The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,31
have much to discuss.’ And one of the walking sticks struck against his shoulder.
Or, no, not a walking stick. A cat, butting its head against him. In fact, numerous cats were prowling about his person, rubbing against him, patting him with their paws, purring as if very pleased indeed to find him stretched out upon the floor. No doubt they were just being friendly, but even so there were rather a lot of them. He sat up with alacrity, and they scattered.
‘I never figured you for a fainter,’ Master Magnus said with a sniff. ‘Does this happen often?’
Head swimming, Quare climbed to his feet. ‘I’ve never fainted in my life,’ he protested, steadying himself with one hand upon a stack of books that was almost more in need of steadying than he was. ‘I don’t know what—’ He stopped short at the sight of the handkerchief swaddling his finger.
‘God help me,’ sighed the master, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re not going to faint again, are you?’
Quare glared at him. ‘I appreciate your concern, Master. I’m quite well.’
‘I should hope so. What possible use will you be if you go around fainting every five minutes like some overdelicate young miss suffering from the vapours?’
‘I don’t know what use I can be at all,’ he answered. ‘You’ve told me nothing, explained nothing, just shown me something possible by no natural science with which I am acquainted – a watch that runs on human blood. My blood, as it happens, drawn without a by-your-leave! And you wonder, after such shocks to the body and the mind, that a man might find himself a trifle unsteady on his feet?’
Master Magnus shrugged. ‘I did not faint when it happened to me. Oh, yes, my boy – how do you think I knew to prick your finger? I cut myself accidentally while examining the watch, and my blood was drawn into the movement just as yours was, and with the same intriguing if admittedly disquieting result. But why do you look at me so sceptically, sir? You have experienced for yourself the truth of what I am telling you.’
‘I am merely surprised to find that blood and not oil circulates in your veins.’
‘Hmph. Come, let us sit and talk.’ As he spoke, the master swung himself about on his sticks and led Quare to a small round table flanked by a pair of chairs, all three pieces of furniture covered with various combinations of books and cats and their respective sheddings of loose pages and hair.
‘Clear them away,’ he directed, and Quare evicted all the cats save one, a fat old orange tom that lay draped in a peculiarly boneless fashion over two books whose much-clawed bindings had the look of despoiled antiquity. This surly beast hissed and swatted a hefty paw at him when he made to remove it, and he balked at a further attempt, deciding that he had already been wounded enough for one day. Master Magnus, not so easily deterred, delivered a thump with his stick that sent the feline yowling in retreat.
‘The books as well,’ he said in a tone of impatience, gesturing with the stick as though threatening Quare with the same treatment.
‘Where shall I put them?’
‘Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.’
Quare transferred the books and papers to the floor. There was no organizing principle to maintain; Greek and Arabian treatises on horology lay alongside volumes by Newton, Descartes, Leibniz and Spinoza, which in turn sat upon anonymous pamphlets setting forth systems of astrology, alchemy and numerology. Interspersed throughout were pages covered with diagrams and calculations and Latin scribblings in the master’s own crabbed hand.
‘You should have all this put in the proper order,’ Quare admonished, not for the first time. He couldn’t help thinking that the books and papers – the property of the Worshipful Company, after all – deserved a kinder master, or at any rate a more meticulous one.
‘I like to keep them near to hand,’ Master Magnus said, manoeuvring himself in front of a chair and then toppling back into it with a grunt. His misshapen legs flew up, resembling the flippers of a seal. ‘This way, I know exactly where everything is.’ He laid his walking sticks against the side of the chair.
‘But what of the other masters?’ Quare persisted. ‘What if they should require a particular book? How will they ever find it?’
‘They will ask me, and I will procure it for them. The system is practical and convenient. Now, sit you down, sir.’