“A game of Pall Mall is starting in the garden,” she said. “Sabroso is there already. So are Miss Cutter, Pons and his Toy. Might you wish to join them?”
“I’m…not much for games. Except chess,” Matthew managed to answer, even as he fumbled to enclose the piece of parchment in his fist.
“Oh, I think you’re very good at all manner of games, Mr. Corbett.” She held out a gloved palm. “I’m presuming you’ve found something the professor should see?”
It was clear—startlingly clear—that Mother Deare knew everything. Matthew got his brain connected to his mouth again. “I have,” he said, and handed it over.
She looked at the two lines. “Interesting.” It was spoken as if she were studying a not-particularly-interesting insect. “I’ll see he gets this. Are you joining us in the garden?”
“No. Thank you. I think…I’m going to go rest for a bit.”
“Of course. You should do so. I can have some lemon water brought to your room, if you like.”
“Actually…that would be good. Yes, thank you very much.”
“My pleasure.” She regarded the message once more. “It seems you’ve done the professor a valuable service. It won’t be forgotten, I assure you.”
“Glad to be of help,” said Matthew, who thought the words tasted indeed of the most bitter lemons.
“Well, then.” Mother Deare’s froggish face crinkled into a smile. One hand came up and patted Matthew’s cheek. “Good boy,” she said. “By all means, take your rest.” She turned away and walked toward the staircase. Matthew let her get far along the corridor before he got his legs moving. He went to his room, locked the door, sprawled across the bed and stared up at the canopy as slowly his taut nerves relaxed.
He was still in that position, though drowsing in and out of sleep, when there came a knock at his door perhaps a half-hour later. “Who is it?” he demanded, his voice as slurred as any drunken Thacker.
“Myself,” replied the lilting voice of the East Indian killer.
Matthew felt a shudder course through him. His heart began to pound. Steady, he told himself. Be calm. But easier said than done, with that giant at his door. He drew a few deep breaths to clear his head. Then he got up, thought now is the moment of reckoning and he crossed the chessboard floor to the door and opened it.
“Good afternoon,” said Sirki, who carried a tray bearing a pewter pitcher and a glass. “I was instructed to bring you lemon water.”
Matthew retreated to allow him entry. Sirki put the tray down atop the dresser and actually poured Matthew’s first glass. He offered it to Matthew, who took the glass and put his nose to it in an attempt to smell anything more powerful than lemons.
“No drugs, young sir,” said Sirki. “I promise that.”
“You take the first drink, then.” Matthew held the glass toward him.
Sirki took it without hesitation. His drink took nearly half the liquid. “Very refreshing.” He handed it back. “You’ve done a service for the professor. Why should he wish to drug you?”
“Old habits die hard,” was the reply. Matthew still didn’t trust the drink, and set it aside.
“A few questions for you.” Sirki’s mouth smiled, but the eyes were stern. “You found this message exactly where?”
“In a folded-up stocking. Second drawer of the dresser in Wilson’s room.”
“Do you have any idea whose handwriting it is?”
“I can guess,” Matthew said. He imagined what Professor Fell’s thought was upon reading the two lines Minx had forged.
We are being watched. Warn Nash.
In addition to giving Fell a pair of traitors, Matthew had given him a third in the form of Frederick Nash, the corrupt and treasonous member of Parliament.
“I presume that Professor Fell knows whose handwriting it is. I have no idea who ‘Nash’ might be, but I also presume that the professor knows.” Matthew frowned; now was the moment to voice his feigned concern. “What I can’t understand, is why the message was written down and not simply passed in speaking? It’s a simple enough message, after all. So why risk writing it down?”
“The professor has also wondered this,” said Sirki, ominously.
“Yes.” Matthew felt the sweat begin to erupt at his temples. But it was a warm day, after all. “The only conclusion I can come to—my educated guess—is that my interaction with Mr. Smythe has caused him to…shall we say…panic. Possibly Wilson intended to burn the message at a later date. Or possibly he intended to show it to this Nash person, as evidence of veracity. You know, it’s my experience that desperate men often make desperate mistakes.”
“Hm,” said Sirki. He waited for more.
“Of course,” Matthew continued warily, “there was no reason for Wilson to suspect I’d be entering his room today. But he did have common caution enough to hide the message, which speaks to me of certain guilt.”
Sirki said nothing for a while, which did not help Matthew’s nerves.
At last the giant spoke. “The professor,” he said, “has also come to these conclusions.”
Matthew nodded. He was aware how heavy his head felt on the stalk of his neck. “Can I also assume, then, that our business is done?”
“It is done, and successfully so, but there is a complication.”
“Oh?” Matthew’s stomach had twisted into a knot. “What complication?”
“Your friend Miss Grigsby cannot be found. The search continues, but some of the searchers are beginning to believe she may have stepped off a cliff in the dark and fallen to her death either on the rocks below or in the sea.”
“Oh my God!” said Matthew, with an effort.
“If she had stayed where she was placed, she would have been fine. In a few days, you’ll be leaving here aboard the Nightflyer. The searching will go on, but I fear Miss Grigsby will not be returning with you.” Sirki stared solemnly into Matthew’s eyes. “To that regard, I am instructed to tell you that another five hundred pounds will be added to your three thousand pound fee. Is that agreeable?”
“For me, yes,” Matthew answered with grim determination. “For her grandfather, I’m not so sure.”
“The professor regrets your loss. I’m sure you will convey that thought to her grandfather? As for the Ga, he is caged in the lower quarters of this castle. He will be returned to you on the morning of your departure, but not before.”
“All right.” Matthew was starting to breathe easier again. The forgery had passed its test, and Professor Fell had supplied his own story concerning the message: the frightened scribbling of one traitor to another, implicating a third. “Let me ask…what will be done with Wilson and Smythe?”
“They’ve already been taken to their own cages. They will be dealt with in a short while. Would you like to serve as a witness?”
“Me? No. I don’t care to hear their whimpering lies and denials.” Nathan Spade could not have spoken it better, Matthew thought. In truth, he feared that his heart was becoming harder by the moment. “But tell me…what will be done?”
“I will take care of them,” said Sirki. “As the professor watches, they will be chained naked to two chairs. Their tongues will be removed first.”
“Ah,” Matthew said, and then thought he might have sounded too relieved.
“One eye will be scooped from each face and crushed beneath the professor’s shoe. Next their sexual organs will be removed and placed into their mouths. Following that, their hands and feet will be sawed off. A slow and delicate operation.”
“Tiring for you, I’m sure.”
“Very much so,” Sirki agreed, without a flicker of expression. “Before they can bleed to death, their arms will be sawed off at the shoulders. Again, it’s quite an effort on my part, but the professor appreciates my vigor. If they live very much longer, their legs will be sawed off at the knees.”