The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,59
the grasp of the two men. ‘Release me at once! When Master Magnus hears of this—’
Mrs Puddinge interrupted him. ‘Master Mephistopheles can’t protect you now, Mr Quare.’ Reaching forward, she deftly unbelted his rapier and its scabbard. Then, addressing the servants in an imperious tone he had not heard from her before: ‘Fetch him along, you two. We mustn’t keep Sir Thaddeus waiting.’
6
Gears Within Gears
QUARE FELT AS if he had entered into an oppressive dream as the two servants frogmarched him through empty corridors. Mrs Puddinge preceded them in frosty silence, navigating the maze of the guild hall with an assurance that bespoke considerable familiarity. Quare held his tongue as well; in truth, speech was beyond him. He’d walked these hallways just yesterday, feeling himself judged and found wanting by the dour-faced portraits looking down from the walls. Now that gloomy gallery seemed to regard him with outright hostility. So, too, the servants who had bent his arms behind his back and held them in a grip of iron as they impelled him – rather more roughly than necessary, he thought – in Mrs Puddinge’s wake. What was happening? Why was he being brought to the Old Wolf in a manner more befitting a criminal than a journeyman of the guild? And how was it that Mrs Puddinge, of all people, had ordered the servants to lay hold of him … and been obeyed without hesitation?
Mrs Puddinge did not pause to knock at the door to Grandmaster Wolfe’s study but pushed it open and strode inside. The servants bustled Quare across the threshold behind her. The room was as sweltering as ever, yet Quare perceived a distinct chill in the air.
The Old Wolf sat behind his desk as if he had not risen from it since Quare had last seen him. He took a long-stemmed clay pipe from his lips and exhaled a dense cloud of smoke, through which he gazed at Quare as balefully as a dragon. Mrs Puddinge, meanwhile, still holding his sword and scabbard, crossed the room to the Old Wolf’s side and bent low to whisper into his ear. Quare felt his arms released; rubbing them briskly, he glanced back to see that the two servants had taken positions to either side of the now-closed door. They stared ahead like twin statues. Then the rumble of Grandmaster Wolfe’s voice pulled his gaze forward again.
‘Well, Mr Quare, it would appear that you’ve had quite a busy night and morning. What do you have to say for yourself, sir?’
‘I-I’ve come to warn you,’ Quare stammered, removing his tricorn and tucking it under his arm. He scarcely knew where to begin. He had so much to tell, so many questions to ask. Mrs Puddinge, standing beside the grandmaster’s chair with her arms crossed over her chest – she had laid his weapon upon the desk – gazed at him inscrutably. He marshalled his thoughts. ‘The French have sent a spy among us – a spy and a murderer. Aylesford, a journeyman claiming to be from Scotland, a man who—’
‘Yes, yes, we know all about Mr Aylesford,’ interrupted the Old Wolf, giving his pipe an airy wave. ‘Master Magnus was not the only one with a network of spies and informants, you know.’
Mrs Puddinge gave a satisfied smirk.
But Quare was not concerned with Mrs Puddinge at the moment. ‘Was,’ he echoed dully. ‘You said was. Is Master Magnus dead then?’
‘Dead?’ repeated Grandmaster Wolfe. ‘Regrettably, yes.’ Though if there was an iota of actual regret in his tone, Quare couldn’t hear it. ‘Murdered, in fact. But then, that is not news to you, is it, Mr Quare? Don’t bother to lie – I can see right through you, sir.’
In truth, it was no more than Quare had feared – yet that fear hadn’t prepared him for the reality. A kind of shudder seemed to pass through the floor, as if he were standing on the deck of a ship. Or perhaps the unsteadiness was his own. In any case, it was a moment before he felt in sufficient command of himself to reply. ‘I had heard … That is, Aylesford said …’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘Aylesford told me Master Magnus was dead. Said that he’d come to do the job himself, but that someone had beaten him to it.’
‘I don’t suppose he mentioned a name.’
‘No. But tell me, sir, how did he die? Who found him?’
‘You were working closely with him, were you not?’