The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,12

this night: the unlooked-for appearance of Grimalkin; the long, harrowing chase by moonlight; the confusion of his clumsy attack – which had by some miracle ended with Grimalkin, a master swordsman, lying unconscious at his feet. Or was the villain shamming?

Quare took a step towards the man, then halted at another wave of dizziness. His hands were trembling; he felt an incongruous urge to laugh. Perhaps he would have – if a sudden burning sensation in the vicinity of his thigh had not directed his eyes downward to torn fabric and a spreading stain. His legs gave way, and he sprawled on the roof alongside Grimalkin – who, he was now certain, was truly unconscious.

Dropping his rapier – though his other hand maintained its hold on the clock – Quare examined his leg as best he could by the light of the moon. The wound did not seem deep: just a long and bloody gash along the outside of his thigh. It burned like hell, though. Recalling how quickly Grimalkin had turned to meet him, he felt almost sick with a visceral understanding of how lucky he had been: a fraction of an inch to one side, and the odd-looking weapon of his grey-cloaked adversary would have punched into his thigh; a fraction higher, and the same move that had ended the fight would instead have impaled him on Grimalkin’s blade.

Wounded as he was, he would be even less of a match for the man now. He had to get away before Grimalkin regained consciousness. Or, no … Quare drew a deep breath and mastered his emotions. He knew his duty and would not shirk it, however unpleasant.

Quare shifted his legs beneath him – grimacing as the movement aggravated his wound – and pushed himself to his knees. Grimalkin had fallen onto his back and lay as if peacefully sleeping, one arm flung over his head, the other draped across his chest. All that Quare could see of the man’s face between his grey hood and mask were his eyes, and even they were closed. He drew his dagger, then hesitated.

What was he doing? He was about to murder a man who was at his mercy. Surely what was wanted now was questioning, not killing. Here was an opportunity to learn not only Grimalkin’s identity but that of his masters.

Setting down the clock, Quare used his dagger to cut lengths from the coiled rope he carried, then bound Grimalkin’s wrists and ankles. All the while, Grimalkin lay motionless, though his light eyelashes fluttered and a faint moan escaped his lips, as if he were coming round.

Quare reached out to remove the grey mask covering the lower half of the man’s face. It was not only curiosity that impelled him; should the rogue awaken and begin shouting for help, he could use the mask as a gag. But it was fastened tightly and would not come away, so he began to tug it down instead, past the nose, the lips …

Quare rocked back on his heels. Disbelieving, he yanked the hood away … and saw a luxuriant coil of blonde hair silvered in moonlight.

Grimalkin – renowned spy, deadly fighter, consummate thief – was a woman.

2

Master Mephistopheles

A SECTION OF panelling scythed inwards, and a liveried servant glided into the room like a spectre. Quare, who had just lowered himself gingerly onto the settee – his leg was troubling him – sprang up with an oath upon catching sight of the man.

‘For God’s sake,’ he cried in irritation, ‘must you skulk about like some damned red Indian?’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he regretted them; the real source of his anger was the Old Wolf, not this blameless – and to all appearances bloodless – factotum … but it was too late now; he would not apologize to a servant.

‘Very good, sir,’ the man intoned as if incapable of taking offence. He inclined his head towards the open door through which he had entered the room. ‘Master Magnus will see you now.’

Quare strode past him into a closet bare of all amenities save a thin wooden railing that circled the enclosed space at waist height, two wall sconces with burning candles caged in glass, and a tasselled bell pull hanging in one corner, beside the door. He did not understand why the master would want to meet him in such close confines. Mystified, he turned to address the servant, who, meanwhile, had stepped in behind him and pulled