The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,49

fighting tactically, Aylesford strategically. He knew it, but the knowledge was no help to him. His wounded shoulder was stiffening up, which was no help, either.

‘From what you let slip,’ Aylesford continued breezily, ‘I realized that the clock must be in the guild hall, in the possession of that aptly named monstrosity, Master Mephistopheles. So, early this morning, with the guild hall in an uproar following news of the tragic deaths of four journeymen in a tavern brawl the night before, I took advantage of the confusion and went in quest of the clock.’

At that, Quare found his tongue again. ‘If you’ve harmed him …’

‘Oh, aye, what then?’ Aylesford mocked. ‘But ’twas not I who harmed him. I could not even find him in that blasted labyrinth! Yet it seems I was not the only one to seek him out. Some Theseus had threaded the maze before me. Or such was the rumour on every man’s lips. Why, even those liveried corpses you employ as servants spoke of little else.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Is it not clear? Master Minotaur is dead. Someone – I know not who; perhaps Grimalkin himself, or a man dispatched by Lord Wichcote to retrieve his property, or a patriot like myself, or a French assassin; or one of the Old Wolf’s cubs; the man had no shortage of enemies who might wish him dead – visited the cripple in the night and slew him.’

‘You lie,’ Quare said, wishing it to be so but afraid in his heart that the man spoke the truth. Aylesford cast death about him the way other men cast a shadow.

‘I merely report what I heard. I do not vouch for its truth. But with that avenue closed to me, I came here, thinking I might find some clue to the location of the clock, or to its nature, in your belongings, before the watch beat me to it. Imagine, then, my surprise, when I found myself interrupted in my search not by some bumbling Charley but by a man I had left for dead scant hours ago! Ah, well, I suppose I shall just have to be more thorough this time.’

And with that, before Quare could reply, or even react, Aylesford’s blade spun through a dazzling series of moves whose result was to disarm him as easily as he might have plucked a wooden sword from the grip of a child. In the blink of an eye, or so it seemed, the tip of Aylesford’s blade hovered at his throat.

‘I do not think you will rise again from this death,’ Aylesford said with a satisfied smile. ‘But the priests do tell us that confession is good for the soul, Mr Quare. So may it prove for you. Tell me all you know of the clock, and I will make your end quick and painless. Perhaps I will even spare your life.’

‘I would be a fool indeed to believe that,’ Quare rasped, his mouth dry with fatigue and fear. ‘And even if I did, I would not tell you anything. Perhaps you should have questioned me more closely last night, while I was too drunk to guard my tongue. You know – before, as you claim, you killed me.’

Aylesford winced. ‘Aye, ’tis poor spycraft, I’ll grant you, to kill a man first and then put the question to him. My masters tell me I am too impulsive, and I do acknowledge the fault. Clearly I should have made more certain of your demise. But I can’t regret it, since I have the chance now to rectify my mistake. So, I’ll ask you but once more before I begin carving – what do you know of this marvellous clock?’

‘Go to the devil.’

‘Let us see if—’

‘Merciful heavens!’

This exclamation was followed by the sound of smashing crockery. Mrs Puddinge stood in the doorway, gazing at them in horrified dismay, her hands clutching the folds of her white apron. A serving tray and the shards of a teapot and cups lay on the floor at her feet. ‘Mr Aylesford! Mr Quare! What is the meaning of this?’

Taking advantage of the distraction, Quare swung his arm to club Aylesford’s sword point out of line. Before he could recover, Quare darted inside his guard, slamming his good shoulder into the other man’s chest to shove him backward. Aylesford reeled, cursing, a panicky look in his blue eyes. For a moment it seemed he would fall, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet and bring his blade