Ancient Appetites (23 page)

He released his grip and reached into his pocket, taking out a wad of pound notes, which he thrust into Hennessy's hand.

'This ought to be enough,' he sighed. 'At least for now. God, it's a frightful business.'

'Life isnae always fair, sor,' Hennessy declared. 'We all have our crosses to bear.'

'Indeed,' Berto replied. 'You'd better go. I've sent the guards off – told them I wanted them to spy on the navvies, but I doubt they believed me. Probably thought I wanted to go off gallivanting with some woman, knowing the way they think. They'll return in a couple of hours, so if you can't be back by then, stay at your brother's for the night.'

'Aye, sir.' Hennessy nodded and made to get back on the horse.

Before he could, Roberto grabbed him roughly and spun him round. What Daisy saw next made her recoil in horror. Stifling a sob, she stumbled away from the tree, turned and ran frantically back along the path with tears streaming down her face.

Francie heaved in a breath and nodded to himself. It was time.

He had been standing there thinking about it long enough. It would be all too easy to stand there all night and wait for the perfect moment – that moment would be when he had the balls to go ahead and do it. Unbolting the door to the stall, he led Flash out. He had been speaking to the velocycle in a low voice for the last hour, calming it and putting it at ease so that it would make as little noise as possible when he walked it out of the stable. It worked. The engimal's motor made hardly a murmur as they crept carefully towards the side door and the lights of its eyes were dull and sleepy.

Francie's imagination taunted him with his fears. If anybody saw them – either the lads or Hennessy or any of the sentries – he was done for. He had to escape with Flash into the night without being seen by a soul, and meet his father by the broken oak on the crossroads in the woods. It was possible to get under the wall that circled the estate and, hopefully, past the sentries by following a stream through a culvert under the stonework. It was deep in the woods and overgrown with bushes and brambles, so he was sure it had long been forgotten about. Flash should just fit through.

When the theft was discovered, there would be no place to hide – they had to be out of the country by morning. But it was worth it all for the prize; his father would get enough money for this engimal to make them all rich. Francie had thought the oul' fella was mad for thinking of it, but things had changed now that Francie and the engimal had made friends.

Francie felt in his pocket for the envelope Shay had given him. He had given it serious consideration and had decided to disobey his father on this one. It was bad enough that they were stealing Nathaniel Wildenstern's pride and joy; there was no need to rub salt in the wound. The letter would be staying in his pocket until he had a quiet moment to get rid of it safely.

Francie stopped before the door just long enough to fit Flash's saddle and then lifted the latch. The door was well oiled and opened without a squeak. He peered out into the darkness. The sky was cloudy and there was a light rain falling, but he could see well enough. Flash tucked in its horns to get through the door, and together they made their way slowly along the hedge towards the woods.

As they reached the edge of the trees, Francie heard heavy breathing, what could almost have been sobbing, coming towards them. Looking around desperately, he pulled Flash towards some bushes and quickly but gently coaxed the machine to lie down behind them. His heart racing, he watched through the foliage until he saw a figure run past. It was the second man he had seen sneaking through the stable. Francie could swear the fellow was crying. There was no time to wonder what it was all about. If the man was out here without clearance and was spotted by the guards, they'd be all over this place like a rash. Francie had to get out of here as soon as he could.

Pulling Flash onto its feet, he looked into its face.

'Now listen up, lad,' he whispered. 'We're going to ride out of here now, but I need yeh to be quiet. D'yeh understand? And I need yeh to keep yer eyes dull, Flash. No lights, d'yeh get me?'

The engimal rubbed its head against his hand and he took that to mean it understood him. They would find out soon enough. Climbing into the saddle, he patted the velocycle's head and tapped his heels against its side. It rolled quietly through the wet undergrowth to the path and turned down it, its engine making no more sound than that of rustling grass, its eyes showing only the faintest flicker of light.

Francie knew the path well, having walked down here many times. It was twisting and narrow but was relatively clear of low-hanging branches, and Flash gradually picked up speed, obviously having no problem seeing its way in the dark. Francie leaned forward between the engimal's horns, feeling the wind on his face. The dripping trees blurred past him on either side, the ends of branches snagging his jacket and trousers, threatening to whip off his cap.

He had left the stable with only what he had on him but it was all he would need. There would be no more mucking out the stalls, no more polishing tack or taking lip from the grooms. No more knuckling his forehead to every swell who said a word to him. He was free! The exultation rushed through him – he wanted to scream with joy, to let it out into the forest around him.

It was just at that moment that they swerved round a high bank of thick foliage and Francie's breath caught in his throat. Standing right in their path was a man, his head hung low, lost in thought. They were going too fast to stop on the wet path. Flash reared and let out a bark of surprise as they slammed into the man, throwing him off his feet. He had time to scream before his body fell under the wheels of the velocycle. The jolt bounced Francie out of the stirrups just as Flash came down hard on its front wheel, its back wheel striking the man's torso and bucking the boy forward over the handlebars. Francie crashed into a bank of ferns and soft earth, the impact knocking the wind out of him and leaving him stunned.

Getting up onto his knees, he bent forward, trying to get his breath back. There came the sound of shouting in the distance, off to one side. The guards had heard the noise. They were coming. Francie looked around for the velocycle. Flash was standing on the path, looking from Francie to the fallen man and back again. Francie waved to it, his chest still too constricted to call the engimal, but it backed away warily, turned and scuttled off back towards the house.

'No!' Francie wheezed. 'Come back, yeh blackguard!'

But it was no use, the velocycle was gone. The man lying on the path moaned in pain, barely conscious. Francie wondered if he should try and help him, but what could he do? The voices were getting closer; he couldn't tell where they were coming from. There was nothing to be heard from the direction of the house – it seemed like the only way left to him. Francie stood up shakily and started running, weakly at first but then faster and faster until it seemed as if his feet were hardly touching the ground. Terror gave him wings and he raced back to the edge of the woods and up the lawn along the shadow of the hedge. The alarm had not yet been raised in the house; there were still few lights to be seen in the huge edifice. He had time to make it back before all hell broke loose.

He staggered to a halt in amazement. Flash was standing nervously by the side door, as if waiting to be let in. Francie shook his head and walked the last few yards, his legs suddenly feeling stiff and heavy. Opening the door, he ushered the velocycle in, stopping only to give it a sound kick up its arse as it slipped past him.

'I never figured yeh for a coward!' he hissed softly. 'Look at yeh! The size o' yeh and yeh run like a mouse when yer startled!'

Flash looked suitably cowed, hovering by the door of its stall. It made an apologetic grunt but Francie opened the door and shoved it inside, muttering curses under his breath. Once the velocycle was put away, he sneaked back out to the rear of the stables and climbed the stairs to the loft. Wincing at the creaking floorboards, he found his way through to his bed in the darkness. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sat there feeling utterly drained. He was wearily pulling off his clothes when Patrick rolled over and squinted up at him.

'What are yeh gettin' up for, Francie? It's a bit early yet, isn't it?'

Francie hesitated in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. He carefully started buttoning it back up again, and pulled his braces onto his shoulders before answering.

'Somethin's goin' on outside,' he said to his friend. 'It woke me up. Thought I'd go and see what the story is.'

'Jaysus, I'll go with yeh,' Patrick declared. ''S bin a while since we had a bit o' drama.'

Francie nodded and tried to look enthusiastic. He'd had his fill of drama for one night. Standing up, he grabbed his cap and jacket and waited for Patrick to get dressed. He was standing with his hands in his pockets when he realized he should have been able to feel the letter his father had given him. He checked the pockets of his jacket but he already knew he wouldn't find it. He had dropped it somewhere out in the woods. Sitting down on the edge of the bed with his back to Patrick, he tried not to cry.

I
t was after three in the morning when Clancy woke Nate to tell him he had been summoned to the main drawing room. Roberto had been attacked. Stopping only to pull on a pair of slacks, shoes and his dressing gown, Nate rushed down to see his brother.

He arrived, out of breath, to find Roberto stretched out on a divan, looking pale and uncharacteristically dishevelled and muddy, his waistcoat open and his shirt torn. He was holding a damp folded cloth to the side of his face. Sitting in armchairs on either side of him were the Duke and Gideon, and Nate was surprised to see Hugo there as well. Standing by the Duke's chair was Slattery, a strange smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

'What happened?' Nate demanded.

'Your brother was attacked in the woods,' Edgar growled.

'By whom?' Nate asked, then he frowned and added to his brother, 'And what were you doing in the woods at this time of night?'

'I was taking a walk,' Berto replied defensively. 'I can still take a walk when I like, can't I? I couldn't sleep.'

'Are you hurt?'

'The good doctor says I've cracked some ribs, but apart from that and some bruises and a rotter of a headache, I'm fine . . . apparently' Berto said in a sceptical tone. 'I don't
feel
fine. I feel bloody awful.'

'Someone riding an engimal, most probably a velocycle, ambushed him and almost killed him,' Edgar said. 'This, in an area surrounded by armed guards. We do not know if it was an opportunistic attack, or whether somebody was deliberately targeting the Wildenstern Heir. If so, it was a bold and extraordinary act of aggression.'

'Well, that's not likely, is it?' Nate stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe. 'Who could have known Berto was going to take it into his head to go for a walk in the middle of the night? Or
where
he'd walk? It must have been an accident. And you said they used an engimal? That doesn't sound like rebels or poachers – more like someone from the family'

Both Hugo and Gideon were following what was being said very closely, but said nothing.

'Sit down, Nathaniel,' Edgar said quietly.

Nate felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He was missing something here. Something was badly wrong. He reached for an armchair and pulled it closer, sitting down clumsily. Slattery stepped out into the middle of the floor and gave him a little bow.

'Good morning, sir,' he began, his cold eyes locking onto Nate's. 'I'm pleased to say that my men and I have already investigated the scene of the attack and have reached some early conclusions based on the evidence collected thus far.'

The bailiff started to pace back and forth across the floor, delivering his speech with a dramatic air.

'You are right in supposing that it would take a great act of foresight to anticipate Master Roberto's spontaneous and ill-fated walk in the woods. So I would speculate that either our villain had the remarkable luck to find the Heir alone in the forest entirely by chance . . . or he followed him there with a view to instigating his attack.'

Slattery stopped pacing for a moment to draw a long breath.

'Given that Master Roberto walked from the
house
and that said attack was carried out using a large engimal – an unlikely weapon for a rebel, as you rightly pointed out, Master Nathaniel – and given that the perimeter was being patrolled by armed men, it would be fair to assume that the culprit could have also come from Wildenstern Hall. I am aware that members of the family do indulge in the occasional act of . . . aggression, in order to . . . well, to get ahead, shall we say? I could not rule out the fact that this might be just such an act.

'But then we found
this,'
he said abruptly, flourishing a cheap-looking brown envelope. 'And things got a lot more interesting!'

'Get on with it,' Edgar grunted, his engimal claw clicking restlessly.

Slattery nodded respectfully to the Duke. Taking out the piece of notepaper contained in the envelope, he unfolded it and handed it to Nathaniel. Nate took it and held it up to the light to read it:

A mesage for the Willdensterns,
Yor days of grynding good working people under yor
hele are numbered. Take this as a worning that there is
no place to hyde from us. We can reach past yor walls
and yor gards and strike wher you leest espect it.
Releese yor grip on the poor people of Ireland or sufer the
connsequenses.
Yors faithfully
The Irish Liberty Brigade

'Looks to me like their spelling is no better than their assassinating,' Nate quipped. 'I've never heard of them. "The Irish Liberty Brigade"? Where did they spring from?'

'We'll find out,' Slattery assured him. 'But since this was left for us to find, it suggests that the person who followed Master Roberto from the house is in league with this group. Perhaps someone who is working with the rebels in order to advance their position within the family.'

Nate nodded, but thought it unlikely. It was only then that he noticed somebody was missing.

'Where's Daisy?' he asked. 'Shouldn't she be here?'

'She's vanished,' Berto muttered sourly from behind the cloth. 'Nobody can find her.'

'I bloody knew it,' Nate said through gritted teeth.

'Daisy was not the attacker,' Edgar declared. 'Although her complicity has not been ruled out. Carry on, Slattery'

'Yes, sir.' Slattery took centre stage again. 'As you'll know from your experience in tracking, Master Nathaniel, every engimal leaves a unique footprint, by which they can be identified. We were fortunate enough to be left with a perfect imprint of the offending velocycle's feet.'

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought forward a jacket. Roberto's jacket. Slattery held it up for all to see, clearly marked in a diagonal line of mud across the front, the track left by the attacker's engimal. Nate caught his breath. He recognized it instantly.

'Naturally, we checked it against all the velocycles in the stables first,' the bailiff told him. 'We nearly forgot one, as it was being kept in a spare stall with the horses.' His eyes held Nate in their unswerving gaze. 'It was
your
velocycle, Master Nathaniel, and its feet matched the print perfectly'

'This is absurd! It can't be . . . I . . .' Nate began. 'I haven't left the house all night! Someone must have stolen Flash and—'

'But the damned machine won't let anyone else ride it, Nate,' Roberto pointed out, looking utterly miserable. 'Nobody else can even sit on the cursed thing. I mean . . . I'd understand if it was an accident, you know? If that's all it was—'

'It wasn't me!' Nate shouted.

But from the expressions on the faces around him, it was clear that nobody believed him. He stared helplessly at his brother, unable to fathom how Roberto, of all people, could suspect him. They had always trusted each other completely, and that trust was one of the few things in his family life that Nate had always thought he could count on. And as that was shaken, so too was everything he believed in.

'I can't say which surprises me more,' Edgar rumbled. 'That you had the nerve to finally attempt an act of aggression, or that you managed to cock it up despite a lifetime of training.'

That remark seemed to bring Roberto's misery to a head and tears welled up in his eyes. Mortally embarrassed, he struggled up off the divan and hurried towards the door, wiping his face with the cloth. Nate stood up, trying to reach his brother one last time, but as Berto passed him, he stopped and glared at Nate with bitter hatred.

'What about Marcus?' Berto asked. 'Was that you too?'

Nate turned away.

'Go to hell,' he hissed.

As Roberto left the room, Nate faced the four remaining men.

'If I did this thing, do you really think I'd carry it out with the one engimal that could identify me? I know a hundred ways of killing a man – including half a dozen that don't leave a trace – and you think I'd try and run my brother down with a
velocycle?
Do you think I'd leave a bloody note that linked me to some stupid bloody Fenians and risk everything I was trying to kill him for? And as for the
letter . . .
My God! Do you seriously think I'd hand on a note with that many spelling mistakes?
Have you all lost your bloody minds?!'

'Perhaps it was a rash act, perhaps you planned too hastily,' Edgar replied. 'Perhaps you hoped to make it look like an accident but when you realized you hadn't killed him, your nerve failed you and you fled back to the house. Perhaps you left the note to throw us off the trail and avoid the emotional repercussions from the family. Perhaps you faked the handwriting and spelling mistakes to make it look as if it were written by an uneducated hand. We do not know these things yet. And until we do, you will not leave this house.

'Slattery tells me you ordered the release of the moneylender, Duffy.'

Nate gave the bailiff a hostile look.

'They beat the man to a pulp, Father.'

'If they did so, then it was only because it was necessary' Edgar assured his son. He went on in a dispassionate tone, 'You see, Nathaniel, if you had simply attacked Roberto, the Rules of Ascension would apply to protect you. But when I hear that you have taken pity on a known rebel sympathizer, and then this letter is found at the scene of your brother's assault, I am forced to re-evaluate your position.' His voice was lower now, and grating with menace. 'For we know that there is a traitor in this house, and if I find out that the betrayal is yours, I promise you the most dire consequences.'

He paused to let those words sink in.

'That is all. You are dismissed.'

The whole room waited in silence for Nathaniel to leave. He gritted his teeth and stood there for as long as he could bear his father's piercing stare.

'It wasn't me,' he managed at last – but it sounded weak and insubstantial after his father's declaration.

He spun on his heel and left the room, trying not to show his hurt. He had taken enough from the old man – from the whole family. His face burned with rage and shame, his hands were clenched into fists. The gas-lamps were turned down in the empty corridors, only every one in four glowing; he took the dimly lit stairs all the way up to his floor, savouring the darkness and quiet, letting his anger smoulder away as he worked his legs up one staircase after another. The exercise helped, and his feelings had subsided by the time he reached his rooms. He was able to think more clearly.

There was one good thing to come out of this at least: it was unlikely that Edgar would hand his business on to a suspected traitor, so it looked like his move to America was off. Now all he had to do was plan his departure from this damned house.

He threw off his dressing gown and climbed into bed, stacking the pillows up behind him so that he could sit up – there was no chance of him getting back to sleep. Wrapping the blankets around him, he lifted the cap on the speaking tube and asked Clancy – who he knew would still be awake – to bring him some cocoa and two slices of hot buttered toast.

Once his late-night snack was delivered on its tray, Nate sank into a miserable mood, brooding about how unbearable his life had become. He had intended to maintain this sulk until he drifted off to sleep, but it turned out that he was to be denied even this pleasure. There was a knock on the living-room door, and he knew at once that it wasn't Clancy.

Muttering under his breath, he set the tray aside and climbed out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown once more. He strode out into the living room and disarmed the booby traps on the hall door by pressing a series of levers on the underside of his writing desk. Then he grabbed the door handle and swung the door open, ready to unleash a string of abuse at whoever was standing on the other side.

Instead, he found himself speechless. Hunched in a thoroughly despondent posture in the hallway was his sister-in-law, dressed in one of Roberto's old suits. Nate's mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Daisy didn't wait to be invited in. Brushing past him, she stumbled into the living room, flung herself on the sofa and burst into tears.

Deciding that everyone in the house had gone completely off their rockers, Nathaniel sighed, closed the door and went and sat down beside her, looking at her in bemusement. Unsure of what to do to comfort her, he thought it best to get straight to the point.

'So what's wrong?' he enquired.

'Roberto's having an affair!' Daisy cried.

'Ah. I see.'

'No, you don't!' she sobbed. 'He's in love with another
man!
I saw them kissing!'

Nate sighed again. He had known about Roberto's tastes for a few years now; since before the marriage. He had spent enough time in boarding school to meet boys with all sorts of strange hobbies so it didn't bother him much. Homosexuality could land you in prison, although it was unlikely anyone would try and prosecute a man of Roberto's power. But not only had he betrayed his wife; if word got out, she would face the worst kind of humiliation.

'So who's the other man?' he asked.