Finally, and somewhat dispirited because he knew it was worth something but not how much, he went into Carcaterra’s House of Precious Metals. The man behind the counter was perhaps in his mid-thirties and probably a Jew thought Cale because the only people he had seen before wearing skull caps were Jews.
‘Can I help you,’ said the man, a little warily. Cale put the ruby or whatever it was down on the table. The man picked it up, interested, and held it over a candle, examining the light refracted through it with the quiet care of someone who knew what he was doing. After a minute he looked at Cale.
‘You don’t look well, young man. Would you care to sit down?’
‘I just want to know what it’s worth. I know already, mind, I just want to know whether or not you’re going to try and steal from me.’
‘I can try and steal from you just as easily if you’re sitting down as if you’re standing up.’
As it happened Cale was feeling not just tired but exhausted. The black circles around his eyes were as bad as those belonging to the tragopan in the Memphis Zoo. There was a bench behind him and as he sat his legs almost gave way.
‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘I want to know what it’s worth.’
‘I can tell you what it’s worth and give you a cup of tea.’
Cale felt too shattered to be awkward. ‘Thanks.’
‘David!’ called out the jeweller. ‘Would you be kind enough to bring me a cup of tea – builder’s tea if you please.’
There was a shout of acknowledgement and the jeweller went back to looking at the gemstone. Eventually David, Cale presumed, brought in a cup and saucer and was waved over to Cale by the jeweller. All three noticed that as he took it the cup and saucer began to jangle as if it was being held by an old man. David, puzzled, left them to it.
‘Do you know what this is?’ said the jeweller.
‘I know it’s worth a lot.’
‘That depends on your idea of worth, I suppose. It’s a type of gemstone called Red Beryl. It’s from the Beskidy Mountains and I know this not only because I am very well informed when it comes to gemstones but because that’s the only place they can be found. Do you agree?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And the thing is, the very interesting thing is, that time out of mind the Beskidy Mountains have been in control of the One True Faith of the Hanged Redeemer. Did you know that?’
‘I can honestly say that I didn’t.’
‘So this must either be very old – I’ve only seen two before today – or it’s been taken off the statue of the Mother of the Hanged Redeemer for whom this particular gem is, I understand, solely reserved.’
‘Sounds about right.’ Cale was too exhausted to try and invent anything and was impressed by the man’s knowledge and skill.
‘I’m afraid I don’t deal in looted religious artefacts.’
Cale finished his tea and, still jangling, put it down on the bench beside him.
‘I don’t suppose you know anyone who does?’
‘I’m not a fence, young man.’
‘Sorry.’
Cale stood up feeling not so much exhausted now as unutterably weary and walked over to the jeweller, who handed the gemstone back to him.
‘I didn’t steal it.’ He paused. ‘All right, I did steal it. But no one ever earnt something they stole more than me and Red Beryl here.’
He walked over to the door. As he left the jeweller called out: ‘Try not to sell it for less than six hundred.’ And with that Cale shut the door behind him and was off into the square wondering if he had the energy to make it to his room.
‘You Cale?’ asked a pleasant voice.
Cale ignored it and walked on not looking up.
He tried to keep moving but the way was blocked by two hard-looking types he would have been wary of at the best of times. This was not the best of times.
‘And there are another three of us as well,’ said the pleasant voice.
Cale looked at the man.
‘You’re the bloke from Silbury Hill.’
‘How gratifying you remember,’ said Cadbury.
‘Not dead then?’
‘Me? I was just passing by. IdrisPukke?’
‘Still alive.’
‘So it is true – only the good die young.’
‘And your owner – Hagfish Harry?’
‘It’s a coincidence – remarkable really – that you should ask. Kitty the Hare would like a word.’
‘I have a butler now. He’ll give you an appointment.’
‘That’s enough cheek, now, sonny. My owner doesn’t like being kept waiting. Besides, you look as if you could do with a sit down. You’ve disimproved since we last met. If Kitty the Hare meant any harm to you we wouldn’t be talking now.’ Cadbury gestured the way and Cale went as gracefully as he knew how.
Fortunately they didn’t have to go far. In a few turns they moved on to the rich houses of the canal district with their huge windows open to let the light in and along with it the envy of the passers-by. They stopped at one of the swankiest and were let in as if expected momentarily. Cadbury motioned him further into the house and into a large and airy room overlooking an elegant garden of box-tree mazes, espaliered fruit trees in vertical and horizontal cordons, cut knee and navel, nipple and nose.
‘Sit down before you fall down,’ said Cadbury pulling up a chair.
‘Is someone cooking onions?’ asked Cale.
‘No.’
The door opened and a servant came in and lit several candles. Then he pulled the curtains shut but with some effort because they were so thick and tall, more like those for a stage than a house. Shortly after, the door opened and Kitty the Hare passed into the room. No other word would do. The hood he wore was deep enough to cover his face in that poor light and the gown like a small boy’s too large dressing gown. There was, however, nothing of the priest about him. His smell was different too. The Redeemers had the body odour of too little washing and something indefinably sour; Kitty the Hare smelt of something not unpleasant exactly and not just odd but oddly odd. Cadbury held a chair for him all the while carefully watching Cale to see how he reacted to this unsettling creature. No one said anything and no one moved. There was only the different rhythm of Kitty’s breathing, something like a dog panting only not.
‘You wanted ...’ began Cale.
‘Move into the light so I can see you well,’ interrupted Kitty. The non-look of him, the great performance of his arrival in the almost dark made Cale expect a voice fit for all this portent – doom-filled dark and menacing. But it was the cooing and the lisping, the almost but not at all feminine liquid tone that raised the hair on his arms, damp as they were from sweat. ‘Please do as I ask,’ said Kitty.
Shaken and poorly Cale shuffled forward, not by much. He was cautious now because he felt so weak but it also left him feeling a certain freedom. He was in no state for any swashbuckling – he could barely walk to the door let alone dash for it. In his present state he would have had trouble wrestling a kitten to its knees.
‘So. This is what the wrath of God looks like,’ said Kitty. ‘Original. Don’t you think so, Cadbury?’
‘Yes, Kitty.’
‘But it makes sense, the more you think about it, to have a child represent the anger of the almighty – given what so many of his innocents must endure. You are not well, I think.’
‘Just a cold.’
‘Well, don’t give it to us, eh, Cadbury?’
It may have been jovial – it was impossible for Cale to tell.
‘I have heard a great deal about you, mister. Is half of it true?’
‘More.’
‘He’s vain, Cadbury, how I like that in a god.’
‘What do you want?’ The strange sweet smell that at first had not bothered Cale was becoming more and more unpleasant and was beginning to make him feel even worse.