The Emperor of all Things Read online

  ‘I-I don’t know,’ confessed Quare, taken aback by this information. He did not think the Old Wolf was lying to him. With Master Magnus, there had always been gears within gears. Not that his opinion of the man’s loyalty had changed, but in this matter, he realized, he might have been too credulous. Loyalty, after all, did not preclude self-interest; aye, or the settling of old scores. ‘The master intended for you to suspend me from the regulators,’ he admitted. ‘That was why he fabricated that story.’

  ‘Now we are getting somewhere. You will tell me what truly happened between you and Grimalkin, Mr Quare. But first I will hear the reason that Master Magnus wished you suspended.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Quare repeated. ‘He said he had some kind of special assignment in mind for me, one in which I would have more freedom if my connection to the Most Secret and Exalted Order was believed to have been severed, but he never had a chance to tell me what it was.’

  ‘Perhaps we will find a clue in his papers,’ mused Grandmaster Wolfe. ‘But I think you yourself possess many if not most of the answers I seek, though you may not realize it. Answers having to do with the nature and purpose of this watch, for one, and with Master Magnus’s relationship to Aylesford and Grimalkin, for another. Either you are withholding these answers to protect a perfidious scheme in which you are involved right up to your eyeballs, or, more charitably, out of misguided loyalty to a man undeserving of it, or you have simply failed to grasp the significance of certain details known only to you.’

  ‘Sir Thaddeus, I swear—’

  ‘Do not protest your innocence to me, sir. Or your ignorance. Mere words will not convince me of either. It is details I want. And details I shall have. Whether you provide those details willingly or require the persuasion of Master Malrubius is immaterial. Is that clear?’

  Quare nodded. He did not see any alternative now to confessing everything: the fact that Grimalkin was a woman, along with her dire if imprecise warnings about the dangers of the timepiece – warnings that circumstances had borne out in such disturbing and incredible ways, from the discovery that the watch ran on blood, to the Massacre of the Cats, to his own unaccountable surviving of a wound that, to all appearances, should have been fatal. The watch was the key to all of these mysteries, and more, yet was itself, he felt certain, a greater mystery still. Its nature, its origin, its purpose – he knew none of these things, could not even begin to guess at them. He did not think he could convince the Old Wolf of what little he knew … or of how much he didn’t know. He could, of course, offer to demonstrate the watch to Sir Thaddeus – could prick his finger and let his blood drip into its bone-white workings. But even if the hunter reacted as it had before, seeming to come to life with stolen vitality, Quare thought it entirely possible that such an action would merely light the fuse of some new and still more terrible manifestation of the object’s parlous energies. ‘Sir Thaddeus,’ he began.

  But the Old Wolf interrupted him again. ‘I do not wish to hear anything more from you at present, Mr Quare. No, I think it best that you have some time to ponder your situation. To review all that you have told me … and all that you have not. Solitude, I find, can be a helpful goad to reflection, a powerful stimulus to memory.’ He gave a nod, and Quare turned to see the remaining servant advancing upon him from his position beside the door. He backed away.

  ‘This isn’t necessary, Sir Thaddeus,’ he protested.

  ‘Oh, but I believe it is,’ the grandmaster said. He had risen while Quare’s back was turned, and now, moving with a swiftness at odds with his bulk, he laid hands on Quare from behind. The man’s aged, sweaty reek enveloped him. His grip was like iron, and Quare did not attempt to break free. The Old Wolf spoke low in his ear, his breath stinking of tobacco. ‘Think on anything that Master Magnus may have revealed to you, whether in words or actions or otherwise, about the nature of this timepiece and his plans for it. Review your encounters with Grimalkin and Aylesford. Meanwhile, Master Malrubius and I will make a more thorough examination of the master’s papers, and of your possessions as well. I think perhaps I will have him pay you a visit. I find he can be most persuasive. Be assured, if you attempt to mislead him, or hold anything back, I shall hear of it and take it as proof of your guilt, at which point I will not hesitate to turn you over to the watch – or to Mr Pitt himself, whose methods of interrogation, I am given to understand, are more exacting still. Do we understand each other, Mr Quare?’

  ‘We do,’ he said tersely, trying not to breathe in the man’s rank odours, as if they would leave a stain upon his insides.

  ‘Good.’ The Old Wolf released him, pushing him towards the servant, who did not take hold of him but gave every appearance of being prepared to do so should it prove necessary. But all the fight had gone out of Quare. He turned back to the grandmaster.

  ‘Where …’

  A satisfied smile lit the fat, florid face. ‘You will be lodged with us, Mr Quare. We have rooms prepared for such occasions as this. Granted, it has not proved necessary to use them for some time, but they exist, and you will find them adequate, if, no doubt, lacking the amenities of Mrs Puddinge’s establishment.’ He nodded, and the servant spoke in the sepulchral tones cultivated by all his fellows.

  ‘If you would come with me, sir.’

  Quare glanced at the man. His powdered features might have been carved of stone, and his slate grey eyes gave no hint of the thoughts and emotions – if any – that were present behind them. Was he judging Quare now? Did he believe him to be a traitor to his guild, his country? Quare felt a deep-seated impulse to justify himself, to break through that impenetrable façade and evoke some kind of bare human acknowledgement, as if it were this nameless servant, not Grandmaster Wolfe, who would decide his guilt or innocence. But he said nothing, merely nodded his acquiescence.

  Nor did the servant speak again. He turned about and strode to the door, opening it and then stepping aside for Quare to precede him. This he did, without another word to the Old Wolf, or even a backward glance. When the door closed, he felt as if he had left a portion of himself behind, along with his sword: and even if the sword were returned to him in the fullness of time, along with his other possessions, as he hoped would be the case, it didn’t seem to him that the life those objects had ornamented would be as easily regained; indeed, that life seemed irretrievably lost to him, regardless of what happened next. Even if he were not expelled from the guild, he would never be elevated to the rank of master now. Instead, it seemed the best he could hope for was a beating from Master Malrubius, followed by an ignominious expulsion from the company.

  He felt it likely things would go considerably worse.

  It was in this morose frame of mind that Quare followed the servant down a series of candlelit halls and stairways clutching his tricorn as though it were a shield. They encountered no one. The only sound, other than the scrape of their footfalls, came from a bristling ring of keys that the servant held in one hand: a faint, discordant chiming that punctuated their progress. Every so often, he would pause before a particular door and without hurry or hesitation select a particular key from among dozens, unlock and open the door onto another hallway or staircase, wait for Quare to enter, then, after following him through, fastidiously lock the door again behind him before resuming the lead. All without a word. His grey eyes uninterested as mud.

  At first Quare was equally uninterested, mired in his own muddy thoughts, but soon he began to take note of how, in their steady downward progress, the paintings and tapestries covering the panelled walls gave way to bare wooden panelling, which in turn gave way to stone, while, on the floor, tiles were succeeded by wood, then stone. The air grew cooler and damper, yet also cleaner, more pure. The candles in their wall sconces were set farther and farther apart, like stars in the night sky, so that the servant was finally obliged to lift one down and carry it before him to light the way. After this, whenever he had to unlock a door, the servant would pass the candle to Quare, then, on the ot
her side, the door closed and locked again, take the candle back.

  Quare felt as if he were descending through time as much as through space, traversing past iterations of the guild hall preserved intact like the chambers of a nautilus shell. How deep were the roots of this place sunk into London’s rich soil? Who had walked here before him in years gone by? He shivered not only from the chill but from the sense that he might, at any moment, encounter the ghost of a Roman legionary or one of Boadicea’s warriors; even the sight of a gnome did not seem out of the question.

  But at last, without incident, they came to a section of passage lined with stout wooden doors, each, so far as he could tell in the meagre light, equipped with an iron grille set at eye level. Quare stopped in surprise and consternation. The servant had conducted him to a dungeon. He had not known, would not have guessed in a thousand years, that the guild hall even had a dungeon. Doubtless it was an atavistic survival of less civilized times, pre-dating the establishment of the Worshipful Company and perhaps the raising of the hall itself. Buried deep … but not forgotten. The Old Wolf had said that these rooms were kept ready, though they had not been used for some time. Quare wondered how long. Years? Decades? Who had been the last prisoner here, and what had been his fate? Such speculations were not helpful, yet he could not keep them at bay.

  The servant, meanwhile, had stopped before one of the doors midway down the passage and was looking back at Quare. The raised candle imparted a ghastly cast to his powdered face, as if he were a shambling corpse. He did not speak but gave his ring of keys an eloquent shake.

  Quare’s heart quailed at the prospect of being shut up here for however long Grandmaster Wolfe chose to imprison him, but, really, what could he do? Even if he escaped from this servant, and managed to avoid the others who would surely be sent after him, he had no hope of finding his way out of this underground warren. He could no more retrace the route they had taken than he could flap his arms and fly. The servant shook his keys again, more vehemently this time, and Quare, taking a deep breath, obeyed the summons.

  The servant handed the candle to Quare, who accepted it wordlessly, feeling not only helpless but humiliated to be thus rendered complicit in his own captivity. The lock clicked open, and the man gave the door a firm push; it swung inwards on well-oiled hinges, evidence that, indeed, the rooms had been well maintained. Beyond was a darkness that seemed loath to yield even an inch to the small candle Quare held in his trembling hand. But before he could put that to the test, the servant reclaimed the candle and stepped past him into the room. Once inside he ferried the flame to half a dozen fresh candles set in sconces on three of the four stone walls. Quare, continuing to hover at the threshold, watched as the darkness melted away, revealing a comfortably appointed chamber with a narrow pallet for a bed, a desk and chair, a chamber pot, and – taking up much of the fourth wall – a cavernous fireplace in whose deep recesses a fire had been laid. This the servant now brought to roaring life with another touch of the candle, the flames springing up with such alacrity that for an instant they seemed about to leap to the man himself, who, however, drew back unflappably and turned to Quare.

  ‘I trust all is to your satisfaction, sir.’

  ‘My satisfaction?’ he echoed, disbelieving. ‘And if it were not?’

  ‘There are other rooms, though they are less well appointed.’

  ‘I’m sure they are,’ said Quare, and entered the room at last, looking about with wary interest. It was so far from the crude cell of his imaginings that, despite the bare stone walls and the scant, simple furnishings, he felt as if he had entered the bedchamber of a king. Already the heat of the fire was making itself felt. He tossed his hat onto the desk, then turned to the servant. ‘It’s not quite what I had expected.’

  The servant raised an eyebrow. ‘You are a journeyman of the Worshipful Company, Mr Quare, and as such entitled to certain amenities. Should that change, your accommodations will change accordingly.’

  ‘Of course,’ Quare said. ‘How long must I remain here?’

  ‘Why, until you are sent for, sir.’

  ‘And how long might that be?’

  ‘It might be any time at all, from hours to days. That is for the grandmaster to decide.’

  ‘What am I to do in the meantime?’

  ‘That is for you to decide. My suggestion, if you don’t mind, sir, would be to spend your time in reflection, so that, when next questioned, your answers will prove more satisfactory. You will find paper and writing implements in the desk, should you care to avail yourself of them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Quare. He eyed the servant critically. ‘Was it you who conveyed me to Master Magnus the other day? In the stair-master?’

  The servant gave a slight bow. ‘I had that honour.’

  ‘I thought there was something familiar about you. See here – what’s your name, my good fellow?’

  ‘You may call me Longinus, sir.’

  ‘Longinus … An unusual name.’

  ‘Perhaps I am an unusual person.’

  Quare let this pass without comment. ‘What can you tell me of Master Magnus’s death, Longinus?’

  ‘Nothing at all, sir.’

  ‘Why, you must have seen or heard something.’

  ‘Indeed. What I meant was that I have been instructed not to tell you anything more about it than you already know. The grandmaster wishes you to probe your own memories, not mine or anyone else’s.’

  ‘Don’t you care that he was murdered, Longinus? Aren’t you at all interested in finding the killer and seeing justice served?’

  ‘Most assuredly, sir. That is why I volunteered to serve as your jailer – for, make no mistake, despite the comforts of this room, you are a prisoner of the Worshipful Company. The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  Quare shook his head. ‘You are unusually solicitous, for a jailer.’

  ‘As I said, sir, so long as you are a journeyman of this guild, you are entitled to certain amenities.’

  ‘I see. And if that should change …’

  ‘Let us hope it does not come to that, Mr Quare. And now I must go. Either I or another servant will bring you food and drink this evening. Until then, I will leave you to your business.’

  Quare said nothing until the man was through the door. Then he called out: ‘I’m no traitor, Longinus. And neither was Master Magnus.’

  The only response was the shutting of the door and the click of the key turning in the lock.

  Alone, Quare felt the weight of all that had happened settle once again on his shoulders. As an orphan, he had known his share of hopeless moments, but nothing quite like this, with the threat of a hangman’s noose staring him in the face. His friends and fellow journeymen were dead, murdered by a maniac who was still at large, perhaps even, despite what he had told Mrs Puddinge, still in the city. His landlady, whom he had heretofore thought of in maternal terms, had revealed herself as a spy – and what’s more, a spy motivated not by patriotism but by avarice. Nor did it seem to him that his own motivations in that regard were any purer, any less selfish, for hadn’t he become a regulator in order to advance his prospects in the guild, to acquire knowledge of horological innovations that would have been unavailable to him otherwise, and to learn the truth about his parentage? To ask the question was to answer it. No, he had no right to cast stones at Mrs Puddinge. He felt as if he had soiled his soul, and though Sir Thaddeus’s suspicions of his loyalty were unfounded, he could not really claim to be innocent. London, he perceived, was a great murderer of innocence. But who could hold the city to account for its crimes?

  Without noticing it, he had begun to pace the room like an animal in a cage. This was all Master Magnus’s fault, he told himself bitterly. If only the man had not involved him in his schemes, he would not be here now, a prisoner of his own guild. And if the master had not been so damned curious, so fond of machinations mechanical and otherwise, he would very probably st
ill be alive, for though Quare did not know who had killed Master Magnus, or how, he did not doubt that the man’s death was related to his pursuit and investigation of the pocket watch he had sent Quare to retrieve from Lord Wichcote.

  Could Lord Wichcote have engineered the master’s death, having learned through his own sources of the master’s interest in that timepiece, perhaps believing that Grimalkin was in the service of the guild, as was rumoured, and had therefore been sent to his house that night on the guild’s business? It seemed possible. He was a wealthy and powerful man, used to living beyond the law. But Lord Wichcote was not the only suspect. Not by a long shot. There was Grimalkin, for one. And Aylesford, for another – despite his disavowal of the deed. Even the Old Wolf was not above suspicion; certainly he had wasted no time in turning the situation to his advantage by seizing control of the Most Secret and Exalted Order; after all, it was common knowledge that he had envied Master Magnus his leadership of that order and coveted it for himself. The same was true, to a lesser degree, of Master Malrubius, who nurtured not only his own ambitions but those of the Old Wolf as well. It sickened Quare to think that the Worshipful Company was so riddled with corruption and intrigue as to render the murder of one master by another an eventuality impossible to reject out of hand, yet, all things considered, he couldn’t argue against it. Whether that was a result of his own predicament or an accurate reflection of the facts, he was unable to judge.