The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,192

seems plain that Cornelius and Starkey serve whoever it is that now sits upon the mushroom throne. Had I allowed them to depart, they would have reported back to him and then returned here with others to wait for our exit. They would have set upon us, stolen the timepiece, and left us for dead. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind.’

‘Well, you have made an enemy of them now … and of their new king, whoever he may be.’

‘Regrettable but necessary. With luck, I shall have time to make amends, if warranted, though in truth I have shown our friends here more mercy than they would have given us, had they not been too intimidated by the reputation of the Grey Ghost.’

‘Another of your aliases?’

‘A nickname bestowed by King Jeremiah. I am most sorry to learn of his death. He was a giant in stature and in heart – every inch a king. When we have finished here, I shall look into the manner of his death. If it be murder, I will see that justice is done, one way or another. I swear it. But that is for later. The hunter awaits us, and time is short. Come, sir – let us be about our business.’

With that, he laid hold of Cornelius’s bulky form and, again evidencing his surprising strength, dragged the man into the passage; Quare did likewise with Starkey, who was as light as a bird. Beyond the narrow opening, the passage widened considerably, and they were able to deposit the bodies off to one side, leaning the two men against the rock wall, their legs stretched out before them, heads lolling, so that they resembled two sentries napping on the job.

‘Should we not bind them?’ Quare asked.

‘No need,’ Longinus assured him. ‘One way or another, this will be over by the time they regain their senses.’

‘Still, I should rather be safe than sorry.’ Quare cut strips of cloth from the Morecockneyans’ clothing and secured their hands behind their backs. ‘That will slow them down at least, if they awaken sooner than you expect. I would not like to find them waiting for us when we return. Perhaps we should take their weapons as well …’

‘And dispose of them where, precisely? Caution is commendable, but what is required now, Mr Quare, is speed and stealth. From this point on, not a word unless absolutely necessary. We shall endeavour to escape detection and to avoid violence for as long as possible; with luck, we shall be in and out without any bloodshed. But if we are not so lucky, do not hesitate – strike to kill. Do you understand?’

Quare, however, did not reply.

‘Mr Quare, do you understand? What has come over you, sir?’

And indeed, Quare had not heard a word Longinus had spoken. Instead, he was listening to another voice: faint but insistent. It called to him like a siren’s song. Not at all the brutal invasion he had experienced earlier, as of invisible talons clawing at his heart. This was a gentle suasion, an invitation, a seduction. If this was the hunter, then what had assailed him before?

‘Mr Quare!’

He blinked, recalled to himself. ‘The hunter is here,’ he said. ‘It calls to me.’

‘I hear nothing,’ Longinus returned.

‘As you said, I have an affinity with the timepiece.’

‘Can you discern its location?’

Quare pointed upwards.

17

The Song of the Hunter

LONGINUS ASKED NO more questions but drew his grey scarf over his mouth and nose. It was astonishing how the man vanished behind the mask; Quare could not have guessed, had he not already known, the age or even the sex of the person who stood before him. Longinus was gone: there was only Grimalkin, a lithe, shadowy figure exuding quietly coiled menace. As Quare drew his own mask into place, he wondered if he presented a similarly forbidding aspect.

Now, from one of the pouches at his belt, Longinus produced a glass vial whose contents were aglow with the same greenish light that emanated from the powder coating the unconscious Morecockneyans cap-a-pie. He gave this a shake, at which the light brightened; holding it upraised before him, he set off down the passage. From Quare’s perspective, trailing close behind, it was as if they were being led by a flitting firefly, or perhaps a fairy.

The latter association seemed all the more fitting in that the call of the hunter continued to beckon him onwards, or rather upwards, growing clearer and more enticing with every step, so that he had to