‘Philo can’t read,’ Fleabite piped up. Philo gave him another jab, certain that Mr Paxton knew this already. The surgeon’s tone had had a sarcastic edge.
Garnet said nothing, so Mr Paxton continued, ‘I came here because I need to know something. I need to know the whereabouts of the arch-rogue who is presently ’personating some sort of Cornish monster for his own enrichment. And I feel sure that Theophilus will be able to help me.’
Mr Paxton spoke breezily, but there was hard glint in his eye. Philo saw it. He also saw the glitter in Garnet’s.
‘What makes you think Theophilus knows such a thing?’ Garnet inquired, as he shuffled onto the landing.
‘’Tis the boy’s livelihood, is it not? And yours too, I suspect. I’ll wager his business is your business, Mr Hooke.’
Garnet smiled and said, ‘Business is founded upon the exchange of money, Mr Paxton.’
‘Ah.’ The surgeon nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. ‘So you want payment for this intelligence?’
‘Boys must eat, sir.’
‘I’m glad you are aware of it. I’d a notion you were not.’
‘Three guineas,’ said Garnet.
Philo hissed.
‘Three guineas?’ the surgeon echoed, aghast.
‘Mr Hooke—’ Philo croaked, but was silenced when Garnet glared at him.
‘You think I carry a sum like that in my pocket?’ Mr Paxton demanded. His cheeks were flushed. ‘I am a surgeon-apothecary, sir, not the King’s physician!’
‘Three guineas,’ Mr Hooke repeated.
‘So that is the price you would place on London’s safety?’ Mr Paxton’s tone was heavy with contempt. ‘Very well – three guineas. I shall go home and retrieve it. And I can only pray these boys will see the benefit, at least in some small portion.’ Storming downstairs, he brushed past Garnet, then stopped and looked back, craning his neck to peer through the bannisters. ‘I understand you, sir,’ he loudly declared. ‘You are failing in health. Without these children, you would have no daily bread. But what will they do once you’re gone? For I’d lay odds, as a medical man, that you have no more than six months left in you.’
Philo caught his breath. He heard Lippy gasp and Kit murmur a protest.
‘I’m inclined to think you record much of what they tell you in writing,’ Mr Paxton went on, ‘and who is to accomplish that when you’re dead? These unlettered boys will have no means of doing so.’ He gestured at Philo’s crew. ‘You have condemned them to penury, to save yourself from the same fate. I find you repellent.’
The sound of his clattering footsteps had died away long before anyone on the top floor thought to break the lingering silence. Philo felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Even Fleabite was speechless.
At last Garnet turned to Philo and said, ‘You told him where to find us?’
Philo opened his mouth to deny it, then changed his mind. But Lippy came to his rescue.
‘I did, Mr Hooke. He warned me the Commissioners would hear of it, if I did not.’
‘The Commissioners?’ Garnet repeated.
‘Mr Paxton lied,’ Philo explained.
‘Because he is a liar.’ Garnet spoke with a studied indifference. ‘But since he has roused you all at such an unreasonable hour, you might as well dress. And after you have eaten, come down to my room. I’ll send Benjamin out for the newspaper.’
‘Sir—’
Garnet held up his hand. ‘Keep it for your report, Theophilus.’
‘Sir, we cannot let Mr Paxton go to Rat’s Castle!’ Philo cried. ‘It will be the death of him – you know it will!’
‘As he so truthfully remarked, you are not responsible for his safety,’ Garnet retorted. He began to make his slow and painful way downstairs, as Kit tugged at Philo’s sleeve, drawing him back into their room. Philo was reeling. He had to sit on the bed. While the other boys quietly dressed themselves, Philo remained motionless, staring at the wall, his brain in a turmoil.
Gradually, however, his agitated thoughts began to settle into a pattern, like tea-leaves at the bottom of a cup.
‘Captain.’ Kit finally gave him a prod. ‘You’d best stir yourself.’
Philo blinked. Then he grabbed his friend’s arm. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Stay. I know what to do.’ Jumping up, he released Kit and hastily began to pull on his breeches. ‘All of you – listen. I know what to do, but I need your help.’
‘Why?’ asked Val. ‘What’s amiss?’
‘Everything is amiss. And it must be righted.’ Philo laid a hand on Val’s shoulder. ‘You need to raise the temper of every chairman you can find. Tell ’em to meet outside Rat’s Castle at noon, for that is where they’ll find the other men who settled Rab Riordan. Do you understand?’
‘Aye, but—’
‘Please, Val. Do you want Mr Paxton’s death on your conscience?’
‘I don’t,’ Fleabite suddenly remarked. As the others turned to stare, he added defensively, ‘I liked the cove. He cut a handsome figure – not like a doctor at all. I’d not want him felled by the spriggan.’
‘Then go to John Barnwell,’ Philo said, ‘and tell him that Kitty Clive is in danger. Tell him she is being held in Rat’s Castle against her will. After that, you must go to Robert Coppinger, in Nottingham Court, and tell him he will find his stolen sconce glasses and diamond-tipped cutter at Rat’s Castle—’
‘Blood an’ ’ounds!’ Kit exclaimed. ‘Philo—’
But Philo wouldn’t let him finish. ‘I need a crowd. I need a big crowd outside Rat’s Castle to divert the folk inside.’ Turning back to Fleabite, he continued, ‘Once you’ve spoken to Mr Coppinger, go to Tristram Fry, the printer, in Russell Street, and tell him his daughter is in Rat’s Castle. Then go to Mr Coverdale, at the Blue Bell, and tell him the thieving pot-boy who absconded with his tankards—’
‘Is in Rat’s Castle!’ Fleabite finished cheerfully. ‘Aye, aye, Captain!’
Philo rounded on Dandy, who had woken up at last. ‘Dandy, you’re to go to Middlesex Court. Tell George Weddle that his friend Matthias wants to buy him a drink at Rat’s Castle. Then tell John Ecklin that Fanny Hissop wants to talk to him at Rat’s Castle, and if he don’t come, she will visit Middlesex Court and speak to his wife. Then go to the George Inn, and tell Ephraim that he’s required at Rat’s Castle, to collect the three-guinea debt from Aeneas Sterne. And from there you must go to Princes Court, where you’re to tell Dinah Bugg that her friend Nancy, from Grantham, is staying in Rat’s Castle, with news of Dinah’s husband . . .’
Philo continued to ransack his mental library, reeling off instructions as his friends listened, awestruck. Occasionally they would ask him to repeat himself. Once Kit pointed out, tentatively, that Lippy wasn’t a good liar – whereupon Philo promised that Lippy wouldn’t have to lie.
‘Lippy, you can take a farthing to Shambles Sam,’ Philo suggested. ‘Pay him to go to Rat’s Castle. Then tell Elias Tilbury, in King Street, that his stolen watch and his pencil-case are at Rat’s Castle – as I’m sure they are. Then tell the Storers, in New Broad Court, that they’ll find Mr Storer’s coat and waistcoat in the same place. After that, find Black Jenny Jones and Derby Sinnock. Describe the great mob that will be gathering on Dyott Street, and insist that the takings will be as good as the plunder in a pillory crowd—’
‘Philo!’ Kit protested.
‘But you’ll be watching ’em, Kit. So if they try to pick a pocket, you won’t let ’em.’ Philo then launched into a fresh set of targets for Kit. Mr Maxwell, the upholsterer who owned a house in New Broad Court, was to be told that a man who owed him rent was holed up in Rat’s Castle. John Fern, the broke tailor, was to be told that a business proposition awaited him in the same place. Meg Sample, the chandler from Vinegar Yard, was to be told that her errant husband was ill upstairs in Rat’s Castle, and needed money . . .
When he’d finally finished, the others stood dumbfounded, exchanging worried glances. At last Kit mumbled, ‘All these
folk – they’ll not take kindly to being gulled. Belike they’ll kill you, Philo, and hang you on a gibbet.’
‘Not unless they catch me,’ Philo rejoined. By this time he’d donned his shoes. ‘Do you all know what to do? Lippy? Fleabite?’
‘Aye.’
‘Aye.’
‘Go, then. I have to find Mr Paxton, but I’ll see you outside Rat’s Castle.’
‘And Mr Hooke?’ Kit said quietly. ‘What must we tell him?’
Philo paused for an instant, his hat in his hand, his gaze on the floor. When he finally raised his eyes, they were pale and blank, like bleached linen soaked in too much laundry blue.
‘Tell Mr Hooke everything,’ he replied in a level voice, ‘but only after this is done.’
Then he jammed on his hat and ran downstairs.
CHAPTER 23
IN WHICH PHILO,
ON RECEIVING TERRIBLE NEWS, SET OUT ON A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE
It was another damp, chilly day, with a brooding grey sky and no wind. Chimney smoke hung heavy in the air. Hurrying along Castle Street, Philo passed a hawker of hot chestnuts, but didn’t stop to buy a handful even though his empty stomach growled in protest.
He was too busy looking for Mr Paxton, who had obviously made good use of his head start. Philo couldn’t see him anywhere. The surgeon wasn’t on Castle Street or Turnstile Alley. Philo was beginning to wonder if Mr Paxton had taken a longer route home – via the Blue Bell Inn, perhaps – when he turned into Parker’s Lane and saw the surgeon just ahead of him, walking briskly towards his lodgings.
‘Mr Paxton!’ Philo yelled.
Up and down the street, startled faces swung towards Philo as he skidded to a halt just a few feet from the surgeon – who had spun around in surprise.
‘Theophilus?’
‘Please, sir . . . your honour . . .’ Bent double, with his hands on his knees and a stitch in his side, Philo tried to catch his breath.
Mr Paxton waited calmly.
‘Please, sir,’ Philo said at last, straightening up, ‘I’ll take you to Rat’s Castle, but . . .’ He paused to cough before continuing. ‘ . . . But you must do as I say . . .’
‘Rat’s Castle?’ Mr Paxton interrupted. ‘Where is that?’
‘I’ll show you, sir, if you’ll listen.’
‘Of course I’ll listen. I always do.’ The surgeon studied Philo intently, one eyebrow raised. ‘Were you sent by Mr Hooke?’
Philo shook his head. ‘Your honour, your clothes are too fine for our purpose. Do you have an older coat or ragged stockings? Is there aught you would freely abandon, at a pinch?’
Mr Paxton blinked, then said easily, ‘I’d freely abandon every stitch on my back for the sake of the common weal. But if you’re hoping to disguise me, I believe I can accommodate you.’ He began to head home again, his voice floating back over his shoulder. ‘Come. I’ll need your opinion on my wardrobe.’
When Philo realised that he was being invited into the surgeon’s house, he cast an uneasy glance at his own muddy shoes. The only gentleman’s residence he’d ever entered was Garnet’s; he didn’t know what to expect, or how to behave. So he hesitated awkwardly on Mr Paxton’s front doorstep, unnerved by the scent of lavender-water that filled the linen-draper’s shop on the ground floor. It was such a fresh, clean, pure smell that it made him feel mean and dirty.
‘Theophilus!’ Mr Paxton, who had gone in ahead of Philo, beckoned to him from the upstairs landing. So Philo stepped over the threshold and climbed to the first floor, where he found a door standing open and the surgeon nowhere to be seen.
‘Your honour?’ he said timidly.
‘In here!’ Mr Paxton cried. Philo followed his voice through the open door and into a large room that overlooked the street, just like Garnet’s. But it was a more gracious room than Garnet’s, with a higher ceiling and bigger windows, and it didn’t feel so cluttered. The walls weren’t lined from floor to ceiling with journals; they were hung with pictures. There was also a door that led to another room – a bedroom, to judge from the bedpost that was visible from where Philo stood. The furniture, though sparse, was of high quality. It included a portable writing desk, a glass-fronted cabinet, an inlaid book-cupboard, and a high-backed chair so richly upholstered that it looked like a throne.
According to the clock on the chimney-mantle, it was after ten.
‘I’ll be with you in an instant!’ Mr Paxton called from the bedroom. Then a crumpled garment sailed past the bedpost, followed by another, and another. Philo deduced that the surgeon was raking through his linen-chest.
When the door slammed shut, Philo was amazed. Mr Paxton had left him alone in a room full of treasures. The inkwell and candlesticks were small enough to be concealed up a sleeve – as were the shells and stones and bits of carved whalebone sitting in the unlocked cabinet. Philo was fascinated by this cabinet. It contained many marvellous things, all jumbled together like leftovers in a stew: a spyglass, a skull, a giant egg, a petrified seahorse, a rock shaped like a shell. There were tasselled pipes and ivory statuettes. There were half a dozen bottled creatures, white and flaking in baths of yellow alcohol.
Philo didn’t dare touch anything, but he gazed in wonder. Then he began to examine the surgeon’s pictures, which were mostly drawings of strange people in foreign clothes. The single oil painting showed an exotic landscape at sunset, all green and gold, with a dark-skinned women in the foreground and stately ruins behind her. Philo had only ever seen oil paintings in shops, behind grubby panes of glass; he was astonished at how lifelike this picture was. When he stepped away from it, he felt as if he were gazing through a window at some distant land. Yet when he leaned close, he could see every brushstroke.
On the chimney-mantel, beneath a gilt-framed looking-glass, stood a miniature of a lady. She had dark hair, green eyes and very red cheeks. Philo was studying her necklace, wondering if it was made of coral, when Mr Paxton emerged from the bedroom.
Philo quickly put the portrait back in its place.
‘My late wife,’ said Mr Paxton, nodding at it. Then he spread his arms. ‘What think you? Will I pass muster?’
He had changed into a worn brown coat with mismatched buttons, a pair of canvas trousers, and a waistcoat that looked as if it had been used to swab out guns. His head and neck were bare.
‘What?’ he asked, when he saw Philo frowning.
‘I was hoping you’d bring your hanger,’ Philo explained, ‘but people may think you stole it . . .’
‘My what?’
‘Your sword.’ Philo pondered for a moment, then shrugged. ‘It don’t signify. Would you object if I took your fire iron, sir?’
‘For what purpose?’ Before Philo could answer, Mr Paxton went on, ‘You may guide me to my destination, but I’ll not have you put yourself at risk. Though I shall need a weapon, you will not.’
‘The iron is for you, sir, as much as it is for me,’ said Philo. He took a deep breath, knowing that he had a difficult job ahead of him. ‘Cold iron is held to be a charm against the Unseelie Court. Likewise seawater, and a turned coat—’
‘Then I shall turn my coat and take the iron, for I’d not have you troubled on my account. Now – show me this castle, and if I judge its battlements too well fortified for one man to breach, I shall consult my friends, and return later to attack it in force.’
‘There’ll be no need for that, your honour.’ Unnerved by the surgeon’s martial language, Philo eyed him warily. Was he being serious or not? It was hard to tell. ‘I’ll get you in without a blow struck, but first we must pay a call.’
‘Then lead on, Captain! And here is your fee.’ Mr Paxton suddenly presented Philo with three golden guineas. ‘You’ll spend it wisely, I hope – not on herbals for Mr Hooke.’ Philo stepped back sharply. ‘Nay, sir, I’ll not take that.’
‘Please.’
Philo shook his head. ‘We’ll need no more’n a shilling, and it won’t be for me. You should leave the rest here,’ he said firmly, then
darted across the room to grab the fire iron. By the time Mr Paxton had put away the extra money and locked his door, Philo was already back on the street.
Mr Paxton caught up with him as he turned into Drury Lane.
‘Tell me more about this spriggan. Did it speak to the fellow who saw it?’ Mr Paxton inquired.
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘How did he describe the creature? What were his exact words?’
‘He said ’twas big and hairy, with a devil’s face.’
Mr Paxton smiled. ‘You could say the same about most Irish chairmen.’
Philo sniffed. He thought that Mr Paxton was enjoying himself too much. There was a spring in the man’s step and a sparkle in his eye; was he missing the navy?
‘Dan Lawler was scared, sir. Desperate scared,’ Philo pointed out. ‘A land-pirate like him don’t quake for no good reason.’
‘Was he drunk?’
‘He was not.’
‘How well can he see?’ Without waiting for an answer, Mr Paxton changed tack abruptly as Philo took a left into Brownlow Street. ‘Where are we heading, by the bye? And for what purpose?’
‘There’s a cull I know who lodges in Rat’s Castle. He can come and go as he pleases, for he is a fool, and people pay him no mind.’ Philo was keeping a sharp eye out for Fettler Ben. He had a notion that Garnet might have sent Fettler to track him, and he didn’t want Fettler put in peril just to satisfy Garnet’s need for intelligence. ‘You’ll be trading his duds for yours, which is why I asked you to change into old clothes,’ Philo continued, his gaze jumping from face to face as he scanned the crowds flowing past them. ‘The shilling is for the hire of his dog. You’ll need the dog.’
‘Bless my soul!’ Mr Paxton murmured. ‘So I’m to walk into Rat’s Castle as a resident?’
‘As quiet as you can, while the other residents are occupied. For they will be occupied.’
‘Indeed? With what, pray?’
‘With whatever can be contrived,’ said Philo. He had spied Kit Maltman, who was turning into Shorts Gardens. On nodding at Kit, Philo received a flurry of signals in return.