The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,32

cat hair from the upholstery of the remaining chair. But he soon gave it up as a lost cause and seated himself with a sigh. Master Magnus, he noted with some foreboding, was once again gazing at him with that unsettling grimace-cum-smile. Without a word, the master reached into his pocket. Quare flinched, fearing that he was about to draw forth the watch; despite his curiosity, he was not eager to renew his acquaintance with the timepiece just yet. But instead, Master Magnus produced a small tin whistle. Putting it to his lips, he blew three shrill blasts in quick succession.

A door opened, and a servant entered the room carrying a tray on which sat two glasses and a bottle of port. The man approached smoothly, something of a feat considering that he did not glance even once at the array of animate and inanimate obstacles bestrewing his path, but avoided them as if by instinct or some sense other than sight, his gaze fixed on a distant point. Quare studied him, trying to ascertain if this was the same servant who had fetched him in the stair-master, but there was no way of telling; perhaps if the servant had spoken he might have recognized the man’s voice, but he lowered the tray to the table without a word and then, with a stiff bow, his powdered face so devoid of expression that it seemed to indicate a lack of consciousness itself, turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

The master filled the glasses. He lifted one and indicated that Quare should do likewise. Half wondering if he were still unconscious and dreaming, for he had that sense, peculiar to dreams, that the most fantastic events could take place at any moment, and indeed most probably would take place, and, moreover, if he but knew it, were very likely taking place already, Quare followed suit. Master Magnus made the toast: ‘To His Majesty.’

‘His Majesty,’ echoed Quare, rising to his feet and drinking.

‘No need to be so formal, Quare. It’s just the two of us, after all.’ The master refilled his own glass, then reached up with the bottle to refill Quare’s. ‘Tempus Imperator Rerum.’

The motto of the Worshipful Company. Time, Emperor of All Things. A reminder that even His Majesty had a master greater still. As did all men.

Quare drank. The sweet wine went straight to his head, accentuating his sense of inhabiting a dream. He cleared his throat, set the glass down on the table as though to reassure himself of its solidity, and his own, and took his seat again. ‘How did the servant know to bring the wine, Master?’

‘Oh, I’ve got them trained,’ said Master Magnus, holding up the whistle. ‘They’re under strict orders not to enter unless summoned with this. I’ve devised a kind of code, you see, to communicate simple commands by means of the number and duration of blasts on a whistle. It’s quicker and more effective than calling them in here and explaining what I want. The Vikings used a similar method in bygone days. The longboats of a raiding party would speak to each other over great distances or through inclement weather by blowing upon their horns. My system adapts their barbarous custom for civilized use. I call it “Norse Code”.’

‘Impressive,’ said Quare. ‘But still, the servant must have been expecting the command. He appeared immediately with his tray.’

‘Despite all that has transpired, you remain observant. Excellent.’ The master gave a satisfied nod. ‘Yes, Mr Quare, he was expecting the command. I thought it only right that we celebrate your success with a glass or two.’

‘Then you knew I would succeed in opening the watch.’

‘Your horological talents have never been questioned. At least, not by me.’

Quare sighed, reminded of his interview with Grandmaster Wolfe.

‘Your suspension irks you,’ Master Magnus said. ‘You feel the insult keenly.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘Indeed, I would not! The Most Secret and Exalted Order of Regulators. Bah! How secret can they be when they are named thus?’

‘But, Master, it was you who created the Order. You who named it. You recruit the regulators from among the journeymen of the Worshipful Company, oversee their training, dispatch them on their missions—’

‘Then perhaps you will grant that I know what I am talking about,’ Master Magnus interrupted. He reached for the port, then seemed to think better of it, making a dismissive motion as if shooing the bottle away. ‘Oh, the Order serves its purpose. The regulators do good and necessary work