’ Longinus demurred.

‘Then why are you and Mr Quare ’ere so innerested in it?’ asked Starkey in a sceptical tone.

‘For two reasons. First, it belonged to me once, and was stolen by—’

At this, Starkey guffawed. ‘What, the great Grimalkin robbed? There’s a larf!’

Longinus continued testily. ‘You can see why I wish it back. No self-respecting thief enjoys having the tables turned. And to add insult to injury, the churl who stole it did so in the guise of none other than’ – and here he sketched a self-mocking bow – ‘the great Grimalkin.’

‘The cheek of it!’ Starkey sounded delighted. ‘The rogue!’

‘Second,’ Longinus resumed, ‘the timepiece is of considerable scientific interest.’

‘Pull the other one,’ Cornelius objected. ‘You said it don’t tell the time.’

‘Neither does a cannon or a musket.’

‘What, is it some kind of weapon, then?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Longinus said. ‘Its mechanism is unique, to put it mildly. It is no exaggeration to say that whoever can uncover its secrets will gain considerable power thereby – perhaps even enough to decide the outcome of the war.’

‘What war?’

‘Come now, sir,’ said Longinus. ‘You cannot expect me to believe that you are ignorant of the fact that our country is fighting for its very life against the French and their allies!’

‘You surface dwellers are always fightin’ over somefin’ or other. It don’t make us no nevermind down ’ere,’ said Starkey with a shrug of his narrow shoulders.

Quare’s vision had continued to improve, and he saw now that the faint glow he had discerned earlier had its source in Starkey and Cornelius; or, rather, in a kind of pale powder that covered their faces and clothes. It radiated a sickly greenish light, giving them the aspect of mouldering ghosts. Cornelius had a nose like a warty potato above a beard like a tangle of moss, while Starkey’s face was gaunt, his nose sharp as a knife’s edge, his eyes sunk so deep in their sockets that their existence could only be inferred. And though Cornelius was fully as large as the Old Wolf, his bulk, unlike that of the corpulent clockman, was made up of muscle.

‘Whether you live above the ground or beneath it, you’re still Englishmen,’ Longinus said meanwhile.

‘We’re Morecockneyans first,’ Cornelius replied matter-of-factly. ‘We ’ave our own king, our own country.’

‘Maybe we orter ’ave a look at this timepiece, Corny,’ put in Starkey. ‘Might be we should take it to ’is Majesty.’

‘A capital idea, Starks.’

‘Gentlemen, the timepiece has already been stolen from me once,’ Longinus interjected. ‘I do not mean to put myself to the trouble and risk of retrieving it only to have it stolen again. Nor is it to be idly handled – poked and prodded like some common chronometer. That is what killed Master Magnus, or so I do believe. And if he could not handle the timepiece safely – he, the foremost horologist of the age – I do not think you, or any Morecockneyan, would be advised to try.’

‘What about you, then, eh? You fink you’re better than Magnus?’

‘On the contrary, I know my limits.’

‘Then ’ow—’ began Starkey, but Cornelius interrupted:

‘Mr Quare.’

Quare started; he had begun to think himself forgotten. ‘Yes?’

‘That’s why you brung ’im along,’ Cornelius continued, ignoring Quare completely. ‘You fink ’e can do what Magnus couldn’t and what you dare not even try. That’s right, ain’t it?’

‘Hardly. There may be one other in all of England who can discern the secrets of this timepiece, but that person is not Mr Quare. However, it’s true enough that my young friend has a certain … affinity with it,’ Longinus said. ‘I do not think it will kill him.’

‘’Ear that, Mr Quare?’ asked Starkey, more amused than ever. ‘’E don’t
fink
it’ll kill yer. ’Ow’s that for a vote o’ confidence?’

‘It’s not the watch I’m worried about,’ Quare answered.

‘So it’s a watch, is it?’ Starkey rejoined.

‘Of course it’s a watch,’ Longinus replied before Quare could add anything. ‘Did I not say so already?’

‘No, you did not,’ said Cornelius, measuring out his words. ‘What else ’ave you omitted to mention, I wonder? I thought we ’ad an understandin’, Grimalkin. An agreement. We give you the right o’ passage through our dark domain, and you give us bits o’ information and a cut o’ the swag from up top. Ain’t that always been the way of it?’

‘Might be it’s time to renegotiate our agreement, Corny,’ put in Starkey.

‘I was thinkin’ the very same, Starks.’

‘We don’t have time for this,’ Longinus said, exasperated. ‘Gentlemen, I assure you, our need is urgent. More urgent than you can imagine. As for the agreement to which you refer, neither you, Mr Cornelius, nor you, Mr Starkey, has the right to renegotiate so much as a syllable. Do not forget that I saved your king’s life once. I dare say
he
has not forgotten.’

‘There you would be wrong,’ Starkey said. ‘King Jeremiah ’as grown rather forgetful of late, I regret ter say.’

Cornelius added, in a voice edged with mockery, ‘Come now, sir. You cannot expect me to believe that you are ignorant o’ the fact that King Jeremiah is no longer among the livin’.’

Longinus drew in a sharp breath. ‘Jerry dead? When? How?’

‘That don’t concern you,’ said Cornelius. ‘But there’s a new king on the mushroom throne. And ’e might not feel ’isself bound by any agreements entered into by ’is predecessor – kings is peculiar that way, I find.’

‘You know what I fink, Corny?’ piped up Starkey.

‘What’s that, Starks?’

‘I fink we should bring our guests to meet ’is Majesty.’

By now the conversation had undergone so many twists and turns that Quare was positively dizzy. Whether the ‘Morecockneyans’ were friends or enemies or something in between, he didn’t know, but he did know that he had no desire whatsoever to meet their so-called king. And the same, it was apparent, was true of Longinus.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said as if speaking to guests in his own drawing room, ‘you know me. You know what I can do. That I have not thus far drawn my sword is a measure of my friendship with your late king, and my belief that the agreement between us was still in effect even after so many years. If that is not the case, I shall feel justified in defending myself.’ And here he did in fact make to draw his sword; seeing which, however indistinctly, Quare did likewise.

The effect was electric. ‘No need ter be so ’asty,’ said Starkey, backing off a step.

‘Indeed not,’ Cornelius said. ‘We was only tryin’ ter be ’ospitable like. But I can see yer in a ’urry. Yer can always meet ’is Majesty some uvver time.’

‘Then our agreement is still in effect?’

‘’Course it is,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll just—’

‘Very well,’ Longinus interrupted with a satisfied nod. ‘Then by the terms of that agreement, I require your assistance, gentlemen.’

‘But—’ began Starkey.

Faster than Quare could follow, Longinus’s sword was out of its scabbard. ‘You will accompany us to the guild hall of the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers,’ he said. ‘That way we can travel without the need for torches. Your vision, after all, is considerably better than our own down here. Though never fear: I can see well enough to employ this’ – he flourished the blade – ‘if we should run into any trouble along the way.’

‘That’s … comfortin’ ter know,’ Cornelius said after a glance at Starkey.

‘Mr Starkey, you will oblige me by joining Mr Cornelius at the head of our little group. Sword sheathed, if you don’t mind.’

‘Wiv pleasure,’ he grumbled, sliding his sword back into its scabbard as he pushed past Quare, who only now drew his own blade, feeling slow and clumsy.

‘Now,’ Longinus said, ‘let us resume our journey in silence, for we would not wish to alert our enemies above – or, for that matter, our friends here below, who might misconstrue the situation. I trust we would all prefer to avoid such misunderstandings, eh, gentlemen?’

‘Assuredly,’ said Cornelius.

‘By all means,’ Starkey agreed.

‘You would do well to remember that I know the route as well as you, if not better. So you will oblige me by avoiding any short cuts or other unpleasant surprises along the way.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Starkey said.

‘Do you really mean to proceed without torches?’ Quare asked, not quite believing what he had heard.

‘The Morecockneyans, as you have surely noticed, employ a fine powder made of the crushed spores of phosphorescent fungi specially grown for the purpose,’ Longinus said. ‘You’ll find the light sufficient to travel by … or fight by, if it should come to that.’

‘It won’t,’ Cornelius said with assurance. ‘No surface dweller can move as quiet as a Morecockneyan, or ’ear us if we don’t wish to be ’eard. Present company excepted. Everyone knows the Grey Ghost ain’t no ordinary surface dweller.’

‘Ain’t no ordinary ’uman bein’, yer ask me,’ Starkey opined.

‘Nobody did ask, so shut yer ’ole,’ Cornelius responded with a snarl. ‘What I mean to say, Grimalkin, is that we’ll get the two of yer safely up to the guild ’all, never fear. But that’s as far as me and Starks is prepared ter go, agreement or no.’

‘I had not thought to presume upon you one step farther,’ Longinus said. ‘Now, pray, lead on. And remember: not a word, not a sound.’

The two Morecockneyans set off, followed by Longinus and Quare. At first their pace was brisk, but Longinus soon called them to heel. The light emanating from the Morecockneyans, while sufficient to illuminate the way, if only just, gave the already dreamlike surroundings an even stranger aspect, so that Quare felt more than ever that he had slipped back into the Otherwhere. Everything seemed created out of
nothing
an instant before they came to it, and then, as soon as they were past, to dissolve again into the primordial soup that had spawned it. Quare, after some moments, had sheathed his sword, concentrating on avoiding the obstacles that emerged as if out of thin air; at the same time, he was intent upon any hint, however faint, of the hunter’s ethereal touch. His heart pulsed; his skin tingled; his every nerve was pulled taut, vibrating like a violin string. The discordant ticking of the timepieces he carried in his clothing, a constant soft patter of sound, set him further on edge.

But as Cornelius had promised, they encountered no one, and soon enough they stood at the entrance to a passage that, according to Longinus, led into the lowest levels of the guild hall. Quare had no idea how much time had passed since he and his mentor had begun their subterranean journey, but it seemed impossible that it should still be night. Nevertheless, Longinus appeared unconcerned.

‘Gentlemen, thank you for the guidance,’ he said. ‘We are in your debt.’

‘Quite all right,’ whispered Cornelius. ‘I reckon you can find yer own way from ’ere.’

‘I should hope so,’ he said.

‘I guess we’ll be ’eadin’ ’ome, then,’ Starkey said. ‘Best o’ luck to yer both.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t allow that,’ Longinus said, already moving as he spoke, a shadowy blur.

Quare heard two surprised exhalations, so close in time as to be almost a single sigh. Cornelius and Starkey sank to the ground. He gaped like a schoolboy.

‘Don’t just stand there,’ Longinus hissed. ‘Help me move them.’

‘Are they … dead?’