Merciless Reason

by Oisin McGann

  As they parted, smiling slightly, shyly, Nate put his hand to her face, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek.

  “I should probably tell you, I ran into Tatty out in the hills last night, on my way to meet Duffy. She was most put out that you hadn’t told her I was on my way home.”

  “I suppose she would be … Hang on,” Daisy frowned. “What do you mean? What was she doing out in the hills last night?”

  “So you definitely didn’t know? Our little Tatiana is the Highwayboy”

  There was a long pause.

  “What?”

  XXX

  MONSTROUS GOINGS-ON

  EAMON DUFFY AND WILLIAM DEMPSEY walked through the tall gates of Dublin Castle, the center of British power in Ireland. Both had reason to feel nervous. Duffy was known to the Royal Irish Constabulary as a Fenian, though they could never find proof of it, and the Crimes Special Branch—the RIC branch that specialized in collecting intelligence on rebels—was housed within these walls. Dempsey was a deserter from the Royal Navy; if caught, he faced a severe sentence.

  Like Wildenstern Hall, Dublin Castle had developed over centuries, starting out as a medieval castle that grew and changed with the city that surrounded it, evolving into a modern administration headquarters that also hosted great balls and parties and was home to a police office and armory. The two visitors were led across the cobbled Upper Yard of the castle by a balding constable with a tough, belligerent face. Instead of taking them to the police office, he ushered them in through the door of one of the more modern, red brick buildings and downstairs to the basement level. This was where the Crimes Special Branch was based. Duffy and Dempsey had even more cause to be nervous now. They had heard enough stories of the interrogations carried out in the castle.

  Halfway along a dimly lit corridor, they were shown into an office whose walls were hidden behind shelves of record books and rows of filing cabinets. Any bare patch of wall was covered with maps of the country. Two clerks sat at—desks here, but the constable led the two men through to a glass-paneled door, with the words “Detective Inspector John Urskin.”

  The constable knocked on the door and entered when a voice answered from inside. Detective Inspector John Urskin was sitting behind a tidy desk in an office that was only slightly less crammed than the one they had just passed through. He dismissed the constable and stood up, a neutral expression on his thin, wrinkled features that hid his puzzlement well. He leaned over the desk to shake the hand of each man in turn.

  “Mister Eamon Duffy,” he said, sitting back down in his wood and leather swivel chair and gesturing them to seats on the other side of the desk. “You’re not a man I’d have expected to see down here … of his own free will. I must confess to feeling some bewilderment when I received your message.”

  The two men removed their hats and sat down.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Inspector,” Duffy replied. “I’m just a simple businessman who has come to you on a matter of great urgency. It has come to my attention that a large group of rebels has made their headquarters in the mines in Glendalough. With the numbers they have gathered there, I can only imagine that they mean to engage in some malevolent assault against the state.”

  “The Glendalough mines? That’s Wildenstern land, isn’t it? And why on earth would you bring me information of that sort?” Urskin asked. “Rival mob are they, these rebels?”

  “I resent the implication, Inspector,” Duffy said, unruffled by the policeman’s manner. “The reason I’ve come to you—apart from an expression of public spirit—is that I have recently bought that land and the mines that lie beneath it.” He produced a document from the leather case he was holding on his lap. Pushing the document across the desk, he continued, “I had intended to put them back into operation when I discovered this nest of vipers barricaded inside. Perhaps the Wildensterns tolerate this kind of thing, but I do not. And I have reason to believe that they have children trapped down there, that they are working them as slaves.”

  Urskin stared into Duffy’s eyes for what seemed like a very long time. He picked up the sheets of paper and studied them. Sure enough, they were the deeds to the mines and the land around them—complete with the sheet with Gerald Gordon’s signature on it, authorizing the sale to Duffy

  “Child slaves, you say?” he asked quietly.

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “If this were Wildenstern land,” Urskin said, thinking aloud, “not that I would accuse the noble Wildensterns of being involved in illegal activity, but if it were their land, my boss would have to run this past the Lord Lieutenant himself before committing to. any action. He is on friendly terms with the family—they are distantly related to the Queen, I believe. He would be sure to consult with the Wildensterns directly, and have it out with them at the highest level.”

  “And they might exercise their influence to see that you would never send your men in against the blackguards in those mines,” Duffy finished for him. “Restrained by your superiors, you would be unable to proceed. But as you can see, I own this property.”

  “And so … there is no need for the Wildensterns to be informed of any operation the RJC might choose to carry out,” Urskin mused.

  “No need whatsoever.”

  “That is, if this document is indeed genuine.” Urskin held up the papers, emphasizing his words for effect. “If, for instance, the signature was a forgery, and the land still belonged to the Wildensterns, I would be putting my career on the line.”

  “I can assure you that it is genuine,” Duffy told him. “And even—completely hypothetically, of course—if it is not genuine, the abhorrent nature of what you will find in those mines will be enough to persuade the Lord Lieutenant, or any of your superiors, that no matter how powerful the Wildensterns might be, a police raid was the only sane action.”

  “But the Wildensterns’ power has no bearing here,” Urskin repeated. “Because it is no longer their land.”

  “Precisely. And the monstrous goings-on in those mines would be enough to convict the most powerful figure, no matter who they might be. Child slaves, Detective Inspector. Probably murders too. But don’t worry yourself with matters of ownership—it is definitely not their property.”

  Urskin put the sheets of paper down on the desk and tapped them with the fingertips of his right hand, before pushing them back to Duffy. He worked his jaw for a few moments as the other two men watched the resolve set in his eyes. Then he stood up and pulled his long grey coat and bowler hat from a coat-stand near his desk.

  “McClane!” he shouted, taking a very modern-looking, short-barreled Webley revolver from a drawer in his desk and stuffing it into his coat pocket. The constable with the belligerent face appeared at the door. Urskin waved him into the room impatiently: “Send a telegram to the county headquarters in Wicklow town and let them know we’re on our way. Tell them to be ready to move as soon as we arrive. I’ll give them a proper briefing once I’m there. I’m going across the yard to the general’s office. We’ll need whatever troops the army has stationed at the barracks in Laragh, and might have to have more on alert in the neighboring districts. And we’ll need at least one behemoth too, if I’m any judge of the Wil—the rebels. We still haven’t managed to pen in that bloody bull-razer that ran amok in Rathmines. Well? What are you waiting for man? Hop to it!”

  “Yes, sir!” McClane nodded and strode out again.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll send my man here with you,” Duffy said, indicating Dempsey. “He can take care of himself, and I’d like a representative on hand when you go in.”

  Urskin looked Dempsey up and down. “Ex-military?” he guessed.

  “Very,” Dempsey grunted.

  “You’re not coming yourself?” Urskin put the question to Duffy as he headed for the door.

  “Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to.”
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  “Something more important than this?” Urskin stopped in his tracks, spinning to glare at Duffy. “And what might that be, exactly?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, Detective Inspector. But suffice to say that, if we are living in interesting times, this is setting out to be a positively fascinating day. Good luck in your endeavors, sir.”

  “I’d wish you luck in yours, sir, but that’s likely to mean trouble for someone else. Mind how you go, Mister Duffy.”

  With that, he rushed out, with Dempsey hurrying to keep up. Duffy watched them leave.

  “I’ll do that, Inspector. And may God go with both of us.”

  Duffy was led out by one of the clerks, who saw him to the gate. Visitors could not be allowed to wander around Dublin Castle willy-nilly. Especially visitors like Eamon Duffy. Standing outside the gate, he took a pipe from one pocket and a pouch of tobacco. It took longer than usual to fill the pipe and light it, because of his trembling hands.

  XXXI

  A CROSSFIRE OF OBSERVATION

  THE MATTER OF WHO WAS TO SIT at the head of the table at dinner was resolved by Brutus, much to Nate’s surprise. He had not expected Gerald to relinquish that position to his deputy, despite Brutus’s obvious claim to seniority. Elvira took her position at the other end, leaving Nate and Gerald sitting across from each other, either side of Edgar.

  Elizabeth sat next to Gerald, with Leopold on her other side. Daisy sat next to Nate, with Tatty beside her. Gerald hardly took his eyes off Nate as they waited for the first course to be brought in. Nate watched Leopold, though his eyes strayed to Brutus sometimes, and the engimal claw that had been used to replace the giant’s missing right hand. Elizabeth watched Gerald watching Nate. Leopold made a canoe for his tin soldier out of a bread roll, and watched for any sign of the approaching food. Daisy and Tatty exchanged the occasional disgruntled glance, but otherwise watched Gerald and Nate. Brutus’s gaze bored straight through this crossfire of observation, his stare traveling down the table to Elvira, though whether she was the focus of his attention or not it was difficult to say, the table being long enough to comfortably seat twenty-four people. This dinner had promised to be such a dramatic affair that all the available relatives had gathered in the dining room, requiring another table to be laid.

  Everyone was on edge. It was often at pivotal moments like this in the family’s existence that upheavals occurred; conflict, changes of allegiance and betrayal. They waited for cues from the two young men sitting by the top of the table, looking for signs of dominance, or weakness, or any other hint of which way things might go. So far, there was nothing.

  Nate lifted one of the three forks in his place setting, feeling its weight. It had been a long time since he had eaten with silver cutlery. The elaborate array in front of him would have paid for a half decent horse. Its worth could feed a family for a month. He gazed at his hands, calloused from years of manual work, his skin weathered by the sun and wind. This place held so many bad memories, but now it didn’t even feel like anywhere he knew. It was another world, one he did not recognize.

  He pulled at the cuffs of his suit jacket. His new suit had been so wet when he and Daisy came down from the roof that he had been forced to change. Fortunately, Daisy had anticipated his lack of suitable attire, and several of his old suits had been hurriedly laundered the day before and made ready for him. The trousers hugged his thighs too snugly and the jacket was a little too tight around the shoulders and upper arms. But the cut allowed the revolver in his waistband to stay hidden, and fell straight down at the back so that no one could see the bulge of the large hunting knife he had concealed in a sheath in the small of his back.

  The servants started bringing bowls of soup, cold cuts and more bread to the tables. The clink of cutlery on china was tentative, nervous, as people began to eat. No one had much of an appetite. Nate watched Leopold playing for a little longer, and then turned to the enormous, ancient man sitting at the head of the table.

  “So, Brutus, how are you settling in to life in this new world? I expect a lot has changed since you last walked the Earth.”

  “As a matter of fact, surprisingly little has changed,” Brutus responded, the turn of his head reminding Nate of one of those new-fangled gun turrets they had started installing on battleships. “I have awoken to find the family as mired in conspiracy and back-stabbing as it always was. The same features that defined it then are equally present now. We have the warring factions …”

  “I’d say it’s been quite a while since we had any need for an all-out war, wouldn’t you, Nate?” Gerald observed.

  Leopold did not care for soup. He aimed his tin soldier’s rifle at Nate and made shooting sounds. Then he smiled at his long-absent father, but Nate had his eyes fixed on Gerald.

  “… we have people keeping secrets, even from those closest to them …” Brutus continued.

  Failing to get Nate’s attention, Leopold stood up on his raised chair and pushed his bread roll canoe as far as he could across the table to Daisy. She did not notice, her attention focused on Nate.

  “Yes, it’s remarkable what people keep from you,” Tatty said acidly, casting a sidelong look at Daisy. “Sometimes, people aren’t the friends you think they are at all.”

  “And sometimes they hide a whole other side of their character,” Daisy sniped back, “which surely is the peak of dishonesty.”

  Leopold looked up hopefully at his mother. She never failed to give him attention. But now she was watching Brutus through narrowed eyes. Leopold tugged on her sleeve and she absent-mindedly summoned the servant with the violin, gesturing at him to play something to calm her restless son. As the musician approached, Nate lifted a hand to point at him.

  “If you come near this table with that violin, I’ll shoot you where you stand. And that goes for any other instruments you have stashed back there.”

  Gerald smirked. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Leopold’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ at the unfairness of it all.

  “We have those whose lives are ruled by ruthless ambition,” Brutus said, paying no heed to the other goings-on at the table as he took a sip of his soup, the spoon held in his left hand.

  “Why, Brutus, you almost make it sound like a negative quality,” Elizabeth remarked in a disconcerted tone. “I would expect no less from Leopold, when he comes of age.”

  “… and those who are blinded by insatiable greed,” Brutus continued.

  “Blithering fools indeed!” Gideon barked, leaning over his bulging stomach to rap on the tabletop in agreement, with the knuckles of a hand laden with gold and jeweled rings. “A man should control his appetites!”

  Afflicted by a terrible boredom, Leopold climbed down off his chair and ducked under the table, where he proceeded to crawl around among the forest of legs, pretending his soldier was off having adventures in the Congo—whatever a Congo was—like his mysterious father.

  “And finally, you have the slaves to tradition,” Brutus declared, “and those who put the reputation of the family above all other considerations.”

  “And what other considerations should be given greater priority?” Elvira demanded, aiming her listening horn down the table, having picked up on the booming voice from the other end and finding its declarations objectionable. “Family is everything!”

  “Speaking of family,” Elizabeth spoke up, and pausing long enough to be sure she had the entire family’s attention, “Gerald and I have wonderful news … we’re going to have a baby!”

  Silence descended across the dining room.

  “What?” Nate and Daisy said together.

  “What?” Gerald managed a moment later. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “And I thought you had a great understanding of biology,” Nate quipped. “Looks like she’s nailed you too, old chum.”

  “This family gets more complicated all the time,
” Tatty exclaimed. “Will this mean you’ll be getting married?”

  Gerald let out a low growl, the kind of noise no one had ever heard him utter before. Nate dropped his hand under the table to the butt of his gun. All across the room, frayed nerves sparked and muscles tensed. Under the table, Leopold, trying to find a way through a wall of legs, had his soldier jab one of them with his rifle. Gideon felt a sharp point stick into his shin. Letting out a yelp, he shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet, pulling a pistol-sized, double-barreled shotgun from under his jacket. The sudden movement caused frantic reactions up and down the table. In an instant, all of the men and a few of the women were standing, aiming firearms across the table. Hammers were cocked, warnings were shouted. At any moment, someone might fire a shot and the result would be nothing short of a bloodbath. Leopold started shrieking, calling for his mother. In the confusion of shouts, swearing and swinging of barrels, only Brutus, Nate and Gerald remained seated, though all three now had hands on weapons. Nate watched as the two points of Brutus’s claws clicked together like a telegraph—the only sign that the ogre was in any way agitated. It was a gesture Nate recognized.

  “No guns at the dinner table!” Elvira bellowed. “Good God, have you no sense of propriety!”

  “Am I cursed to be surrounded by small-minded fools and buffoons all of my life?” Gerald hissed, an apoplectic expression on his face. “Why must you all waste your lives with petty squabbles and … and superstitions and … and selfish, clutching greed? Where is your ability to reason? Are you human beings or animals? Sometimes I think you’re worse than both! I’m trying to change the world and you lot can’t have a bowl of soup without shooting each other! It’s absurd!” He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. “Now … will you all just SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!”