The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,86

ground, where one of the servants picked it up. Quare, clutching the wrist of his now empty hand, which had been rendered numb and useless by a blow he had not seen coming – or going, for that matter – could only gape in astonishment as Longinus sheathed his sword.

‘Your technique is woefully inadequate,’ the man remarked with a sad shake of his head. He did not appear in the least winded. ‘I see that I will have my work cut out to make a respectable regulator out of you, as Master Magnus wished me to do.’

‘And what of Lord Wichcote’s wishes?’ Quare demanded. ‘He is your true master, is he not? How much did he pay you to betray me?’

‘Why, nothing at all.’

‘I think I shall call you Judas rather than Longinus. The name suits you better.’

‘I prefer Longinus. But if you would call me something other, then my true name will suffice for now. Josiah Wichcote, sir, at your service.’ He gave a small bow.

Quare’s mouth gaped wider still. ‘L-lord Wichcote?’ he stammered at last.

‘The same.’ As he spoke, it seemed to Quare that the man stood taller, straighter; it was as if he had cast off a subtle disguise. ‘No doubt you have many questions,’ he continued. ‘I will answer them as best I can. But first, I intend to change out of these clothes and enjoy a hot bath. I invite you to do the same. I will have you shown to your rooms; fresh clothes and anything else you may require will be brought to you there. Then, sir, we shall dine together, and I shall tell you everything I know about the circumstances of Master Magnus’s death … and other things you will, I dare say, find equally incredible.’

With that, Longinus – Lord Wichcote, rather, if his assertion could be believed – bowed again and took his leave. Surrounded by a bevy of servants, he strode across the roof and descended through a trap door some distance from the skylight with the ease of a much younger man. Most of the remaining servants busied themselves with the Personal Flotation Devices and harnesses, but a pair of them – including the one who had picked up his sword – presented themselves to Quare.

‘If you please, sir,’ said the one holding his sword, ‘we will conduct you to your rooms now.’

‘Is that really Lord Wichcote?’ he couldn’t help asking.

‘Oh, indeed, yes,’ the servant replied with a note of pride in his voice. ‘His lordship is quite the swordsman, is he not?’

The feeling was only just returning to Quare’s hand. ‘The best I have seen,’ he answered, flexing tingling fingers; it seemed to him that Lord Wichcote would be a match even for Grimalkin. And yet, he reminded himself, Grimalkin must have bested the man two nights ago, when she had stolen the hunter. Of course, that was no proof of superior swordsmanship, for he, in turn, had bested Grimalkin. Luck and surprise went a long way.

‘If you please, sir,’ the servant repeated, gesturing towards the trap door.

‘I am your prisoner,’ Quare said. ‘My pleasure has nothing to do with it.’

‘Our guest, rather,’ said the other servant, who had been silent until now. ‘His lordship has charged us to see to your comfort. We are at your disposal, Mr Quare.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Quare said. ‘In that case, I will have my sword back.’

The servant holding the weapon did not hesitate; he passed it back to Quare, hilt first.

Quare accepted it warily, fearing a trick. But the two servants regarded him placidly as he held it. For a long moment, their eyes met, and Quare considered then rejected the idea of fighting his way out; he suspected a second attempt would end no better than the first, and quite possibly worse. The return of his sword had not made him any less a prisoner; if anything, it had made him more conscious of his helplessness. Still, he felt better for having it. He sheathed the weapon. ‘Lead on,’ he said.

Later, as he basked in the waters of a hot, perfumed bath, taking care to keep his bandages dry, Quare reflected that there were jails and then there were jails. His cell in the guild hall had been spare but comfortable, with a pallet to stretch out on, a desk and writing implements, even a roaring fire. But the luxury of his present confinement beggared all comparison. Upon entering the rooms, he had caught his breath