At last, as they plodded along, Matthew decided it was time to voice a question. He urged Athena up alongside Minx’s horse. “May I ask,” he said, “what you do for the professor?”
She stared straight ahead. “You know better than to pose a question like that.”
“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “No one should know anyone else’s business, of course. Pardon my curiosity.” His curiosity, he thought, had been cursed before but never pardoned.
They went on a distance further, past a small lake where white egrets searched for fish in the shallows. Here and there treacherous brown thornplants reached out from the softer green growth on either side of the trail to snare the clothes of unaware riders, and they made Matthew think of the dangerous predicament that Berry and Zed had constructed for themselves. I can help you, she’d told him. Yes, he thought; help them all into unmarked graves. And that night she’d shown up in the alley opposite the house on Nassau Street and nearly scared his tenor into a permanent falsetto. My God, the cheek of that girl! he thought. She had lovely cheeks, it was true, but her curiosity was likewise to be cursed and not pardoned. Who did she think she was? A female version of himself?
And now he had not only to watch his own step in this beautiful morass, but to keep Berry and Zed from plunging into quicksand…and at a distance, no less.
“I will overlook your lack of propriety,” Minx suddenly announced, as the horses walked along side by side. “Because this is your first conference. And I suspect you’re curious about the other guests.”
“I am.” He paused for a few seconds before he went on. “Is it true that the professor has told the others a little about me?”
“A little. A small amount.” She held up two fingers pressed nearly together to show how small.
“But enough to let them know who I am and what I do for him?” He was amazed how easily this flowed, even as he thought how easily the quicksand pit might suck him under.
“Yes,” she answered, still staring straight ahead as the trail led them through a grove of spidery trees with leaves like miniature green fans.
“I am at a disadvantage then. I don’t like to be disadvantaged.” He smiled to himself. Well said, Nathan!
They went on perhaps forty more yards before Minx shifted in her saddle and spoke again.
“I’m an expert on handwriting. Forgeries, in four different languages,” she emphasized, as if he didn’t understand: “I oversee three apprentices to the craft. You’ve seen Augustus Pons. He’s a blackmail specialist. You may have seen Edgar Smythe on the stairs. He has something to do with weapons, I’m not quite sure what. Then there’s Adam Wilson, who does something with finances. Cesar Sabroso is a Spaniard who has influence with King Philip the Fifth. You’ll also meet Miriam Deare at dinner tonight. She prefers to be called ‘Mother Deare.’ What she does, I don’t know, but she is one of the professor’s oldest associates. You might already know that Jonathan Gentry is an expert on poisons, and that Aria Chillany has a position of responsibility concerning murders-for-hire. Lastly but not leastly, we come to the Thacker brothers, who hold themselves in high regard for their persuasive abilities in the area of extortion. Then there’s you…the whoremaster who steals state secrets.”
“Yes,” Matthew agreed. “Whenever I get the opportunity, that is.”
“You sound proud of that.”
“I am.” Lies came so fluidly they frightened him. “As I’m sure you’re proud of the work you do?”
“I’m proud of my abilities. They are hard-earned.”
“Your talent with a knife speaks for itself. Is that ability also hard-earned?”
Minx gave him a little sidelong smile, as they passed beneath the branches of trees draped with curtains of green moss. “I was born into a circus family,” she said. “I had to do something to earn my keep. For some reason, I was drawn to the knives. You know. Throwing them at moving targets. Including my own mother and father. I was quite the attraction, at twelve years of age taking aim with a knife in each hand, and outlining with the blades my mother’s body as she whirled around on a spinning wheel. Or splitting an apple on my father’s head while I wore a blindfold.”
“The art of dexterity,” Matthew said. “And a solid measure of self-confidence, I’m sure. Did you ever miss?”
“My mother and father are still circus performers. They may have a few more white hairs than they should. But no, I never missed.”
“For that, I’m grateful.” He fired a quick glance at her. “As should be everyone in our coach. But don’t you think Jack Thacker might hold a grudge? After all, you gave him something more than a quill’s prick.”
“He might hold a grudge,” Minx agreed, “but it is just because of the quill’s prick that he knows to leave me alone. My dexterity as a forger is more important to the professor than my ability with the throwing knife.”
Matthew made no comment. He was thinking, and being drawn along a wilderness path as surely as the horses followed their own. I oversee three apprentices to the craft, Minx had said.
It stood to reason that the others—Pons, Smythe, Wilson, Sabroso, Mother Deare and of course the handsome Thackers—were also the heads of their respective departments, rather than being lone wolves. Each one might oversee several—or dozens—of other lowlier lowlifes. Just as he, Nathan Spade, had a network of prostitutes and well-groomed grabbers of Parliament’s finest whispers. So when he looked at one of these so-called associates, he was looking at a single cog of what might be a truly vast criminal machine.
“What are you thinking?”
He brought himself back. On either side the forest was dense and dark, and birds called out in harsh voices from the tangled limbs. “Only about the conference,” he said, and just that quickly he decided to venture out on his own dangerous limb. “The why of it.”
“This being your first, I should suspect so. I attended the conference two years ago, which was my first. We are all used to being summoned by now. Some more than others.”
“And it is for the purpose of…?” He let the rest of it hang.
“It is for the purpose,” Minx said firmly, “of obeying the professor. Also he enjoys hearing in person reports of progress from his associates. It is a business, you know.”
“Of course it is. Otherwise, what would be the point of any of it?”
Minx suddenly kicked Esmerelda forward and then sharply reined the horse in, turning the animal so Matthew’s path was blocked. Matthew also reined in Athena, and he and Minx stared at each other as motes of dust drifted through the sun’s streamers and dark-colored butterflies flew back and forth between them.
“What is it?” Matthew asked, his heart pounding, when Minx remained silent a bit too long for his comfort. Her eyes were likewise too sharp for his skin.
“You intrigue me,” she answered. “And puzzle me.”
He forced a smile. “An intriguing puzzle. I am flattered to be so.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I mean to say that I can’t quite get the sense of you. Your manner of speaking…the way you present yourself…” She frowned and shook her head. “It isn’t what one would expect, after hearing about you.”
Matthew said with a shrug, “Possibly if I heard about your exploits in forgery, I’d never expect you to have been a child of the circus. Meaning that there are many sides to a person. Yes?”
“Yes,” she agreed, in a careful voice, “but even so…I think you are a puzzle with many pieces, and not all of them seem to fit.”
With that, Matthew felt the best course of action was silence lest he reveal another piece of his puzzle not meant for Minx’s sharp eyes and senses. She turned her horse to follow the trail again, and now she gave Esmerelda’s sides a kick and the animal took off at a brisk trot. Matthew likewise urged Athena forward and in another moment caught up behind the black mare’s flowing tail.
Presently they emerged from the forest trail onto another road. A horse-drawn wagon was trundling past, carrying a lo
ad of various brightly-colored fruits. Minx turned her mount in the direction the wagon was travelling, and left the fruit-vendor in her dust. Matthew urged Athena to speed but this time was unable to catch Lady Cutter. Soon, however, their progress was slowed by a sign on the roadside whose green-painted letters read: Welcome To Templeton.
Stood the village as quaint as a Quaker’s bonnet and as tidy as a Presbyterian’s soul. The small houses were all painted white with green trim. There were white picket fences and shade trees aplenty. The street led past a number of shops: a bakery, a wigmaker, an apothecary, a shoemaker, a general goods store and the like. People were out and about on this sunny morning. Most of them were the cream-colored locals in their vivid hues and straw hats, yet there were a few whites in their more restrained English or European clothing. On the right, behind a dark green iron gate and fence, stood a two-story yellow-bricked structure that Matthew took note of: The Templeton Inn, read a small sign above the front door. There appeared to be a tiled courtyard with a small circular pond at its center. Curtained windows looked down upon the street, and doors opened onto green wrought-iron balconies. Matthew wondered if Berry and Zed had been taken yet from the ship. This would be their final destination for a while. It seemed to be a pleasant enough prison. He figured the guards would not be too very obtrusive, but then again this was Fell’s kingdom so who was going to complain?
The street continued past a farmers’ market that was doing a brisk business in the sale of fruits and vegetables. On the left, further along, was a stable and on the right a series of corrals holding cattle and hogs. Here the air glistened with dust and smelled like New York in midsummer. Then after a few more unremarkable houses the village of Templeton passed away and the forest again took hold on either side. Minx and Esmerelda kept going, and Matthew and Athena kept following.
“Shouldn’t we turn around?” Matthew asked presently, as the sun was warming toward noon and the sweat had begun to prickle his neck.
“I want to show you something,” Minx answered. “It’s not far.”
Indeed it wasn’t. Minx guided Matthew to the edge of a cliff with the glittering expanse of the sea spread out below. “Wait,” Minx told him, as he scanned the rolling waves. “Ah!” she said suddenly, and pointed. “There they are!”
A geyser of water marked the surfacing of a number of whales. They rolled about each other like children at play. They flapped their tails and created their own foamy surf. They dove down and rose up again, breaking the sea into shards of rainbow glass. Matthew looked at Minx and saw she was smiling as she watched the cavorting of the leviathans, and he thought that the circus might be very far from the girl but the girl was never very far from the circus.
Something else caught his eye. It was the fort situated up on the northern point of Pendulum Island. There were several buildings within the cannon-guarded walls, and a pall of gray smoke hung over the area. A little fluttering of smoke rose from a chimney on a squat building to the far right.
“What’s that?” Matthew asked. He nodded toward it.
Minx’s smile went away. “The professor’s property.”
“I know that. But…a fort, yes?”
“His concern, not ours,” she replied. The air had become frosty on this sunny noon. She urged Esmerelda away from the cliffside, and the moment of watching whales at play had passed. Matthew followed back to the main road, feeling he had stepped on something that stuck to his bootsole. The fort was lost to sight by another dense thicket, but presently the two riders crossed in front of a secondary road that cut through the forest toward what Matthew presumed was the very place he’d just seen. He noted the ruts of wagon wheels in the dirt. The road to the fort had seen many comings and goings. And there on either side of the road was to him an interesting element to this new puzzle of Pendulum Island: hanging from leather cords on two poles were two human skulls painted with vivid stripes of color.
There was no need to ask Minx what that meant. Matthew knew. It was a warning of death, made cheerful by the stripings but no less serious. In fact, Matthew thought, there was a twisted sense of humor on display here. The entire message seemed to be: No Entry Without Permission, Or You Will Wear Your Bright Colors To Your Grave. He wondered if there were any guards nearby, watching the road, to enforce that particular threat. He decided that there probably were, hidden in the foliage somewhere. He didn’t care to test his question.
Not today, at least.
For it seemed to Matthew that a cannon-guarded, walled fort on the island owned by Professor Fell must hold something the emperor of crime did not care to be viewed by the inhabitants of his drowsy dreamworld.
Well, Matthew thought, there was always tomorrow. By now he was used to kicking over ordinary rocks and finding extraordinary horrors scuttling from underneath them in a desperate search for the protective dark. He reined Athena in and sat for a moment staring down the road that sat between two poles and two skulls. He marked that this place was about four miles from the professor’s castle, by the route they’d taken. Within him his sense of curiosity and desire for discovery began to vibrate; he was attuned to a question that needed to be answered.
Minx said firmly, “Come along. We shouldn’t linger here.”
Indeed not, Matthew thought as he got Athena moving again. For he had the sure sensation that they were being watched from somewhere in the trees, and even the guests at this strange conference of criminals could find their skulls separated from their necks by following that particular road into the unknown.
But, of course, following the unknown road was part of his business. His nature, also.
Another time, he promised himself.
And he knew that, whatever dangers and intrigues he might face at this bizarre dinner planned for tonight, his promises were for keeping.
Eighteen
CAUTION doubled. And redoubled. A bell was being rung by a servant who walked along the hallway. It was time for dinner. Time for Matthew to slip into the skin of Nathan Spade and button himself up in it, just as now he buttoned his shirt. When he was done, he slipped into the coat of his forest-green suit and also buttoned that up. It seemed he could not have enough security, nor buttons enough. One popped off as he was wrestling it. The bell called him to hurry. He appraised his look in the mirror. His face had become darkened by the sun, which made the bear-claw scar on his forehead stand out as a pinker line. Also more on the pinkish side was the newer and smaller mark under his left eye, put there by his adventure in the exploding house on Nassau Street. His hair was brushed, his teeth were cleaned, he was freshly-shaved and he was ready for the moment. Yet…there was something about himself that was a recent arrival, he thought. It was a steely glint in his eyes that had not been there before…what? The last gasp of Tyranthus Slaughter? It was the glint of a sword ready to parry another, or quickly strike if need be. It was the steel of survival, forged from his experiences to the point of standing here before this mirror.
The sound of the calling bell had receded.
Dinner was ready. And so was Matthew Corbett.
He pulled in one long breath, let it slowly out, and then he left his room.
In the hallway, a woman glided up beside him and took his right arm. Aria Chillany pressed close against him, her fragrance like the last embers of a smoky fire. She was wearing a black gown trimmed with red lace. Her ebony hair flowed down in brushed waves and her sapphire eyes sparkled, yet her beautiful face was tight and her mouth a hard line. “Nathan,” she said quietly as they walked, “do you know your part?”
“I do,” he answered, just as quietly. These doors they were passing might have ears.
“Let us hope,” she said, and added: “Dear boy.”
They descended the stairs like criminal royalty. Matthew allowed the woman to guide him, as he was certainly a stranger here. They walked through a hallway that held alcoves displaying what appeared to be the skeletons of various types of fish mounted on stands. Then the hallway ended
at a short staircase descending to a large banquet room with blue-painted walls and ceiling and, upon that ceiling, painted clouds with painted cherubs gazing down upon the denizens of earth.
The assembled group of six sat before silver placesettings at a polished table that seemed to Matthew as long as a New York block. Above it was a brass chandelier ablaze with candles, as the night had fallen over Fell’s festival, and also spaced along the table were brass candelabras that gave off a lovely light upon the unlovely throng.
Where to begin? It was Matthew’s question to himself, as he and Madam Chillany came down the stairs and their presence brought to a halt the banquet room’s already-restrained conversation. He was wondering where to begin gathering impressions, and was aided in this regard when Aria announced to the group, “Let me introduce our new arrival, Nathan Spade.”
No one sat at the foot of the table, nor at the head. The first person seated on the left was a dashing-looking gentleman in a shimmery gray suit and a vivid scarlet neckscarf, his age probably in the late forties, his hair black and gleaming except for streaks of gray along the temples, his chin sharp, nose narrow and his deep-set eyes dark brown beneath arched black brows. He stood up, smiled showing good white teeth, gave a crisp bow and extended a hand. “Cesar Sabroso,” he said, in a voice that made Matthew think of warm oil at the bottom of a lamp. The better to lubricate a monarch’s imagination so as to get at the Spanish treasury beyond it, Matthew thought. He shook the man’s hand and then gave his attention to the person seated on the right.