by Oisin McGann
'Hello, Nate,' the engimal replied, and Nate nearly dropped it as he recognized Marcus's voice. 'Hope you're well, old bean. Unfortunately, if you're listening to this, I must be dead.'
Nate clutched the creature in trembling hands, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.
'As you've no doubt realized,' Marcus's voice continued with a slight underlying hiss, 'Babylon has the capacity for recording speech. I only found out myself a few months ago. He can also follow simple instructions; such as giving you this message – when you are alone and you call him by name. Dashed clever, isn't he? But that's another conversation for another day Perhaps in the afterlife, eh? Let me get to the point.'
Nate drew in a sharp breath. The thing spoke exactly like Marcus. He had heard of these 'mimic messengers' before, but had never come across one. Hearing Marcus speak to him from beyond the grave like this was downright spooky.
'For some time now,' the voice went on, 'I've had my eye on the throne. You know I've always been ambitious, and I finally came to the conclusion that I could do Father's job better than he could. I wanted control of the family. It was what I was brought up to do, after all, and I thought it was about time. And, well… You know what that meant.
'I had to murder our father, Nate. I found a secret way into his bedroom and I intended to kill him in his sleep. Now, you might think it's a bit extreme, but I also know you won't be too upset either – you always hated the arrogant blackguard even more than I did. But since you're hearing this message, I can only assume that I have failed in my attempt and he has snuffed me out instead. What a confounded bore this whole business is! I hope I made a handsome corpse.
'So consider this a warning, old chum. You and Berto were never cut out for this life; I've done some pretty horrendous things since I started work and I'm certain that neither of you would have the stomach for them. And you're definitely not ready to take on Gideon and all the other coves who are going to come at you now that I'm gone. They won't play fair and they're more ruthless and vindictive than you'll ever know. Take my advice: go into exile – take Daisy and Tatty and go to the far side of the world. For God's sake, Nate, get the hell out of that house.
'Father won't protect you; it's not his way. He always said you and Berto were too weak to be Wildensterns… and you are, I suppose. You've no taste for blood – and that's what the world is built on. Other people's blood. Don't let them spill any of yours, Nate. Take what money you can and run. I don't want you joining me just yet.
'Ta-ra, old bean. Look after yourself.'
And with that, Marcus fell silent for the last time. Nathaniel put his fingers to his cheek and found it wet with tears. He remained sitting there for another hour.
Daisy was in the church, praying for guidance. Judging by her continuing state of bewildered distress, her prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears. She had still said nothing to Berto about his affair with Hennessy, but she had spent more time horse riding, using it as an opportunity to speak to the head groom, to find out what kind of man he was. To her disappointment, Hennessy did not appear to be the devil himself, but was instead a quiet, simple man from Donegal, with a wry sense of humour and the kind of humble dignity often found among those in service.
It made her despise him all the more.
But now Daisy had something else to worry about. Elizabeth's maid, Mary, had come to her earlier in the day, her eyes red and raw from crying. Her hair was hanging down over one side of her neck, which came as a surprise because Mary was a conscientious girl, who was always very careful about her appearance around the family. Then Mary showed her why her hair was hanging down. The maid had gone with Elizabeth to meet Hugo in the conservatory. Hugo had started 'givin' 'er the eye', as Mary put it, and Elizabeth, who had been watching her brother, had contrived to leave him alone with her maid. Once his sister had left, Hugo had turned on the charm – or so he seemed to think – and after a momentary courtship, had tried for a kiss.
Mary was 'havin' none of it, but couldn't rightly say so to his lordship', so she had tried to be coy and turn away. That was when Hugo had pulled her against him and bitten her neck. His bruised teeth-marks were still clearly visible on the skin just above her shoulder. He had even broken the flesh in a couple of places.
That was what she got for 'being a tease', he'd said.
Daisy had walked her right up to the Duke's study and demanded that Hugo be forced to apologize. The Duke had assured her that no apology would be forthcoming, nor was it the policy for members of the family to apologize to servants.
Now, Daisy knelt in the church and prayed for guidance. She did not care much for this church. It was cold, which was not unusual for churches, but it had a menacing air about it too, and there was too much gold ornamentation for her tastes. It seemed to be everywhere. It was positively gaudy. It was disturbing how fond this family was of its gold.
Someone else was coming up the aisle. She could hear soft footsteps on the mosaic floor, but she did not look up. She wanted to be alone, and as long as she kept her eyes closed and the conversation remained between herself and God, she probably wouldn't be interrupted.
The wooden pew on which she was kneeling creaked and she felt the weight of another's knees bow it slightly. Daisy resisted the urge to open her eyes and see who it was.
'You are a devout woman, Melancholy,' a voice said quietly, shockingly close to her ear.
She looked up to find Hugo kneeling right beside her. Daisy was overcome with a sudden rage.
'Don't you dare open your mouth to me!' she hissed at him.
'But I feel compelled to, my dear,' he crooned. 'After all that your mouth has been saying about me. It seems my mouth has been uppermost in your mind.'
'Only when it bites into the necks of servant girls!' she snapped. 'What kind of savage are you?'
'I confess, my appetites get the better of me sometimes,' he said airily, his hand coming to rest on hers where it lay on the back of the pew in front of them. 'I am a passionate man, used to taking whatever he wants. But you must understand: I am from a harsher time and I know I can be overly sharp. I am a sword in need of a sheath.'
'It's less your sharpness, but more the danger of infection from your rust that I fear,' Daisy retorted, getting to her feet. 'Like so many men, sir, you are a weapon with no sense of direction. If you'll excuse me, I think I should remove myself from the range of your sword before it seeks a scabbard it cannot hope to fill.'
And with that, she left.
XXVII
WELCOMED INTO THE FAMILY
Dinner was especially lavish that evening, and the Duke was slightly less truculent than normal, failing to insult a single relative throughout the first course. He pointedly ignored his youngest son, but Nate hardly noticed. Sitting between Daisy and Gideon, Nate avoided conversation and picked at his food. He had no appetite. Elizabeth sat across from him and attempted to attract his attention several times, constantly trying to make eye contact. He rarely looked up from his plate.
Marcus's last message haunted him. His brother had tried to murder his father and had been killed in return. The thought made him physically ill. He was sick of it all – all the talk of conspiracies and threats and murders. It had surrounded him all his life so that he had grown up thinking it normal. Now he was jaded, worn out from the constant tension, the fear that had been instilled in him from birth that someone somewhere was out to get him. How could he have spent his whole life like this? How could he ever have thought this was a normal way to live?
Under the table, Elizabeth's foot touched his shin and he moved it away, avoiding her gaze as she forked meat into her mouth. He had made no attempt to tell his father about Hugo's plotting. He wanted no more part in any of this.
The second course was served, and there was much wondering over the reason for the Duke's uncommonly good mood. As the steaming platters of duck, pork, beef, pheasant and heaps of buttered vegetables and bread were all laid on the table, Edgar stood up and
cleared his throat. There was immediate silence.
'We are faced with challenging times,' he declared. 'And now, more than ever, we must face adversity with all the strength we can command. I am happy, therefore, to welcome into our family four noble individuals whom God has seen fit to bring back from oblivion, and from whom much of our strength might originally have been drawn.
'Hugo, Elizabeth and Brunhilde… and let us not forget your unfortunate brother, Brutus.' He raised his wine glass and everyone hurriedly stood up and did the same. 'You are Wildensterns – you must consider this house your own, and all those within it as your kin. Welcome home!'
'Welcome home!' the family cried dutifully and drank the toast.
Hugo and his sisters stayed standing after everyone else sat down. They were at the head of the table on either side of the Patriarch; they had tears in their eyes and looked deeply moved. Elizabeth and Brunhilde hurried to Edgar's sides and knelt to kiss his hands, Brunhilde on his left and Elizabeth pressing her lips to the claw on his right. Nate lifted his head, looking first at Hugo then at his father, his blood going cold. It couldn't be. Not yet. Hugo bowed to the Duke.
'I have hoped for this moment since the hour of my awakening. Sir, you honour us!'
And as his sisters gripped Edgar's arms, Hugo snatched up a carving knife and plunged it into the Duke's chest.
The room erupted into furious motion; some of the women screamed, men shouted, chairs were kicked back and hands grabbed for any weapon within reach. Nate reacted on reflex, his hatred for his father forgotten. In an instant he was up out of his chair, a steak knife in his hand as he leaped onto the table and bounded down to the end of it. Edgar had fallen back over his chair, but if the blade had pierced his heart it appeared he had little use for the organ. A throwing knife appeared as if by magic in his left hand and he slashed at Brunhilde's abdomen, breaking Elizabeth's grip at the same time and seizing her by the throat with his claw. Hugo pulled his knife out and drove it in again and then a third time before Nate crashed into him, hurling him to the floor. The four Maasai servants were already there, leaping to their master's aid, two of them drawing pistols. But a gunshot rang out from the other end of the table and then three more in quick succession, and two of the black servants crumpled to the floor. Nate turned in shock to see Gideon and his sons charging into the fray, also armed with pistols. Gideon stopped and aimed, firing off a fifth shot that spun another of the Maasai round before a final bullet caught the servant through the head. Hugo used the distraction to elbow Nate in the face and lunged at the remaining bodyguard, who struck the ancestor's wrist with the edge of one hand, knocking the knife away, before delivering a stunning blow to the back of Hugo's neck. Gideon took aim again, but Nate kicked the gun aside, only to be pummelled into the floor by two of Gideon's burly sons. He saw Berto hit the floor beside him, fighting like a berserker against three more of their cousins.
The cold ring of a gun barrel was pressed against Nate's forehead and he froze, a growl rising from his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father struggling to regain his feet, blood spurting from one of the wounds in his chest and making the floor slippery beneath him. Gideon drew a short sword from under his jacket and strode towards the Patriarch.
'No!' Nate screamed. 'Don't you bloody dare, you-'
The barrel of the gun pulled away and slammed across the side of his head. As his vision swam, he rolled over, trying to crawl free, but too many strong arms held him. He watched helplessly as Gideon seized Edgar by the hair and pulled him into a kneeling position. Edgar roared, punching his claw up into Gideon's groin. Gideon howled and collapsed to the floor, dropping the sword and clutching his injured privates.
'You always were… an embarrassment… you… treacherous cur,' Edgar snarled at his younger brother, blood gurgling in his throat.
Hugo picked up the blade. Edgar glared up at him, his left hand vainly trying to stem the lifeblood bubbling from his chest.
'Get on with it then,' he grunted.
Hugo nodded solemnly and cut the Duke's head off with a single powerful blow.
The head landed on the tiles with a thump and bounced once and rolled, finishing up on its side. His expression was no less belligerent in death than it had been in life. An unnatural calm settled over the room and for a few moments nobody moved.
The room had divided into three groups: there were those who had joined Hugo's conspiracy – mostly Gideon's family and allies. They had come armed and ready, and had positioned themselves to block those who had risen to the Duke's defence – his sons, some of the servants, Gerald, Silas and Daisy. The rest stood motionless, waiting to see which way the tide would turn. For those few moments after the beheading, nobody breathed.
Then Edgar's lifeless body slumped forwards and fell over and Hugo gave an audible sigh. Dropping the bloodstained sword by the corpse, he righted the chair at the head of the table and sat down. Taking up Edgar's fork, he began to eat from the Patriarch's plate. After a few mouthfuls he sat back and gazed at the stunned faces around him.
'Be seated,' he told them. 'Let us offer thanks to God for the food he has provided for us.'
Nobody moved. Still charged up with the fury of battle, their hands and legs shaking, their weapons clutched tightly, they did not know what to make of this. Some of them exchanged bewildered glances. Brunhilde, still clutching the wound in her abdomen, sat down at her brother's side and began to eat with one bloodied hand.
'Praise be to God,' Elizabeth exclaimed.
She sat down next to her brother and smiled beatifically at her new family, beckoning them to sit down. One by one, they obliged. All the uninjured servants returned to their positions at the edge of the hall. Eventually only Nathaniel, Roberto, Daisy and Tatiana remained standing. Nate did not look at Gerald; he knew his cousin was playing the game. It would be wiser to feign loyalty and bide their time, but Nate had no stomach for it.
'If you are not with me, you are against me,' Hugo said without looking at them.
'If you think that, you have a lot to learn about this family' Nate replied coldly.
With that, he turned his back on the new Patriarch and, leaving his father's remains where they lay, led the others out of the room.
Nate's mind was racing as he stood in the elevator, watching the arrow turn around the dial. How much time did they have? Would they even make it out of the house? The bell chimed, and the boy dressed in smart livery sitting by the levers tipped his hat as the doors opened onto Tatiana's floor.
'You have fifteen minutes,' Nate told his sister. 'Pack a couple of changes of clothes – only what you need to travel. Don't dither.'
'There's nothing to dither about,' Tatty replied tartly as she strode towards her room.
He was amazed at her composure. She seemed to be taking their father's murder in her stride. He suspected the sheer scale of what had happened would not hit her for a while yet and he intended to use that time.
'We stick together,' he said to Berto and Daisy. 'We gather what we need and we leave. Don't trust your servants – do everything yourself. We don't know who's loyal to whom.'
Even as he said it, Patrick Slattery walked round the corner. He gave a gold-plated grin and leaned his head back round the corner.
'They're here!' he bellowed.
'Berto,' Nate said quietly. 'I'll handle this. Get them to safety.'
'I'm not leaving you-'
'I can take care of myself. You need to protect them,' Nate told him.
Berto nodded. Taking Tatty and Daisy by the hand, he led them at a run to the end of the corridor and disappeared round the corner.
'I've been waiting to settle with you for some time,' Slattery grunted, taking off his jacket. 'No more Mr High 'n' Mighty any more. Just two fellas and their fists. I'm goin' to break that stuck-up nose o' yours and then I'm goin' to break the rest o' yeh.'
He carefully hung the jacket on the ornate brass of a gas-lamp and cracked his knuckles. Nate was afraid. For
all his training, he had never been in a serious fight until today. He was still untested. Slattery, on the other hand, did this for a living.
'You're just a thug, Slattery,' Nate said in a tight voice. 'Always letting your gang do your work for you. Let's see how you do in a fair fight.'
'Who said anything about fair?' The bailiff laughed and suddenly there was a switchblade open in his right hand as he lunged at Nathaniel.
Nate stepped to one side and swept the knife-hand to the other with the back of his own hand. Slattery whipped it in and slashed backhand at him, forcing him to jump away. The bailiff kept coming, jabbing and slashing, changing the knife from blade up to blade down and back again with practised ease. Each time, Nate was driven backwards. Sooner or later he was going to run out of hallway.
Slattery thrust the knife at his belly and Nate sidestepped it, but this time he caught the bailiff's wrist. Before Slattery could pull it back, Nate swung it round and up and smashed it into the glass of the gas-lamp beside him. The flame guttered, but not before it had scorched Slattery's hand. The man snarled, dropping the knife but then swinging his left fist at Nate's face. Nate ducked and drove one elbow into the other man's ribs and then the other one up under Slattery's chin. The bailiff's head snapped up and he fell flat on his back. Nate managed to stamp on his knee and then on his groin before two of Slattery's men piled into him, bringing him to the floor. He grabbed the switchblade and jammed it into one man's thigh and was rewarded with a scream of pain, but the second man's fist caught him across the cheek and then scored another blow against his jaw. He tasted blood. He jammed his knuckle into the nerve cluster in the man's armpit, making him jerk away in shock, but his opponent did not let go.
'Hold him!' Slattery roared as he wrenched the knife from his man's leg. 'I'm goin' to cut the little guttersnipe's face!'
The injured man grabbed Nate's arms and the other bailiff held his legs. Nate shrieked defiance at them, thrashing to get free. Slattery limped up and stood astride him, leaning down, the knife held loosely between fingers and thumb.