‘A criminal with morals,’ Crowe mocked. ‘How touchin’.’
‘A criminal with a practical attitude,’ Macfarlane rejoined. ‘The police get more exercised over kidnapping, blackmail and murder than they do over theft and extortion. I try not to attract their attention.’
‘So there is someone higher up the food chain than you,’ Sherlock pointed out.
Macfarlane scowled. ‘Even the bear avoids disturbing the wasp’s nest,’ he snapped.
Interesting, Sherlock thought. The man was touchy on that point.
He looked around at Macfarlane’s court of bullies, thugs, pickpockets and thieves. And of course the skull-faced ‘corpses’ scattered among them. ‘But what’s the point of pretending you have dead people under your command?’ he continued. ‘I mean, it’s very well done, very convincing, but I don’t understand what it’s for.’
‘I rule through fear, laddie,’ Macfarlane replied simply. ‘People pay me extortion money because they fear what will happen to them if they don’t. I’ve found that they fear me more if they think I have powers they don’t understand. Sometimes they try to stand up to my men – try to get them to back down, or try to pay them off – but how can they threaten or bribe a corpse? If they think I can control the dead they will live in mortal fear of me, and they’ll keep paying.’ He laughed. ‘There’s some that don’t call us the Black Reavers any more – they call us the Black Revivers, on account of the fact that we revive the dead!’
‘But they’re just people dressed and made up to look like corpses,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘Don’t people realize?’
‘People believe what they want to believe. Edinburgh is a dark place. People here want to believe that the dead can walk. What with Burke and Hare, the buried parts of the city and all the ghost stories associated with the castle, my work was half done for me already.’
‘Fascinatin’ though this is,’ Crowe said, ‘ah don’t quite see what we have to do with your fine little business setup. We’re not thieves, we’re not pickpockets an’ we’re not shopkeepers. What exactly are we doin’ here?’
‘Ah,’ Macfarlane said. ‘That’s an interesting question. Word reached my ears that someone new to the area was looking for a party of people. They were looking for a big man with white hair and a funny way of speaking who was travelling with a girl with red hair who was dressed like a boy. In fact, the word that reached my ears suggested that the girl might even be disguised as a boy, but that she could be recognized by the unusual colour of her eyes.’ He gestured towards Crowe and Virginia. ‘And here you are – a big man with white hair and a funny way of speaking and a girl with eyes the colour of gorse in flower. Once I was told you’d been seen in the area of Cramond I decided to take a look at you myself. I wanted to see what was so valuable about you.’
‘Valuable?’ Crowe said. His face was grim. He seemed to know where the elliptical conversation was heading, and Sherlock had a good idea as well.
‘Oh, didn’t I mention? There was talk of a reward offered for the man and the girl I described. Alive, of course. Five hundred pounds was spoken. That’s a significant sum in these parts. There was no reward for them dead. In fact, there was a specific threat made of retribution if they were killed by accident.’ He smiled at Crowe. ‘I don’t know who you are or who you annoyed, but someone is very keen to get their hands on you. Not that it matters, but do you want to tell me why they want you so badly?’
Crowe locked gazes with Macfarlane. ‘Everythin’ is scared of somethin’,’ he rumbled.
Macfarlane nodded. ‘Bold words,’ he said. ‘But you’re here, and you don’t seem too frightening to me. I’ve sent a message to the man who was offering a reward for your capture. He’ll be here soon. Then we’ll see what we see.’
‘What about the boys?’ Crowe asked, jerking his head towards Sherlock and Matty. ‘You said you never hurt bairns. They got caught up in this by accident. Ah’d be obliged if you could see your way clear to lettin’ ’em go. There’s no reward for them, an’ you have mah word as a gentleman that ah’ll be less trouble to you if you let them go.’
Macfarlane considered for a moment. ‘It’s true that I’m not a man who countenances violence to bairns,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘I won’t go!’ Sherlock blurted out.
Crowe rounded on him. ‘You will if ah say so, son,’ he hissed. ‘You don’t know what Bryce Scobell is capable of.’
‘But—’
Crowe raised his hand. ‘No more discussion. Better two of us stay to confront Scobell than all four of us. Ah’d feel easier in mah heart if ah knew that you and young Matthew were safe.’ He turned to Macfarlane. ‘Well? Do we have a deal?’
Macfarlane stared at Crowe for a while. ‘On the one hand, you’re right – there’s no specific reward offered for the two laddies. On the other hand, they’re resourceful, and I think that, despite what you say, you might be more inclined to cooperate if I keep them here. So, no, there is no deal. I hold all the cards at the moment, and there’s no reason for me to give any of them up in a hurry.’
Something was still tugging in the depths of Sherlock’s mind about the name ‘Macfarlane’. He tried to give it space to come through, to make itself more obvious. Something he’d heard recently? No, something he’d seen.
‘That murder case!’ he said suddenly as the memory broke through to the surface of his thoughts. ‘The one where Sir Benedict Ventham was killed.’ He tried to bring the images of the newspapers into focus in his mind – the one he’d read on the train from Farnham to London, and the one he’d read in the park at the head of Prince’s Street. ‘The woman who was arrested – her name was Macfarlane, and the newspaper said she was connected to the Black Reavers.’
A hush seemed to settle over the room. Macfarlane’s face turned thunderous. ‘Mah wee sister,’ he growled. ‘To have that happen to her! She’s not even guilty! She wouldn’t hurt a fly!’
‘She’s related to a criminal gang leader,’ Crowe growled. ‘Ah presume the police just took one look at her family tree an’ threw her into jail.’
Macfarlane stood and walked forward, stepping off the dais and coming right up to Crowe. The two men stood face to face, nose to nose. They were both the same height, and had the same impressive build and the same mane of hair. The only differences between them were that Gahan Macfarlane’s hair was black instead of white.
‘She isn’t guilty of any crime,’ he said quietly, his words dropping into the expectant quiet of the room like stones into a still pool of water. ‘She always hated the line of business that I’d gone into. She’s a God-fearing lass, and nothing could ever change that.’
‘Things can happen,’ Crowe said, equally quietly. ‘Perhaps this Sir Benedict Ventham attacked her, and she had to protect herself.’
‘She wrote to me.’ Macfarlane wasn’t blinking. He was staring straight at Crowe, daring the big American to continue finding reasons why his sister might be guilty. ‘She swore to me on the Bible that she didn’t do anything that might have resulted in his death, and that she mourned his death like she mourned the death of our own dear father. I believe her.’
‘In that case,’ Sherlock said loudly, ‘I have a business proposition for you.’