“What do you do during the day, anyway?” Matthew continued, daring fate. “Do you hide away down in your quarters? Do you work on something? Surely you just don’t live for these little dramas and then sleep all day.”
“I rarely sleep,” was the reply, spoken with no expression.
“All this treasure at your disposal, and you can’t sleep?” Matthew realized he was nearing the dangerous cliff’s edge of his own sharp tongue, yet he felt the need to press forward a little bit more. “You’re a lurker in your own house? You must wear a mask to go out and about? Professor…I fear you’re not as wealthy nor as privileged as you might believe, because even though I live in a dairyhouse half the size of this room I do sleep well—most nights—and I feel no need for a mask.”
Fell grunted quietly. “You do,” he said, “have a set of balls on you.”
“I think they’ve grown since I’ve had this occupation.”
“I could have Sirki saw them off for you, if they’ve grown too large to be comfortable.”
“Do what you please,” said Matthew, and he meant it. His heart was calming and the small beads of sweat that had risen at his temples had begun to dry. “It’s your world, isn’t it?”
With that, the professor leaned slightly forward. “May I tell you a little about my world, young man?”
Matthew didn’t respond. Something in the soft, genteel voice had sent a cold shiver down his spine.
“I shall,” Fell decided. “I told you I had a son, didn’t I? Templeton, as I said. A very fine lad. Very intelligent. Curious about the world. Almost as curious as his father. Well, you do remind me of Temple. As I said…of who he might have been, had he lived. He died when he was twelve years old, you see. Twelve years old.” The words had been repeated with a sad sort of passion that held restrained fury at its center. “Beaten to death by a gang of rowdies on his way to school. He wasn’t a fighter, you see. He was a gentle soul. He was a very fine boy.” Here the professor paused and sat in silence for a time, until Matthew nervously cleared his throat and shifted his position in the chair.
“His image,” said the professor, “is the portrait in stained-glass on the staircase. My Templeton, lost to me. By the bloody fists of a gang of six. They chased him through the streets like a dog and beat him for their amusement, I understand. Oh, he was always dressed very well. Always very clean. No one tried to help him, in that London mob. No one cared. He was another show on the streets, another display of what human beings can do—and will do—for the pleasure of it. And the awful thing, Matthew…the awful, terrible thing…is that Temple had a premonition of his death the night before, and he asked me to walk with him to school that morning…but I, being busy in my own affairs…could not be bothered to do so. I had my research before me. My academics. So I said, Temple…you’re a big boy now. You have nothing to fear. Your mother and I trust in God, and so should you. So…go along, Temple, for the school is not very far away. Not very far. Go right along, I said. Because you’re a big boy now.”
To the heavy silence that followed, Matthew offered, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t speak,” said the professor, with a soft but cutting hiss, and Matthew dared not utter another word.
They sat without speaking for a while, the professor and the problem-solver. Matthew could hear waves breaking against the rocks below, slowly beating Pendulum Island to pieces.
“I…had to do something,” came the terrible and quiet voice. “Something, to ease my pain. I couldn’t live like that, could I? And neither could Teressa. She was such a mild and sensitive woman. Like Temple, really. He took most of his personality from her, and he resembled her too. When I looked at her, I could see him looking back. But she cried all the time, and I couldn’t sleep…and I knew…I must do something, to ease this pain.”
One gloved hand came up, almost touched the forehead, and slowly fluttered down again like the death of an arrow-shot bird.
“I had money. My father left me wealthy. He was the governor here. Have I told you that?” He waited for Matthew to nod. “The governor of Pendulum Island and its seaport, Somers Town. Yes, I remember telling you. Well…I had money. And money is a tool, you know? It can do whatever pleases you. What pleased me then…was to find out the names of the six creatures who had beaten my son to death. After that…to go upon the streets after nightfall, out into the dark dens where the animals gather, and pushing any fear I felt down into myself I walked into places a year before would have never seen. I had money enough—and the skills of persuasion enough—to buy a gang of ruffians of my own. And pay them handsomely to kill the six boys on my death list. The youngest creature fourteen, the eldest seventeen. They never lived another month. But you know…still…it didn’t suffice.
“No,” the professor continued, the word like the tolling of a distant funeral bell. “The pain was still there. So…I gave the order to my gang of ruffians to kill the parents of those dead creatures, their brothers and sisters, and anyone who lived in their squalid little rooms. It cost me quite a lot of money, Matthew. But…it was worth it, because I wanted it done and it was done. And quite suddenly…I had power and a reputation. Quite suddenly I was known on the streets to be ruthless in my regard to life, and quite suddenly I had an interested following. And me…a lowly, bookish and reclusive academic, suddenly with a gang of…thugs, did you say?…thugs who wanted to work for me. And several in particular who stepped forward and gave me education and good advice. That money was to be made enforcing tribute from the carters and higglers who set up their wares on the streets. In other words, to create a territory. My territory, Matthew. At first a small area, then larger. And larger still, encompassing businesses that had existed long before Temple’s death.” The cowled head nodded. “It seems I was very good at persuasion. At…creating plans for further expansion. My thirst for knowledge grew. Only now it was beyond books. It was the desire for knowledge of how to control people, and thus control my destiny. And all that you see—and all you do not see—was brought about because of the savage murder of my son on a London street, when you would have been but a child.
“And now,” said the professor in his smooth, quiet and terrifying voice, “here you are, before me.”
Matthew feared to speak.
But the silence stretched, and at last Matthew cleared his throat to urge up the words lodged there like thorns.
“Your wife. What became of Teressa?” he dared ask.
“Ah, sweet Teressa. My gentle angel, whom I pledged to for life at the altar of a beautiful church. She could not go where I was going.” Fell was silent for a moment, as if trying to control the one thing he could not: the whirlwinds within his own soul. “After the deaths of the families, I told her we were done. My love for her was gone. I saw too much of Temple in her. When I saw him looking out at me, it speared my heart. I could not abide such disturbance. Thus…I cast her away. And I recall…I recall this very vividly. When I told her we were done, that I wished never to see her face in this life again…that I was a changed man and walked a changed path she could not follow…she did not begin to cry, Matthew, but she began to bleed. From that stricken face I used to love…two tendrils of blood began to drip from her nostrils…slowly, very slowly. And I, being a changed man, watched that blood ooze forth, and all I wondered was…which tendril of blood would reach her upper lip first.”
The last words lingered in Matthew’s mind. The professor folded his hands in his lap, fingers twined.
“As I say, you do remind me of my son. I mean…of what he might have been. The thoughtful young man, who believes he has the world in his pocket. How delightful that must be. Listen to me now: tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock, Cesar Sabroso gives his report,” Fell said. “At four o’clock, Adam Wilson speaks. I trust you will use the key well and wisely.”