“I brought you here to make sure no one followed or overheard. You are Matthew Corbett, are you not?”
“You…put me in a predicament.”
“I’ll answer for you, then.” The pressure of the blade against Matthew’s neck did not lessen a fraction. “Of course I knew at once you weren’t Nathan. He and I were lovers in London. Against the professor’s rules, as you might know. I wasn’t sure who you were until I saw how you reacted when Adam Wilson mentioned killing Matthew Corbett at the table that night. You almost spilled your wine. Probably no one noticed but me. Then I knew who you must be. And I knew also why you must be here.”
“An interesting fiction,” Matthew said, clinging to his misguided hope.
“You were brought to this island by Professor Fell to find out who told the authorities that a shipment of Cymbeline was en route for a meeting with a Spanish warship on the high seas.” Minx’s face was close to Matthew’s, her eyes still ablaze and her breath smelling faintly of lemons. The knife was still pressed firmly against his throat. “You are a problem-solver, are you not? In the employ of Katherine Herrald? And you were brought here under the charge of Aria Chillany.” The knife prodded. “Answer.”
Matthew sighed heavily. The game was up. But, strangely, he felt another game was just beginning. “True,” he said. “All of it.”
“The professor has suspects? Who are they?”
“Three. Cesar Sabroso, Adam Wilson and Edgar Smythe.”
Minx smiled grimly. “Oh my God,” she said. The knife went away from Matthew’s throat. She held it loosely at her side. “What are you looking for? Evidence that one of them is a traitor?”
Matthew decided there was no point in lying. He feared the point of Minx Cutter’s knife. “The professor thinks two may be involved. And that there is some evidence to be discovered, yes.” From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a whale surfacing. It spouted from its blowhole spray that seemed to form a question mark in the air before it shimmered away.
“Two traitors?” Her blonde brows lifted. “How astute of him.”
“Oh? Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” she said, her lips very near his own, “that there were two traitors. You are looking at one of them. Can you reason out who the second might have been?”
He didn’t have to reason it out. He plainly saw the answer in her face, and he felt as if the uneasy earth of Pendulum Island shook a little bit more under his boots.
“Nathan Spade,” he replied.
“Bravo,” she said, and her blade came up to give him a congratulatory tap on the chin.
Twenty-Seven
WHAT I want to know from you is,” Minx Cutter went on, as the sun shone down upon this happy world, “who killed my Nathan.”
Matthew was staring at the ground. He had to do so, to keep his equilibrium. He was late in answering, therefore the beautiful knife-thrower gave her own reply.
“Aria Chillany killed him, didn’t she? He disappeared one evening, on his way to meet me. I never heard from him again. Madam Chillany has a reputation for killing her ex-lovers. And yes, I knew they had been involved with each other. That was the past. He and I were looking toward the future. So…she killed him, didn’t she? For the reason that Professor Fell learned Nathan was selling diplomatic secrets to the highest bidder?”
“That,” Matthew said.
“I told him not to go there,” Minx replied. “I told him…don’t be greedy. I said…the professor will find out. It was enough that we knew about the Cymbeline and the shipment of it to Spain. That came from one of the professor’s rotten apples in the basket of Parliament, after a few drinks of wormwood in the whorehouse. Then we knew what was about to happen…and we knew we couldn’t allow it to happen.”
“Couldn’t allow it?” Matthew frowned. He was always aware of where the knife was. Currently in her right hand, at her side again. She held it with her thumb caressing the ivory handle, like an object of love. “What do you mean? You two suddenly became patriots?”
“We were always patriots. Well…maybe not so much as most, but…to sell the gunpowder to Spain? No.” She shook her head. The fire in her eyes had abated a few degrees, and now some darker sadness had crept in. She slid the knife into her waistcoat, where it had come from. “We didn’t know where the Cymbeline is stored when it reaches London from here. A warehouse somewhere on the docks. The gunpowder would be disguised as barrels of tar and nautical supplies. But when we found out that the first shipment was going to Spain, with the help of Cesar Sabroso…we had to speak out and stop it.” She stared steadily into Matthew’s eyes, and he felt the sheer force of her willpower. “No matter who I am, or what Nathan is…or was…we could not stand by and let this powder go to an enemy of our country. So…yes, we are patriotic, in our way.”
Matthew looked toward the fort and could see the thin tendril of rising smoke where the chemicals were being cooked. “What makes it so powerful? Using sugar instead of charcoal?”
“It’s white powder instead of black. It’s stronger than the normal composition, and gives off less smoke. On any battlefield or naval battle, it would give the user of it a great advantage. How did you know about the sugar?”
“It’s what I do,” he explained. And clarified, “Finding out what I’m not supposed to know.”
“All right, then. Now that you do know…what are you going to do about it?”
Matthew thought about this for a moment, as he watched the tendril drift in the breeze. And then he decided what must be done, and what he had to do.
“I’m going to get in there tonight,” he told her, “and I’m going to blow it up.”
Her expression did not change, but her voice was strained when she responded. “You,” she said, “are insane.”
“Insane to go in by the road, maybe. But through the forest? Maybe not. I think I could find something there to make a fuse or two. If I can get into the storehouse. But I’ll cross that river when I get there.” He searched her eyes and found nothing. “The professor can’t be allowed to create this gunpowder in quantity. Much may be stored already in London, ready to be shipped…but if it’s made here, here is where it must be ended.”
“Insane,” Minx repeated.
He was thinking furiously. Sweat was on his face, not necessarily from the thinking but from the morning’s sullen heat. “If I’m successful, I’ll need a way to get off the island quickly. A ship. I believe I know who might be convinced to help me with that. I have three hundred pounds that might help his decision and buy him a crew. And I need something else.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“I need a traitor. In fact, I need two traitors, to fulfill the professor’s expectations.” He ran his fingers across his mouth, his gaze directed toward the rolling sea. He had a plan…or, at least, the bare beginnings of one. Much depended upon much. “Let me ask you…if I brought you a handwriting sample say by around noon…could you forge a message by four?”
“Forge a message? What message?”
“I need what the professor expects. Proof of treason. A message, passed from one traitor to the other and hidden in a…shoe, perhaps. Or wherever I intend to plant it. A short message, and perhaps you can help me with this. Do you have any idea when the next shipment of Cymbeline is planned to leave London?”