The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,191

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?’

‘Do you take me for a cold-blooded murderer?’

‘No – a regulator.’

This drew an appreciative chuckle. ‘Touché, Mr Quare. But they are not dead, merely rendered insensible by a salve on my dagger point. They will regain consciousness in a few hours, none the worse for wear. By which time we shall either be long gone … or it will no longer matter.’

‘But why …?’

‘Surely you could see that they were not to be trusted. Things are different down here. I have been absent too long. Jerry – that is, King Jeremiah – is dead. I confess, I hadn’t expected that. From the sound of it, I do not think my old friend died peaceably in his sleep. He had no heir, only a gaggle of bastards – no offence, Mr Quare. But it