Merciless Reason (27 page)

“I have to say, I was hoping for a less violent welcome home from
you
. What are you doing out here alone at night?” he asked, falling back into his big brother role because he was unsure what else to say. “Have the Wildensterns sunk so low they're resorting to highway robbery? Or are you out to try and catch this infamous Highwayboy?”

She pulled her head back and wiped her eyes, her eyes adopting a hardened look that took him by surprise.

“Oh, Nate,” she said with a smirk. “I
am
the Highwayboy. I've been robbing people for years.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it again.

“I give the money to the poor, of course,” she said. “Well, most of it, anyway. I treat myself to the odd dress or piece of jewelry from time to time. But most of it goes to help people who are too sick to work, or can't pay their rent on our estates. I break into Oliver's office and get their names from his files—find the ones who are the worst off. I like to think of myself as a redistributor of wealth … or a thieving philanthropist, whichever you prefer. My God, I can't believe you're back! And you've got Flash back too! Oh, this is wonderful! And …” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed his clothes “… And what is that charming
smell
you've brought with you? Good heavens, when did you last
wash
? Still … even so, this is the best thing that could have happened!” She thumped him in the chest—it was a surprisingly sound thump and he coughed a little. She laughed, and then her expression suddenly changed to one of petulant outrage: “But here now … why didn't you send word you were coming?”

“Clancy sent a coded message to Daisy months ago,” he replied. “She definitely received it—she's been in contact with Duffy and Cathal's father since we landed in Cork. You mean she didn't tell you?”

“No,” Tatty snapped, turning away to walk a few steps along the road. She stamped her foot a couple of times. “The deceitful little witch. I'll pull her ruddy hair out by the roots.” Putting her face in her hands, her shoulders shuddered as she took some deep breaths. “Oh, Nate, it's been so awful! You've no idea what we've been through … what … what it's like to live in that house now. It's much worse than before. Gerald is a cold-blooded monster who toys with our lives … he's drained the family's money and he's carrying out some bizarre experiments on engimals and now he's taken
Cathal
away somewhere and I
can't bear
to think what he might be doing with him. And he's brought that bloody Brutus back from the grave, and now that
ogre
is running things in the house and in the company and he's as bad as any of the others—”

“Brutus is
alive
?”

“…And he's treating Daisy like a secretary and she's … she's fit to go out of her mind with all the conniving that's going on; she's doing her best but they're too much for her, you know? She's trying to set up some plan to bring Gerald down, but he's so bloody devious, I think she's just going to get herself into even more trouble!”

Her shoulders and body slumped and Nate came over to hold her again.

“And I'm so glad you're here,” she whimpered. “Daisy and I … we just need someone else to be strong for us, just for a little while. But it's got so bad … and Gerald's so damned … so damned powerful and clever. I don't know if there's anything you can do either.”

“I'm so sorry I left,” Nate said to her, taking her face in his hands. “But it had to be done. And now I'm back, and we're going to stop Gerald. Whatever it takes, we have to stop him. We were always stronger when we were together. But you have no idea how dangerous he could become. Listen to me now, Tatty. I have to go on to Dublin, but I'm coming home soon. And Gerald knows it. He's been trying to stop me all along the way, and when I walk into that house, all hell is going to break loose. You have to be ready. I'm not going to ask you to run from it, or hide away. I know you better than that. But you must be prepared for the worst, do you understand?”

Tatty nodded and he hugged her again. He closed his eyes and wished he didn't have to let her go. Finally, he was within reach of home; not the bricks and mortar and marble of Wildenstern Hall, but those precious few people who really mattered to him. His thoughts went to Daisy. She was only a day's horse-ride away now. Much less at Flash's speed. But he wasn't doing this alone. Like Tatty, he needed to be prepared for what was coming.

“Oh, I know where Gerald's secret lair is,” she said, as if just remembering.

“He has a secret lair?”

She nodded, brushing some loose hair back off her face.

“He's too difficult to follow, but once I'd learned who his lackeys were, I was able to follow them. Some of them are a thick as a bag of hammers—I suppose that type asks less questions. Anyway, he's carrying out his experiments in this mine in Glendalough. I slipped Daisy a note, so she knows too.”

“So she doesn't know you're the Highwayboy?”

Tatty shook her head. “No. I … I … I just never got round to telling her. At first I thought she wouldn't approve, and then … well, I suppose I just enjoyed being this mysterious figure.”

“How intrepid of you. Some things don't change, I see,” he chuckled. Pushing her back at arms' length, he said, “I can't delay much longer. We only have a few minutes. Tell me about my son.”

XXVIII

TAILORING ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY

IT WAS NOT LONG BEFORE DAWN,
and the streets of south Dublin were empty and quiet. In less than an hour, the bugler in Portobello Barracks nearby would blow reveille to wake the soldiers, the drivers of the horse-drawn omnibuses would set about harnessing their animals and the lamp-lighters would be doing their rounds on the streets, walking along with their ladders, extinguishing the streetlights. But the gas-lamps still burned, diffused in the mist that rose from the canal, and through their pools of light a slight-figured, bent old man with a turkey neck and long thin hands walked along a narrow street leading to the Grand Canal.

Rudolf Bloom was one of the finest tailors in Dublin. More than ten years before, he had arrived from Hungary and built his business up from scratch. He had kept his relatively modest home in the small Jewish community on the South Circular Road, but his business premises were in the wealthy, predominantly Protestant, area of Rathmines. He was on his way there along the dark streets, much earlier than normal, having been summoned by a man who had once been one of his most important customers.

Once. The man was something of a mystery now. It was all highly irregular. Some time ago, Bloom had been sent a telegram by a man named Clancy—one of the Wildensterns' most trusted servants. The message instructed him to make a suit to precise measurements and charge it to the Wildenstern account. A man's measurements were like a portrait to Bloom, and he immediately recognized the dimensions as being almost identical to those of the missing Duke of Leinster, Nathaniel Wildenstern—Clancy's former master. This had immediately posed a moral quandary for Bloom. The telegram had been confidential, but the man's disappearance had caused much pain to the Duke's family. Should he inform them or not?

Bloom was no fool. He was aware of the Wildensterns' formidable reputation. They were the most influential family in the country, one of the most influential in the world. And the new head of that family, Gerald Gordon, had shown himself to be a distracted, rather capricious type with little sense of duty or social responsibility—unlike the Duke's sister-in-law, who handled the family's accounts and was a paragon of respectability and style.

But Mister Gordon scared Bloom. He had made it clear in his press releases that Nathaniel Wildenstern must be found at all costs. If Bloom had knowledge of his whereabouts and kept them from Gordon, and Gordon found out, it could be the ruin of the old master tailor. And Bloom had a beloved wife who suffered from crippling arthritis, and a good-for-nothing fool of a son who dreamed of life as a writer in Paris but could not even get anyone to read the great tome of a book he had written. Bloom could not afford to lose the Wildensterns' business. After receiving the telegram, he had made the long and inconvenient journey to Wildenstern Hall to inform the family personally about his anonymous customer.

And now Nathaniel Wildenstern was coming to be fitted for his suit, before dawn, and in secret. Only Bloom himself was permitted to serve him. Nobody else was to be trusted. It was all highly irregular, but Bloom prided himself on good service.

He was walking along the Grand Canal, his fragile body still able to maintain a brisk pace, when he was suddenly aware of someone behind him. A hand took his arm, and before he could protest he was turned bodily around and a finger held up in front of his face to silence him. The man before him was Nathaniel Wildenstern. He was older, his face a little more lined and weathered, overshadowed by a peaked cap and concealed behind a blond beard, but unmistakable to Bloom nonetheless. The mysterious Duke of Leinster himself.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mister Bloom,” Nate said. He led the old tailor across the road to the door of a small terraced house that opened to admit them. “But I'll have to ask you not to enter your building today. It may not be safe.”

As they walked through the door, Bloom found himself facing down the business ends of three revolvers and two rifles.

“Good God!” he exclaimed, his spectacles nearly falling from his gaunt face as his expression changed to one of abject shock.

“Easy, lads, easy.” Nate motioned at the five Fenians to lower their weapons. “Mister Bloom is an innocent bystander in all of this.”

Nate led the tailor into a tiny, modestly furnished living room, sat him down in the most comfortable chair and seated himself in the chair opposite, leaning earnestly forward to address the old man.

“Now,” he said, “I have reason to believe that should you and I enter your business premises, there is a strong chance that an attempt would be made on my life, and that your life would be put in grave danger as a result. The man who has his sights on me is rather ruthless and will not shy away from innocent casualties if it means getting the job done. Once again, I apologize for involving you in this, Mister Bloom.

“However, I still mean to collect my suit—which I assume you have ready?”

Bloom nodded, badly shaken by what he was hearing.

“Excellent.” Nate smiled. “One can always count on Rudolf Bloom for satisfactory service. So here is what I'd like to do. I will go on my own to your shop and pick up the suit myself. I will need your keys and instructions on where to find the suit—”

“But I will need to fit it, your Grace!” Bloom pleaded. “It may require adjustment!”

The idea that a customer might leave his shop with an ill-fitting suit was almost as alarming to Bloom as the thought of a customer being assassinated while collecting it.

“I will have to make do,” Nate replied. “You can rest assured that any hint of a poor fit will be down to my haste in taking it away, rather than any lack of quality in your work, and I will make a point of mentioning it when I am in company. And you will, of course, be suitably compensated for tailoring above and beyond the call of duty. Now, I'm afraid time is pressing. May I have your keys, Mister Bloom?”

When Nate came out into the hallway, leaving Bloom in a state of mild consternation, he found Duffy and Dempsey waiting for him.

“This is foolishness,Wildenstern,” Dempsey grumbled, his dark face and beard adding to his glowering look in the dim light. “Gordon knows you're coming to the shop. Why give him an ideal opportunity to kill you before you even get home?”

“I have to concur with Mister Dempsey, your Grace.” Duffy nodded. “This seems a needless risk.”

“It's nothing of the kind, gentlemen,” Nate told them. “Gerald has equipped himself with knowledge that gives him extraordinary advantages over us. He has unmeasured control over engimals, and any number of them to use against us. If you see him pick up a musical instrument of any kind, or even purse his lips to whistle, you can kiss your free will goodbye. I promise you, gentlemen, you have never faced an opponent like him. And these are only the abilities I know of. He is trying to master an ancient science, a potentially catastrophic one. I need to see what level his research has reached, and I need to see it before I walk into Wildenstern Hall, an environment over which he has absolute control.

“Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go and pick up my suit.”

The smog was not as thick in the area that morning as it was in other parts of the city, but it still had the effect of softening the edges of the buildings along Lower Rathmines Road and giving them a grainy appearance. Nate had left Flash in the back yard of the little house on the canal, so as not to attract attention. After a short walk, he came within sight of a three-story terrace of buildings facing out onto the street. One of the shop fronts that occupied the ground floor of the terrace was adorned with the sign “Bloom & Son.” Nate did not approach it immediately. Standing at the corner of a building fifty yards back, he studied the scene before him. After watching for a few minutes, he turned and went down a side street and found the lane that ran down the back of the terrace. Again, he watched and waited, his heart punching against his ribs, before continuing down the narrow laneway with its high walls. One key on Blooms key ring let him in through the gate into the small backyard, another opened the door to the basement at the bottom of a short flight of steps. This was where deliveries were normally taken. He slipped into the building and closed the door behind him, but left it unlocked.

Another set of stairs brought him back up to the ground floor, but after a quick peek into the shop area, he went upstairs to the fitting rooms and the workshop. Without lighting any lamps, he checked those areas quickly and then climbed up again to the storerooms and office on the next floor. Only when he was satisfied there was no one else in the building did he make his way back down to the fitting room at the front of the first floor, where his suit had been left lying out waiting to be fitted.

It would have been in character for Gerald to choose Nate's most vulnerable moment to strike, so Nate was not about to undress in order to try on the suit. Keeping a wary eye on the doors and windows, he held the jacket and trousers up in front of the mirror to check the size, then the shirt, and bundled them carefully and wrapped them in some brown paper, tied with string.

Still nothing happened.

He looked around at the shelves and rolls of fabrics in different colors and patterns, the wood and leather tailor's dummy standing in one corner, the pairs of scissors and neatly coiled measuring tapes lying on a table beside it. Nate exhaled, pushing all the air out of his lungs and then inhaled slowly. What should he do now? He had been so
sure.
On another table in the corner, there lay two more coiled measuring tapes, lying amidst some scraps of patterned materials. One of them moved. Nate's stomach tightened and he stopped breathing. He felt the serpentine move in his gut, felt his hairs stand on end and his body tremble with adrenaline.

First one, then the other measuring tape uncoiled and slid down onto the floor. In the poor light, he had made a foolish mistake; these were not tapes, they were engimals. His eyes narrowed, unsure if he could believe what he was seeing. In fact, they were not a complete engimal, but two parts of a larger, extraordinary creature named Apple. They were identical, each one a little over three feet long, formed of white ceramic, their bodies segmented with so many tiny hinges that they were able to flex into tight angles and spirals. They had a single silvery eye each. Unlike a snake, they were triangular in cross-section. And Nate knew why. Each one was one third of the original creature. And the final piece was deep within his own torso.

As they wound across the floor towards him, a cry emitted from Nate's throat, though it was not his voice that made it. He felt a knotting pain in his abdomen that rose up into his chest and blocked his throat. He gagged, falling onto his knees. Collapsing forward onto his hands, he retched once, twice, and then a length of white snaking ceramic emerged from his mouth, slightly stained with blood and bile. His lungs were spasming from being unable to breathe. It wriggled, causing him to flinch in pain. He retched again, and then, knowing the damned thing wasn't about to give up until it was free, he grabbed it with one hand and eased it inch by desperate inch from his constricted throat.

Coughing and hauling in air, he spat a few drops of blood, threw the serpentine at its fellow worms and fell forward onto his hands again, head hanging between his shoulders as he caught his breath, groaning. He raised his head to see the three strands of engimal entwining, winding together like three strands of a rope. In moments Apple, the serpentine, was complete again and she weaved across the floor in front of him, making a contented mewling sound, not unlike a cat.

“Well, I hope you're happy,” he snorted at it. “That bloody hurt.”

Apple was whole and free again, and he was not entirely sure how he felt about that, after the years she had spent inside his body, influencing his thoughts. But he was already on his guard again. Gerald had been here and left those things for him. Why? It made no sense. With her power over intelligent particles, Apple would be worth so much to Gerald, and whoever possessed her would benefit from her miraculous powers of healing. Why would he allow Nate to put her back together, knowing what kind of advantage Apple gave him?

Because he had no intention of letting him keep her.

Apple let out a weak, troubled cry. Then she shrieked again, high-pitched and loud enough to hurt Nate's ears. Smoke rose from her open mouth, from her eyes, and from the joints that spiraled along her body where her three parts had reunited. Nate looked on helplessly as she began to thrash around, wriggling in agony as something ate away at her insides. In wild motions, she whipped around the floor, smacking against the floorboards, screeching like banshee. And then she lay, shivering, twitching and then falling deathly still. He did not touch the limp body, just staring at it as he remained on his hands and knees, trying to grasp what this meant.

Gerald had rigged the other two segments, poisoned them somehow, in order to destroy Apple. The message could not be clearer. He meant to put an end to Nate, no matter what it took. Even a treasure such as this serpentine was expendable in order to achieve this jail. Nate felt a trembling in his hands. At first he thought it was his own body that was doing it, and then he realized he was feeling it through the floorboards. It was getting steadily stronger. Of course, the entire street must have heard Apple's dying screams. What better signal for an ambush could you ask for? There came the sound of a deep, rumbling engine.