Mrs Puddinge gave a satisfied smirk.
But Quare was not concerned with Mrs Puddinge at the moment. ‘Was,’ he echoed dully. ‘You said
was
. Is Master Magnus dead then?’
‘Dead?’ repeated Grandmaster Wolfe. ‘Regrettably, yes.’ Though if there was an iota of actual regret in his tone, Quare couldn’t hear it. ‘Murdered, in fact. But then, that is not news to you, is it, Mr Quare? Don’t bother to lie – I can see right through you, sir.’
In truth, it was no more than Quare had feared – yet that fear hadn’t prepared him for the reality. A kind of shudder seemed to pass through the floor, as if he were standing on the deck of a ship. Or perhaps the unsteadiness was his own. In any case, it was a moment before he felt in sufficient command of himself to reply. ‘I had heard … That is, Aylesford said …’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘Aylesford told me Master Magnus was dead. Said that he’d come to do the job himself, but that someone had beaten him to it.’
‘I don’t suppose he mentioned a name.’
‘No. But tell me, sir, how did he die? Who found him?’
‘You were working closely with him, were you not?’
‘Indeed, we were very close. That is why I wish to know—’
The Old Wolf overrode him. ‘You were present, I believe, at what the wits of the Worshipful Company have dubbed the Massacre of the Cats?’
Quare gave a wary nod.
‘And that unfortunate event, unless I am gravely misinformed, had something to do with an unusual timepiece, a pocket watch –
this
pocket watch, in fact.’ At which, with a triumphant flourish, he pulled from beneath the desk the silver-cased hunter that was at the centre of all that had occurred.
So, Quare thought with a sinking heart, despite all the efforts of Master Magnus to keep the watch out of his rival’s hands, Grandmaster Wolfe had ended up with it anyway. And now, he realized further, his own role in deceiving the grandmaster must come to light. He did not know what the repercussions would be, but he did not doubt they would be severe. This was not the time to mourn his master. Nor to solve the mystery of his death. His own life might well be hanging in the balance. He must weigh every word with the utmost care.
‘Well, Mr Quare? Do you recognize this watch? It was found in Master Magnus’s hand, clutched so tightly in death that, I regret to say, his fingers had to be broken in order to extract it.’
‘I …’ How much should he admit to? How much did the Old Wolf already know? ‘I may have seen it before …’
‘Do not fence with me, sir,’ barked Grandmaster Wolfe. ‘This is the very timepiece that you took from Grimalkin, is it not? The timepiece that originally belonged to Lord Wichcote?’
Quare sighed; it seemed he had no choice now but to reveal the truth – or, at least, that portion of the truth which was known to him. ‘Yes, though I didn’t realize it at the time. That timepiece – the one you are holding, I mean – was hidden within the one I took from Grimalkin. Or so Master Magnus told me.’ He judged it best to say nothing yet of Grimalkin’s gender.
‘And what of the clock you brought to me, sir?’
‘Master Magnus gave it to me.’
‘And the story that went with it?’
‘Master Magnus provided that as well.’
‘I see. Both were counterfeit, then. I will hear the true story of what took place on that night from you, Mr Quare. But first, you will explain to me why Master Magnus took such extraordinary precautions to keep this watch from me. For I have examined it, and in truth I find it baffling. It seems no more than a model, a toy. Exquisitely crafted, to be sure. But useless as a means of telling time. Yet it was coveted by Lord Wichcote, Grimalkin, and Master Magnus – three men uncommonly well versed in the horological arts, whatever else one may say about them. The French, too, desired it, and dispatched Mr Aylesford to acquire it for them, by hook or by crook. Shall I tell you what I believe? If this hunter does not tell the time, then it must perform some other function – and somehow that function must be related to the Massacre of the Cats. It is, in short, despite its appearance, a weapon of some kind. A weapon with the potential to win the war for whichever side possesses it – for what may kill a cat may kill a man as well. Have I struck close to the mark, sir?’
‘I do not know,’ Quare answered. ‘I cannot explain the purpose of that watch. I do not know the secret of its functioning. If Master Magnus knew these things, he did not share them with me.’
‘You would do well to reconsider your loyalty to that man,’ said the Old Wolf, frowning. ‘He cannot protect you any longer – you must shift for yourself now, sir. Master Magnus had a duty to turn over this timepiece to me immediately. Yet he did not. What am I to think of that? What is Mr Pitt to think of it?’ He held up a hand to forestall any response. ‘Now you come to me with news of a French spy in our midst – Thomas Aylesford, to be precise. A man who is implicated in the murders of three journeymen of this guild, as well as in the deaths of some young noblemen who had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You yourself are wanted for questioning in the matter of these killings. Yes, I know all about your disgraceful exploits at the Pig and Rooster. I will be blunt, sir. Some suspect that Aylesford was not the only spy among us. That he had accomplices. Master Magnus, for one. And yourself, for another.’
‘What? That’s absurd!’ Quare exclaimed in disbelief. ‘Why, the man tried to kill me! Mrs Puddinge, you were there – you saw it!’
Mrs Puddinge shrugged and gave a tight-lipped smile, then addressed the Old Wolf. ‘I saw the two of ’em fighting, true enough, Sir Thaddeus, but I don’t know what caused the quarrel. I have only Mr Quare’s word for that. Perhaps they had a falling out.’
‘I didn’t even know the man before yesterday,’ protested Quare. ‘I met him for the first time last night at the Pig and Rooster – Mansfield brought him. Yet you don’t suggest Mansfield was a spy!’
‘We are looking into Mansfield, never fear, as we are everyone who had aught to do with Aylesford. But Mansfield is dead. You, sir, are alive.’
‘You say that as if it were a piece of evidence against me.’
‘As well it might be. But surely you can prove your innocence, Mr Quare … if, that is, you are innocent as you claim.’
‘I’m no spy,’ he repeated. ‘I’m a loyal Englishman. As was Master Magnus.’
‘Are you so sure of that? Sure enough to bet your life on it? I do not think you are sufficiently aware of your position, sir. Five young noblemen were slain last night. Witnesses have placed you at the scene, in the very thick of the brawl. Already, powerful voices are clamouring for your death. It is only with difficulty that I have been able to protect you. But that protection cannot last for ever. Either you will tell me the truth now, or we shall see how you fare in the hands of the watch. You will find their methods crude, but quite persuasive.’
Now anger crept into Quare’s voice. He was no less afraid, but he did not like being threatened. ‘I’ve told you the truth, Sir Thaddeus. I do not know the secret of that watch. And if Master Magnus knew it, he did not reveal it to me. Nor do I know why he kept the watch from you, unless it was part of some scheme he had to take your place at the head of the Worshipful Company.’
‘I can well believe that he sought my place. He was a brilliant man but also a vain and bitter one, always seeking to rise above his station and supplant his betters. But that is merely a slice of truth, not the whole pie. You can do better.’
‘You don’t want the truth,’ Quare said as understanding dawned. ‘You wish me to accuse Master Magnus. To testify against him. That is the price of my life, is it not?’
The Old Wolf sighed. ‘You are not going to climb on your high horse again, are you, Mr Quare? How tedious. More is at stake here than you realize. The war is not going well. Even now, the French prepare an invasion fleet – a fleet that will make the Spanish Armada look like an afternoon boating party on the Thames. There are rumours that Bonnie Prince Charlie will soon land once more in Scotland, if he is not there already, to rally an army of rebels to his cause – a distraction His Majesty can ill afford at present. In the midst of all this, a watch comes into our possession – a weapon, rather – which, properly understood, promises to be of more value than a thousand cannon. Yet instead of turning this marvellous weapon over to myself or Mr Pitt, Master Magnus keeps it for himself. And, with the aid of an accomplice – that would be you, sir – concocts a story to cover his tracks. I ask you, are those the actions of a loyal Englishman?’
‘He wasn’t keeping it for himself,’ Quare insisted.
‘For whom, then? Aylesford? Or was he in league with Grimalkin after all?’
‘You misconstrue my words, Sir Thaddeus. He merely wished to study it. To understand it before passing it on to Mr Pitt. What you call the Massacre of the Cats was an accident. The last I saw him, Master Magnus had no understanding of how it had happened. You see this watch as the answer to all our problems, a way to reverse the tide of the war. You think that it can be used to massacre men instead of cats. And you may be right. But consider this, Sir Thaddeus. That watch killed dozens of cats in the blink of an eye, by a means that neither Master Magnus nor myself could discern, let alone comprehend … and even less control. We did not direct its deadly effects; they could just as easily have struck us down. That watch is dangerous, sir. Too dangerous to be waved around like a loaded pistol.’
Grandmaster Wolfe’s florid features blanched, and he lowered the timepiece to the top of his desk with one hand while the other replaced his still-smoking pipe in its stand. Mrs Puddinge’s smug expression dissolved into a look of nervous apprehension, and she stepped away from the Old Wolf as if he had just laid down a hissing grenado.
‘Are you saying that we could be struck down at any moment?’ the grandmaster demanded.
Quare shook his head, once again remembering Grimalkin’s warning, which seemed to be coming true with a vengeance. ‘I’m saying I do not know. And that it is foolish to tempt fate by poking about in a science – if indeed it
is
a science – beyond our understanding.’
‘You surprise me, Mr Quare. I thought you a man of reason. What is this watch, then, if not an instrument of science? Some kind of magic talisman, perhaps?’ He gave a scornful laugh. ‘Was Master Magnus dabbling in witchcraft?’
‘Witchcraft?’ echoed Mrs Puddinge with a little shriek. ‘God preserve us! I always knew that horrid man was up to no good. Anyone with a pair of eyes in their head could see he was in league with the devil. Master Mephistopheles, indeed! Why, I’ll wager he had hooves at the ends of those twisted legs. Yes, and a tail!’
‘We are men of science here,’ said the Old Wolf, shooting her a stern glance. ‘We deal in facts, my good woman, not superstitions or old wives’ tales.’
‘Superstitions, is it?’ she demanded. ‘Old wives’ tales? God knows I don’t have the learning of men like yourself and Mr Quare, but at least I can recognize the devil’s work when I see it! Spying is one thing, Sir Thaddeus, but I’ll not put my immortal soul at risk by dabbling in witchcraft – no, not if His Majesty himself were to ask it of me!’
‘Then by all means take your leave, Mrs Puddinge. There is no more that you can do here in any case. I’m sure I do not need to add that everything you have heard is to be held in the strictest confidence.’
Despite her words, and the grandmaster’s dismissal, however, she appeared loath to go.
‘Well?’ asked the Old Wolf, raising his eyebrows. ‘Your usual emolument will be waiting,’ he said. ‘With something extra added for your trouble and your diligence in bringing Mr Quare to us.’
‘It’s not that, sir,’ she said, wringing her hands together, her combativeness gone as if it had never existed.
‘What then?’
‘Mr Aylesford,’ she said in a whisper. ‘He’s still out there!’
‘My good woman,’ said Grandmaster Wolfe with the barely patient air of a parent schooling a child in the obvious, ‘you may set your mind at ease on that score. Mr Aylesford is no doubt on his way back to
France
by now. His cover has been blown. He knows there is naught for him here but interrogation and the hangman’s noose.’
‘Oh, aye, very sensible, I’m sure. But I looked into his eyes, Sir Thaddeus! The man is not sensible. He is a fanatic. A madman! Ask Mr Quare – he’ll tell you!’
Quare, who felt it was rather rich for Mrs Puddinge to be appealing to him now, said nothing.
The Old Wolf, meanwhile, sighed heavily. ‘I am far from trusting Mr Quare’s word on anything at the moment,’ he said. ‘But I will have a journeyman escort you home, Mrs Puddinge. And remain with you overnight. That should be sufficient to put your fears to rest.’
‘Aye, and what about tomorrow, then?’
‘I cannot guarantee your safety,’ the grandmaster said. ‘No one can. Why, just walking down Bishopsgate Street can be fatal. Not to mention the fact that you have chosen of your own free will to become involved in patriotic work that carries a substantial risk. This is something I told you at the outset of your service and have repeated many times since. But it would appear that my warnings have fallen on deaf ears.’
‘I never saw no harm in keeping an eye on my young men like you asked of me, Sir Thaddeus. It were only good business, after all. But this is different. Mr Aylesford is different. He killed three of my young men! Who will want to lodge with me now?’
‘Good Lord, madam, is that your concern?’
‘All I have is Mr Puddinge’s pension and that old house. Now no one will feel safe under my roof.’
‘Why, our journeymen are not so squeamish as that. Besides, the murders took place at the Pig and Rooster – surely it is that establishment which will bear the brunt of any opprobrium, not your own. In any case, Mrs Puddinge, they’ll lodge where I send ’em, and until you give me cause to do otherwise, I’ll keep sending ’em to you. Do we understand each other?’
‘I didn’t mean nothing by it, Sir Thaddeus,’ she said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘A woman’s got to make a living, ain’t she?’
‘Indubitably,’ the grandmaster agreed.
Mrs Puddinge glanced at Quare and coloured. ‘I hope as there are no
hard
feelings, Mr Quare. You was a good lodger. I only done my duty, and you can’t blame a body for that, can you?’