‘Go and get them – both of you.’
They did as they were told, closing the heavy door quietly behind them.
‘You know where I’m living now.’
It was a statement. In reply, a long cooing hoot – Kitty was laughing.
‘Why would I care where you lay your hat?’
Cale stayed silent.
‘Yes, I know where you live.’
‘I’ve found out what the Hanse are going to do. Interested?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kitty, casual. ‘You’ve proof?’
‘Yes.’
‘Show it me.’ The unpleasant laugh again. There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
It opened. The two men who had left, and several others, entered holding Vague Henri and Kleist, their hands tied. But the restraint was more for form than otherwise. They were in a terrible state, Kleist in particular unrecognizable, his face bloody, both eyes bagged with pockets of blood, though one had split like a small gaping mouth and was pouring a delta of red down his right cheek. Vague Henri looked as if someone had wiped his face with some toxic plant – bloated and inflamed. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as if he were an old man gone in the head. Their left hands had been crushed and both of the boys shook uncontrollably.
Cale did not react at all. ‘Put them outside. Someone will collect them and when they’re safe they’ll bring proof of what I’m saying to you.’
‘Play the fraud with me and you’ll find that death has ten thousand doors and I’m there to show you through every one.’
‘Can we get on? I have a dinner to go to.’
A slight nod of the head and the two boys were pushed, stumbling, to the door.
‘Make them tell me what they see in the street.’
Two minutes later and one of Kitty’s guards returned. ‘Some outdragger with a handcart has come to collect them.’
‘While we wait for the letter I’ll tell you what’s to come. Once they shut the door.’ A moment, then Cale continued. ‘The Hanseatic League are going to declare their support for the Axis and promise to send ships and troops and money. The money will come but not the ships or the troops. They’ll make a show of assembling ships in Danzig and Lubeck but even if they put to sea they’ll be driven back by storms or plague or woodworm or an attack of barnacles for all I know. But they won’t come – at least not until they’re reasonably sure who’s going to win.’
‘And Wittenberg told you this over tea and cucumber sandwiches? I’d heard that he was a man of intelligence and discretion. Why would he say these things to someone like you?’
‘I used to like cucumber sandwiches – when I could get them.’
‘Answer me.’
‘I saved Wittenberg’s wife from some Redeemer nasty business. I own his happiness, if you like. But he didn’t tell me directly and I wouldn’t have believed him if he had.’
‘So she told you? That’s what you’re saying?’
‘No. I tried and I even twisted her arm, so to speak. But she’s a clever girl, Riba, and wasn’t having any of it. I stole his key and took the letter from his room.’
‘Sounds unlikely.’
‘It does, yes, but it’s true all the same. Wittenberg’s a clever man, subtle, like you say, in talks and discussions and that, but he’s above stealing in a personal way. I mean someone like him could let thousands die but couldn’t kill a man standing in front of them. It never crossed his mind I’d betray his wife’s generosity or his. I suppose he hasn’t had my disadvantages.’
‘What else do you know?’
‘What I told you. It’s a letter not a confession. You have to read a bit between the lines but not much. See for yourself when it comes.’
Even though Cale was lying he had more or less accurately set out the position of the Hanse, not so very surprising in that there were only a limited number of options available to them, given that they were a trading federation who used military power to protect their financial interests only when it was unavoidable. But it was about more than just money because they had already provided a great deal to the Axis and would provide more. Partly it was the open-ended financial risk of war: there was a limit to giving money, even if it was a great deal of money, but there was no limit to the treasure that a war could swallow up. And they were also mindful of the view that war was the father of everything – it produced changes even for the victorious that could have untold consequences. Far better to stay on the sidelines, making vague promises you had no intention of honouring, handing over cash and staying out of it as long as possible.
Sadly for Cale, this happy guesswork was of no practical value beyond being plausible – Kitty expected proof and there wasn’t any. And he expected it in the next few minutes.
16
Since he had come into Kitty’s room, hammers had been working in Cale’s brain to come up with an escape plan and decide what to do about Kitty the Hare. He had never seen Kitty do anything more than stand or sit. What was he? He had seen the peculiar paw-like right hand and since he had taken to wearing the peaked cap and the dirty looking brown linen veil there was only the cooingly precise voice to go by. What if he had teeth to tear you with, claws as sharp as razors to cut, arms so brutal they could rip your bone casings apart like Grendel, or worse, like Grendel’s mum? He was unknown until the moment he was attacked. Then there was the door and the men outside who could open it whenever they wanted to. Then there was getting away. Too many unknowns for someone who, even at sixteen (if that was Cale’s age), was no longer the man he used to be. His position was so evil that, even as he was pouring camel manure into Kitty’s ear and looking around the room for a means of blocking the door and finding something that might help in the infliction of the violence that was certainly coming, he was also cursing himself for failing to observe one of IdrisPukke’s mostly highly polished aphorisms: always resist your first impulses, they are often generous. After all, those two cretins had gone off on their demented frolic entirely of their own free will. Why should he die for their stupidity? But it was too late for that now.
It began. Cale ran to the large bookcase that stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with Kitty’s accounts. He jumped as high as he could and started heaving on it like a deranged monkey. Luckily it was freestanding and toppled easily and so quickly that he almost fell under it as it crashed to the floor in front of the door and blocked it from opening.
Kitty’s bodyguards started pushing against it with all their strength. Kitty stood up from behind his enormous desk and moved a few steps backward. Was he waiting in terror for his guards to break in or was he calmly preparing himself to tear Thomas Cale into small, meaty pieces? Cale had been beaten by Bosco into believing one thing above all others – once you decide to attack, commit without let or hindrance. Cale took four steps towards Kitty and jabbed the heel of his hand into his face. The scream Kitty let out as he fell shook even Cale. It wasn’t the scream of a man mutilated on the battlefield or a cornered animal, but more like a furious and frightened baby – high-pitched and harrowing. A spot of blood appeared on the linen mask as Kitty wailed and thrashed to get a grip on the polished floor, all the while the red stain spreading. Behind him, the bodyguards were charging the door so heavily that the great frame shook with each blow. Cale turned to the desk and heaved. It was so heavy it might have been screwed to the floor. But fear pumped him up enough to shift the desk an inch, then two, then again with greater and greater speed as his frantic roar of effort mixed with the heaving crashes of the door, until he hit the now shifting bookcase with the desk just as the bodyguards had stepped back for a final push. The collision of desk and bookcase slammed the door shut, taking the fingertips of two men’s hands with it.