“Not a good example,” sniffed the woman.
“All have their cabins,” Sirki repeated, “and their responsibilities. Yes, I’m certain some of them will have heard of Nathan Spade, but none will have ever met him or had any business with him. That’s not how it’s done.”
Matthew grunted softly and moved his attention from Aria to Sirki. Gentry, in his own defiance of being told what to do, was playing again with the cat’s-cradle, keeping his hands low and his movements tightly controlled. “I see,” said Matthew. “It’s a security measure, yes? Also to keep any one person from knowing how everything works?”
“I know how everything works,” Sirki reminded him. “Then next would be the madam, and after her would be the good doctor, who has the bad habit of losing his power of concentration due to the many exotic elixirs he has inhaled or imbibed. Isn’t that right, Jonathan?”
“As rain at a funeral,” said Gentry. A crooked half-smile stole across the devilishly-handsome face. “But oh what colors I have seen.”
“I wish you would see less colors and more soap,” Aria said. “You stink.”
“Ha,” Gentry replied, a humorless laugh, as he applied all his brain to the pattern of strings between his fingers. Matthew wondered if a particularly strong and exotic elixir, possibly one made from the jungle mushrooms of South America, had been the doctor’s companion this evening.
“No one will want to know too much about Nathan Spade,” Sirki continued. “It would be bad behavior and a violation of rules. But you can be sure the professor has made your name and reputation known to one and all.”
“Grand,” said Matthew, with a bitter edge. “May I ask if there really is—or was—a Nathan Spade? And if he is, where he is, and if he was, what was his fate?”
“Oh, Nathan was very real.” Aria’s fingers stroked Matthew’s cheek. She stared deeply into his eyes. “But Nathan became weak, with his position and his money. He let himself falter. He became too comfortable.” The fingers went back and forth across Matthew’s flesh. “He forgot who made him, as made all of us.”
“God?” Matthew asked.
“Oh,” she said with a quick smile though the sapphire-colored eyes remained dead, “you are so cute.”
“For a dead man? I’m assuming he’s no longer on this side of Hades?”
Sirki rose to his feet, an ominous sign. The chair creaked with relief. “Madam Chillany shot Nathan Spade in the head last year.”
“Almost a year ago exactly,” she added. The fingers moved, stroking from chin to ear and back again.
“Nathan Spade became a liability,” Sirki went on. “He went into the business of selling information to foreign interests. That conflicted with the professor’s aims. No one you’re going to meet will know that, nor that Master Spade is deceased. The body was cut to pieces, burned, and the remnants—”
“Dumped from a basket into the Thames,” said the woman, nearly whispering it. Whether she was choked with emotion or pride, Matthew couldn’t tell. “He deserved what he got,” she murmured. The fingers abruptly stopped moving. The nails pressed against Matthew’s flesh. Harder, and harder still. She smiled, her eyes glassy. “Such is life,” she said.
Her hand left his face.
She turned away.
Matthew watched her back stiffen as she walked past Sirki and Doctor Gentry. She resumed her casual position on the bed. Perhaps it was the position she was most comfortable with. There was something remote and even desperate about her blank expression, and Matthew didn’t care to look too long upon it because he had left the desolation of winter in New York.
He regarded Sirki once more. “I still don’t understand my purpose. What does the professor expect me to do?”
“Professor Fell,” said the giant, “wants the pleasure of informing you in person.”
Matthew had no response to this. He wished he had put down a second cup of brandy in Falco’s cabin. He wished he had a bottle of rum to keep him company tonight. He wished he could see Berry, who was down the corridor in a locked cabin. He wished he was still a magistrate’s clerk, whose responsibilities began and ended with a quill.
But no, he was somebody now. Someone special in this world.
And for that, he must pay the price.
“Those suits,” he managed to say, “better fit me perfectly. If I’m to play the part, I will look the part.”
“Naturally,” Sirki agreed. “And well spoken, sir.” He spoke then to his companions in crime: “We should leave Mr. Spade to his deliberations, and his rest.”
Aria Chillany left the cabin first, seemingly still in a trance of her own making, followed by the cat’s-cradle devotee. Sirki paused at the door.
“It occurs to me that Captain Falco smokes,” he said.
“Does he?” Matthew offered not a hint of reaction. “I’d say there are at least twenty others aboard who also smoke.”
“True, but the fragrant Virginia weed is more expensive than most, and I think beyond the means of ordinary swabbies. Be careful whose smoke you collect, young sir. It can get in the eyes and make one blind as to their purpose here.” He let that linger in the air, like its own stinging fumes. Then: “Goodnight.” Matthew didn’t return the comment. Sirki left the cabin, and instantly Matthew threw the latch on the door. The horses had already left the barn, yes, but he didn’t want any more manure on his floor. As he readied himself for what he presumed would be a troubled night’s sleep, he could almost sense the Nightflyer approaching Pendulum Island. The brigantine with full sails stretched wide, a few lamps burning on deck, the wake bluish-white under the silver moon and lacy clouds moving slowly across the dark. And the lair of Professor Fell, becoming closer with each wave crossed and each slow roll of the ship. He wondered if Sirki knew Captain Falco was starting to question his lot in life. If maybe Falco had expressed some misgiving to someone who told someone else, who told an ear that led to a voice cautioning the East Indian giant: Falco knows too much, and he thinks too much.
It occurred to Matthew that the captain’s days might be numbered. This might be Falco’s final voyage. Payment in full, when they made landfall.
What would Nathan Spade do?
Laugh and say Good riddance?
Yes. But what was Matthew Corbett to do?
He had a head full of problems, but—sadly—no solutions.
Yet, he thought.
And then he extinguished his lanterns except for one candle left burning, and he took to bed in the Nightflyer’s creaking belly.
Fifteen
MATTHEW had expected to hear a shouted “Land ho,” but instead the note of a trumpet signalled the sighting of Pendulum Island.
There was a rushing forward of sailors eager to set foot onto solid earth. Matthew stood among them in the bright warm morning sun and watched the island take shape.
Possibly by the eye of a gull it had the shape of a pendulum, but from this vantage point it was a mass of jagged black rocks and broken gray cliffs with a sparse covering of moss and brown lichens. Inland there looked to be a verdant wilderness, which did not soothe Matthew’s soul. He yet saw no sign of manmade structures, and had to wonder if Professor Fell’s domain lay somewhere within the very rock itself.
He was dressed for Nathan Spade’s success. His charcoal-gray suit with thin stripes in a hue of lighter gray fit him like a prison cell. His pale blue shirt was adorned with ruffles at collar and cuffs, which seemed to Matthew to be a little precious for an ex-jayhawk, but then again it was likely perfect for a genteel whoremaster-around-town. His stockings were chalky-white and his black boots buffed to an admirable shine; they gleamed with every step. He was clean-shaven and ruddy-cheeked, his hair was brushed back and—by Aria Chillany’s insistence this morning—put under strict control with two fingers of pomade that smelled of sandalwood and another sweetly pungent scent that made him think of the incense curling from a Turkish lamp in Polly Blossom’s parlor. Call it, he decided, the smell of ‘vice.’
&
nbsp; It made sense to him that such an aroma would be leaking from Nathan Spade’s pores.
“It doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Matthew was aware that Berry—freed from the confines of her cabin during the daylight hours—had come up beside him. The sailors gathered around were also aware of her presence, and seemed to bend toward her like saplings in a strong wind to get the womanly perfume of her hair and flesh. But one glance from the false Nathan Spade and they straightened their backs and went about their business, for they knew the young man had favor of the master of Pendulum.
Matthew saw Captain Falco at the wheel, turning the Nightflyer a few degrees to port. He took stock of the sun and reasoned they were making a course to the southeast. “Not much,” he said to Berry, continuing her statement, “but obviously it’s an important destination.” He examined Berry’s face, and found her eager-eyed and nearly as sun-ruddy as himself. Her freckles had emerged by the dozens across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and her curly hair flowed free in the breeze and seemed the color of some kind of tawny-red candy sold by the handful to sweet-toothed children. She is on a grand adventure, he thought. She is all kite and no string.
For all his masquerade of courage and fortitude in the faces of Madam Chillany and the giant Sirki, he had not been able to bring himself to tell Berry that she and Zed were destined for lock-and-key upon landfall. He trusted Sirki, that they would be well-cared for. He really had no choice but to trust Sirki. But as he stood beside Berry her hand suddenly came out and searched for his. He took it firmly, and she looked him in the face and asked, “Are we going to be all right?”
“Yes, we are,” he answered without hesitation.
The island grew nearer. Waves crashed against the rocks and white foam spewed up. A whirring of gulls thrashed the air.
“Are you afraid?” Berry asked, in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” Matthew said, “I am.” But he recovered from this spillage of truth long enough to give her a sturdy smile with no lack of false bravado at its center, and he added, “But before this is done, they’re going to fear me.”
And though he only half-believed it, he fully meant it.
The Nightflyer was going to pass this northernmost point of Pendulum Island on its starboard side. Matthew and Berry still held hands as the first sign of human life came into view, and mayhaps they clasped hands harder at the sight. Two masted ships of dark design were moored to a wharf. Dark design, due to the gunports along the hulls. Matthew thought that here were two of Fell’s plunderers used to raid the sugar merchants. One look at the snouts of cannons protruding from those ports, and any issue of resistance was ended. Just beyond the wharf was a low-slung wooden building that likely was a warehouse for nautical goods storage. A dirt road curved away from the wharf and entered the forest, where it disappeared among green fronds and the thick walls of trees. And up above, perched atop a gray cliff but partly hidden by vegetation, was the stone wall of a fort also guarded by cannons on its parapets. The professor’s estate? Matthew wondered.
Onward the Nightflyer sailed, sliding over blue sea and white swirling foam. Captain Falco had a sure touch on the wheel. At his urging the ship moved between fangs of black rock. To starboard Matthew and Berry saw another pier come into view, this one tucked into a small cove where the waves were more gracious and the rocks less fangly. More cliffs of some thirty or forty feet faced the sea, and along them was a road that followed their ascent. Before the road disappeared around a bend, Matthew figured it was nearly a hundred feet above the water. A pair of coaches, each with four horses, waited alongside the pier. Evidently someone had come to witness the arrival of that notable black-hearted scoundrel Nathan Spade.
“Miss Grigsby, I would ask that you return to your cabin.”
The voice, so close to their ears, startled them both. Sirki was watching the pier. “A spyglass might be in use,” he said. “We wish no one to inquire about the red-haired girl.” He took Berry’s elbow. “Come below, please.”
“What?” She resisted his pull, showing remarkable strength. In truth, her heart had leaped to her throat and she could hardly speak. She looked to Matthew for aid, and when she spoke again she forced the words out one by one: “Why do I have to go to my cabin?”
“A moment,” Matthew said to Sirki, and the East Indian giant withdrew his hand and also his presence by a few paces. Matthew stared intensely into Berry’s eyes. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, even as the gulls croaked and called above. “You can’t be seen by anyone on the island. Nor can Zed. Sirki’s going to take you somewhere for…safekeeping,” he decided to say. “It won’t be a cell. Will it?” He darted a glance at Sirki, long enough for the giant to shake his turbanned head. Then back to Berry’s eyes again. He saw fear in them, and the wet beginnings of tears. “Listen.” He took both her hands. “In this case, I agree with Sirki. I don’t want you or Zed to be seen by any of the…the creatures I’m going to meet. I want you out of the way.” She started to protest, but a finger went to her lips. “No,” he said. “Don’t speak. When this is done, we’ll go home. All of us, safe and sound. But for that to happen, you’re going to have to trust me to do my job.”
“I can help you,” she said, with a note of pleading.
“No you cannot. Not in the way you wish. You can really help me by going with Sirki to your cabin, and waiting there until he summons you to leave the ship. Also by controlling Zed, if you can. Let him know that he needs to lie low for a time. Both of you do. Sirki!” Matthew’s voice was harsher than he’d intended, but it caused the giant to step forward with something like obedience. “Where will they be taken? Tell me now, and tell me the truth.”
“Of course. They will be taken to the village of Templeton on the east side of the island. Many people live there, but none who will be a danger to your friends. Miss Grigsby and the Ga will be afforded quarters at the Templeton Inn, run by a very efficient Scotsman who knows to ask no questions. The inn is used primarily for the professor’s guests, when not invited to the castle. And I can tell you that the innkeeper’s wife is a very excellent cook.” He paused for a few seconds before continuing. “I will say also that two guards will always be present, and if Miss Grigsby and the Ga desire to walk about the village they will never walk alone. Is that truth enough for you?”
“Sufficient,” came the curt answer. Matthew was in no mood for niceties; this subject was disagreeable to him to an extreme, yet he knew how necessary—and unavoidable—was the outcome. “You have to go,” he told Berry.
“Now,” Sirki added, with a glance at the oncoming wharf. Captain Falco had given the order to drop sails, and weighted ropes had been thrown over the sides to reduce their speed into the cove.
Berry realized she had no choice. Ordinarily this would have made her temper flare, but she knew that to let herself be angry here was pointless. Matthew was doing what he needed to do, and indeed she had to trust him. She nodded. “All right.” She was still holding one of Matthew’s hands, and this she released. She turned away from him without another word, and Sirki followed her across the deck to the stairway down.
Matthew started to call It won’t be for long after her, but he didn’t wish to lie so he kept his mouth closed. He had no idea how long it might be. Several days? Weeks? A month or more? He dreaded to think, therefore he shut away all thoughts to that regard.
The Nightflyer’s speed had slowed dramatically, and the brigantine was now mostly drifting. The ship’s course was met by four longboats that had set off from the wharf. Ropes were thrown from ship to boats, and now the crews on the smaller craft had the work of rowing the Nightflyer in the rest of the way and securing Captain Falco’s vessel to her mooring bollards. Falco strode forward to the bow and nearly rode the sprit in his intense watch over the task at hand. He gave a few commands which were relayed to the seaman at the wheel, but otherwise he was silent.
So it was done within another twenty minutes, the sh
ip being moored to the wharf and the longboats withdrawing. Matthew noted Jonathan Gentry and Aria Chillany on deck, dressed in their finest for the landing. A couple of unfortunate and weary-looking sailors had been impressed to carry their luggage. Matthew also saw Croydon and Squibbs wandering about, but they cared not to cast a glance in Matthew’s direction and that likewise was fine with him.
The gangplank was lowered. “All ashore!” came a sea-fevered cry, yet there was no rush for the crew to leave the ship for there was still work to be done before the Nightflyer could be considered well-and-truly arrived. Falco stood on the poop deck, casting a long shadow. Matthew saw that the two black coaches waiting at the head of the wharf was manned by two drivers, and looked to be a type he knew to be called a berline, enclosed with room for four passengers, the driver sitting on a forward perch. But atop one of the coaches sat a pair of men in gray suits. They both had bright shocks of orange hair, and were sunning themselves as they presumably waited for the Nightflyer’s passengers to disembark. The lithe figure of a young woman with short-trimmed blonde hair stood in a casual attitude beside the second coach. She was a sight to behold and would have caused jaws to drop in New York, for she was wearing a man’s brown breeches, high-topped brown boots, and a deep purple waistcoat over a cream-colored blouse.
Whoever they were, Matthew reasoned they had come to see Nathan Spade set foot on Pendulum Island. Either that, or the amusements on Pendulum were so lacking they had little else to do.
“Are you ready?”
Matthew looked to his left, into the sapphire-blue eyes of Aria Chillany. Gentry stood a few feet behind her. His eyes were bloodshot. He wore a stupid smile directed at no one. Though the Nightflyer had docked, the doctor was still flying. Matthew wondered if Gentry’s proclivity for his potions had to do with the fact that he would soon be hearing his master’s voice, and this paragon of handsome charm was unnerved by that oncoming certainty. In any event, Gentry was skunked.