The Manual of Detection: A Novel - By Jedediah Berry Page 0,61

to hold the wound shut, but it was no use; the blood seeped between his fingers and spilled everywhere.

When the darkness receded, the blood was still there, pouring down Unwin’s arms and over his chest. Not Detective Pith’s, though. Miss Greenwood’s dagger was in his hands again—he had slipped it into his pocket without thinking—and now the blade was stuck deep in Josiah’s chest. Unwin had stabbed him.

Josiah took his hand from Unwin’s face and sat down next to him, staring at the handle there between the third and fourth buttons of his shirt.

Unwin got to his knees. He reached to take the knife but stopped himself. Had he read in the Manual that removing the weapon will worsen the wound? “Don’t move,” he said.

Josiah closed his eyes. From below came the whirring of machinery, and the deck of the barge began suddenly to lift. Unwin grabbed Josiah’s hand and tried to pull him toward the rowboat but could not budge him. The deck angled higher, and Unwin’s shoes slipped. It was too late. He let go of Josiah and grabbed his umbrella, then scrambled under the rail and into the rowboat. He swiftly undid the knot securing them to the barge and started to paddle.

Josiah Rook tipped, then tumbled across the tilting barge. The hills of alarm clocks collapsed and slid with him. Many were still ringing as they spilled into the bay, going mute as the water took them.

Edwin Moore sat up and blinked. “I don’t know any songs for this,” he said.

Unwin did not know any either. He was thinking of the backgammon board he had seen in the Rooks’ cottage, of the game left unfinished there.

UNWIN ROWED WHILE Edwin Moore held the umbrella over their heads. It swayed and bobbed above them while the boat bobbed beneath. They sat close to keep dry, facing one another with knees nearly touching. Someone had left a tin can under the seat, and Moore used it to bail water. Sometimes the wind dragged the umbrella sideways and they both were drenched.

Moore shivered and said, “I tried to forget as much as I could, but I couldn’t forget enough. They knew me the instant I fell asleep.”

The world was two kinds of gray—the heavy gray of the rain and the heavier, heaving gray of the water. Unwin could barely tell them apart. Reaching through both was the yellow arm of a lighthouse beacon. He rowed toward it as best he could.

“Who knew you?” he asked.

“The watchers, of course.” Moore squinted, and drops of water fell from his thick eyebrows. “They watch more than the detectives, Mr. Unwin. They are detectives themselves, in a manner of speaking. Of course, I didn’t know who would catch me first: Hoffmann’s people or the Agency’s. Some of your colleagues must still be using the old channels, the ones the magician knows to monitor.”

Unwin understood that no better than he understood how to keep the boat pointed in the right direction. It veered as soon as he rowed on one side, then spun the other way when he tried to compensate.

Moore set the tin can on the seat between them and wiped his face with his hand. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I lied when I told you there is no Chapter Eighteen in The Manual of Detection.”

“But I saw for myself,” Unwin said. “It ends with Chapter Seventeen.”

Moore shook his head. “Only in the later printings. In the original, unexpurgated edition, there are eighteen chapters. The last chapter is the most important. Especially to the watchers. And to the Agency’s overseer.” He set his elbows on his knees, looked down, and sighed. “I thought you knew all this. That you were a watcher yourself, maybe, and had been sent to toy with me. I’m the architect of an ancient tomb, Mr. Unwin. I was to be buried inside my own creation, the better to keep its secrets. I will not tell you more, for your sake. But if you ask, I will answer.”

The rain drummed on the umbrella as water splashed against the sides of the boat. Unwin’s arms were sore, but he kept rowing. Their little craft was taking on water. He watched it swirl around his shoes, around Moore’s shoes. The water was red. There was a stain on his shirt, and his hands had stained the oars.

“I killed a man,” Unwin said.

Moore leaned close and set his hand on Unwin’s shoulder. “You killed half of a man,” he said.