The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,194

prisoner, however. ‘You’re not one of the Old Wolf’s gang, are you? Listen, if you get me out of here, I swear I won’t betray you!’

‘I could be a French assassin for all you know, come to murder your grandmaster.’

‘I don’t give a fig if you are! The bloody bastard means to murder me!’

‘You say you would not betray me, yet already you have offered to betray your country.’

‘This is not my country! I wasn’t born here, and I have no desire to die here. Let me out, damn you, or I’ll bring the whole nest down on your heads, I swear it!’

‘These walls are thick. No one will hear your cries.’

‘Let us put it to the test, shall we?’ And he began to scream: ‘Help! Murder! Help! Treason!’

‘Quiet!’ Longinus said. ‘Very well, I will see what I can do. Step away from the door.’

‘Gladly,’ said the voice.

The green light rekindled; by its glow, Quare saw Longinus approach the door of the cell. He hurried towards him. Longinus glanced at him and motioned for him to stay put. But he stepped close and laid a restraining hand on Longinus’s arm.

‘I know this man,’ he whispered. ‘It’s—’

‘Yes, there is no mistaking that uncouth accent,’ Longinus whispered back.

‘What do you mean to do to him?’

‘I’ll put him to sleep, as I did the Morecockneyans.’

‘We must question him first,’ Quare said.

‘There is no time.’

‘What’s going on out there?’ the voice demanded. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘I told you to step away,’ Longinus replied in the stentorian tones of Grimalkin. Reaching into another of the pouches at his waist, he produced an iron key and fitted it to the lock. There was a dull clank of tumblers turning. Then, after replacing the key, he drew his dagger. Quare drew his own. Stepping back, Longinus gestured for Quare to open the door.

The heavy door swung inwards; both men tensed, as if expecting the prisoner to hurl himself upon them, but no one emerged. Cautiously, the glowing vial held before him like a shield, dagger at the ready, Longinus stepped into the room; Quare followed, swinging the door shut behind him.

There, blinking in the weak light, stood Gerald Pickens.

Though Quare had recognized the voice and its bland American accent, seeing the man in the flesh was a shock. He had thought Pickens dead, murdered by Aylesford along with Mansfield and Farthingale that horrible night at the Pig and Rooster. But here he stood, very much alive – though the worse for wear. His once-fine clothes were torn and stained with what looked to be blood, and his once-handsome face bore the marks of a thorough beating. His left arm hung useless in a sling; the other was upraised as if to fend off a killing blow.

‘Who are you people?’ he asked now. ‘Why are you wearing those masks?’

‘You wound me, sir,’ growled Longinus. ‘Have you not heard of Grimalkin?’

‘I have … But I had not heard there were two of him!’

‘Who is to say there are not three, four, a hundred Grimalkins? But we mean you no harm,’ Longinus continued. ‘Who are you, and how did you come to be here?’

‘I’m Gerald Pickens, a journeyman of this company. As to how I came to be here, why, I scarcely know myself! But it seems I am a pawn in a larger game – a pawn about to be sacrificed.’

‘What do you mean? Quickly, now!’

‘Have you not heard of the foul murders that have set the whole city on edge? You called me traitor, but the real traitor is still at large somewhere in London!’

‘You mean Aylesford,’ said Longinus.

‘Aylesford?’ Pickens shook his head. ‘He is dead, another victim of the traitor, or so I am told.’

‘What traitor?’

‘Why, the infamous Quare, of course.’

‘What?’ The word burst from Quare before he could help himself.

‘Another journeyman of this company,’ Pickens explained. ‘A friend – or so I thought. But would you believe it, in the pay of the French all along. It was he who murdered Aylesford and the rest – including poor Master Magnus, God rest his soul. Only, don’t you see, the man has fled. To where, who can say? Back to his masters, no doubt. But now, with the city in an uproar, the powers that be require a scapegoat. You are looking at that unfortunate man. Quare attacked me at the Pig and Rooster – from behind, the blackguard! – and left me for dead, but I was only stunned. I survived. And this is