“You idiot Jew,” he said. “I heard you come blundering in. A bear could have made less noise.”
“A large bear or a small bear?” I asked.
“Do you think to quip your way out of this predicament?”
I shrugged. “It had occurred to me to attempt to do so.”
“That has ever been your problem,” he said. “You have been so impressed with your own cleverness, you refuse to believe anyone might be clever but yourself. Now, tell me why you’ve come here. Did you come for the plans?”
“I came for you,” I said. “After visiting Mother Clap’s house, I realized that certain inclinations I possessed could no longer be denied.”
“You cannot hope to confuse me with your nonsense. I know you are here for the engine plans. You think I care for Franco? He may hide or escape as he wishes, though he should be far better off if he escapes. The question is, who sent you? How much do the British agents know? Has Cobb been taken, or did he escape? You can either tell me now, or I’ll take you upstairs. Once we awaken Hammond, he will not hesitate to make you tell him precisely what he wishes to know.”
I could not speak as to Mr. Hammond’s ability to extract information. I could, however, rejoice that Edgar had just now told me precisely what I wished to know: Hammond was still asleep.
“Has anyone ever observed,” I asked, “that you look remarkably like a duck? The truth of the matter is, I have always been kindly disposed toward ducks. When I was a boy, a good-hearted relative brought me one as a present. And now, years later, I meet you, the very image of that duck, and I cannot help but think that we ought to be friends. Come, let us set down our weapons and go find ourselves a pond where I may eat bread and cheese by the shore and you may paddle upon the waters. I shall be happy to toss you bits of crust.”
“Shut your foul mouth,” he snapped. “Hammond will be able to question you just as effectively if you have a lead ball in your leg.”
I did not doubt it. “One moment. There are three facts about the life of the duck that I consider to be of great importance to the matters at hand. First, the female duck makes for a particularly tender and caring parent. Second,” I began, but the truth was I did not have a second point. One point sufficed, for I deployed the advice of Mr. Blackburn, who had instructed me upon the rhetorical device of the series. Having informed Edgar that there would be three points, I knew he would remain in expectation of the remaining items. Thus I had the opportunity to surprise him with something else.
In this case, I surprised Edgar the servant and French spy with a powerful blow to his stomach. In my fanciful thoughts, a blow to the nose or mouth, one likely to produce blood and flying teeth, would have been more satisfying, but a blow to the stomach produces the reflex of doubling over. And that meant that even if he managed to fire his pistol, he would be firing down rather than forward.
As it happened, he did not fire, and though he did not let the pistol fall from his grasp, I had it out of his hand before he had even reached the ground. I slipped it into my pocket and, just as Edgar began to push himself upward, I leveled a kick, this time to his ribs. He slid a few inches along the floor and dropped his dagger, which I collected and quickly used to cut several lengths of rope from his bed canopy. These were used, as my practical-minded reader might guess, to bind Edgar’s feet and hands. During this process I leveled a few more blows to his abdomen, not out of cruelty or malice, but because I wished to keep him unable to call out until I was able to gag him.
At last I cut a swath of cloth, which I used to do just that. When he was fully incapacitated, I stood up and towered over him. “The ironic thing,” I said, “was that you originally observed that I would not be able to quip my way out of my predicament. Now, as for your fate, I see no need to do much at all with you. You perhaps wonder if I will inform the King’s Messengers that you are here. The answer is, I shall not. Crooked Luke and the rest of the boys will be having their way with this house at some point tomorrow, and I shall leave them to deal with you.”
Edgar grunted and struggled against his bonds, but I affected no interest as I left him.
ONE FLOOR UP and into the bedroom. Events went quickly and smoothly. As promised, Hammond was asleep, and it took no great effort to overpower him. I held his chin in one hand and pressed the tip of Edgar’s blade into his chest with the other. It was deep enough to draw blood and to hurt, quite badly from the look upon Hammond’s face, but no more than that.
“Give me the plans,” I said.
“Never.” His voice remained calm and even.
I shook my head. “Hammond, you chose to employ me. You knew who I was when you brought me into your scheme. That means you know what I am willing to do. I will cut off fingers, gouge out eyes, extract teeth. I don’t believe you are made of stuff to endure these torments. I shall count to five, and then we will find out.”
And so we would have, and he must have known it, because he did not even wait for me to begin my count. “Under my pillow,” he said. “It hardly matters if you have the original. A fair copy is already out of the country and, with it, the power to destroy the English East India Company’s textile trade.”
I chose not to tell him that his copy had been intercepted and that he now surrendered the last hope of his mission succeeding. Instead, I set the blade down, kept a cruel grip on his face, and reached under the pillow to retrieve the rough calfskin volume—an octavo much like the one I had already seen. It was, according to one of his widows, the sort of book that Pepper favored, and a quick flip through, to observe the many schemes and intricate details, told me this was precisely the thing for which I had been searching.
Hammond, however, showed an unexpected display of strength. He quickly maneuvered away from me and then darted to the other end of the room. I slipped the book into my pocket and removed a pistol, but in the dark I could not guarantee much in the way of aim. The fact distressed me but also offered me some comfort if it was a pistol that he himself was after.
I moved forward and caught a better look at my adversary. He stood in the darkness, his night clothes draped around him loosely like the ethereal nimbus of a spirit, and his eyes were wide with terror. He raised his arm and for a moment I thought he brought forward a pistol. Indeed, I nearly fired before I saw it was no weapon but only a small glass vial.
“You may shoot me if you like,” he said, “but it will answer little. I have already died, you see.” The vial fell to the ground. I suspect he should have liked a dramatic shattering of glass, but instead there was only a weak bounce.
I have been called a cynical man in my life, and perhaps it was unkind of me to wonder if he merely pretended to have swallowed poison. I would certainly take no chances on that score.
“Is there anything you wish to tell me before you meet your maker?” I asked.
“You blockhead,” he spat. “Can you not discern that I have taken this poison so that I can’t be made to tell you anything?”
“Of course,” I said. “I ought to have considered that myself. Perhaps, in your remaining time, you would like to offer an apology? An encomium upon my virtues?”
“Weaver, you are the devil himself. What sort of monster mocks a dying man?”
“I have little else to do,” I said, keeping the pistol trained on him. “I cannot take the chance that you are tricking me and have taken no poison at all, and I can hardly engage in cold-blooded murder and shoot you. I am forced to wait and watch, and I thought perhaps you might wish to use your final moment to converse.”